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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

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Merlin goes home for a little while, determined to enjoy a well-earned vacation;

Camelot immediately falls apart, with the sole exceptions of Guinevere and Gaius.

Merlin knows Arthur really well.

Which just means he knows exactly how to get him to let his servant go home for two weeks to visit his mother and relax a little:

“You just don’t want me to go because you know you can’t cope without me! Look, if you want to come with me, that’s fine, but you’ll struggle just as much there as you would here because I refuse to act as your servant in my own home.”

Arthur turns red, looking outraged as he loses the ability to speak. Merlin turns around before The King can see his satisfied smirk, tidying around the prat’s chambers with exaggerated annoyance as he just waits for the inevitable-

“Fine! Go! See if I even notice that you’re gone! Honestly, Merlin, the running of the Kingdom will probably end up going smoother without you here to mess things up, you bumbling idiot.”

Merlin grins to himself before schooling his face back into annoyance and turning around with a huff, crossing his arms petulantly:

“Fine!”

The servant decides that he’d better leave, what with the way he was struggling to keep the victorious grin from his face, so without waiting for a response, he “storms” from the room, slamming the door behind him as dramatically as he’s able when he hears Arthur yell:

“FINE!”

Merlin sets off at the beginning of the next week. Gaius had raised a disapproving eyebrow when his ward had told him how he’d gotten Arthur to agree to such a long vacation, but didn’t say anything. They both knew that the elderly physician thought it was funny.

Gwen and Morgana make sure to see him out of the castle gates with big hugs, and whilst all of the knights were meant to be training, it came as no surprise to anyone when Gwaine slacks off for half a candle-mark to say goodbye as well. Mordred shoots him a quick goodbye across their mental link as the servant walks away from the city, after promising Merlin that he would warn him if anyone was in any serious danger (”Serious danger only, Mordred, I mean it. If I get called home because Arthur is throwing some sort of tantrum, then I’ll act out your destiny for you.”).

Merlin’s journey goes smoothly. The world was hovering in the junction between Spring and Summer, but with a little magical manipulation, the Warlock had no trouble staying warm and keeping his feet beneath him on the uneven path. Unsurprisingly, the young man is a lot less clumsy when he doesn’t have to focus on keeping his magic locked away so tightly.

Two days after his departure from Camelot, his mother is greeting him outside her little house with a long hug and a wide grin, stroking a hand through his hair as she welcomes him home.

Coincidentally, that’s also about the time things started going to shit for everyone else.

It was just after noon when Elyan had to be carried to Gaius’ chambers, his whole body juddering as he struggles to draw breath, the lack of oxygen from his throat closing up mixed with the panic making his brain go fuzzy.

Percival holds him up from one side and Leon holds him from the other, the two of them bursting through the physician’s door just as Elyan’s eyes roll back in his head. Gaius looks up suddenly, obviously startled by the abrupt intrusion, but he swiftly focuses, eyes wide and assessing as he quickly points them to a patient pallet:

“What happened?”

The two knights lay him down as carefully as they can before standing out of the way as Leon forces out an answer, trying to catch his breath between words:

“I don’t know, servants brought lunch out whilst we were training so we stopped to eat and he just started... wheezing. We thought he was choking at first but he said he couldn’t breathe. Has... has he been poisoned? We stopped everyone from eating.”

Gaius had gathered a handful of odd looking dried leaves the moment Leon mentioned the food, recognising the symptoms of an allergic reaction and putting two and two together immediately. He crushes them in his hands quickly, knowing he didn’t have time for a proper mortar and pestle as he shoves the crumbs into Elyan’s mouth, following through with a vile of something green and gross-smelling

He massages the odd concoction down Elyan’s throat as best he can around the swelling, and lets out a relieved smile when the knight’s eyes blow wide open and he chokes slightly before swallowing it all, grimacing at the taste but breathing deeply as his airways open again.

Leon and Percival let out similar breathes of relief when Elyan begins breathing again, chuckling breathlessly at his disgusted groan. The door bursts open again before anyone can say anything, and Arthur strides in, his flushed cheeks and rumpled clothes implying he had sprinted across the castle in his panic.

He spots Elyan on the pallet, his deep breaths interspersed with the odd cough, and his eyes widen even further as he looks to Gaius for an explanation:

“A servant told me something was wrong, what happened?!”

The King loses a little of the tension in his shoulders when Elyan waves a thumbs-up in his vague direction, but still looks frantically between the two knights and the physician as he waits for an answer. Percival wordlessly moves to Elyan’s side, running a hand up and down the man’s arm as Leon looks to Gaius expectantly:

“He had an allergic reaction, likely to nuts in the food. He should be fine, but he needs a day or two of rest, and to come back to me immediately if his throat swells again.”

Arthur sags in relief, nodding his approval of Elyan’s needed bedrest, but Leon’s eyes go wide as he lets out a knowing noise:

“Of course! I forgot about his allergy, it hasn’t been an issue since we were kids.”

Gaius nods knowingly and begins reorganising the jars he had knocked over when the knights had startled him:

“Hmm. I imagine he watched what he ate carefully when he was travelling, but Merlin keeps an eye on all of your food now.”

Leon frowns slightly as he tilts his head in confusion, but Arthur beats him to the punch, asking incredulously:

“What do you mean, Merlin keeps an eye on our food?”

Gaius raises an eyebrow, holding in his smirk as he slowly replies:

“Well, Merlin is usually the one to bring food out to you when you train, is he not? And on days he can’t he always speaks with the kitchen staff to double check what food is going where. Sir Elyan is not the only one with an allergy, My Lord. Merlin always makes sure any food the seven of you are given is safe. He has a tendency to check the Lady Morgana’s meals as well, whenever he’s able.”

Arthur is too taken aback to reply, his mouth hanging open, but that is when Percival looks up from his place at Elyan’s side, a confused frown on his face:

“Why?”

Gaius doesn’t manage to hold his smile in at that, looking between the three knights, and Elyan, who has just about managed to regain his breath:

“To avoid situations like this, I imagine, and to check for poison. It’s not uncommon for assassins to try and lace the royal’s food with something or other.”

Arthur finally shuts his mouth, only to open it again, speaking slowly:

“So... Merlin checks all of our food?”

Gaius nods:

“Religiously, Sire.”

Leon and Percival just shrug, adding it to their list of Weird Things About Merlin That They Should Be Grateful For, and Elyan smiles goofily from his place on the bed (whether it was the lack of oxygen or something funky in the vial, the knight didn’t know, but he was definitely still feeling a little... odd), but Arthur just frowns deeper, muttering a distracted “Take it easy.” to Elyan before walking stiffly from the room.

The King makes quick work of the journey back to the council meeting, desperately trying to persuade himself that this was nothing to do with him not being able to cope without Merlin. Elyan was the one not coping, clearly. Merlin was still wrong and stupid and Arthur hadn’t even noticed that he was gone until Gaius brought him up (a lie, he missed him terribly, but shhh).

Leon and Percival look to Gaius in confusion when Arthur had almost stormed from the room, and the Physician simply smiles again, the amusement shining clearly in his eyes:

“Merlin persuaded Arthur to let him take a holiday by heavily implying that he couldn’t cope with Merlin’s absence.”

Percival snorts with laughter and Leon raises an eyebrow as he grins:

“Arthur took that as a challenge then, I suppose? Two days in and we’ve already got The King sprinting from meetings because a knight has collapsed from an allergic reaction... because Merlin wasn’t here...”

Gaius just nods, and Percival mutters an amused:

“This will be entertaining.”

Arthur steadfastly refuses to acknowledge that the next mini disaster, a few days later, was also down to Merlin’s absence.

Ok, so maybe it was because Merlin wasn’t here, but ultimately, it was Gwaine that messed up, not Arthur. So it didn’t count.

The knight came back from a night patrol that he’d taken with The King with an infected gash on his arm. Arthur grins teasingly as he describes to Gaius how the knight had tripped on a loose cobblestone and scratched his arm on the sharp edge of a stray cart at the beginning of the patrol, and Gaius hums disapprovingly as he unwraps the scrap of fabric Gwaine had used as a bandage:

“Did you not have any medical supplies in your pack? Or did you think it best to let it get infected so I had to wake an hour before dawn to deal with it?”

Gwaine swings his dangling legs back and forth from where he sits on Gaius’ table, pouting sheepishly as he admits:

“I looked, but there wasn’t anything helpful in there, usually the armoury-hands have them stocked up for the patrols, I guess they missed mine.”

Arthur rolls his eyes at Gwaine’s seeming ineptitude, but his scolding is interrupted before it even begins when Gaius shakes his head in disagreement:

“Hmm. The servants that work in the armoury only tend to check the packs every few weeks, and even then they only check if they need any repairs. Merlin is the one with easier access to patrol rotas, so he’s the one who stocks them up on a day to day basis.”

Gwaine just nods in understanding, as if he should’ve expected that, but Arthur’s smile drops as he unfolds his arms, getting over his annoyed speechlessness in a matter of seconds:

“You’re telling me that Merlin, my personal manservant, is responsible for all the knights’ patrol packs?”

Gaius finishes cleaning Gwaine’s wound, muttering a quiet apology when the knight hisses at the first poke of the needle, speaking slowly as he focuses on making sure the stitches were neat and uniform:

“No, Sire. Technically the knights are meant to take care of their own packs, but Merlin is a paranoid man, he likes to double check things to make sure everyone has what they need. I suppose some people got used to having it done for them.”

Gwaine winces abashedly, making a mental note to remind the others to check their packs before their next patrols, but Arthur rolls his eyes, crossing his arms again and immediately accepting that this little incident was therefore Gwaine’s fault, and not down to Merlin's absence.

The voice in his head sounded a little doubtful, but he ignores it, choosing instead to chide his rebellious:

“Do try to pay attention to your own responsibilities, Sir Gwaine, I’d hate to see something terrible happen to you because you’re unable to complete your own simple tasks.”

Gwaine just sticks his tongue out petulantly, looking away from The King before he can see the blonde’s rolled eyes. Arthur huffs at his childishness, turning around to cover his grin and speaking over his shoulder as he walks from the room:

“You will be on time for once, Gwaine, training starts in a few hours and I want to see you bright and early.”

Gwaine just smirks, waiting for the door to shut behind Arthur before moving his sly, curious eyes to the physician in front of him:

“He’s missing Merlin, then?”

Gaius just gives him a knowing glance before looking back down at the now stitched gash, gathering bandages:

“I’d imagine so, though he’d never admit it. Merlin implied that Arthur wouldn’t cope with his absence,-”

Gwaine interrupts him with a laugh:

“Hence his insistence that it was entirely my fault?”

Gaius nods wordlessly, and Gwaine snorts, shaking his head in amused disbelief.

Meanwhile, Arthur stalks back towards his chambers, eager to get out of his armour and get into bed; Gwaine had training in a few hours, but so did he, and he needed at least a little sleep. He purses his lips in annoyance as his gaze falls upon the clinical cleanliness of his room... George had been in then.

Look... Arthur being used to a slightly messy room did NOT mean he depended on Merlin. And Gwaine not being used to having to actually organise himself ALSO didn’t mean that Merlin was... ok. Maybe Gwaine relies on Merlin a little.

So that’s Sir Elyan and Sir Gwaine, two of The King’s most trusted knights, who can’t cope without Merlin. But Arthur is doing just fine. It’s been half a week and he is just. Fine.

Just fine.

It was the next day that things began going wrong a little more... drastically.

George wakes Arthur up for training on time because of course he does. Arthur had found himself losing out on a lot of sleep without Merlin insisting he go to bed at a reasonable time, and waking him up late; Merlin had gotten into the habit of snatching Arthur’s paperwork away and holding it out of reach until The King agreed to go to sleep, and somehow manages to fit Arthur’s entire morning routine into half a candle-mark. George would never snatch away Arthur’s paperwork, and he takes so much longer in the mornings meaning Arthur has to wake up earlier.

Not that Arthur would ever admit to enjoying his and Merlin’s unorthodox routines.

Eight more days to go, and he’s fine.

At least... that’s what he thought until a nameless guard approaches the training field, waving him over from his spar with Mordred. Arthur strides over quickly, annoyed at the interruption and nodding at the guard to speak as he drinks from his water-skin:

“My Lord, Lord Halbert and Lady Ethel have arrived. I believe they’re waiting for your presence in the courtyard.”

Arthur chokes, managing to turn his head to the side just in time before he spits a mouthful of water over the guards face. He quickly wipes his mouth and turns back to the pour armoured man with wide eyes:

“That’s today?!

The guard nods hesitatingly:

“Yes, Sire, would you like me-”

He’s interrupted when Arthur shouts a hurried:

“Fuck!” as he drops his water-skin and begins sprinting up the field towards the castle, desperately trying to calculate if he had enough time to wash and change before they got antsy with waiting. Probably not.

Seeing Arthur’s panic and hearing his loud curse, Leon hurriedly approaches the guard, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder as he speaks with a frown:

“Gavin? Is everything alright?”

The guard, Gavin, looks to Leon with a confused frown:

“It would appear that His Majesty... misremembered the date of Lord Halbert and Lady Ethel’s arrival.”

Leon’s eyes go wide and he glances quickly to the castle as he rushes out an exclamation identical to Arthur’s:

“That’s today?!”

Gavin just nods again, and Leon drops the hand from his shoulder, letting out a loud:

“Shit!” as he recreates Arthur’s sprint up to the castle, knowing that he was expected to be at The King’s side when welcoming guests. He doesn’t pause, even when he shouts:

“Lancelot’s in charge!” over his shoulder.

The knights all look to each other in amusement, but Lancelot quickly takes charge, running drills as if he had been doing it his entire life and trusting that, whatever it was, Arthur could get things sorted. And if Arthur couldn’t get things sorted, then Leon would get things sorted. And if Leon couldn’t get things sorted, then Merlin would... oh.

He glances worriedly to the castle just as Leon falls through the door, not bothering to shut it behind him in his panic. Oh.

Arthur lets out the deepest breath of relief he thinks he’s ever experienced when he sees George ahead of him in the corridor; he gestures him over hastily, making the servant jog to keep up with him as he continues his fast pace down the hall:

“I don’t care how many other servants you have to pull from their duties, but I need the castle prepped for Halbert and Ethel’s arrival right now.-”

Arthur barely pays attention to George’s faltering step of shock, just stops suddenly in front of the door that leads down to the courtyard, turning to the servant and putting both hands on his shoulder as he stares at him intensely, face flushed and breathing harsh:

“I need you to do this for me, George. Prepare guest chambers, send someone down to show them to the right rooms, and make sure the Kitchens know they’re feeding two extra nobles for three days, starting today. If you can organise all of that in the next two minutes, I’ll give you a raise and a Godamn hug, you hear me?!”

George gulps, his shoulders tense, his face pale, and his breath frozen in his lungs as he meets Arthur’s frantic gaze with wide eyes. He gives a shaky nod, instantly turning and sprinting down the corridor without a word when Arthur lets go.

Leon skids around the corner, moving to stand next to Arthur with his hands on his knees as he attempts to catch his breath, speaking in a slight wheeze:

“I... I left Lance... in charge.”

Arthur nods in approval, pulling Leon to stand before holding his hands out to the side, presenting himself for inspection. Leon takes one last deep breath, smoothing the training tunic over Arthur’s shoulders, attempting to rub the dirt from his nose, and brushing a quick hand through his hair before stepping back and holding his own arms out. Arthur pulls a leaf from behind his ear, but is otherwise satisfied, and the two of them turn to the door, schooling their faces and stepping down into the courtyard.

Arthur has a calm, welcoming smile on his face, and Leon stands stiffly behind him, hand on the sword that he luckily had on his hip as he stares blankly ahead.

The nobles seem taken aback at The King's state of undress, but don’t say anything, covering their shock quickly. Arthur’s hoping that his friendly attitude will just give the impression that he’s...approachable and slightly laid back, as opposed to just an idiot who forgot they were coming because no one had reminded him.

Gods. Merlin can never know about this.

Thankfully, the next three days went smoothly, or at least as smoothly as possible after Arthur spent an hour rifling through his old mail to try and figure out the original reason for Lord Halbert and Lady Ethel’s visit (watching their eldest’s knighting ceremony, and discussing with Arthur the potential for their youngest to move to the city to become a squire).

He waves them off in a much more regal manner than he had welcomed them, and keeps his promise to George, upping his pay slightly; though he exchanges the hug for an awkward pat on the shoulder, which he thinks both of them were grateful for.

He’d successfully made it through nine days. Semi-successfully. He’d just about made it through nine days.

Five more to go. But Arthur was feeling fine about those five days. He’d double checked all his mail, and made sure to find out when his patrols were scheduled.

Which is... unknown to Arthur, where the next problem stems from.

Arthur wasn’t the one to rota the patrols, he really didn’t have the time to sit down with a list of names and hours and times and maps and organise everything fairly, it was difficult and time-consuming, but he made sure that Leon knew exactly how many hours he could give up for patrol each week.

Apparently, the communication between Leon and the council was normally handled by Merlin, who wasn’t there. So whilst Arthur was enjoying a solo patrol along the city borders at noon, waving at citizens and making his horse do tricks for giggling children, the council were sitting around the table, waiting rather irately for his arrival.

Now normally, this could’ve been easily dealt with, but when the same guard from three days ago gallops over to inform him of the problem and take over his patrol, Arthur was reminded rather suddenly that Merlin was always the one that came up with sensible sounding excuses.

(He also makes a mental note to avoid that guard forever out of embarrassment.)

This was one of the very rare occasions when Arthur simply glares the council into submission. Normally he likes to work with them; he hates to feel like they're just doing what he wants because they were kissing his arse, but he has no excuse other than “I forgot.” and he felt like that was worse than just.. acting like a bit of a dick for five minutes.

So... yeah. Merlin wasn’t there to reorganise the council meeting around Arthur’s patrol, and then also wasn’t there to come up with an excuse for why it wasn’t reorganised.

Arthur makes it ten days before he admits to himself that perhaps he relies on his manservant just a little too much.

Four days later, Arthur had missed another council meeting (despite his best efforts), Lancelot and Mordred had accidentally insulted some visiting Lord (and had therefore been told not to leave their rooms until he had vacated the city), and Gwen was no longer speaking to him, on account of The King being a dick without realising because Merlin wasn’t there to rein in his ego and... well... dickishness. That, and his crown had somehow gone missing between yesterday morning and now.

(If that last one had happened even a week prior, Arthur would’ve been adamant that it had been stolen or something else equally not-his-fault, but with how quickly he’d been made aware of his apparent bad memory and social clumsiness, he had every faith that he’d just misplaced it, and Merlin would know exactly where to look.)

Arthur was sitting on the courtyard steps, tunic unlaced at the top and hair a mess when his servant finally, finally walks through the castle gates. The King perks up slightly, but refuses to give Merlin the satisfaction of being run to, so forces himself to remain in place. He was especially glad that he’d made that decision when he saw Guinevere spring over to greet him. He has a feeling she won’t be all that... welcoming, at least not yet.

Merlin wraps her in a tight hug and Arthur forces down the swell of jealousy in his lungs, especially when he laughs brightly and pulls back to clasp her shoulders. Arthur sees Gwen’s face fall at a question Merlin had asked and he gulps, biting his lip when Merlin frowns and raises an incredulous eyebrow at her response. She points in Arthur’s direction, and The King’s eyes go wide as he rapidly stands, failing miserably at looking as though he weren’t staring in their direction. Guinevere rolls her eyes before giving Merlin one last hug and walking very deliberately in the opposite direction to Arthur.

Merlin marches towards him, slight annoyance mixing with a secret eagerness to check on Arthur speeding up his normal pace significantly. Before the servant can say anything, Arthur grabs his wrist, pulling him up the steps and through the castle without a word, tugging harshly every time Merlin opens his mouth to demand an explanation for himself or an apology for Gwen.

When they finally reach his chambers, Arthur quickly locks the door behind him, whirling on an angry Merlin with flushed cheeks and a desperate look in his eyes:

“I swear Merlin, I will never doubt you again, but Elyan almost died, Gwaine got an infection, Leon and I forgot about Ethel and Halbert, Lancelot and Mordred are essentially under house arrest, I missed two council meetings, lost my crown, and now Gwen’s not talking to me. You’re never allowed to leave me again.”

Merlin freezes in place, staring at Arthur with wide eyes and an open mouth for a few moments before he bursts into laugher. Arthur huffs, crossing his arms as his blush deepens, but waits patiently instead of demanding that Merlin stop. Honestly? He may have been laughing at Arthur, but it was still the most beautiful sound The King had heard in two weeks, and he’d definitely missed it. Which is... something to think about at a later date.

Merlin finally relents, his dimples showing prominently as he holds in another round of giggles at Arthur’s red face. The servant drops his pack to the floor, stepping forward and not giving Arthur time to move away before he pulls him into a tight hug, sighing contentedly at the warm contact:

“I missed you too, you prat. You’ll just have to come with me next time and we can leave Gwen and Gaius in charge.”

Arthur huffs out a gentle laugh, finally wrapping his arms around Merlin’s middle tightly and burying his face in the slightly taller man’s hair:

“I did. Miss you, I mean. And I also mean it when I say you’re never going anywhere without me again, this has been a nightmare.”

Merlin snorts, tightening his grip on Arthur as if he were trying to squeeze all of the stress out of him:

“Co-dependency isn’t the healthiest thing in the world, you know.”

Arthur just huffs, refusing to let go as he petulantly responds:

“I don’t care. I’m The King, I can do what I want.”

Arthur can almost feel Merlin rolling his eyes, but the servant just laughs again and seems to nod in agreement:

“Hmm. That excuse is going to come back to haunt you one day. Heard you gave George a raise?”

The blonde tenses in embarrassment, now refusing to pull away so Merlin wouldn’t see his pink cheeks:

“Uh... yeah. He cleans too much and is shit at coming up with plausible excuses, but he did save my arse a few times.”

Arthur can feel Merlin’s laugh vibrate through his ribcage, and though the man was usually rather touch averse, he found he never wanted the feeling to stop. He found himself hoping that Merlin felt the same when The King chuckles at his response:

“Oh yeah? Does that mean I get a raise for being good at excuses and bad at cleaning?”

THE END!!!

Literally wrote this in one day so... sorry if it’s bad😅

Had no clue how I was going to end it until I got there, my thought process essentially just went “Hugs? Yeah. Hugs hugs hugs hugs hugs.” :D

Same as always lads, you wanna write it out in full or remix it or whatever, go for it, just drop me a message and credit/tag me :)

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tealeafgrimm · 2 years

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New Beginnings

Draco Malfoy x Reader Words: 3k Summary: After the Battle for Hogwarts, you try to reorganise your life. New beginnings are not always easy and it is even harder when you want to prove that the person you love has changed for good. A/N: This is the third part of a little series. If you are interested in the previous parts, check out Missing You and Finding You. I really hope you all enjoy this third part (especially the lovely @ayeshaikram03 who always leaves the sweetest comments).

Several months had passed since the victory over Voldemort. Months in which your life was once again turned upside down. Apart from the rebuilding work at Hogwarts, countless funerals of good friends and trying to come to terms with what you had experienced, you had hardly had time to think about your future. But now that a new normality was creeping into your life, you had to think about your next steps. You had thought for a long time about what you wanted to do, how you would go on from here. This included your relationship with Draco. After the final battle, you had hardly seen each other. You needed time and he also needed to sort out his life. You wrote each other letters regularly and when time allowed, you met.

Out of your friends, only Hermione knew exactly about your relationship status. You had told Harry about your feelings during your search for the Horcruxes, but he didn't know what had become of them either. And Ron was as clueless as could be. And so, as the first necessary step into your new life, you decided to tell the three of them about you and Draco. With sweaty hands you reached for your butterbeer while you waited in the Leaky Cauldron for your friends. You had a rough idea of their reactions, but telling them for real scared you. One by one, the three arrived and you began to talk. In order to keep the mood light, you decided to first ask if your friends would also be returning to Hogwarts.

"Kingsley has offered Ron and I to finish Auror training without graduating. And knowing that there are still plenty of Death Eaters on the loose out there...I'll take him up on his offer," Harry replied as he played with his glass. "I feel the same way. I can't imagine sitting back in a classroom cramming at all now," Ron added. "I'm going to repeat our last year. I'm not sure what I want to do yet anyway. And when I get my N.E.W.Ts, I might have a bit more options." You smiled at Hermione. It was nice to know that at least one of your friends would be with you. Even though it definitely wouldn't be the same without the two boys around. "Yeah, I'm going back too. I...I wanted to tell you guys something by the way. You know they're starting the trials next week? Well, I'm going to go to Dracos and testify, hoping his sentence will be dropped." You whispered the last words so softly that Harry and Ron had to lean over the table to even hear you.

"Why on earth would you do that? The idiot deserves to serve time in Azkaban if you ask me," Ron indignantly said. "He's my boyfriend Ron. I love him. And he helped us, if I may remind you. He would have had the chance to betray Harry and he didn't," you countered as you felt your anger rising inside you. "Your BOYFRIEND? Have you been hexed? You can't be serious! And so what, he didn't tell on Harry, that's a long way from 'helping'!" "I'm not saying he's perfect, okay? I know, and so does he for that matter, that he fucked up. He's trying to get better, that situation back then was a sign." Your head had turned an uncomfortable shade of red by now and your voice had become so loud that the guests at the neighbouring tables had turned to look at you. Arms crossed, Ron stared at you angrily. "She's right Ron. Even though he'll never be my best friend...", Harry looked at you apologetically but you nodded understandingly "...I think Malfoy has more than learned his lesson and he has helped us, whether you want to admit it or not. He has made his decision. I'll be coming along next week. His mother helped me too, at least I owe her that." That was the end of your conversation. And even though Hermione and Harry tried to lighten the mood and continue a normal conversation, you knew it would be some time before Ron forgave you.

~~~

"I ask for silence," Kingsley Shacklebold's voice echoed around the room as he took his seat as Minister. "As the first hearing of the day: the case of Draco Malfoy in connection with being a follower, Death Eater and executor of the orders of Tom Marvolo Riddle, better known as Lord Voldemort." A uniform gasp could be heard from the stands. The courtrooms were filled to capacity. You had already read about it in the Daily Prophet, but had expected people's initial curiosity to dissipate after a while. Apparently, you were wrong. Besides Draco's, however, his parents' trial was also taking place today, and the sentencing of Lucius Malfoy in particular was of great public interest.

The courtroom doors opened again and Draco was led by two staff members to the centre of the room where a chair stood ready. "Mister Malfoy, you are accused of knowingly and willingly accepting the Dark Mark. Is this true?" "Yes sir." Draco's voice was so low you could barely hear him. Your hands were sweaty and you kept wiping them on your trousers. Harry beside you knew how much this court case was taking a toll on you and had vowed to do everything he could to help Draco and his family. "Furthermore, you are accused of acting as a follower, a so-called Death Eater, of Lord Voldemort on his instructions. How do you respond to this accusation?" Draco did not answer immediately. Instead, his eyes darted over the audience benches and paused on you for a second before returning his gaze to the floor in front of him.

"Mr. Malfoy?" "I...I had no choice. He threatened my family. Threatened me. Threatened my...friends." Again, his grey eyes met yours and you tried to smile encouragingly at him. "I am aware of the gravity of my actions and I would like to apologise to anyone who has been directly harmed by my actions. However, I would also like to say that I did not carry out the order to kill Albus Dumbledore and ultimately turned against HIM and his followers." Again, loud murmurs and whispers broke out in the hall. For most, it was the first time they had heard of Draco's assassination order and understandably, most of those present were outraged. "Before the court retires for deliberations, witnesses and advocates for Mr. Malfoy will be given the opportunity to speak," Kingsley continued unperturbed. Harry and you had been able to speak to him a few days earlier and he had made it possible for you to be here.

„Ms. Y/L/N, if you would please step down.” Kingsley looked at you and smiled reassuringly, as you took the few steps down to stand in the middle, just in front of your boyfriend. “Ehm…I…I. As Mr. Malfoy said himself, he had a lot of pressure on his person. Even though this is not an excuse, it surely should be considered in his sentencing. I would also like to mention an event which testifies to Mr. Malfoy's good intentions. At that time, Mr. Potter, myself and two other friends were in the Malfoy mansion..." You told of Draco's refusal to identify Harry and of his taking your side in the final battle. After you, Harry stepped into the middle of the courtroom. As expected, the murmurs grew louder and people in the last rows even stood up to catch at least a glimpse of him. Harry confirmed your story, told of the night Dumbledore was murdered and that he had seen Draco not do what he was ordered to. Finally, there was nothing left for you to do but wait.

"Do you think he has to go to Azkaban?" you asked Harry quietly as you waited for the verdict to be announced. "No. Kingsley will see to that. Draco was remorseful, we were his witnesses and he was under enormous pressure. Don't worry, he'll get off," Harry replied, taking your hand in his to reassure you. "Harry? Thank you. For everything. I know you don't like Draco very much and I don't blame you. You wouldn't have to do all this and I wanted to say thank you." "He's not going to be my best friend, but I can understand his side. And you're one of my best friends. After everything that's happened, you deserve to be happy. Oh, they're coming back!"

The whispering in the auditorium died down as Draco was again led to the centre and Kingsley rose to read the verdict. "The Wizengamot has reached its decision. Based on Mr. Malfoy's insight and final decision, as well as the testimony of the witnesses called, the decision has been made to acquit Mr. Malfoy of all charges. However, we would like to point out that the Ministry will remain in close contact with Mr. Malfoy and will conduct regular checks." Kingsley had not quite delivered the verdict when you fell around Harry's neck, beaming with joy. All the worry and tension of the last few months finally falling away from you.

~~~

Kings Cross Station was crowded, as it was every year. With quick steps you approached the barrier between platforms nine and ten and before you knew it you were already on the magical side of the station. After a few steps you stopped and waited for Hermione to step through the barrier as well. You had said goodbye to Harry and Ron the night before, as they had to leave early for the Auror meeting and didn't have time to accompany you to the tracks. It was strange to see the Hogwarts Express after you hadn't boarded it last year. Many of this year's second years still looked slightly intimidated as they boarded the train. Their experiences with Death Eaters last year were apparently still fresh on their minds.

"Um...I hope it's okay, but I told Draco he could join us," you said to Hermione as you walked down the track together. You could see that she was struggling, but in the end she just nodded for your sake. After a few minutes, you saw Draco's white-blonde mop of hair and with a grin on your lips, you began to wave at him. When he saw you, a smile spread across his face as well and he came towards you. "There you are at last. I was beginning to think you wouldn't get here in time." He wrapped you in his arms and kissed you in greeting. Hermione behind you looked left and right slightly embarrassed. "Of course I'm coming," you replied. When Draco caught sight of Hermione behind you, he froze. It was an awkward situation for both of them. "Granger," he finally murmured, nodding at her before turning to his trunk and motioning for you to follow him onto the train.

As you walked down the corridor to find an empty compartment, you could hear the whispering and muttering of the other students as soon as they saw Draco. Many of them gave him nasty looks and made no heel of how much they hated him. Even some of the Slytherins had turned on Draco and wanted nothing more to do with him. Not that you were sad about that. The less contact he had with his old life and the people in it, the better. Eventually you found a compartment at the back of the train to settle down in. During the journey Draco was exceptionally quiet. You noticed that the looks and words of the other students hit him harder than he wanted to admit. You held his hand in yours as you conversed quietly with Hermione. When she excused herself to disappear to the bathroom, you took the opportunity to talk to your boyfriend. "They all just need some more time Draco," you said to him after a few of the younger students had passed by your compartment and hurled savage insults at him. With a deep sigh, he just nodded and turned his gaze back to the passing scenery. You hoped that your words were true and that things would really get a bit better for him soon.

~~~

But even two months after the start of the new school year, the situation had not really improved. No matter what Draco did or didn't do, someone would find something to blame him for. Again and again, you taxed that the other students needed a little more time and would see that he had improved as soon as they had gotten used to the situation. But so far nothing had changed. Draco was withdrawing more and more to avoid the confrontations. He went to breakfast early in the morning and to dinner very late. Always hoping to avoid most people. Besides you, he had no close confidant at Hogwarts. His former Slytherin friends either hadn't returned, didn't want anything to do with him anymore, or he wanted to distance himself from them. You tried to be there for him. But you slowly had to admit that the situation was gnawing at you too. Your friends wanted nothing to do with Draco. Of course, you couldn't really blame them and you would never force them to spend time with him if they didn't want to. But this also meant that you always had to choose between them and Draco and one party was always mad at you.

Hermione was the only one who could see how much the situation was really stressing you out. When asked, you replied that everything was fine and that you didn't mind, but she noticed that you too were becoming more and more withdrawn. Your smile no longer reached your eyes and your whole mood was clearly dampened. One evening in the common room, you had clashed with a group of your old friends, the reason being Draco as so often. Your friends left angrily for their dormitories, leaving you alone in the common room. Hermione had watched the interaction from a window seat. "Hey, don't listen to them, they all need more time," she said, throwing an arm over your shoulder and sitting down next to you on one of the comfortable sofas. In response, you only replied with a faint nod. "I didn't think it would be this bad Hermione. I feel like I always have to choose and it's exhausting and makes me tired," you mumbled, wiping tears from your face. "You don't owe anyone an explanation for anything you do. Not Draco, not me, not the others. I...know it's hard for you and I know I haven't been the best friend these past few weeks. I promise you that I'll try to spend some time with you and him, okay?" "Thank you Hermione," you whispered and hugged your best friend. You knew it was a stretch for her and you would be forever grateful.

And as promised, Hermione spent the next day with you and Draco. Together you went to the library to do your homework. The atmosphere between Draco and Hermione was still a bit tense and you could tell that they were having a hard time talking to each other. And yet, for your sake, they were both trying. And to see and hear that the two of them got along more or less well was more than you could ever imagine and it filled you with joy. As time went by, the tables in the library filled up with more students seeking peace and quiet to do their assignments. But at the same time, the stares and the whispers came. You noticed again how Draco stiffened and tried not to lift his eyes from his books.

You put your hand on his, drawing his attention to you. "Don't listen to them Draco. The others still need some time," you whispered to him, out of the corner of your eye you could see the others whispering at the tables. "Are you really so sure about that? Nothing has changed and the one who suffers is you. I have the feeling that you are always in between chairs because of me. Maybe it would be better if you at least avoided me here at school." "I can make my own decisions. Draco, if I couldn't take all this, I wouldn't be here, okay? It just takes time. I need to talk to Madam Pince for a minute, I'll be right back." With a kiss on his cheek, you disappeared to talk to the librarian.

"Do you love her?" It took Draco a moment to realise that she was talking to him. Normally, the two of them tried to avoid each other as much as possible and only talked to each other when you were there or it was absolutely necessary. "What?" he asked, perplexed. "Do you love her?", Hermione repeated her question forcefully, looking at him. "I...yes, of course. Why do you ask?" It felt weird enough that Hermione Granger was talking to him willingly, but the fact that it also involved his feelings was almost creepy to him. "She's like a sister to me and this past year has been bloody hard on her. I just want her to be happy. If you make her happy, fine. But if I overhear you doing or saying anything to hurt her, I swear to you Malfoy, you will not be happy in your life. Understood?" Draco had to admit that he had expected a lot from Hermione, but not such an outburst.

"Don't worry Granger, I know what I have in her. I may have been an idiot many times in the past, but I'm not that stupid to gamble it away with her. I know she's too good for me and that she chose me anyway...she's important to me and I won't repeat past mistakes." Hermione pursed her lips and looked at him appraisingly for a few seconds before nodding slowly and turning back to her rune text. "Oh, and Malfoy? She's right. The others just need time. Maybe you really aren't that bad after all."

#draco x you #draco x reader #draco malfoy one shot #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x reader #harry potter oneshot #harry potter series #harry potter fanfiction #one shot #reader insert #harry potter #ronald weasley #hermione granger

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moonlit-sunflower-books · 4 years

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How To Get Back Into Your Wip

Hi! I have 2 main wips (and about 20 side ones, but let’s not go into that) and trying to find time to write both of them is difficult. And if I write one, I usually get incredibly involved in it and find it difficult to go back to writing the other.

Or I just don’t write anything for three months and then can’t find the motivation to write again. But either way.

These are just some tips that I found worked for me!

1. Reread old work

I know that I personally do not really enjoy rereading my old work, but sometimes when going through it I begin to remember why I enjoyed writing it in the first place. Just today I was reorganising the files on my laptop and I found the drafts of one of my old wips which I actually really enjoyed writing. It made me want to continue the story! You created those characters and that world in that situation because you wanted to. And chances are, some part of you still wants to continue that story.

2. Moodboards

I’m not even kidding. Making character moodboards or setting moodboards is one of the most relaxing and satisfying things to do in spare time, and it allows you to understand or re-understand your characters. I find that especially when writing in first person, having a character moodboard helps me to understand their aesthetic and my brain basically revolves around aesthetics. It also lets you feel like you’re being productive without actually having to write.

3. Pinterest Boards

Not great at photo editing? You can do the same thing as moodboards, except make a pinterest board! What I like about this is that it allows you to have a board for your entire wip, and have subsections for each character, or for a chapter, or even subsections for different plotlines! This is also a fun way to get back involved with your wip that I really enjoy.

4. Incorrect Quotes

When working with ocs, incorrect quotes are some of my favourite ways to interact with my characters because it allows me to draw connections from them to some of my favourite characters in modern media.

5. Remind yourself why you started

What I do each time I start a new project is that I make a doc with all of my ideas, the prompts I want to use, character sketches, aesthetic boards that I make - just to get my thoughts down before I start my project. And I usually keep adding to it as I write. But when I’m stuck or unmotivated, looking back at this page reminds me why I started the project in the first place and is one of my favourite ways to motivate myself to continue with it.

6. Listen to your wip playlist

I know that a lot of my writer friends create playlists for their wip or for their characters. Whenever you are stuck, listening to that playlist should get you in the mood to write again by reminding you of your wip!

7. Force yourself to write

This is kind of a last resort, but often when I really can’t find inspiration, I just force myself to sit at my keyboard and write. Set a goal that is easily achievable; tell yourself to write 20 words. Then once you’ve written 20, increase it to 50. Then 100. You may not get further than 100, and that’s okay! But when you write a little bit, it often helps you to find inspiration. And once you’ve written a little bit, writing more gets easier - even if you don’t write a scene in chronological order! Maybe just find a dialogue prompt and choose two of your characters and write a short scene inspired by that. It may help you to get back in touch with your characters and motivate you to continue writing your story.

These are just some tips that work for me, they may not work for you - but try them out if you want! And feel free to add more :) ily

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monstersandmaw · 4 years

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Male drider x female reader - WIP, Part Two (sfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

After a teasing Part One last week, here's 3.5k words of Part Two, featuring two poems, neither of which are my own... Things get off to a very rocky start between the lord of Widowsweb Court and the reader, with the drider not exactly behaving in a manner befitting a lord... Naril, the firbolg gardener that everyone seemed rather taken with, continues to be a complete cinnamon roll.

Hope you enjoy, despite 'his lordship's' terrible manners and behaviour... Part Three has just gone up on Patreon today. He also got dubbed ‘cranky spooder’ over on our Discord server, which I adore.

Enjoy x

On the day you first met the lord of Widowsweb Court, you’d opened up one of the enormous windows to breathe a little life back into the stuffy library.

Having spent four weeks getting to know the collection as it was, you’d taken the opportunity to dust a little as well. That had the added advantage that you were now able to let the air back in without fear of choking clouds of dust billowing up into your face. For a house as enormous as Widowsweb Court, you had been surprised to learn that the staff was so minimal - no more than Naril and his father, Chiara the housekeeper, a valet of the lord whom you never saw, and two other members of staff; one a cook, and one a maid.

Standing beside the heavy, ragged old curtain that dragged its hem on the floorboards like a sullen teenager scuffing their heels, you sighed and stared listlessly out at the enormous park beyond. There was something melancholy about it. The grounds were meticulously kept by Naril, not a leaf out of place, and yet it was deserted.

There should have been parties, the voices of people laughing, the chink of glasses and the murmur of conversation in the evenings as people gathered to watch the sun go down over the stunning vista beyond. Music should have floated across the terrace behind the house, washing out to mingle with the dancing splash of water in the fountain, but that basin with its fantasy carvings and rearing stone centaurs, laughing fauns, and wide-winged harpies remained silent and dry.

“Why is it so sad here?” you whispered to yourself, the backs of your knuckles trailing down the old, warped glass of the leaded window. The shutters of this window had been thrown wide too so that you could see what you were doing, and the light poured in over one of the three long, research tables that lined that half of the dour library. Over the course of the past week, you’d stacked books pertaining to poetry up into huge, teetering piles that now looked more like a model city than anything, with skyscrapers reaching for the moulded plasterwork of the triple-height ceiling.

A low, bitter voice from behind you made you jump. “The name didn’t give it away?”

You yelped and tensed, turning sharply to find a figure occupying the shadows between two looming bookshelves. Unable to see them behind the chiaroscuro contrast in the room, you squinted. “The name?” you croaked when you’d finally recovered your senses.

A long, black, needle-thin leg emerged first from the darkness and you almost recoiled in surprise before another appeared beside it. A drider. The voice belonged to a drider. “Widow’s web…” he said in his low, gravelly voice, the tone heavy and dripping with sour sarcasm.

“Oh.” You blinked and curiosity flared in you. “Do… Do you work here as well? I haven’t met you before…”

The emerging drider stopped, the shadows still concealing his upper body, but you could see that he was one of the deadly, flash-quick driders; slim-built and light boned, and probably full of venom. You swallowed. Perhaps he was some kind of security agent? Perhaps it was his job to keep an eye on the place and make sure people kept their distance from the place. Perhaps he had come to check up on you.

For a long moment, the drider remained silent, and then without a word, he flung a thin volume onto the nearest end of the table, only a yard or so from where he still hung back, half concealed in shadow, and turned wordlessly to go. “See that this one is shelved with the rest,” he growled.

You caught a flash of red on his spider’s abdomen before he completely disappeared. His needle-clawed legs made almost no sound on the floorboards, and if you hadn’t been so stunned by his unexpected appearance and behaviour, you might have gone after him to scold him for treating what had to be a first edition - everything else so far had been - so callously. By the time you heard a sharp creak and the soft click of a secret door closing somewhere, it was too late to follow.

So instead, you left the window and picked up the book. It was an anthology of poems, and as you let the volume fall naturally open in your hands, it revealed a short, painfully bitter poem.

And like a dying lady, lean and pale,

Who totters forth, wrapp'd in a gauzy veil,

Out of her chamber, led by the insane

And feeble wanderings of her fading brain,

The moon arose up in the murky East,

A white and shapeless mass.

No wonder he was so gloomy if this was the kind of thing he read. With a sigh, you closed the book and laid it with the other poetry anthologies, and spent the rest of the day trying to shake the encounter from your mind.

At lunch, Naril leaned over the table and frowned. “You alight?” he asked. “You look kind of… far off…?” It was just the two of you that day, with Naril having come in from the gardens a little later than usual, and his father having already eaten.

You sniffed and blinked, not realising you’d been staring into your bowl without really seeing it. “Yeah,” you croaked. “Listen… I’ve not really asked about… this place much. Why is it called Widowsweb?”

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his lanky arms. He was tall, even for a firbolg, and that day he had scraped his long red hair back into a thin plait that hung down his back. His eyes, bright green, turned a little distant. “Apparently a dowager from the Silkfoot family had a falling out with her son, and he was so desperate to be rid of her that he exiled her here and gave the entire estate to his cousin who went with her. The two families diverged there, and never had anything else to do with each other since.”

So what Sarrigan had told you, about the two families being at least distantly related, was true. You wondered if the part about the Silkfoot family not liking humans had played a part in the disagreement. “I know one of the Silkfoots. Not well, but he’s a friend of a friend. He seems nice, but he says his family’s mostly awful.”

Naril was still watching you. “What’s brought this on?” he asked after a moment.

You took a breath and said, “I’m assuming your master is a drider then?”

Naril nodded. “Yeah. You… You didn’t know?”

You shook your head. “I hadn’t given it much thought, if I’m honest. Your father was the one who employed me and dealt with everything on behalf of your ‘master’. I… I think I met him this morning though.”

It was Naril’s turn to look a little surprised. He batted his long-lashed eyelids a few times and then barked a rough laugh. “Seriously?”

“Why is that so strange? He lives here. I find it weirder that I’ve not seen him yet.”

“He never shows himself to any of us. He lives in his wing of the house and literally never goes out. Chiara, and his valet Mason are the only two who ever interact with him directly.”

“Why?”

The firbolg’s surprise melted into something softer. “It’s said he’s cursed, but my father says that’s bollocks.”

“If he’s not cursed, then why? Why live as a recluse?” and why was he so rude?

Naril gave a half shrug and then stood, reaching across the table to collect your plate with his scuffed, scar-knuckled hand and take it to the sink. You murmured your thanks as you waited for him to speak, but he didn’t for a long time. You stood watching him, his shirt dirty and sweat stained, ripped here and there, presumably from the vicious thorns of the roses you’d glimpsed from the windows.

“He lost his wife and their entire clutch when they’d only been married a year or so,” he said at last. The splashing of water in the sink as he washed up almost masked his words, but something in your chest panged when you caught them. “People said he did it. People said he was cursed. People said his whole line was cursed.”

“People say a lot of cruel and stupid things,” a harsh, female voice interjected from the doorway behind you and you turned to find Chiara glowering at the pair of you. Naril cringed and turned his attention back to washing up. “You’d do well to ignore all of them, and repeat none,” she said, fixing her yellow eyes on you. The harpy’s tone was as sharp as her claws, and you didn’t fancy crossing her.

You nodded. You weren’t part of the staff, no matter how welcome Naril and his father had made you feel. You were here to reorganise the library, and then you were going to leave. You had been there for one out of your six contracted months already, and the task seemed gargantuan, but you were determined not to let it get the better of you. Time to get back to it.

“Chiara,” you said carefully, “We weren’t gossipping. I believe I met your master this morning, though he didn’t fully show himself to me. I just wondered who I’d met, that’s all.” With that, you turned and put your hand on Naril’s arm. “Listen, I’d better get going. Thanks for doing that,” you added with a twitch of your chin towards the soapy dishes in the sink.

He bowed his head, his large, cow-like ears waggling softly, and closed his eyes briefly. “Take care up there in the library, eh? Don’t go falling off something or lifting more than you can carry. You look worn out.”

“I am tired,” you said, cracking a yawn almost directly on cue. “I haven’t been sleeping all that well here. Could I borrow you tomorrow for half an hour or so? There’s a massive chest that’s been parked in front of a shelf and I need to move it to get to the books behind it.”

He grinned, his odd, almost feline nose twitching. One lip pulled back to reveal his blunt, herbivore’s teeth and he nodded. “Happy to lend a hand, you know that. After lunch?”

You smiled, feeling a slight heating of your cheeks, and turned for the doorway. “Thank you.”

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and you finally cleared enough shelves to begin putting the first phase of your plan for the library into action.

Three days later, though only as you tucked yourself up in bed for the night, you realised you’d left your phone behind in the library. Cursing, you knew you’d have to go back for it if you were going to get up in time the next day to start work. No one formally kept track of your hours, but your professional pride demanded that you start work at nine, and you didn't fancy sleeping through til gods-knew when, especially given your erratic sleeping patterns of late.

Dressing hastily in jeans and a t-shirt, you grabbed the back door key, with which Mr. Ambleside had entrusted you after your first week on site, and let yourself into the main house.

If Widowsweb Court was creepy in daylight, it was unfathomably eerie at night. Pipes creaked and groaned sporadically, and a draft whistled up the corridor as you fumbled along the passageway that would lead to a servants’ staircase, and eventually, emerged onto the second floor near the library.

Were it not for the light of an almost full moon beaming in through the windows along the corridor, you might have missed the library doors altogether, but as it was, they illuminated the brass fittings so that they gleamed like gold, sparkling and winking at you almost fatefully. You scoffed at the thought, and pushed into the library, the door giving its usual raucous yelp on the hinges.

“Gods, I’ve got to get Naril to look at that,” you grumbled, moving across the floor and wondering if you dared turn all the lights on. Part of you expected a hoard of ghostly spectres to be drifting around the shelves like shades through gravestones.

Before you’d gone three paces, you froze. The whisper of a page turning caught your attention, and you swallowed, heart thudding. Again, you were not alone in there.

“Who’s that?” a sharp, male voice demanded from a table at the back of the room.

“It’s me,” you replied, immediately realising how stupid a thing that was to say to someone who wouldn’t have been familiar with you. You added your name, and followed it up with, “I’m working on the library catalogue.”

“At this time of night?” the scratchy baritone growled.

“I left my phone in here,” you said weakly as you stepped around a bookshelf and found him standing behind the furthest research table from the door. You knew immediately who it was, and your heart was thudding as you wondered just how well the lord of the manor would take it that you were sneaking about his house at this hour of the night. “I need it for my alarm in the morning.”

“It’s over there on the windowsill,” he said carelessly, moonlight running along his outstretched arm like mercury. From what you could see of his body, silhouetted against the light from outside, he was unhealthily thin, and he had long hair that fell loose and unrestrained down his back. He was also huge. Sarrigan was squat, fluffy as a tarantula, and muscular, but this figure was spindly and ominous, and built like a black widow.

“Thank you,” you croaked. “I’m… I’m sorry for disturbing you.”

As you picked up your phone from the sill, you heard him clear his throat, and glanced up to see him shifting a little. He looked like a nightmare demon from a shadow-play, all legs and pendulous body, but something about the angle of his head gave you pause.

He took a slow, rasping inhale. “How… is the work going?”

“Slowly,” you said with a rueful smile. “Mr. Ambleside might be a little out of touch with the collection… It’s larger than I was expecting.”

After a pregnant pause, the drider snorted softly and you broke into a nervous laugh at the innocuously-spoken innuendo.

“Anyway, on that note, I’ll leave you to it. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he said and you watched him walk towards the window. As he moved, you realised what was unnerving about him. One of his legs was missing. Where most driders had eight legs, he had only seven.

You thought about him all the way back to your accommodation, and even after you’d set your phone on your bedside table and lain back to stare at the ceiling, the master of the house still occupied your thoughts.

The next morning, you found your feet taking you to that furthest table, and there you discovered that a book had been left open.

The poem that graced these pages was older by many centuries than the one about the moon. It was written in a language that had long evolved beyond recognition, but you stared at it and trailed your fingers down the verse, murmuring the words aloud in the Old Tongue. It was one you’d studied at university during one of your shorter modules, and you barely remembered any of its translation.

Oft him anhaga are gebideð,

metudes miltse, þeah þe he modcearig

geond lagulade longe sceolde

hreran mid hondum hrimcealde sæ

wadan wræclastas. Wyrd bið ful aræd!

You frowned, muttering words aloud until you’d muddled out a tiny bit of it. “Often, the one who is alone finds grace for himself, the… mercy…? The mercy of the lord? Although he, sorrow hearted… heavy hearted?”

“‘Sorrow-hearted’ works,” came a now-familiar voice from behind you and you jumped, nearly knocking the book from the table. This time you turned to find the drider advancing on you in full view.

Slowly, you let your eyes slide up his body to his face. He wore a crisp white shirt that looked like it had never been worn, the stark, monochrome contrast with his black spider’s body almost jarring. His hair was black, with a thick streak of bright, blood red falling around the right hand side of his face, which was gaunt and sallow, with dark shadows beneath his four red eyes. Around his right two eyes, his white skin was stained dark - almost purple - down his face and a little way onto neck, the birthmark looking like a swirl of watercolour. He blinked slowly at you, as if expecting something; waiting for you to say something rude or thoughtless.

With a start, you remembered the poem, and turned back to it. “Was this what you were reading last night?”

“Mmm. You’ve studied the Old Tongue I take it?” he said, and you turned to find him approaching slowly.

You tried not to let your gaze snag on the void where his leg should have been, and instead looked at the text again. “A little, and it was a while ago. I’m rusty… I think I remember this one. It’s called The Wanderer, isn’t it?”

He nodded, his hair sliding forwards like a black theatre curtain to hide his sunken face. “Not going to chide me for leaving it unshelved?” he sneered as he turned and headed once again for the back of the library. “I never did like librarians, you know?”

Grinding your teeth, and forcing yourself not to snap something rude at the person who was technically your employer, you said, “I’m an archivist, and this is your collection, not mine. One book being out of place is hardly going to though the whole thing into chaos, is it?”

He froze, on the point of leaving, and with an almost theatrical slowness, he turned to regard you. After fixing you with his eerie, red stare, he lifted one side of his upper lip and snarled, “I suppose not.”

And with that, he left you alone and unnerved again.

Work progressed at a glacial pace on the library, but you eventually moved from poetry to non-fiction: travel journals and histories, geographical texts and maps.

Naril grabbed you one bright, weekend morning after breakfast and dragged you out into the gardens for the first time. The two of you spent a couple of glorious hours touring the kitchen garden, the walled garden, the rose garden, the knot garden, and finally the orchards and arboretum. As the pair of you walked, hot and honestly quite tired, back up to the house for refreshments, your eyes naturally found their way to the library windows that overlooked the terrace and lawn at the back of the house, and you were surprised to find them flung open.

You paused and scowled.

“What?” Naril asked. “What’s wrong?”

“I was sure I closed the windows last night…” you murmured.

“Maybe the master is in there,” he said. “You know, I think you’ve seen him more than I have now. What’s he like?”

“Sad.” That was the first word that came to mind. “He strikes me as someone who’s incredibly sad. I’ve only seen him three times now, but each time he seemed so bitter and prickly. It’s like he’s curious about what I’m doing in there, but he doesn’t want to talk to me too much.”

You passed beneath the windows and slid into the house, sighing as the air of the cool stone passage wafted over your sun-warmed skin. No more than an hour later, you found yourself back in the library, but the master wasn’t there and the window was shut again. Easing yourself down into a comfortable chair beside the casement, you let your head loll against the back, and wondered if he ever set foot outside. If Naril was to be believed, the drider never left the confines of his wing for anything other than quick trips to the library.

After a while, you found your eyes drooping, and you inhaled deeply, letting the weight of a doze seep through you like the warmth of a hot bath.

A noise stirred you, and you opened your eyes to find that the light had changed to the vibrant magenta of a clear sunset, and that you were not alone. Squinting at the shelf, with his face far closer to the books than yours needed to be to read the titles, was the lord of Widowsweb Court.

You watched him in silence for a moment, not sure if he knew you were there or not, and took in the lines of his black legs - skinny, barbed, and deadly. The chair creaked as you sat up straighter, and he whipped around, dropping the book with a bang onto the floorboards and rearing up, his front legs rising like lances ready to strike.

“Sorry,” you gasped. “I didn’t mean to make you jump. I didn’t know you hadn’t heard me.”

As he lowered himself back down, you looked up into his face and the expression you found there made your heart stop. He looked furious. “Get out,” he barked. “If you’re not working in here, get out.”

Without another word, you rose and fled the room as sedately as you could muster.

Part Three --->

To be continued next Wednesday… Part Three is currently up on Patreon so you can read it right now on the Pixies and Goblins Tier.

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

#drider #male drider #exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster x human #drider x human #male drider x female reader

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admelioraii · 3 years

Text

Al Andalus II: One of the world’s greatest civilizations; Times of glory, Part 2.

Previous parts:

Al Andalus I: The dawn of one of the world’s greatest civilizations.

Al Andalus II: One of the world’s greatest civilizations; Times of Glory, Part 1.

Al Andalus II: One of the world’s greatest civilizations; Times of Glory, Part 2.

Al Andalus III: One of the world’s greatest civilizations; The Downfall and end, Part 1.

Al Andalus III: One of the world’s greatest civilizations; The Downfall and end, Part 2.

Córdoba

II. The following Two great Abd al Rahman

Repentant and apologetic, Al Hakam I, as said earlier, put his kindest and wisest son as a successor. This kind and wise son was Abd al Rahman II (the middle one)(822-852 AC.).

Garden in Spain

Abd al Rahman II (the middle one)(822-852 AC.)

He would prove to be the best gift Al Hakam II could ever give to the citizens of al Andalus. Abd al Rahman (the middle one) reorganised the country's economy and made sure that there were no poor people in al Andalus. As most of the Umayyad Emirs, he had a love for knowledge, he promoted scholars and academics, which is why we heard about scholars like Abbas ibn Firnas during his rule.

Abbas ibn Firnas; inventor of glass, the first airplane, devices to tell time, and the father of the predecessor of the pen.

Abd al Rahman II also fought a constant battle with the christian northern provinces. In his reign, Seville was attacked by Vikings, and as a result of this attack he ordered the construction of the so-called “Great wall of Seville”. This wall was built as extra protection to the already existing wall to safeguard the city and the “Guadalquivir” river and its outflow in the atlantic ocean.

Another accomplishment worth mentioning is the introduction of a new irrigation system which was a genius invention at the time. He was also responsible for paving all the streets in the country. After 30 years of successful rule, Abd el Rahman the “middle one” died, and with his death came a steep decline in the country.

* Muhammad I

(852-886 AC.)

* Al Mundir

(886-888 AC.) only ruled for two years

* Abd Allah

(888-912 AC.) Grandfather of Abd al Rahman III, as his son Muhammad II died before taking the throne.

Medina Azahara, Córdoba

Abd al Rahman III (the victorious)(912-961 AC., The first calipha)

Top of the glory:

After several weak rulers, and years of focus on side issues, the country was falling apart. Abd Allah had seen his son and successor Muhammad II die an early death, he then put all his hopes and energy in raising his grandson; Abd al Rahman the victorious.

In the history of al Andalus, there were three Emirs called Abd al Rahman, all of which were the greatest rulers of the country. It is difficult to compare one to another, all three were extremely good rulers, wise and kind. All of them brought great fortune, peace and prosperity to the county. Each and every one of them got a nickname, and were loved by the citizens. Nevertheless, the accomplishments of the last Abd al Rahman, the victorious, were something else altogether.

Rise to the throne:

When Abd al Rahmen III rose to the throne instead of his father, he was only 22 years old. As previously mentioned, he was educated by his grandfather, Abd Allah ibn Muhammed, who succeeded well in raising him. Abd al Rahman III was well educated, and had a lot of self-confidence.

The situation in the country, on the other hand, was in ruins. Very little remained of the great al Andalus, and many provinces had claimed independence from the rest of the country. It was time to reorganise and reunite al andalus.

Abd al Rahmen III started with substituting Córdobas corrupt officials. The second step was dealing with the governor of Seville, Omar ibn Hafsun, who had taken matters into his own hands, and confiscated part of the country’s army for himself. He had gone even further and became independent from the rest of the country, earning his living trading with Morocco and the christian northern provinces. Abd al Rahman’s army disconnected his roots to Morocco and the north, in an attempt to cut Omar off his supplies. After months of struggle, the negotiations started and Omar soon gave in.

Seville and Jaén once again joined al Andalus. The provinces north of Córdoba that also were independent, were having constand wars with León and Navarra (the christian provinces). As a clever way of winning their trust, Abd al Rahman, brought his army, and joined the fight on the Muslims side.

Together they fought off the enemy, and the northern provinces came to the realisation that they could not survive alone. Finally they understood who their real enemy was. Shortly after, they too joined the rest of al Andalus.

Great Achievements:

With the wise tactics, fights, and diplomacy, Abd al Rahman the victorious succeeded in reuniting the whole country back to its original size, as it was in the time of general Musa. Even Aragon (Barcelona, etc.), were won back (they were lost under Al Hakam I’s rule). The last surprise was when he brought his army to fight the “Northern Provinces”.

After 6 months of battle, Abd al Rahman's army achieved great victory, and the losing provinces now agreed on paying Gizia (explained in II: Part 1).

All of these achievements were accomplished before Abd al Rahman was 33 years of age.

What he had achieved so far was exceptional and significant, and it would be more than enough to make him a prominent illustrious ruler, but Abd al Rahman's accomplishments did not stop here. Córdoba under his rule would perhaps have been the second largest city in the world, with half a million inhabitants. Baghdad, the world's most populated city, counted 2 million.

He increased the cultivation of fruits, cotton, wheat, and more. Something peculiar is that he ordered that each article had its own market, thus, one market for meat, one for gold, one for flowers, etc.

The police system was reorganised and there was a special department for the day, and another for the night. A special one for businesses, and one for marine police.

The library of Córdoba was expanded from having 4,000 books, to possessing 400,000 books. Furthermore, he instructed the copying of books by scribers, to facilitate the obtention of books for scholars and others and in that way spreading knowledge.

The presence of researchers was a new phenomenon developed during the Abd al Rahman III era. He oversaw the construction of the city of Zahra, and its castles. The city was built for everyone; workers, scholars, and of course, the castle was for the Emir and his family.

The construction of mosques also saw its climax, and the city of cordoba alone counted 3,000 mosques in that time.

The rise of the Ottomas:

Back to the Abbasids, who took the power and assassinated the Umayyads, with time, they had become weak, and the Ottomans (turkey) took over, this time, Abd al Rahman saw his chance, and declared independence from the Ottoman empire, and became himself, Andalucías first Calipha. At the end of Abd al Rahman the victorious’s reign, he even added Septa and Tangier to the list of provinces he had won, and they became united with al Andalus.

He was satisfied and peaceful. When Abd al Rahman took his last breath, Córdoba was called “The diamond of the world”. Al Andalus had now, thanks to him, become the strongest country in the world.

Mezquita catedral de córdoba

Al Hakam II (961-976 AC.)

The son of Abd al Rahman the Victorious was, as many of his forefathers, extremely interested in knowledge, books and education. As many of his predecessors, he surrounded himself with scholars.

During his reign, the great library of Córdoba had as many books as the library of Baghdad. The whole western world came to al Andalus for knowledge. Most of the kings of european countries, sent their children to study at al Andaluz, all the different subjects were given in Arabic, as Arabic was the world’s leading language.

Another interesting detail, as the men were busy with work, the women were the ones that studied more, and were exceptionally well educated. Furthermore, there was no one in al Andalus that was illiterate, everyone could read and write.

In the time of Hakam II, all Morocco united with al Andalus, not as a result of war, but because of the greatness of the country. Al hakam II, it has to be said, was not a great army leader, in that aspect he lived and died in the shadow of the great achievements of his father, the great Abd al Rahman.

* Hisham II

(976-1009 AC.)

* Al Mansor

(976-1009 AC.)

Conclusion:

The glory and prosperity in al Andalus had now reached its peak. Never before, or after, had the iberian peninsula experienced similar stability, prosperity, and wealth in all aspects of life.

Health, education, trade, cultivation, construction (of new cities), roads, ships, harbours, bridges, paved streets, locks, dams etc. Beauty (gardens, castles, and mosques) and new inventions.

All the different religious groups (muslims, jews, christians), ethnical groups and/or races of the society (arabs, berber, original spaniards, etc.), lived together in harmony, without discrimination; something that we could still learn from today.

The iberian peninsula had become a paradise on earth, and al Andalus the strongest country in the world!

When reaching the top, there is only one way forwards, downwards. With great beauty comes great pain.

#al andalus #spain #history #cordoba #muslims #ottomans #Alzahra #mezquita #catedral #masjid #cathedral #religion #writers on tumblr #writers #writblr

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springtimebat · 3 years

Text

The Autumn Meeting (3/4)

Abram bounces up and down on the spot, his scales dancing across his forehead, his mouth a giant grin, teeth as sharp as knives.

“You’re gonna love it so much guys! You don’t understand! It’s probably the best thing I’ve ever conjured.”

“Just get it over with Abe,” Emil whines, checking a small clock in his breast pocket, “We’re already behind schedule.”

Abe stops dead and wraps his fins around his chest.

“Are you always this mean?” The Queen asks, shaking her head at Abram who stares at the floor.

“You’ve read about us, or so you say. Why don’t you tell me?”

The Queen rolls her eyes. Abram gives a wistful sigh. Gus, a disembodied head in the leaves, squeaks in a strange nonsense language that makes his friends smile.

“Start from the beginning this time Abram. I don’t want a repeat of the mermaid incident.”

“The mermaid incident?” The Queen asks

“He started from the middle. The girl already owned legs, yet she still longed for them.”

“That was one time!” Abram huffed, “Now is everyone settled? Or do you need to shout at me some more?”

All three attendants nod.

“Okay, now I’ll start.” He turned to their guest, “Your majesty, you might wanna cover your ears for the first few minutes. The beginning may be a bit muffled but many have been known to go deaf when I slip into my other voice.”

“Another voice?”

“You’ll see,” He grins. And so the third tale of the night begins at four in the afternoon:

{The Two Beings}

There were once two beings

One was of greys, blacks and whites

He lived amongst royalty

Survived in their courts

He never quite belonged

So he also held company with lower beings

Of slime and muck and grit

As the first being grew strong on their discarded remains

He left the royalty and the courts

And ruled along the paper margins of Fairy

Soon after he developed an interest in humans

A hobby many found unhealthy

He’d follow them around

Watched them

Children seemed to be the only humans that would listen to the ruler’s prattling

The being did not mind

For they were interesting

They filled a void that slime could not

Then

One day

The ruler met a second being

The second being was one of light

Of blues, greens, reds and pinks

She was human

She belonged to the upper wall

And she lived her life in chains

As bright and as ordinary as the ruler was dark, stark and strange

She spent her days alone

Hiding her beauty from the rest of the world

An assistant to twin brothers

Frogs

Toads

She was left to feed off of scraps

And to be whipped by a cruel guardian

The first being found his counterpart one night

One lonely night

Peering through his window

He caught her exhausted in rags

Torn at the hem

Hair bushy

Face muddy from soot

And of course

He immediately fell in love with her

So he began his pursuit

Observing her from his own realm

She was everything he was not

Everything he lacked

A great regard for life danced in her forget-me-not eyes

It was a short

Almost too short

Time

before the ruler of the muck and slime was certain she would be a suitable bride

And his determination grew

He’d leave tributes on her bedroom sill;

Pine cones, leaves, twigs and rocks

Each one she took from him

A special pieces of his soul

She tucked them all away

Never to be seen again

The girl ignored him

Acted as if he were not there

And so the challenge went on...

“Exeunt.”

Abram smiles, looking around the campgrounds for a response. Guy whistles and The Queen gives her second clap of the day. Emil, unchanging, shakes his head. Before he can respond, Abram begins again.

“I’m working on the middle...and the beginning…and the ending.”

“Obviously,” Emil snarks.

“Wait I’m confused,” The Queen stutters, “Was there an ending?”

“No,” Abram replies, confused, “Why would there be?”

“This is a workshop, your majesty. A story doesn’t need an ending if you don’t want it to.”

“I know it’s awful,” Abram frowns, anxious tears forming in his eyes like beads of smoked glass.

“I was thinking of adding a subplot with some gremlin people. Like, a parallel romance story line to kinda act as a comedic escape from all the existentialism-”

“Ah yes that would be very fine,” Emil grins, “Very fine indeed Abe my boy!”

“Y-yeah! I also thought maybe...you could help me with uh… some world building and structure and stuff. So it flows naturally.”

“Hmm, good idea. Good idea Abram.” Emil rolls his head back to the fire, which is starting to die out, “Say Abe, can you answer a question I have about your story?”

“Sure!”

“Is your story, perhaps, based on a particular person in this group tonight?”

Abram rolls his eyes, “It ain’t about you Emillian.”

“No not me you fool! Is it based on our guest of honour over there?”

The Queen’s eyes grow wide. Abram says nothing and begins to stare down at his feet again.

Emil smirks triumphantly, “Thought so.”

Gus’ thigh gives a little creak in the darkening wilderness.

“I know that Gus, but how many of those queens are sitting down here with us tonight?”

Gus shrugs a shoulder, giving up.

“Last year, you told me to be spontaneous,” Abram mumbles, “Now here I am, making up prose as I go, and you hate it.”

“I don’t hate it, Abe my boy! I just find it intolerable.”

Abram groans. The Queen sighs in annoyance.

“I’m terribly sorry for existing, sir.” She mutters.

“Good. You should be. But since you’re here you can give Abram some pointers for his story. Make yourself useful.”

“Pointers? What pointers could she give me?”

“She’s a queen you dolt! She knows all about rulers! She’s gonna marry one!”

“Oh yeah! Hey I do need help on the characters innermost fears and desires! Being stuck underwater most of the year makes you miss out on courtly endeavours.”

With that, Abram shuffles closer to the Queen’s makeshift throne. As the group reorganises, a high screech flies through the air above their heads, causing them to lift their eyes to the treetops. The Queen shudders and pulls her shawl tighter around her shoulders. Her dress shifts slightly. Only slightly. But it’s enough for the men to notice how her stomach swells underneath the fabric.

“So that’s it then,” Emil grimaces, “A bouncing baby boy. That’s why he’s marrying you.”

The Queen gives a warm smile and strokes her stomach with one hand, “He’s three months old.”

“A big thing for three months.”

A softer, yet hungrier scream pierces the forest and the queen goes back to hugging her cloak.

“It’s the corridors.”

“The corridors?”

“Yes. They’ve discovered I’m gone. They’ll be coming soon. How long will this take?”

“As long as we want it to.”

“My husband will be here soon and-”

“Exactly! That’s what we want to talk to you about. Now quick fussing! Abram! Ask one question now. We still have one story to get through.”

Abram grins, “What do you think of purity?”

“Purity?” The Queen repeats, taken aback.

“Yes, purity.”

The Queen swallows, “Purity, at least the ideas most people have about purity, are phantoms. Babes, the pure ones, the prideful ones, can handle cruelty in their stride. They hold glass shards in their eyes. Beware the little ones; they’ll devour your heart with knives, forks and all. The phantoms, these small shadows of ideas, lead you on and ensnare you in a pretty bear trap marked with flowers. Mark my words, the pure ones will eat you clean.”

The men stare at her. She shrugs her shoulders.

“It’s something my mother used to say to me.”

“Hmm,” Emil turns to Abram, “That has nothing to do with the King my boy. Ask another one about the king.”

“Oh no, please don’t! I don’t think-”

“Why? What do you not want us to find out? That he eats babies too?”

“Nothing! It’s just he told me things. Important secrets you only tell the person you wish to marry.”

“What things? What important secrets?”

“We were sat on the screen porch one day-”

“The what?”

“The screen porch. It’s a balcony in the castle, hidden away with an invisible tarp.”

“What’s its purpose?”

“The glass hides the rest of the world. Puts it on its side. And it keeps the insects out. The panels are covered in their eyeballs and guts-”

“How gruesome!”

“The king, an insect grower!”

“Imagine!”

“And a competent one at that!”

“The nerve of the rogue!”

“The view makes up for it. On that day of secrets, we were watching a sunset, spying on the angels.”

“Hmmph, angels!”

“Yes. The King was talking about angels, demons and the like-”

“Typical monarch!”

“He likes to discuss things that he can’t keep in cages.”

“Particularly to things he’s managed to trap.”

“Indeed, I suppose some would see it that way. I find talk of immortality fascinating.”

“You would, you immortal.”

“Future immortal. We were just finishing dessert when the king grabbed my hand and began to stroke the creases in my palm. When I looked up at him he said, “You know what I wish for? More than anything in the world?” I just said I could guess but I’d probably be wrong.”

“How humble of you.”

“He stopped for a moment and gazed up at the sun, on its last legs. Then he swallowed and looked back at me. He told me his biggest secret then.”

“And now you will tell us, three old pedallers. You will tell us an immortal’s Achilles heel?”

“Yes, I don’t see why not.”

“Very well child.”

“He turned and said-”

“What? What girl?”

“Isn’t it obvious? A soul.”

“A soul?”

“At first, I thought he had something caught in his throat. Like, he meant to say “soldier” or “solar panels”. Anything other than a soul.”

“Oh how perfectly ludicrous! An immortal obsessed with souls! That explains you finally. You’re his pet soul. A human girl he can point and laugh at.”

“I point and laugh at him much more than you realise. I didn’t laugh at him on this particular day. On soul day. I just hugged him.”

“And that right there is why he tolerates you. That’s why he wraps you in cotton wool and keeps you locked up with him. That’s why he smothers you with heavy brick walls.”

“Maybe so. It’s also the reason he asked for my hand.”

“That’s why he asked for your wrist. What’s your reason?”

“For our marriage?”

“Yes, sod it all, what was your reason for saying yes to him?”

“Well, I said yes because I love him and I was lonely. And he loves me and is lonely. That’s how these things tend to work.”

“Why do you love him?”

“Obviously because he’s the grower of insects!”

“I suppose that’s a requirement then? To love a king?”

“That and a pretty sunset.”

“How trivial.”

Suddenly, Abram gives a giant huff. Everyone turns back to him, kicking his legs in the dirt.

“Sure! Sure! It’s fine when Emil interrupts me but when I interrupt his story to ask a simple question. Oh no! Blasphemy! I’m a degenerate! You know what Emillian? I like my story as it is! No subplots, no ending, no superfluous detail, nothing! I don’t need any of this nonsense! What kind of king just sits in a giant flytrap all day, eating babies and wishing about souls and angels and demons and…ugh! I’m done with this Emillian! It took me twenty years to be invited here and I always get treated like mud. But this takes the cake! Enjoy your new companion. I’m going to where I’ll be respected. That’s what I’m doing! Hang around the royalty you despise. Enjoy yourself.” Abram starts stomping away, then stops, picking up a piece of Gus’ chest plate, “And I’m taking Gussie with me!”

He gives a growl then leaves, ignoring the groups’ stunned silence as he gives himself to the shadows.

“Should we go after him or-”

“No. He’ll be back. He just needs to cool off.” Emil replies, gazing up at the sky. The sun was beginning to set and the shadows were getting stronger.

“We haven’t got much more time,” The Queen explains, “The king will probably start searching the woods soon and he hates it when I go out on my own-”

“Very well,” Emil interrupts, calmly, “Start your story now. Abram will have to miss out just this once. Poor old guy.”

The Queen sighs with relief and rests back into her throne.

On the outskirts of the never ending forest, encased in smoke, shadows and carcasses, the city of tomorrow outstretches a wary leg. It has waited patiently. It has called her name for hours. Now it will wait no more. After a moment of hesitation, it slips into the trees, merely a grotesque silhouette.

#creative writing #my story #ongoing series #part three of four #fantasy #horror #surrealism #surrealist #parallel worlds #monsters #cryptids #cryptidcore #weirdcore #oddcore #american gothic #southern gothic #nonsense fiction

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thecatprince · 4 years

Text

Stages and Stars

First | Previous | Next

Read on AO3

Pairings: Eventual Prinxiety, Eventual Logicality

Summary: Roman waits anxiously to know if he got a part in the local play.

Warnings: None

Authors Notes: Hi I am not dead!! Sorry for the wait for this chapter, but I hope you enjoy it! Also ignore any mistakes I may make in the future concerning the show Wicked, I have no idea why I chose it because I know next to nothing about it and should’ve probably gone with a show I am more familiar with but here we are!

reblogs > likes

----

Chapter Five - Roman’s Success

Roman stared at his laptop, constantly refreshing his emails, bouncing his leg to try and calm himself down. He was waiting to know whether or not he got into the community musical.

Despite his confidence in his acting he was feeling uncertain about getting in. Virgil kept glancing over at him as he sipped his coffee, but Roman ignored him. Logan was in his room, reading most likely or working on some top secret project or whatever he was hiding. He had been surprisingly protective about people going into his room. Patton had once almost gone in as he was cleaning up the apartment to drop some books of Logan’s off and Logan almost tackled Patton away. No one was interested in going into Logan’s room after that, although Roman was exceedingly curious to know what Logan was hiding.

Patton was humming and dancing around the kitchen as he baked. He was almost constantly baking, and while Roman wasn’t complaining because the smell was heavenly and the results were delicious, he did wonder how Patton could do it day in day out. Roman got bored after a couple of minutes. Cooking on the other hand Roman enjoyed. He was able to taste as he went and add his own flair. Baking you had to measure everything out and if it wasn’t exact then it messed the whole thing up. But everything Patton made was delicious and his baking brought a sense of warmth and homeliness to the apartment, and made Patton happy, so Roman didn’t really have a problem with it.

Roman stared at the screen, which still hadn’t shown any new emails. He didn’t notice his leg bouncing was causing the whole table to shake until Virgil’s coffee splashed him. “Hey Princey, chill out, you’re causing my coffee to spill,” Virgil said, his tone half playful half serious. Roman took a deep breath and moved to lie on the couch. He picked up the book he was reading and opened it, but he couldn’t focus enough to take in the words. He sighed, put the book down and stared out the window. The sky was a solid grey, and the trees shook in the wind. It looked how Roman felt, bleak and cold, the nerves and excitement churning in his stomach. He needed a distraction.

Roman stood up and went into his room. He usually read when he needed to be distracted, but his emotions were too overwhelming to fully concentrate on reading words on a page. He popped on headphones and turned on his music. The familiar tunes of his favourite musicals surrounded him, and he began to clean his room. Roman always struggled with wanting to be able to control his life, which created so many problems for him given how out of control his life always seemed to be.

Roman made his bed, smoothing out the sheets and piling the plethora of blankets he slept under on top. He picked the clothes off of his floor and chucked them in a basket to be put in the wash later. He cleared his desk/vanity (he really needed a better space to do his makeup) and then sat down in front of his bookshelf. He took all of the books off of it, and then started to reorganise them. He didn’t really have a theme for his books, he just put them wherever felt right, as long as series and authors went together. Many of his books where slightly tattered from all of the times Roman had read them, while other newer books were in a bit better condition. It wasn’t that Roman didn’t take care of his books, for he did, he just liked to read as much as possible, on the train, on the beach, while eating, and so as a result his books just got a little more wear and tear than perhaps a casual readers books. Also Roman loved to reread books he loved, which meant that certain books looked a little more worse for wear than others.

One particularly battered book was his copy of Anne of Green Gables. The book was a small paperback, with the original text and an illustrated cover, depicting a redheaded girl clutching a book to her chest in front of a large white and green house. The spine was all bent, and one of the corners of the cover had come off completely, exposing the pages behind it. The pages themselves looked a little water damaged, but the main text of the book was largely unharmed. It was one of Roman’s absolute favourite books, the one he read for comfort, so much so that he could basically recite portions of it.

He wasn’t sure why he loved the book so much. It could be the way it was written, with a classic early twentieth century style that made everything sound oh so wonderful. It could be the endearing character of Anne, a talkative imaginative girl, who seemed to strike a note in the hearts of those around her, and who Roman found a portion of himself reflected in. It could be the delightful nature of the story, the little adventures and accidents that Anne found herself in. Whatever it was, the book brought great comfort to Roman, who had spent many days of his childhood holed up in his room, devouring this book again and again. It provided as much comfort to him as a childhood toy or a blanket.

With his bookshelf reorganised, his mind was once again free to wander back to the musical. He needed a role in this so badly, so much it hurt. He needed them to like him, needed them to notice him, because if they didn’t then… then… it didn’t matter what happened as long as it didn’t happen. He just needed to get a part in the play and then everything will be fine.

He sat on his floor for a couple of minutes, tired from the tidying, and just stared at his bookshelf, admiring his large collection of books. A knock on the door broke him out of his stupor, and a voice followed.

“Hey Princey, you have an email.”

Roman shot up, quickly opened the door and ran right into Virgil who was standing right outside his room, causing both of them to go crashing to the ground. Roman flushed, embarrassed, and quickly got off of Virgil, offering his hand to help him up. Virgil brushed him off, and got up himself, wincing slightly as he did so.

“Sorry,” Roman said sheepishly. Virgil shrugged, appearing rather nonchalant about the whole ordeal, though he still moved rather tenderly.

“Just go read that stupid email.” Roman nodded and ran over to his laptop, thankfully not bumping into anyone else on the way. He opened the email, and read through it as quickly as he could, then reread it because he didn’t actually take anything in the first time.

“HEY PAT I GOT IN!!” Roman yelled, jumping up and down in excitement. Patton ran over, dusting the flour off his hands with his apron. “And as Fiyero Tiggelaar no less,” Roman exclaimed dramatically, striking an extravagant pose. “That’s one of the lead male roles,” he added after seeing Patton’s confused face.

“Congratulations Roman! I am sure you will do a great job!” Patton said, clapping his hands. Virgil on the other hand, snorted and crossed his arms, looking at Roman with amusement. Roman glared at him. “What are you laughing at, Emo Nightmare?” “Nothing, just that stupid pose. And you have already used that nickname. Congrats Princey. Though maybe next time don’t knock me over.”

Roman gave a rather haughty look, but let it go. “Thank you… I think. And there is nothing wrong with this pose or my nicknames, JD-lightful. And… uh… sorry about that.”

Virgil shrugged. “It’s chill. You only broke a couple of ribs, nothing major.” Virgil said playfully. Roman noticed a glint in his eye and was about to respond with a clever remark, but was distracted by Logan finally emerging from his room.

“What is all this noise about?”

“Roman got a part in the show the local theatre group is doing!” Patton said excitedly.

“Well congratulations Roman, but could you all please keep the noise down? I am trying to read.”

“Sorry Logan but no can do! I was born for the stage and I must make my achievements heard!”

“Hey Logan, while you are out here would you like have some of these peanut butter cookies I just made. We can have them in celebration of Roman’s success!”

Logan sighed, but smiled at the offer. Roman smiled at Patton, who went over to the bench and brought over a tray of cookies that had just come out the oven.

“You know, I knew a friend who was in a theatre production about English Language Puns,” Patton said as he passed the tray around.

“Were they? How interesting,” Logan commented as he took a cookie.

“Oh yes. It was a play on words!” Patton gave a little giggle at his pun. Logan looked unimpressed, but he smiled a little as he bit into his cookie.

“I also knew an actor who fell through the floor.”

“Were they alright?” Logan asked, cautious of the direction this was going.

“Don’t worry, it was just a stage he was going through!” This was met with hearty laughs from Roman, sighs from Logan and amused looks from Virgil.

“Well thank you for the cookies, Patton, they are quite delicious!” Roman declared, kicking his feet up on the chair next to him.

“It’s no problem! Congratulations on the part! Or should I say, congrat-shoe-lations!” When this was met with no response Patton continued. “You know, the silver shoes that Dorothy finds, belonging to the Wicked Witch of the East… who is also a witch of Oz like the Wicked Witch of the West… never mind.”

“It was a horrible pun but a valiant effort, Patton,” Roman said, smiling. “And now I must be off. I need to go down to the library to return some well over due books. Gosh those fines are expensive.”

“Wait Roman before you go can you return some books for me too?” Logan asked, running into his room and returning with a couple of books. Roman nodded, putting them in his bag before dashing out the door.

“Well, those two seem to be getting along,” Virgil murmured as Logan went back into his room.

“They sure are,” Patton said, a weird look on his face, but before Virgil had any time to decipher what that look meant it was gone, and Patton was smiling once more, leaving Virgil to wonder if he had imagined it.

---

What is wrong with Patton? What is Logan hiding? Is it important? Only time will tell....

Let me know what you thought of this chapter!!

Tag List - send me an ask if you want to added or removed!

@patton-cake @alias290

#cat writes #stages and stars au #prinxiety #logicality #human au #sanders sides fanfiction #ask to tag

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ottostherapy · 4 years

Text

How to not be an adult - Returning to Hogwarts

Severus Snape x OC

a/n: A Snape appreciation month story for week 1, which I am a little late to (due to recent events, keep strong!) (and the exam I have coming up), where Snape is supposed to become a happy motherfucker burrito of joy. Unfortunately I got carried away writing this, so it will be more than one part and I haven’t finished yet, but who doesn’t like a little anticipation? no? okay, auther out.

post-war au, where Snape survives and returns to teaching at Hogwarts. After disappearing for almost four month, he has to face the new headmistress Minerva McGonagall.

warnings: angst, drinking

word count: 1377

(gif’s not mine, of course)

His hands were trembling as he reached for the single parchment roll, he had laid out days ago with the intent of writing this letter.

Dreading, he stared at the blank space, at the quill and the inkwell. The letter wasn’t going to write itself, but he surely wouldn’t be able to put down a decent word either.

It took him long before he finally picked up the device. The crackle and rustle of the nearby fireplace distracted him yet soothed his whirling mind and his shaking limbs.

He managed to put down a single sentence:

Do you still want me?

It didn’t need further explanation, she knew his hand-writing, she knew his owl and she potentially knew his troubled mind.

Severus rolled up the paper, stood from his wooden chair and tied the letter to the rustic, mud-brown owl.

“Bring this to Minerva”, he demanded. The owl nudged his finger as if he had forgotten something. Severus roamed the pockets of his pants for the vial with the treat he had cooked for Darcy.

He watched her fly off into the bitter night, resting himself on the living room couch. He immediately dozed off.

“Severus!”

It was the 25th of August 1998, Severus had gotten a short letter back. I’m expecting you at Hogwarts on the 26th. He was early, indeed, eager to get away from the place he grew up. Instead he had planned on staying at Hogsmeade.

He bowed his head. Madame Rosmerta stood behind the bar as his dark figure stepped down the staircase.

“Firewhiskey?”, she asked, knowing him all-too-well.

Severus nodded, sitting down at the other side of the counter.

Rosmerta smiled, humming as she poured the orange liquor into a glass.

“Thank you.” Severus tried a smile. He downed the glass at once. The familiar burn in his throat gave him comfort and – if he were to drink another one – the courage he needed for now.

So he ended up having maybe one or two glasses too many, the affirmation of not being received as a Death Eater by Hogsmeade population and visitors and utter confusion as to what time it was on the next morning.

Severus was relieved on the one hand – Madame Rosmerta had to tell him over and over again, that they knew he did everything following Albus Dumbledore’s order – and devastated on the other hand, because he had done all these things, no matter the greater purpose. He was also still abnormally confused how he survived Nagini’s attack, the Dark Lord’s loyal snake, he hadn’t found the right occasion to ask.

Given there were only two people he assumed were able to guess, one of which he would see today, the other one being dead, he didn’t really have the chance to ask them yet anyway.

Severus entered rebuilt Hogwarts at nine o’ clock prompt. Usually the professors arrived throughout the afternoon, Severus however had always been one to come early.

He enjoyed the silence of the stone halls without any reverberating shoes of student’s or co-workers.

Today it felt lonely, he felt lonely. He didn’t even know if he was going to teach Potions or Defence against the Dark Arts. Maybe even Transfiguration, now that Minerva McGonnagall was Headmistress, he highly doubted that though.

Severus strolled through the hallways, not a specific destiny in mind. His head was throbbing from the night and his heart was aching for human interaction.

He had spent four months in the company of an owl, vanishing wood and his mind, he was in desperate need of a change.

Before he realised, Severus stood in front of the wooden door, that once was Albus’ office. Hesitantly he knocked on the door.

Seconds passed, they felt like hours to Severus, until the door swung open.

Much to his surprise Minerva stood in front of the spiral staircase, lowering her wand. Her eyes traced his gaunt body and the wrinkles at her forehead increased.

“Severus, please come in.” Minerva’s voice croaked. She herself looked skinnier, unhealthier than before, but who didn’t really? It was good seeing her, wrinkles and weight aside.

They went upstairs. The office was quite unrecognisable. The portraits were reorganised – he greeted a few of them – the Pensieve was relocated in front of a large window, he didn’t remember. Minerva’s heavy, wooden desk stood next to the large window he did remember, the Sorting Hat sat enthroned on an olive mannequin. To his left stood a round table, circled by four armchairs.

Minerva summoned two services of tea and a pot, pouring the liquid. “Herbs, of course, sage and fennel”, she stated.

“Thank you”, Severus muttered. Minerva’s and his’ friendship had always been peculiar, to say the least. It had felt like rivalry to him, most of the time, inciting rivalry. Then they had moments like these, silent sympathy – in the haze of a glass of whiskey or wine, both of them greatly enjoyed red wine, outspoken sympathy – in which Severus found himself thinking he could not wish for a better colleague, for a better friend than her.

“May I?” Severus gestured towards the armchairs, motioning to take a seat, but – and it took even the previous headmasters in their frames by surprise – Minerva led out a sob and threw her arms around him.

Severus tensed; he had never seen Minerva lose her composure like that. She had fallen to her knees, she had screamed, yes, to the death of people dear to her heart, but he was – more or less – alive and a few seconds ago, he could have sworn, he was not high on the list of her favourite people. How wrong he was.

Slowly he led one arm to her back, then the other one. The elder witch sniffed, she rested her head on his shoulder, he mimicked her actions.

Severus felt salty tears creeping up to his own eyes and a heavy weight lifted from his heart. He sensed his muscles relaxing and a warmth spreading from within. He pulled Minerva closer to his chest.

Both of them needed the contact, the company of the other to let the feelings out, to know they were alright.

It took them a while until they tore away, faces heated, eyes red.

“I am sorry.” They then blurted out at the same time.

“You are not a coward”, Minerva added.

Severus shook his head. His black hair fell in front of his onyx eyes.

“Let us sit, Severus”, Minerva suggested. She brushed her emerald cloak along the sides of her legs, careful to not crease it while sitting down. She handed a cup of lukewarm tea to Severus and took one for herself.

“I am very pleased to see you again, Severus. I had feared you would not want to come back.” She pursed her lips.

“And I had feared you would not want me to come back.”

“No.” Minerva took a sip of her tea. “I had questioned your loyalty, Severus, I was disappointed, but Potter later told us what Albus made you do.” She paused, her sight darting off to the window. “If I had known his plan for you …” Minerva left the rest up to him.

“Minerva, I knew I was going to die eventually.” Severus placed a hand on hers. She looked up to him, a sad smile dancing around her lips. “I was wondering if you maybe knew …”

“Why you didn’t die?” Minerva pondered. “I have thought of this for a long time. Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger believed you to be dead, but we never found your body … And then came your letter.” She shook her head. “No, no, I have no idea.”

Severus nodded; he had not expected a quick answer.

“What am I going to teach? Is Horace still with us?”

“Yes, he is, bless him. I had you in mind for Defence against the Dark Arts, with the sincere wish to keep you for more than a year.”

They shot each other a glance. Laughter on the tips of their tongues.

“You will also stay the head of Slytherin house. Your office and dormitory stay where they have been.”

Severus sighted, he had expected drastic changes, the familiarity was welcoming.

#Severus Snape #prosnape #snape appreciation month #snapeloveposts #snape faniction #snape fanfic #snape lives au #snape x oc #snapedom #hp

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thetiredbiwrites · 4 years

Text

Fabulous, Darling

Requested by @megaduppi “Hiya lovely! I was wondering if I could request a Seb x reader where they are stuck together in Sebs apartment because of quarantine and they start doing random things like Seb giving in to the reader and letting her do his make up and him looking completely fabulous? It can be funny and fluffy I am honestly craving it”

A/N: Thank you for the request 💖💖 hope you don’t mind, but I’m not entirely comfortable writing for the actors, nothing against anyone who does. So I made this a Bucky x Reader instead and they’re stuck in their shared apartment. It’s more fluffy than funny.

A/N2: I don’t know a lot about make-up. I can do basic (what is contouring?😂). So it’s pretty vague about what make-up she does and more from Bucky pov

5 weeks. 5 weeks you had been stuck in your apartment.

You were proud of your home. How you’d decorated, the layout and colours- the way you made it your own. But seeing the same crap everyday, the same rooms and nothing else, God, you were sick of it.

The urge to redecorate grew every day. The online shopping and endless scrolling through pinterest in boredom didn’t help.

The first week had been productive, making you feel good and enjoy the time. Time to spend with Bucky and doing everything you put off or didn’t have time for because of work. The two of you had tided and cleaned every room, sorted through all your clothes and shoes and reorganised the kitchen cupboards.

Now there’s nothing left to do.

Meaning whenever you thought of something to do, or came across ideas on various social medias or online shopping, you did it.

Bucky rarely said no to you and he certainly didn’t start now. He was just as bored and desperate for something to do.

This meant that when you asked for his special pancakes at midnight, he made the damn pancakes. You both sat together in your pjs watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine and eating a stack of pancakes covered in syrup and toppings until 2 in the morning.

When you gave into the urge and decided to rearrange the living room, he just smiled and went along with it. Helping you move every piece of furniture and arranging all your photos and nick-nacks. A heated debate about how to order the DVDs broke out.

You won.

He had insisted the two of you stay fit, keep exercising, every day. Especially with all the snacking and pancakes you both ate. So when you declared a Just Dance competition, he danced like he never had before.

Ok, so making the prize sex-related definitely aided his decision and pushed him to beat you.

But even he had to admit, after 5 weeks, sex wasn’t that exciting and most of the time, neither of you were particularly in the mood.

Which is how you ended up feeling like grandparents one day, doing a 1500 piece jigsaw while soft music played in the background.

“Uugh, these pieces are all the same colour!”

“You just have to be patient. We’ll get there.”

“I have been patient, Bucky. I’ve been patient for 5 hours and we’re not even half done. Don’t laugh at me.”

Bucky finished the puzzle as you gave up and baked cookies instead.

More than once, Bucky somehow found himself sitting on the floor with you on the sofa behind him, doing his hair.

You practiced different kind of plaits and other basic styles to trying out more intricate styles. Although you did resist buying flowers and bows to put in his hair.

The day you curled his hair had left you in a fit of laughter until you couldn’t breathe. Plaiting his hair did leave it wavy, which, depending on the type, looked pretty good. But he could still tie it back into a low bun when that happened.

Bucky, however, wasn’t amused. Especially after you took a photo and sent it to the group chat. Bucky had immediately showered, letting his hair go back to normal after that one.

The last couple of days, you had a new idea. One Bucky didn’t agree with.

He drew the line at you doing full make up on him.

It’s not that he thought men shouldn’t wear make-up. You had painted his nails a few days ago and he approved of the sparkly red. He had kept them that way, even when he did the weekly shop.

No-one had commented but at a time like this, who was going to care about a man’s painted nails. But even when it’s normal he wouldn’t have taken it off.

Well, if Sam wasn’t around anyway. He wouldn’t be caught dead with painted nails, especially sparkly red ones, around Sam.

Sam wasn’t against men wearing make-up either. Hell, if Steve or Tony, or any of the guys really, showed up with nails painted, he’d compliment them. Probably in a jokey manner, but compliment none the less.

Bucky, though, would never hear the end of it. It’s just how their relationship went.

He’d do the same back. Bucky could pretend he wouldn’t. But he would.

By day three, Bucky felt his resolve crumbling. He tried thinking of reasons why he didn’t want to do it but couldn’t actually think of any. But the thought of wearing make-up didn’t agree with him.

But those big y/e/c eyes staring up at him and the pout on your lips, akin to that of Puss-in-Boots, was making it hard to say no. Especially when he didn’t have any reasons against it.

He made it through the morning but by 2pm he found himself yet again sat on the living room floor, legs crossed. His fingers tapping against his legs as he contemplates running until you give up on the idea. But where the hell is he going to go? There’s only so long he could stay locked in their only bathroom.

This time you were also sat on the floor, legs crossed and facing him. You were aware of Bucky’s nervousness but you knew, well, you were 95% sure that once it was done, Bucky would realise it’s fine. If he didn’t, he can take it off straight away. It was just the two of you so it shouldn’t be a problem.

You knew his limits. This meant you’d lightly push him into letting you do this, but if he really didn’t agree, if it ended badly, you wouldn’t sent a photo to the group. You wouldn’t even take one. The two of you knew each other well enough to know these limits in various situations and not cross them.

For now, you had collected everything you needed from the bedroom and started laying it out on the floor. You faced the mirror away from Bucky so he couldn’t look until you had finished.

Bucky’s eyes flicked across the products as you laid them out. Noting all the liquids and powders, brushes, some foam egg thing, and… is that a pencil?

“How much stuff do you need? That’s a lot of products. Why are there so many brushes? I know make-up is like art but I thought you were just doing something basic and simple, y/n? Y/N, please, don’t make me do this.”

Bucky’s complaining stayed in his head as he looked up at your bright eyes and kind smile, his mouth closing as the words died, forming a pout instead.

“While you do look so adorable,” you lightly grabbed his chin in one hand, smushing his lips together. “Quit you pouting. It’s gonna be fine.”

Bucky’s eyebrow raised, biting the inside of his lip, his eyes flicked between everything on the floor and your face.

“Bucky, baby. You got nothing to be nervous about. Besides, it’s not like anyone is going to see or know.”

Bucky slightly nodded his head to the side, grunting in agreement but clearly still unsure.

“Specifically Sam, he doesn’t have to know anything. You’re on your own with him. I mean, if anyone else dared to say anything, I would tell them to grow up. It’s 2020. If a guy wants to wear make-up, let him wear the damn make-up. Many of them are better than me, although let’s be honest that’s not too hard, and it’s makes me jealous. Who taught you?! Can you teach me? They look amazing.”

Once Bucky cracked a grin, huffing a laugh, you clapped your hands and picked up the first product. You had rooted through your stock to find foundations that were the closest to his skin tone and found some you had kept after your friend had stayed a few months back.

“Let’s get started” you wiggled your eyebrows and Bucky felt himself relax. Not entirely, but enough to sit still and let you work.

Bucky wished some of his girlfriend’s excitement and enthusiasm would pass to him. As you added more and more to his face, he felt his nerves increasing again.

The feeling of your hand softly resting against his skin, from his neck to his face, as your other gently moved brushes and product across his face was, admittedly, a great feeling. You relaxed him and the touches were light and soothing.

Yet his heart still beat a little too quickly and his head continued overthinking.

He felt guilty for being so worried. He’s watched you do your own and your friend’s make-up many times over the last few years. But he still couldn’t help the image of a clown or a kid who got into mummy’s make-up from being projected in his head.

As you asked him to close his eyes, he tried to think of something else and his mind ran with the image of a little kid covered in make-up. Except it was your kid who had gotten their little hands on all these products.

He could hear your laughter as you came upon the scene. The way your kid would smile, wide and toothy, like their mothers, as you took a photo. Bucky could see you cleaning the little one up before teaching them how to do it properly.

Bucky’s mind couldn’t stray from this path and as he heard you humming a song he didn’t know, another picture developed.

On your face was a beaming smile, love pouring from your eyes and a soft glow surrounding you from the sun through the window as you softly sang to the small bundle in your arms. A little hand reaching out from the material as Bucky approached and wrapping around his finger.

Bucky saw himself chasing after your young son, smiling at the loud and carefree laughter leaving the little boy as he caught him and subjected him to tickles.

Learning all those hairstyles you subjected him to this past month so he could do them for your daughter. Her hair like his but eyes like yours, shining bright and paired with a smile when he’d finish. Her little arms wrapping around his neck and hugging as tight as her little body could.

Bucky focused back on the present when he heard you sigh. Realisation flashing across your face as you shot up and ran towards the bedroom.

“Don’t look!” you yelled across rooms and his hand retreated, holding it close to his chest like he’d touched fire and abandoning the mirror sat inches from him.

The mischievous grin on your face paired with the glint in your eyes had Bucky worrying again. Noting your hands behind your back, hiding something from his view, had his heart rate picking up. Again.

His eyes reluctantly closed when you asked and he tried not to flinch as you touched his face, giggling as you did.

“Ok, all done. You can look now.” You announced, holding up the mirror.

This time it was your heart racing, becoming restless the longer the silence stretched. Bucky’s eyes glued to his reflection, wide eyed and jaw dropped, his entire body frozen.

You began to worry you had pushed him too far.

“You hate it. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made you-“ “No, no,” he cut you off, large hand resting over yours as he finally took his eyes off his reflection. “No, I don’t hate it, actually. You know, I really like this colour.”

A smile spread across your face, huffing a laugh as Bucky batted his eyes, referring to his eyeshadow.

He looked back at the mirror, moving his head to inspect different angles.

“Glitter’s a bit much though, don’t you think?”

“Nope. You look fabulous, darling!” Bucky laughing at your over-the-top British accent.

“Am I pretty?”

“Oh, baby, you are the prettiest.”

“Well then, I guess I better share.”

You only caught a glimpse of the devious smile before your boyfriend launched at you, knocking you on your back.

Laughter bounced off the walls as Bucky pinned you down and rubbed his beard all over you, covering you in red glitter (matching his nails, of course).

“No, wait stop! I wanted to take a photo first!”

---------

A/N: I have an instagram (@/elberex). I was thinking of posting sneak peaks on there? 🤔🤔

#avengers imagine #avengers reader insert #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you

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marwritesgood · 5 years

Text

Crossfire | O. Diaz

Pairing : Oscar x Martinez!Reader

Timeframe : Season Two (Spoilers Ahead)

Summary : Spooky and Y/n are at a disagreement over what to do with Cesar, and everyone else is caught in the crossfire.

masterlist

A/N: Y’all didn’t request this. So I requested it for y’all.

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

Spooky didn't keep things from me. He never did. Not even when he became a Santos and gradually managed to learn more about how the gang ran. He trusted me, just as much as I trusted him.

So, when I found out from Monse that he and the rest of the gang essentially disowned Cesar because of what happened, I was livid. But I also couldn’t help but wonder how long he though it would take before I found out. And whether or not he was hiding more.

“Babe, he’s just a kid,” I huffed.

Spooky and I were parked up in an empty parking lot, eating takeout, just like we did every other day. After bringing up the fact that I knew he kicked Cesar out, he immediately got defensive which led quickly to an argument.

“He’s grown enough to know better,” Spooky grumbled, before aggressively biting into his burger. It was clear, then, that this argument was not going to end well, because I was not willing to back down, and neither was Spooky.

“So, what?” I exclaimed, leaning back against my seat. “You’re just gonna leave him out there on his own? He made a mistake, Spooky-”

“-A really fucking stupid one,” he finished.

I roll my eyes and cross my arms. I hated arguing with Spooky, but it frustrated me even more that he was being so impossible about this. We work so well as a team, but the few times we come to a disagreement, things always got heated really fast.

“You’re being so impossible,” I muttered, furrowing my eyebrows together.

Spooky swallowed his food and kissed his teeth loudly, something he always seemed to do right before saying something he would soon regret.

“I don’t see how this is any of your business.”

My blood began to boil. It was one thing to be defensive about kicking Cesar out, but it was another to make me feel like an idiot for caring about him.

“I cannot believe you right now,” I spat, grabbing my bag strap from the ground, and turning to open my car door. Spooky, however, caught my wrist and kept me from leaving.

“Hey, wait baby,” he whispered, his voice and expression suddenly soft. “C’mon, I didn't mean it like that.... I just... This is between me and Cesar, okay. You don’t need to get involved.”

“I don’t need to get involved, or you don’t want me to get involved?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, baby,” he pleaded.

I couldn’t help but let out a scoff, because despite his weak attempt at trying to take back what he said, it still really stung. And so I was still annoyed at Spooky.

“Whatever,” I muttered angrily, grabbing my bag with one hand and clutching the door handle with the other. This time, Spooky didn’t stop me. “But if something happens to him, because no one was there to protect him- not even his big brother- then... don't say I didn’t warn you.”

I opened the door, and began walking away from Spooky’s car.

“Where are you going?” He called out to me.

“None of your business anymore,” I yelled back, before turning my back on him and walking back to my house.

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

“No... No fucking way.”

I was in the middle of doing the laundry for everyone in the house, including Mario’s baby mama, when he and Ruby approached me. Apparently, Ruby was in a slump and Mario wanted to take him to a party at the Santos house to cheer him up.

The only issue was Spooky.

“C’mon, Y/n,” Mario pleaded, following down the hallway and into Abuelita’s bedroom where I placed her clothes back into her drawer. “Spooky won’t let us go unless we bring you.”

“I don’t care, Mario,” I retorted. “You can take Ruby somewhere else, there’s no way in hell I’m gonna go and see Spooky again.”

We hadn’t spoke since we last argued, but we had encountered one another several times since. However, each and every time our eyes met one another, I quickly walked ran in the opposite direction just to avoid him.

It seemed he was now desperate to get me to talk to him.

“What if I pay you?”

I froze for a moment. Then, after placing the rest of my grandmother’s clothes back tot where they belonged, I turned to my little brother and raised an eyebrow at him.

“How much?”

“Twenty,” he answered shortly.

“Thirty,” I responded, as I folded my arms. If I was gonna put myself in an uncomfortable situation so my brothers could party, I was going to at least get my money’s worth.

“Fine,” Mario grumbled, before pulling out his wallet and handing me my money owed, which I eagerly snatched from his hand with a smile on my face.

Until I remembered what I signed myself up for. And my smile immediately faded.

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

Normally, I would have felt uncomfortable being at a party with several sleazy gangsters. However, after being with Spooky for so many years, I gained their respect, so much so the other members either treated me like their sister or their daughter.

When we first arrived at the party, rather than getting excited in the way Mario had anticipated, Ruby walked straight to the nearest empty couch and plopped himself down, so I followed him there.

“Why is he doing this to me, Y/n?” Ruby groaned, resting his head against my shoulder. Mario, who somehow managed to already have a drink in his hand, sat on the other side of Ruby.

“I’m doing this, because I’m a good big brother,” he explained. “Now go and have some fun. Have a couple drinks. Have something to eat.... C’mon, I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

Mario and Ruby stood up at the same time, and proceeded to make the rounds. Before I could follow them, a familiar figure sat beside me and kept me from getting up.

“Hey.”

“What do you want, Spooky?” I asked in annoyance. I had several errands to run, all of which I put on hold so that my brothers could enjoy themselves, and because Spooky wouldn’t let them otherwise.

“I wanna talk,” he whispered, a hint of guilt noticeable in his voice. “Please, Y/n... Give me a chance to fix this.”

He had his arm around me, the way he always did, and he stared intently at me as he spoke. I normally loved the way he made me feel when he did that, but now I despised him for it, because of how quickly it made my heart beat.

“Uhm,” I coughed uncomfortably, before getting up from the couch. “I’m gonna get a drink.”

As I walked away, Spooky stayed seated on the couch. I didn’t need to look back to know that leaving him in the cold stung.

As I poured myself a drank, I glanced back at him and noticed him flaring his nostrils before leaning back and scanning the room with his signature look of stoicism.

“Why are you giving him such a hard time?”

I turned my head and saw Ruby, reorganising the drinks and new food he brought in. Trust him to assume the position of party planner, even for a party he had no direct involvement in.

“It’s complicated,” I replied.

“Sure...” Ruby cocked his eyebrow and glanced at me while he dished out the potato chips and the guacamole. “That’s what you say every time you fight, but it never ends up being all that complicated.”

“Don’t you have other things to be worried about than me and Spooky?”

As I spoke, Ruby’s eyes drifted off. He leaned over to the side, and a smile slowly grew on his face. I quickly turned around and instantly realised why he became so giddy so quickly.

“Yeah... maybe I do.”

As he spoke, several girls around my age walked into the party, all dressed up and wearing heels higher than the last.

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

It had been an hour since those girls walked in, and after the first fifteen, one had taken it upon herself to sit closely next to Spooky on the couch. Too closely.

When I first noticed, I couldn’t hide my annoyance and Spooky instantly picked up on it. SO, being the little shit he was, he began encouraging the sat next to him, glancing over at me every few seconds to make sure I was watching.

And for some reason I couldn't look away.

“Hey, Y/n!”

My gaze is broken by arms wrapping themselves around my shoulders. I turned around and quickly realised that it was Angelica, a girl I was close friend with right up until she and my brother broke up.

“Oh my gosh, hi,” I exclaimed, turning to face her and hugging her back.

She then began to tell me about what she had gotten up to over the past year. I nodded and smiled as she spoke, but I couldn’t keep my eyes from wandering back to where Spooky was sitting, obnoxiously flirting with a girl who didn’t understand personal space.

“It’s bugging you isn’t it?” Angelica laughed, joining me in staring angrily at the two. “Yeah... I don’t like her either. She never quite learned how to take a hint. Or how to keep her hands to herself, and not men who are already taken.”

“Yeah, well... Spooky and I are kinda going through some stuff,” I said sadly.

“Still,” Angelica added, rubbing my back gently. “She knew you were his girl well before we got to this party... I think it’s about time someone put her in place.”

I glanced back to where Spooky and the girl sat. They had gone from obnoxiously flirting to him wrapping his arm around her, and her placing her hand on his chest. I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hold my bag,” I muttered, to Angelica. She did not hesitate, which I appreciated, because I was just about ready to throw hands.

After Angelica took hold of my stuff, I began marching over to Spooky and whatsherface, I must’ve looked just as angry as I felt, because as soon as Spooky saw my walking, he immediately pulled his arm away from the girl and even tried to push her off the couch.

“Woah, what the fuck,” the girl yelled as Spooky pulled away.

The second i got close enough to touch her, I poured my cup of rum and coke on her head, before slapping the smirk she had right off of her face. As she held the side of her face I hit, I went to reach for my shoe.

“Next time it’ll be acid, bitch,” I yelled, trying to go for another swing, only to have Spooky pul me back. “So learn how to stay in your fucking lane, and stay the hell away from my man.”

She was quick to scurry away. After she ran off, Spooky let go of me and began chuckling back. I was glad he found this funny, because I was far from amused.

“Go to hell, Spooky,” I spat, before turning away from him and walking out of the party and onto the sidewalk. I should’ve known he was gonna follow me.

“Y/n!” He kept calling my name.

Which only gave me more of an incentive to walk faster.

“Y/n! Hey, c’mon, you know she didn’t mean anything,” he said, matching my pace and walking alongside me on the footpath. I came to an d abrupt stop, and turned so we were face to face. “You’re just really hot when you get jealous.”

“You don’t get it,” I cried, crossing my arms out of frustration. “What you said really hurt me, Spooky. This isn’t any of my business? Who do you think looked out for Cesar while you were doing time, huh? Who do you think took care of him when you weren’t there to do it? Because it sure as hell wasn’t that bitch you had your arm around... God, I care about him, Spook, and you made feel like shit for it.”

“Baby, I-”

“I nearly lost Ruby,” I said. My voice began to break. “I nearly lost my baby brother, and when it happened all I could think about was how I should’ve protected him. I’m his big sister... it was my job to protect him, and I couldn’t... And I don’t want anything like to happen to Cesar.”

“That’s why I called the truce,” Spooky defended.

“Yeah, but what are you gonna do when they end it?” I questioned. “Because you know you they will eventually... Look, whatever you wanna do is up to you... But if you’re not gonna look out for the kid, then I will. And you can’t stop me.”

I pushed past Spooky and made my way home.

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

It had been several weeks since the party.

Spooky stopped trying to get me to talk to him, and I avoided crossing paths with him altogether. Perhaps I was really awful a hiding how sad I felt about our falling out, because everyone in my house became uncomfortably kind to me. Mario even offered to help me with the dishes when it was my night to do them

“Here,” I said, handing him a newly washed plate so he could dry it and put it aside.

We did this for a few minutes, before he finally broke the silence.

“Hey so uhm...” His eyes drifted off for a moment, and then he put the plate down and turned to face me. “The night of the party... I followed you and Spooky and I heard what you said... about not protecting Ruby.”

“Oh,” I muttered, before awkwardly handing him a newly wash mug.

“You know there’s nothing you could’ve done, right?- That it’s... completely not your fault.”

“I don’t know...” My mind began to trail off for a moment. “It just sucked, you know? Ruby’s just a kid... he shouldn’t have got through what he did and... And sometimes I just feel like I’m doing enough... you know, to protect him and keep him safe.”

Mario dropped the mug abruptly onto the counter, and turned to face me, eyes dead serious. He was normally a goofy, hard-to-take-serious person, so it was alarming how he was reacting.

“Y/n, how could you ever think that?” He shrieked, placing his hands on both my shoulders and shaking me gently as he spoke. “You gave up going to college, so that mom and dad could afford to send me to one... Don’t even try to deny it, because I know what you got on your SATs. You could’ve easily made it big, but you chose to stay here and help mom and dad with Ruby, and the twins and abuelita, and so I could go to college. If there's anyone in this world who’s looked out for me, and Ruby, and the twins, it’s you. It’s always been you, mana.”

I smiled, and wrapped my arms around my brother. He was a dork at times, but I could always count on him to cheer me up. After letting go, we both turned back to the sink, ready to finish off the rest of the dishes, until there was a knock on our front door.

Mario turned to go answer it, but I quickly stopped him.

“I’ll go,” I whispered. “And... thank you.”

I then turned back around and headed towards the door. Without looking through the peephole, I opened the door and my breath hitched after realising who it was.

“Hey...”

After weeks of not talking to each other, trust Spooky to let his first words to me be hey. I carefully stepped outside, onto our front porched, and closed the door behind me.

“Hey,” I replied, making him smile. I missed his smile.

“You were right,” he began, making me raise my eyebrows in surprise, because he was never the type to admit when he was wrong. “Cesar and I have a plan, so... So I really hope it works out, but if it doesn’t... I just wanted to tell you that you were right... You’re always right.”

I took a step closer to him.

“And, uhm,” he let out a cough to clear his voice before continuing. “And I shouldn’t have said what I said... Truth is, I’m kinda used to being the only one looking out for Cesar, and I guess... I just didn’t realise how close you guys got when I did time, but... It’s nice... It’s nice knowing that he has you looking out for him too.”

“Of course,” I whispered.

Then I took another step closer.

“And I promise I’ll listen to you more,” he murmured, raising his hand to caress my cheek. “I guess I’m just really used to being the only one calling the shots, but... But I promise I’ll be better if you... If you just forgive me... Please, baby?”

Damn him for always making me feel weak.

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drewinthesky · 5 years

Text

TS2 Fresh install - tips and useful mods

Hi guys, how are you? I’m off to work but I had 10 spare minutes to check on the pc... I wrote this post on MTS a while ago and I meant to share it with you: I guess some people might still not be aware of the existance of these mods and how default neighborhoods work, so why not sharing it here too?

Just one little note: this is not a tutorial, nor original tips I wrote myself, but rather a collection of suggested hacks and mods that will make the game look/work better (imho). All credits to the original posters!

Premade Neighborhoods VS Custom Hoods

Hoods are quite easy to move around/be edited/created, you just need to keep track their ID numbers. Basically, each hood has assigned a 4 letter "name" and everytime you create one, it will continue the numeration. In a vanilla game, you will have a total of 6 hoods (Pleasantview, Strangetown, Veronaville, Riverblossom Hills, Desiderata Valley and Belladonna Cove) - the first 3 are respectively named "N001", "N002" and "N003" and any other player made hood will follow this system, meaning that a new hood in a fresh install will be named "N004". The following ones have completely new numbers/letters to avoid conflict with any custom hood you might have created before installing an EP that add one of the "extra" hoods. For this reason, if you ever decide to create a custom hood, I'd suggest you to rename it asap - you can either do it manually or using a software (I've always used "Bulk Rename Utiliy", which is great and free). You can rename the hood using any alphanumerical character, as long as it's 4 letters short - I usually use some letters from the name I gave.

More than one TS2 folder in Documents!

On a similar note, you might want to keep more than one "The Sims 2" folder in your documents. For me it's useful to keep one for when I want to create something BodyShop, which it would be quite slow to load in may main game folder, due to the huge amount of CC. You just need to rename the one you don't want to use in something else - the game won't read it unless it's called "The Sims™ 2 Ultimate Collection". Some simmers use this system to have themed CC hoods - you could have a medieval one, a futuristic one, a victorian one and switch from one to another according to what you'd like to play.

Clean Templates and where to find them My first tip is to download clean/fixed templates since, no matter what, the EAxis ones are corrupted in some aspetcs. You can find more info here or here Also, it might be a good idea to get rid of some "extra" families and Sim that are automatically added to the game: http://modthesims.info/d/520751/cle...-templates.html

Essential mods for your game There are a number of critical fixes and mods that improve the game stability and also the playability, you can read more here: http://www.modthesims.info/showthread.php?t=532696

Graphics & Memory Allocation Also, if the game runs on a newer machine, you might probabily double check also the Graphic Rules Maker and the 4GB Patch.

Lesyasun knows better!!

On the "appearance side" there are a lot of mods which make the game look so much better, including lighting mods , water overhaul and skylines: http://lesyasun.tumblr.com/post/175...to-make-my-game

Useful tools and organasing your Downloads Also, if you intend to use custom items, don't forget to download the CEP, the Clean Installer and the Download Organiser - the first two are essentials for managing/see CC, while the latter is a nice software that help reorganising your downloads. You can organise your Download folder in subfolders, some other simmers have shared an empty structure that you can use instead of creating it from scratch: http://allisas.tumblr.com/post/3241...mething-we-were.

I’m quite sure I’ve missed something huge/more important than the rest but at least is something.

Enjoy and please do let me know if there’s anything to be edited or not clear :)

#ts2 #sims2cc #ts2uc #resource #useful tips #useful mods #ts2 mods #ts2 lighting mod #sims2 resources #ts2 masterpost #list of cc #sims 2

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crowley-fe11 · 4 years

Text

Off suppressants

You're now chatting with a random stranger.

You both like johnlock.

Stranger: I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I've just hid it for a while now and I got used to people thinking I was a beta. JW [omegaverse. John's an omega who's been hiding his nature. 18+ just in case if anything happens and if you don't like this, please leave quietly.]

You: You've likely done so so you'd be taken more seriously, especially in your career, right? SH

Stranger: Yeah. And I wasn’t treated that great growing up so I've been talking those suppressants since long before I joined the army. JW

You: I would likely do the same if I were in your shoes. I'm just surprised I hadn't picked up on it sooner. SH

Stranger: But now that you know, I need to talk to you about something. JW

Stranger: Because I'd like to give you a heads up. JW

You: Of course. What is it? SH

Stranger: My doctor wants to take me off my suppressants. She's worried that the long term use is causing problems. JW

Stranger: By also being a doctor and knowing myself.. I think it's a good call. JW

You: I appreciate you telling me. If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask. SH

Stranger: Do you think our living situation will be okay? Because, I just need you to know that a lot will change. JW

You: I'm certain we can manage. SH

Stranger: We can talk more when I get back to the flat then. JW

You: Absolutely. I take it you'll be on your way soon? SH

Stranger: Yeah. I just need to pick up something from the pharmacy and if you want, I can grab some food on the way if you're hungry? JW

You: I wouldn't mind if you do. Whatever you're in the mood for is fine. SH

Stranger: Sounds good. Give me an hour depending on lines and everything. JW

You: No worries. I'll see you later. SH

Stranger: I'll see you. JW

Stranger: [Would you like to move to paragraphs or nah? I know not everyone likes to]

You: (We can if you'd like, though would you like to start?)

Stranger: [I can start, yeah. And also, I'm pretty quick with replies so if you dont get a response right away, just let me know, some of my messages haven't been going through :(]

Stranger: John soon found himself walking up the stairs to their flat, carrying a bag of take out and a small paper bag with his prescription. He walked in and set the bag of take out on the table near the windows. "I got some Chinese food, if that's alright with you. At first I was thinking pasta or something but then decided on something better," He laughed to himself and then paused for a moment before sighing. He knocked his knuckles against the table and then headed into the kitchen to tuck away his medicine for later.

You: Perched at his microscope, Sherlock heard the footsteps on the stairs that were distinctly John's approximately an hour after the last text in their conversation. As he was certain John may want to discuss the matter further, he finished jotting down a few observations from his slide before pulling himself away and helping John unpack the takeaway he'd brought. "Seems fitting, in a way," he answered as he got out some utensils for them both.

Stranger: John headed back to where he had left the bag of take out and he smiled at Sherlock briefly before taking a container of fried rice. He took one of the utensils and then sat down in his armchair. "What, ah.. have you been up to all day?" He asked, pushing their conversation from earlier for a bit later as he started eating.

You: "Just studying the decomposition of various organ tissues. Not terribly much other than that," Sherlock answered as he grabbed a couple potstickers to go with the box of lo mein, soon heading over to sit in his chair across from John. "How was your day? Aside from your appointment."

Stranger: "It was.. okay," John said slowly, nodding carefully. "I haven't been taking my suppressants since Thursday which is why.. you figured everything out based on my sudden obvious scent." He got quieter and then took in a deep breath, giving a shrug. "Its strange.. going about my regular day and people eyeing me different."

You: "As long as you do what's best for your health, that's what matters," Sherlock assured him. "Though I can imagine that might've been difficult. You're still you, when it comes down to it," he added. "Anyone who judges you differently because of that clearly isn't worth your time."

Stranger: John gave him a slow smile and then crossed his ankles as he took a few more bites of his food. "Well, I'm in for a not so fun week. I have to call off work and I can't accompany you on any case that might pop up," He told him before getting up to grab a couple potstickers for himself. He put one into his mouth before sticking an extra one into his container.

You: "Honestly, if there's anything I can do to make it even the least bit better for you, don't hesitate to ask," Sherlock offered. He could only imagine what things would be like for John until he was completely off his suppressants, and even when he did reach that point. It all seemed so tedious, just thinking about it.

Stranger: John hesitated for a moment, gazing at Sherlock before nodding and moving back to sit in his chair. "Yes, thanks.." He bit the inside of his cheek and then tilted his head, looking down at his food. "She's given me a week of pills to take. They're to induce a heat to try and get things going so that its not a disaster when the suppressants fully leave my system."

You: Sherlock nodded at that. "Would you like me to stay elsewhere during that time?" He asked John. He realised that a flatshare between an Alpha and Omega was tricky to start with, in certain respects, and heats were definitely of the riskiest.

Stranger: John hummed quietly and tapped his fingers against the side of the container as he thought it over. "I know its risky but I would actually rather you stay around in case I need something. I'm worried there will be problems that arise that I'll need someone to be able to call my doctor if need be." He hesitated and then shook his head. "Only if you want to, though. I can always find someone else to stay here with me if you'd rather stay somewhere else."

You: "I think we can make it work. Worse comes to worse, if I find I'm in over my head, I could ask Mrs. Hudson if she could check in on you," Sherlock told him. "Though we'll definitely have to establish some boundaries, depending on what you would be comfortable with."

Stranger: John nodded and relaxed more obviously into his chair. "We can talk things out tomorrow in specifics, yeah?" He flashed him a smile. "I would right now but I want to go to bed early. I've been feeling off all weekend and I can sleep in tomorrow so I'm looking forward to a lot of sleep."

You: "Of course. Take all the rest you need," Sherlock told him with a nod and a reassuring smile. He could see as plain as day that John was exhausted, and some extra sleep couldn't hurt. "Thank you for picking up dinner, by the way."

Stranger: John finished off his container of fried rice and then stood up with another soft smile towards his best friend. "You're welcome. Could you put the leftovers away in the fridge?" He asked, moving into the kitchen to throw away the container. "Preferably /not/ on the same shelf as your experiments," He added on with a laugh. He pulled out his prescription bag and opened it, taking out the container that he had been given. He popped out the first pill and leaned back, checking the time.

You: Sherlock gave a small chuckle before he got up to put the rest of the leftover Chinese away. "Don't worry, I've reorganised everything in there. The takeaway won't be anywhere near those," he assured John as he started to put the containers in the fridge. "And you'll let me know if there's anything else in the meantime?"

Stranger: John grabbed out a glass and filled it with water in order to take the pill. "Yeah, I will." He turned towards the man and leaned against the counter. He walked over to him and set his hand on Sherlock's arm briefly. "Thanks. See you in the morning?" He asked.

You: Sherlock's heart skipped a beat when John's hand touched his own, blinking a few times before he shook himself out of it and offered the other a smile. "I'll see you in the morning," he agreed. "I hope you have a good night, John."

Stranger: John lingered there for a moment before nodding. He pulled away and then headed to his bedroom. He lay awake for a while even though he was exhausted and he thought about the feeling he got when he initiated a touch between them. He had felt something shift slightly between them and he felt a small bit of excitement pulsating inside of him. The next morning, after he was able to sleep for a long while, he dragged himself out of bed. Little did he know that the off feel he had been feeling were signs of his heat, already naturally starting to formulate once he'd been off the suppressants for a couple days. It probably would've taken a week or more for those symptoms to develop into a full on heat but with the pill, it was starting to wake up his body. It wasnt a heat yet, no, but his scent was more obviously a sweet, pre-heat one. He made his way down to the kitchen and hummed to himself happily as he saw the tray of tea on the kitchen table.

You: Sherlock seldom slept much, though it never really bothered him. So it was no surprise when he managed to go to bed fairly late and wake up at the crack of dawn. That's when he figured that it might be best to fix some tea for when John was up. His body was already being put through so much, and really, it was smallest of favours that might even help his morning be a bit better. Though when John did come down, his scent immediately popped out at the Alpha. His heat would be coming soon. "How did you sleep?" Sherlock asked, even though he could see that the other was much better rested than the evening before.

Stranger: John poured himself a cup of tea and then glanced up towards Sherlock with a wide smile. The man smelled very good, John's mind pointed out as he looked over him. So good. It was insane. Had he never noticed before? He cleared his throat and then raised the cup of tea lightly before taking a sip. "Very well, thank you. I don't think I've slept through the night like that in a while."

You: "That's good to hear. You definitely needed the rest," Sherlock told him with a small smile, finding he felt rather drawn to the scent John was putting off, though he knew better. They still had to discuss what the other would feel comfortable with in his heat, and it seemed that was becoming a rather urgent topic. "Have you given the subject from last night much thought?" He asked as he sipped from his own mug.

Stranger: John leaned against the counter, sipping at his tea thoughtfully as he rolled the question around in his head. "Not much thought.. haven't had a lot of time to think about it yet." He set aside his mug and crossed his arms lightly. "Have you given it any thought? Any ideas?"

You: "Well, what are the things your doctor advised you should keep an eye on? Depending on what it is, I may just need to knock on your door to make sure you're faring alright, and keep you stocked up on food and water. But it also depends on what level of involvement you'd rather me have," Sherlock told him with a small shrug.

Stranger: John sighed and looked down for a moment. "Yes, well that all sounds good. The things she's most concerned about is the potential of bleeding and such," He explained lightly. "Which I'll be able to keep track of myself." He uncrossed his arms and set his hands the edge of the counter, shrugging as well. "So yeah, water and food is probably all you need to worry about."

You: "Right," Sherlock murmured as he considered it. "This might seem like an odd suggestion, but as I have the adjoining bathroom, perhaps it would be best if we traded rooms for the duration? Unless you'd feel more comfortable with the familiarity of your room still, which would be fine nonetheless. It's entirely your choice."

Stranger: John hesitated and then nodded slowly. "I actually quite like that idea. It might be fairly helpful." He crossed his arms again and tilted his head. "Are you okay with staying my room for the week, then?"

You: "Well, yes. It seems fair, and it would be fine temporarily," Sherlock answered. "So, is there anything in particular you'd like before it sets in? Anything I can pick up to make it more bearable for you?"

Stranger: "If I can remember back to the last time I had my heat which was, mind you, back in college, I think I was craving salty foods around the clock," John rubbed the back of his neck and then idly started itching at his scent glands, finding them irritated and sensitive.

You: Sherlock couldn't help but feel the slightest bit tempted as John's fingers rubbed over his scent glands. "Alright, I can pick up some things along those lines. Unless there's anything else you can think of, you can make sure you'd be comfortable in my room."

Stranger: John's eyes drifted shut and he tilted his head more as his nails scratched at his skin. He pull his hand back and hummed quietly. "Yeah. I'll go make sure right now," He mumbled and then reopened his eyes. He wet his lips and then nodded. He brushed past Sherlock as he walked towards his room and shuffled down the short hallway in the back of the kitchen that led to the room.

You: Once John brushed past him, Sherlock could feel his nerves light up, and intoxicating desire flash across his mind. "I'll.. be back in just a bit then?" He told the other as he immediately rushed to get his coat, not even giving John a chance to respond as he tried to hide how much his face was starting to flush. "Yes. Good. See you."

Stranger: John was a bit startled by the sudden movements but he brushed them off as he walked into Sherlock's room. He hesitated in the doorway and suddenly realized this was a very bad idea. But he didn't want to leave. He walked in slowly, leaving the door open behind him as he crawled into the alpha's bed. He ran his hands over the sheets and then buried his face into the pillows, breathing in his scent. He could feel warmth spreading through him rapidly as he surrounded himself in Sherlock's things. He raided the closet, starting to pull out soft items of clothing, towels, extra sheets, a robe. He pulled it all out and onto the man's bed. His mind had zoned in on this one task, basically making a nest out of all the things he had found. Once he had finished, he tucked himself into the center.

You: Sherlock walked to one of the corner shops near the flat, figuring a walk would help to clear his head. He had to get past his impulses if this was ever going to work, especially in the long term. And he wasn't going to lie. He liked John. Perhaps as more than a friend, and perhaps since before he found out his true nature. But it was clear that John liked him simply as a friend, regardless of whatever hormonal spikes he was having. He had to be there to support him. A short while later, Sherlock had taken enough time to compose himself as well as pick up crisps, and any other comfort foods he could think of that John might enjoy during his heat, and he soon returned to the flat, ready to help John get settled in however he needed before it came on.

Stranger: John had shed his jumper and the tshirt he'd been wearing underneath. He tossed them aside but kept on his pajama bottoms for now. He rolled around into the nest of Sherlock's stuff, trying to find a comfortable position. He was rosy cheeked and rather in heaven at the moment being surrounded by the strong scent. He soon found a position on his stomach and some of the sheets tangled around one leg.

You: Sherlock opened the door with bags in tow and was immediately hit with John's scent, heavy and tempting all on it's own. Oh no. Perhaps he miscalculated. Heats after suppressant use could hit harder than unsuppressed heats. And he could see that his door was still cracked open. Sherlock held his breath as best he could. "John?" He called out. "Shall I leave the snacks at your door and leave you be?"

Stranger: John heard Sherlock's voice and he raised his head slowly, a small whine escaping. He carefully climbed off the bed and then walked to the door, opening it more fully. His hair was messed up from rolling around and nestling into the bed. His skin was flushed and his pants sat a bit lopsided on his hips. "Hm?" He tilted his head, resting it against the doorframe. "What'd you get?" He asked.

You: Sherlock bit his lip at the sight of John, so bare and disheveled. "Here, just..." He stammered as he moved closer to hand the other the bags of essentials he'd picked up. "There's water, and crisps, and lots of other things. You can text me or tell me when I check in if there's anything else you need. But it seems like you should have time to yourself about now..."

Stranger: John took the bag slowly, his fingertips brushing against Sherlock's. He hesitated and then nodded, turning slightly to drop the bag unceremoniously behind himself. His hand reached out shortly after, grabbing ahold of Sherlock's wrist. He looked up at him, taking a slight step forward. "Your room smells like you.." He told him before lifting Sherlock's hand in order to nuzzle against it.

You: Sherlock's heart raced as John took his hand, nuzzling against it. He felt warm to the touch, and his cheeks were flushed and rosy. "I imagine it would," he answered in a whisper, swallowing as he tried his best to stay focused. "If you really want to spend your heat alone, I suggest you go back inside and close the door," he told the other softly.

Stranger: John hummed shortly and then looked up at Sherlock again. "Maybe I don't want to be alone.. but I am too scared to say it out right," He murmured to him. He nudged his nose against his hand again before reluctantly dropping it. He then lifted one hand, touching Sherlock's chest carefully with curious little taps.

You: John's touch sent warmth running through the Alpha, and his ability to resist was beginning to fail. "I may be willing," Sherlock told him softly as he reached up to caress John's cheek. "But I just need to confirm that it's what you'd want, even after this is done."

Stranger: John tilted his head into his hand, biting down on his lip as his eyes closed. "Mhm.." He pressed closer and dragged his lips against Sherlock's hand as he tilted his head. "I want this.. I think I've wanted it for a while.."

You: "As have I," Sherlock breathed, the last of his self-control vanishing as he closed his eyes and leaned in to press his lips against John's, his arms wrapping around the Omega to pull him closer and kiss him more deeply.

Stranger: John's arms wrapped around Sherlock's neck and kissed him back deeply as well, threading his fingers into the alpha's hair as he moved their lips together. He moved up onto his toes and exhaled through his nose sharply as parted his lips lightly.

You: Sherlock sighed into the kiss and parted his lips as well as his hands caressed over John's bare body, eager to touch at long last, feel every part of the other that he could.

Stranger: John tilted his head into the kiss, pushing his tongue past Sherlock's lips in curiosity. He took a couple steps back, trying to guide Sherlock ad his feet stumbled a little bit.

You: Sherlock followed into his bedroom as John guided him, keeping him steady with his hands on his waist, letting his tongue begin to explore John further as he kissed him back with more passion, more hunger.

Stranger: John soon parted their lips however, breath trembling a bit as he panted. He let go of Sherlock slowly and then pulled away completely in order to climb onto the bed. "C'mere.." He urged, reaching out towards him with an expectant look.

You: Sherlock shrugged off his coat as John moved to the bed, though he still felt immensely overdressed as he took in the sight of him, laying in a nest of the Alpha's things. "Oh, definitely," he assured him as he began removing his suit jacket and undoing the buttons of his shirt as quickly as he could manage.

Stranger: John bit down on his lip hard, his pupils dilating a bit as he watched him. He panted a bit harder and then gave a soft whine as his need overflowed. He wet his lips slowly and then gave a few open mouthed pants. "..Alpha.. c'mon," He begged quietly.

You: Sherlock toed out of his shoes before leaning in to kiss John softly to help placate him as he moved on to undoing his trousers. "Nearly there, John. Just want to join you properly," he soothed as he pulled them down and climbed into bed with him, gently embracing him.

Stranger: John kissed back firmly before Sherlock pulled back to undo his trousers. He suddenly remembered his own and shimmied out of the pajama bottoms before smiling at Sherlock when he embraced him. He rolled on top of him so that the alpha was on his back and he straddled his hips as he nudged their noses together.

You: Now that Sherlock was in the nest that John had created, it was evident just how much it smelled like him and his heat in the time he was gone with the errands. He gazed up at the Omega adoringly as he straddled his hips, letting his hands rest on them as he brushed his nose back against the other's. "You're incredible..."

Stranger: John let out a shaky breath and then pressed a short kiss against his lips. "Thank you.." He whispered gently and then pressed another, slower kiss against his lips. He rocked on his hips gently and moved his lips carefully against Sherlock's incredibly addictive ones.

#omegle rp #johnlock rp #johnlock #omegaverse #omega!john #alpha!sherlock #heats #heat sharing #consent is important #sherlock rp

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hisgirlwonder · 5 years

Text

Atonement - Part Two

Length: 2.7k words Warning: Smut, humiliation, kinks, a lil bit of BDSM~ Synopsis: With his trust broken, Michael is doing all he can to make you regret ever crossing him. Notes: Here is the second part since you all wanted more! I tried to incorporate/explore kinks such as sadism (but more painful) on his part and exploring more of a humiliation kink for Y/N.

The last seven days had been like torture. Michael wouldn’t smile at you nor would he look in your direction and refused to call you by your name. You felt like your heart had been ripped into pieces from a tiny lapse in judgement.

You were the type of person who had a mind that liked to wander; to try and provide you with some relief from the discomfort of the reality you were facing. You had a knack for disassociation even as a child. What had long served as a blessing in moments of chaos had turned into a curse - as of late, your vivid memories were more like lucid nightmares.

// THE PAST //

Waiting for Michael to arrive was nerve-wracking – you’re sat outside his office on this luxurious piece of furniture with shaking legs, knees knocking together, and drawing patterns on the fabric with your fingers just to keep your mind busy; to calm the voice of anxiety in your mind. Your eyes move between your hand and the floor. One moment you’re watching the movement of your fingers against the arm of the couch and the next you’re studying the carpet, trying to figure out what colour it was. The Outpost was laden with wooden floors but certain rooms, such as his office and down the corridors, were carpeted.

Your sight flicks from your hand to the ground and you see two legs appear in front. Your eyes creep upwards and there he is in the flesh, Michael Langdon. Single handily the most intimidating individual in this place. He looks at you while a hand is deep in his pocket retrieving the key to his office and apologises for being late; He says he got held up but you nervously laugh it off and say you had nowhere better to be.

With the door unlocked, he is a gentleman (you’d expect no less from a man of such calibre as himself) and holds it open for you. Upon entering the office, you noticed that extra precision and care had been taking when decorating it – it reflected Michaels aesthetic completely, from the furniture to the art on the walls and sculptures placed in the room.

Michael props himself against the edge of his desk and invites you to sit down. He sends you a smile and expresses his gratitude, “Thanks for coming to see me today, Miss L/N.” His speech caressed your body like it was being wrapped up in velvet layer.

It was very obvious there was a reason he was in charge – he could persuade you effortlessly to commit a crime and you’d give yourself over entirely without a second thought. Michael was a master manipulator. Everything was carefully orchestrated to give him the upper hand, no matter if it suggested otherwise.

“Of course, sir. You can call me whatever you’d like but if you want to be on a first name basis it’s Y/N.”

“Alright, Y/N. You will be aware that everyone calls me Langdon but if you’re going to be my assistant then I suppose you can call me by my first name as well, which is Michael.”

His eyes travel over your body in every direction, analysing every inch of you. You’re self-conscious and unaware at first as to why he’s doing such a thing. Michael didn’t come across as if he was going to be the easiest person to read but there were hints of vulnerability embedded into the interaction between to the two of you; like when he followed those stares over your body in an enticing tone, adding, “You can call me sir if you so desire.”

You blush, cheeks blooming with a redness. This man before you exuded confidence and drew you in with an unexplainable magnetism; luckily you knew there was a line and if you were going to work for him, professionalism was paramount. Before the conversation derailed itself and you came completely undone, you ask, “So, Michael, what exactly did you need help with?”

“Is it too much to request help with everything?”

“No, not at all.”

You’re fixated on his actions that follow – those long, ring-covered fingers traversing along the edge of his desk and he spoke again in the same way as earlier, “I’m just a simple man who needs the touch of a woman in their life.”

Butterflies swirled in your stomach with every word and you momentarily went blank. You must have zoned out of it because you came to with Michael waving his hand in front of your face, “Are you okay, Y/N?”

You snap back to reality and tell him, “Yes of course. I can help you with whatever you need.”

“Excellent. The extent of which I need you means I require you in my office every day but you will have down time, okay? Just having you near will be good in case I need help.”

You nod, trying to show him you’re listening but your mind was running over him telling you he needed you.

// PRESENT DAY //

“Little grey, can you come here,” Michael snapped from behind the ajar door.

You’re cleaning up his bathroom and you swear the collection of hair and skin care products before you trumped the one you had in your outside life – Michael owned a bottle and jar of every colour, and you barely recognised any of them; you imagine they cost more than you’d make in one month at your old job. You inform him, “Just a minute, sir.”

“Now. Don’t make me ask you twice.”

Michael took whatever chance he could at demeaning you; reminding you that all other guys at the Outpost were truly just boys and that you fucked things up between the two of you. Would he ever let you live it down? You weren’t going to hold your breath.

You push open the door and walk over to stand in front of Michael, biting back the anguish over the uncertainty of what would happen next – it was almost like being in limbo nowadays. Before the ties that bound the two of you together were broken you would have done anything for him; not wanting to be without him for a moment. He’d treat you like his favourite pet. But now? No more praise, no more heartfelt compliments, no more real smiles.

“Yes, sir?”

Michael is looking at the folder in his hand at the same time as he asks you, “Can you pick this up for me off the ground? It appears I dropped it.”

“But it’s in your hands, sir?”

He drops the folder from his hands and the papers become strewn across the floor.

“Oops.”

Michael had not only taken it upon himself to fire the greys who would clean every inch of his living and working quarters (forcing you to pick up the slack) but also given him full reign over everything you wore. He didn’t want you to blend in with the other greys, no, he forced you into a maid’s outfit to add to his humiliation. He knew how much you couldn’t stand the attention of others in the Outpost, especially after they saw you naked.

You’re bending down, picking up the paperwork and reorganising it, when Michael turns around in your direction on his seat. “You know what, little grey? My shoes are slightly dirty, maybe you should clean them. Now.”

“Let me get the polish.”

He rests his foot on your shoulder, pushing you back down to the ground, “No. You’re going to use that pathetic mouth of yours. Every ounce of respect I had was lost for you when you decided to fuck it away. Did you let him inside your mouth too?”

You quietly answer him back, “I didn’t. I swear I didn’t.”

Because you spoke to softly Michael doesn’t hear and asks, “What was that, little grey?”

You start fretting, worried he will think the wrong thing and hoping he believes you when you tell him the truth. Trying to speak as sincerely as you can, you assure Michael, “I swear I didn’t, sir.”

“Good. Your mouth appears to be untainted despite the rest of you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He lifts his leg up and positions a shoe covered foot in front of your face. “Start by cleaning the top until it shines, then lick the bottom and show me how sorry you are.

It almost seemed humorous that you considered him pissing on your face the worst he could do.

You spit on the top and rub the saliva away with the clothes you’re wearing, trying to polish the surface. Michael lifts it up to your face rubbing it against your cheek before holding it in front again - this time with the underside of his shoe adjacent to your face.

You gulp down while flattening out your tongue, and run it up the surface a few times. Once he’s satisfied with your actions and complying with his wishes, he pulls his leg away and bends to grab at your face, speaking to you in a condescending tone, “What a good girl. I’m glad I didn’t have to force you. Go get me a cup of coffee.”

You return with his coffee; you made sure it was made just as he liked it – not too hot, a dash of milk, and no sugar. When you first began working for Michael, it would be made incorrectly and he’d be mad but he’d never take it out on you. Sometimes you wondered why he was so soft on you when he was so harsh on everyone else.

He brings the cup to his mouth, smiling at you, before dropping it to reassure you, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The talking stops but you know by the tone of his voice that there are words to follow; he’s trying to cause apprehension, which was working.

“Not yet, anyway.”

And there it is.

He puts the cup down on the coaster next to his laptop, “My legs are feeling awfully tired and I think I need to rest them. Is that a good idea?”

“Yes, of course, but you haven’t got one sir?” You inform him.

“That’s where you’re wrong. I think you’re forgetting that I control everything you do or say and right now you’re going to get back on those knees, where you belong, serve me as my own personal footrest. You’re beneath me, remember?”

“Yes sir,” you mumble, caving into his demands. As you got back down on the ground, you noticed the carpet usually felt soft and lush but today it had changed – becoming harsh against your skin only serving as a reminder that you were less than Michael.

Michael leans back in the chair he’s sitting, hands behind his head and rests his feet on your back. He exaggerates a sigh of pleasure with cockiness infused into every syllable he spoke, “Oh, this is so comfy. Why did I never ask you to do this before?”

You’re digging your nails into the palms of your hands. This was not the kind of humiliation you were into.

Your arms and knees begin to ache from the pressure, wondering when Michael would let you stand back up. Michael finishes the last of his coffee and lifts the weight off your back.

“Since you’re still employed by me I suggest you do as I say and get off the floor, I need your assistance with something.”

Michael walks over to the far cabinet in the corner beside the water cooler to open a cupboard. You couldn’t see inside but he pulls out a black box.

“I’d ask if you’d like to see but you’re probably aware that I don’t give a shit what you want. Turn around so I don’t have to look at you then take off your clothes and bend over the table like the subservient bitch you are.”

As you face away from Michael an almost inaudible cry leaves your mouth; both in fear and in excitement – your discomfort was drenched with a hunger for Michael to inflict pain upon your body again. Those moments replayed over and over again in your mind; moments which made you fuck yourself silently into an oblivion over. You’d never have him how you wanted him yet the pain was almost worth it.

You undress quickly to make sure you don’t upset Michael any further and bend over as instructed. Your soft body presses against the wooden table – the surface is colder than you remember, your nipples hardening from the drop in temperature and your own arousal.

Something touches your skin and starts to run along the backs of your legs. You knew it wasn’t soft so it wasn’t his hand but you couldn’t put your finger on it. Michael teases, still running the object against you, “I bought this and figured now was a really good time to use it. I’m not going to apologise for this because you don’t deserve it but I will tell you to hold on tight. You won’t be walking right for a week once I’m done with you.”

Before you can try to process what he says you feel a smack against your skin – it feels like a whip. He strikes you over and over – each time felt harder than the last. This one was a thing you could deal with; you weren’t a stranger to this sort of behaviour but it definitely was more intense than anyone you’d been with.

“I really wish I could say I was surprised when you decided to let that boy inside your cunt, but was I? Was I really?”

Again.

“I could smell it on you the moment you walked into this place. The first moment I laid eyes on you I knew you were a whore.”

And again.

“Do you not think it’s ironic that you’re working for me? That I knew you’d slip up, leading me to do this to you?”

And again.

Your ass was stinging from his abuse against your body – you were euphoric from the beating your skin was taking. You rub a hand against your ass and you can feel welts forming.

“Stop touching yourself and sit up to face me.”

You push yourself up and spin around, now sat on the top of the table. Michael pushes his knee between your leg, forcing them apart. “Open up or I’ll make you do it.”

The whip collides with your pussy - you want to slam your legs shut. The pain is worse, less appealing than the hurt he inflicted on your ass. He causes you to jump - Sure, you’d slapped yourself there with your hand before but it didn’t compare to an object.

“Oh does that hurt, does it?”

He does it again and you’re unable to hold back, tears pooling in your eyes. “Mi- Sir, I can’t.”

Michael refuses to stop, smiling at the sight of your tears and taunting you, “Oh you can’t, can you? Beg me to stop and I’ll reconsider.”

Your hand quickly darts between your legs, guarding your throbbing pussy against further torment. You beg like your life depended on it, “It hurts so bad and I can’t take any more. Please. Have mercy.”

He places the whip to the side of you and tells you to come closer with his fingers. You rub at the ache before removing your hands to see the damage - you aren’t bleeding yet but the inside of your thighs and the mount between your legs are almost red raw.

Those lips find their way to your ears and he growls, “I hope you have enough common sense to know this is far from over. Get off my fucking desk before I throw you off. Oh, and then get out of my fucking sight. I don’t want to have to see you more than I need to.”

Taglist: @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sensitivethot @sammythankyou @sevenwondr @langdonsdemon (message if you want to be added ♥)

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minervacasterly · 5 years

Photo

Bastards & Royals: It's all relative, really.

When it comes to legitimate and illegitimate, it is all relative. If you have enough support and you make others believe that you are more competent than the current monarch (or throw in a good smear campaign), you got it done.Just ask the Tudors, Trastamaras, or the first Norman King of England, William the Conqueror, aka William, the Bastard Duke of Normandy.One little loophole there, a maligned king or queen here and there, and you got yourself a good case why all of a sudden God has decided to smile on you and your descendants, because you know, you were always meant to be King of whatever nation.And before you say 'but Mary I and Elizabeth I's mothers were anointed Queens!' Yes, but remember who was head of the church and who gave parliament more power to decide who was legitimate and who wasn't? Remember that little detail? :)Even when he was convinced by his last consort, Kathryn Parr, to put them back in the line of succession, guess what? They were still deemed illegitimate. Mary I decided to legitimize her parents' marriage and that opened a whole new can of worms that served as a learning experience for Elizabeth I. When she became Queen, the twenty five year old decided to honor her parents' union without overturning her father's decision. As far as she was concerned, she deserved the throne because that was the way her father decided it should be.Then there is their paternal grandfather. Before he was King of England, Henry Tudor was the Earl of Richmond, a title he inherited from his father (Edmund Tudor) when he died, before Henry was born. Henry VII's claim to the throne derived from his mother, Margaret Beaufort who descended from the firstborn son of John of Gaunt, 1st Duke of Lancaster and his third wife, Kathryn Swynford. Before marrying him, Kathryn Swynford was his mistress. All of their children were born during this time. After the two were married, John's nephew, Richard II, decided to reward his services by legitimizing all of his Beaufort children. However, when his eldest son, Henry of Bolinbroke became Henry IV of England, he added another clause which excluded them from the line of succession. For this reason alone, many people still considered the Beauforts as the illegitimate descendants of the Plantagenet House, and not the true representatives of the Lancastrian Dynasty.As for the first picture showing a bust of Constantine the Great, historians aren't sure if his mother was Constantius (Constantine's father) consort of his concubine; hence why he is in this line up.Fave favors the bold and those who aren't afraid to control the narrative and push for successful propaganda. :)It's interesting to see how reality is stranger than fiction. Many fantasy and science fiction based on controversial historical eras, have bastards having a hard time inheriting their fathers' titles. In the case of the world of ice and fire, the recent fantasy saga adapted on TV, based on the wars of the roses and the Tudors, this is also the case. As stated, all of these people may have started as legitimate, descendants of illegitimate branches or de-legitimized by their fathers. Some of them did start out as illegitimate for the simple reason that their parents weren't legally married, yet they became Kings, Emperors and Queens. So I wouldn't be surprised if Game of Thrones has Jon or someone you least expect gets the throne because history is filled with the impossible becoming possible.Images: Constantine the Great. William I of England and Duke of Normandy, Henry II of Castile, Henry VII of England, Mary I of England and Elizabeth I of England.For more information on these monarchs I recommend the following books:1. Henry VII by SB Chrimes2. The Myth of Bloody Mary by Linda Porter 3. Elizabeth: The Struggle for the Throne by David Starkey4. The History of Christianity5. Isabella: The Warrior Queen by Kirstin Downey6. Isabella by Giles Tremlett (like the one above, focuses on Isabella I of Castile but it does make a notable mention to the rise of her dynasty)7. The Plantagenets by Dan Jones (like 6 & 7, it makes a notable mention of Peter I of Castile's failed alliances and other things that led to him being deposed by his half-brother)8. Eleanor of Aquitaine and the Four Kings by Am Kellyand 9. Constantine the Great: The Reorganisation of the Empire and Triumph of the Church by John Firth.

#history

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galfridus1 · 6 years

Note

Congratulations on reaching 500 followers. I’m so happy for you. If possible coud you write a Meliodas/Margaret fic? Prompt 10 please.

Hi. Thank you very much and thanks too for the ask. Really sorry it’s taken this long to answer. This pair are… a challenge.

Thanks Beth for writing these with me. @maybeishouldwait has written a much better response to this prompt so definitely go take a look. This is a pale affair by comparison but it was inspired by this story.

“This does not feel like a very productive use of my time,” Margaret lamented as she glared at the screen, her eyes fixed on the flashing images in grey. “I do have spreadsheets to finish. And I would like to leave on time today, I think Gil has plans.”

“The boss sure is a hard taskmaster.” Meliodas did not look up in favour of tracking the grainy CCTV footage playing on the old fashioned television. He reached for the remote control to fast forward through the endless picture of nothing, but Margaret stopped him, gently laying a hand on top of the device.

“We need to do this properly, Meliodas.” Margaret sighed, blinking her eyes furiously before returning to her task. “Zeldris will not be pleased if we don’t find the culprit.”

“So? Who cares which of us took Gowther’s lunch? It’s just a lunch!” Meliodas huffed, but he reluctantly fixed his eyes back on the screen. “You know what Gowther’s like, he might not have brought one to work in the first place…”

“No he did. Look!” Margaret pointed at the screen and, sure enough, there was Gowther, prancing into the small break room attached to the office, placing some sort of box into the fridge. “Someone must have stolen it. I checked the fridge myself, it definitely was not in there.”

“So…” Meliodas sighed, placing his hands behind his head. “This sort of thing happens in offices all the time. Only Zeldris is pedantic enough to take any notice, let alone go to these lengths.” Stretching his legs a bit, he adjusted his position in his uncomfortable, hard plastic chair, resenting his superior more than at any point in the last forty-eight hours.

“It’s important,” Margaret protested, her brow furrowing slightly. “We need to be able to trust one another, otherwise…”

“You trust Ludoshel, I suppose?” Meliodas enquired. He did his best to keep his voice light and disinterested, but inside he felt the tick of annoyance. The new guy had been nothing but a thorn in his side since the day he had walked through the doors. Ludoshel frequently used his phone without asking, looming over him, booming down the line as he invaded his personal space. Meliodas had complained to Zeldris about it, and had been told in no uncertain terms to sit back and accept the situation. Despite being new, Ludoshel was rapidly earning himself a solid reputation as one of the best sales reps in the company. This would be fine, but Meliodas knew for a fact he kept stealing colleagues’ leads, his included.

“Well… I’m sure he’s a nice man underneath it all,” Margaret murmured. “Maybe we should take him out for drinks, get to know him a bit better.”

“He’ll probably poison your pint,” Meliodas cautioned as he watched black and white images of this co-workers as they made coffees and ate what could only be described as an obscene amount of biscuits. “And they’re impossible too!” he added, pointing at two women who were huddled in a corner of the kitchen, laughing their heads off.

“They are… a little irritating on occasion certainly,” Margaret said soothingly, her lips pressed slightly together. “But they mean no harm.”

“How can you say that?” Meliodas left his task to stare at Margaret, his expression incredulous. “They yell at each other. All the time. It’s practically screaming.”

“Oh that’s just Diane and Elaine, they’re only being enthusiastic,” Margaret murmured, her eyes resolutely fixed forward. “It’s nothing really.”

“You know, Escanor says it’s a breach of his human rights.” Meliodas grinned, leaning forwards slightly as the man himself came into view on the screen, bespectacled head bowed as he made his way to the coffee machine. “If he had more guts he’d do something about it. They sit next to him. It must be torture. And they talk nonsense. Yesterday…”

“You exaggerate,” Margaret said soothingly. “And this is a distraction. We need to… Oh!”

Margaret’s exclamation made Meliodas sit up straight, his mouth dropping open as he saw Merlin of all people fishing about in the fridge and pulling out a box which looked suspiciously like the one Gowther had sequestered there earlier.

“It… might be her own lunch…” he muttered, hissing slightly as Merlin removed the lid. She gave the contents a sniff before methodically throwing the whole lot into the bin, covering it up with a newspaper left lying on one of the tables for good measure. Unsure of how to process the sight he had just seen, Meliodas leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes wide as saucers.

“I… find this hard to believe,” Margaret spluttered. The normally unflappable woman, the pillar of calm, the source of all sanity in what was otherwise bedlam looked to be on the point of collapse. “Why would she do this?”

“Honestly? Not a clue.” Meliodas chuckled, laughter bubbling up in his throat as he watched Merlin calmly heating her own lunch up in the microwave. “Come on, don’t be like that! It’s amusing!” he added as Margaret rounded on him, her eyes hard. “Precious little fun around here now that Ban’s gone.”

With some apparent effort, Margaret resisted this proffered bait. She rubbed her eyes and Meliodas felt a momentary stab of concern. She did look tired.

“Now we have to do something about this…” Margaret murmured, her shoulders drooping. “Zeldris is not going to be happy.” Meliodas smiled inwardly at her observation. Merlin was a top quality analyst. Not only was she the go to person for collecting massive amounts of data on potential customers she knew what to do with it. Leads from Merlin led to big sales, and the boss liked her. Only last week he had ordered her the most ostentatious wrap-around desk, which Merlin kept pristinely clean and tidy, lording her good fortune over all and sundry. ‘Not happy’ was a decided understatement.

“This is simple,” Meliodas said lightly, his hands once more round the back of his head. “We just need to give her a taste of her own medicine - no hear me out!” he added as Margaret opened her mouth to protest. “The boss is not going to tell her off right? She’s her and Gowther’s, well, Gowther…” He could see from Margaret’s face he did not need to expand on his point. Gowther was very far from the most effective employee in the office. Only last week, after a mix up with his calendar appointments, the boss had yelled so loudly from his private office that the whole floor had heard it.

“We just have to give her a taste of her own medicine,” Meliodas said thoughtfully. “Then she’ll understand that we know about her activities, and that it’s not worth her while pulling stunts like this.”

“I’m not sure about this…” Margaret began.

“I’m not suggesting anything really bad,” Meliodas consoled. “Just… making her life a little unpleasant for a bit. Didn’t Zeldris put you in charge of the office seating reorganisation?”

“Yes, but I don’t see…”

“So, why not give Escanor a bit of a break?” Meliodas suggested. “Diane and Elaine are due a move…”

“Oh! I see what you’re getting at. Yes that could work,” Margaret gushed, her lips curving in a smile. “This is what I love about you, you always think of these things.”

“It’s a lifetime of practice,” Meliodas said breezily, standing to leave. “Come on, we’ve been in this cupboard long enough. Let’s…”

“Wait,” Margaret called as she also rose to her feet, “what are we going to tell the boss?”

“Nothing. We’ll just say we sorted it out ourselves and it won’t happen again. He likes that kind of initiative. We’ll let the word out quietly that Merlin owes her new place in the office to karma and there will be no more trouble. That I can guarantee.”

“Maybe I’ll put Ludoshel next to them as well,” Margaret mused, bowing her head slightly in acknowledgement as Meliodas held the door open for her. “Or is that a bit petty?”

“No! That’s a great idea!” Meliodas grinned broadly, his eyes shining with glee as Margaret left him to fulfill her errand.

#nnt #meliodas #margaret #prompt collab #fanfiction

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