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#yes i did google 'how to draw tree tops'
literallyjusttoa · 1 year
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let me skip the pleasantries (and spelling probably) and ask the important questions
polldona headcanons
genuialy would love to see what your brain thinks about them because they seem to be in you mind a lot
I was about to pass out but I have decided to postpone that bc of this ask this is a very urgent question. Here are my thoughts.
DRAMATICS. These two are dramatic about anything and everything. This leads to situations that are very silly (“Apollo, where did my favorite calligraphy pen go?” “I stole it.” “*gasp* How DARE YOU-“)
Any fights between the two can be equally dramatic, but they tend to fight quick and cool down even quicker. Despite outward appearances, both Apollo and AoD are very introspective people, so it doesn’t take long for them to reflect on an argument and come to a compromise. The main issue is that they both have very sharp tongues, so if they want to insult they can cut deep.
Poetry is a love language and they both engage in it heavily.
Apollo and AoD can go from insulting each other to showering each other in praise and encouragement in like 0.5 seconds. They give the people around them whiplash.
Apollo has made it his life goal to broaden AoD’s theatre horizons. AoD insists that no play will ever beat the works of Shakespeare. (This is a lie, they fall in love with every piece of music Apollo sings for them, so many musicals have now topped Shakespeare’s works)
AoD is human everytime I draw them, but I figure they haven’t done a whole bunch of regular human activities. Apollo loves traveling with them. And AoD likes having context for the odd comments all of their tree siblings used to make about the outside world.
Side note: Human!AoD came from the Magical Girl Au, but I’m thinking outside of that AoD should just be a nymph? I like them being a dryad.
AoD still claims they never search any of their information up online. Apollo has yet to actually see them search something up on google, but he is determined to catch them in the act.
AoD has no idea how to act around Apollo’s children and it’s a bit hilarious.
Austin: hey, you’re dating my dad, right?
AoD: Yes. Hello … young child.
Austin: …
AoD: … How do you do?
Ok that’s all I’m actually passing out now, hope this fulfilled your wildest dreams!
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stories-by-rie · 3 years
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Hello, yes I did a thing during class this morning. It’s supposed to be the Faery Oak from In the Land of Twilight and, yes, it’s missing the faeries. Please add them in your mind <3
Faeries are thumb-sized and the whole hive of them lives in this oak that’s basically hollow from the inside (it’s magic shh). So the proportions aren’t right of course but I thought it still brings across the general idea.
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solliewriter · 3 years
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Archery for Writers
In this post, I'll basically tell you the small stuff: e.g., what your archer will complain about to other archers, how different bows sound, what it's like shooting in the rain or snow, finding the goddamn arrows, etc. I’m also going into technical details and will discuss the legendary Robin Hood shot.
If you want a good basic primer, T.S. Strange on Instagram did a pretty good job https://www.instagram.com/p/COat-W1rQ7o/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link
But, if you're ready for beyond the basics, I've got you covered.
To be clear, my knowledge of archery is primarily Western traditional archery. PLEASE research the history of the type of bow you choose as they’re all unique. There’s a reason why Mongolian bows are so different than English longbows.
I have primarily shot in thick, brushy forest (not parks, actual wilderness), so when you read, that I'm talking about that setting unless specified. My favored bow is a reflex/deflex, which is basically a recurve/longbow hybrid. I have also been doing archery for as long as I can remember, so yes I know how to shoot.
SOUNDS
Different bows make different sounds. Recurve bows are loud. They make this twangy sound when you use them, unless you put a silencer on the string. This silencer is usually a fluff-type thing that is woven around and through the string. The silencer doesn't make them perfectly silent. It's more of a muffler than a silencer.
Longbows are quieter, but they still make noise. It's short, grunt-like hum that usually only the archer and their immediate compatriots can hear.
For Your Character (FYC): a recurve archer and a longbow archer will very likely pester each other about noise.
SIGHT, pt1
You can shoot blind. Sorta. No, you can't put on a blindfold and still hit your target, but you can and will extrapolate what you see. As mentioned, I've done almost all of my shooting in the forest, in the mountains. Visibility is  less than perfect. You have to aim through hundreds of branches, and the likelihood of hitting a branch and sending your arrow flying into No Man's Land is very likely as a beginner and amateur. Shooting through the forest isn't like in Lord of the Rings or Hunger Games, unless that forest is a well maintained park with marked trails made by things other than deer and bear. (FYI, bear trails are perfect for humans.) Half the time, if you move an inch the wrong way, your arrow will be way off target. Missing by an inch means missing by several feet, which is really far in archery.
More than once, you see your target at one angle, but can't shoot it at another. I've experienced this frequently because my Viking sized dad will pick targets that I, his 5'2" daughter, am too short to see. I have to stand on tip toes to see his target, then lower myself into almost a crouch to shoot. I still hit the target.
FYC: Besides the obvious banter that comes from discussing height differences, there are a few other things to note. In the forest, it can be hard to find two good angles to shoot something. This can lead to frustration, complaining, attempts to get the other archer out of the way, and etc.
SIGHT, pt 2
I’m talking about recurve/longbows, so there are no actual sights to look through. 
This is where things are controversial. There’s a gap shooting and an instinctive shooting. Gap shooters guess the distance, then aim. Instinctive shooters just sorta ... wing it.
I’m not going to throw shade at either method. But here’s a key reason why one would use one style or another: gap shooting is largely ineffective in mountainous, forested terrain when you can’t really see much. So, if you have an archer from a prairie and an archer from the mountains, it’s likely they use different aiming styles.
Side note: Flu-flu shots are unique and fun shots that use big feathery arrows. You shoot nearly straight up in hopes of getting your arrow on top of the target rather than straight toward it. When doing this, you can either look at the target or look at your arrow angle, but you can't do both at the same time. You have to shoot blind. Flu-flu shots aren't good for killing creatures, but they are pure fun. This is a good example of using instinctive shooting rather than gap shooting. Also, flu-flu shots are prone to being highly effective by the wind, and it’s very easy to get them stuck in a tree for all eternity. There’s a shooting area my roving family calls “The Valley of Lost Flu-Flu’s.” It’s called this for very good reason.
SMELLS
Bows don't smell, unless you've just added beeswax to the string (strings fray, wax stops that). Arrows smell for about a day after you paint them and glue them.
Leather, however, smells and remains smelly forever. I personally like the smell (though I suppose I'm actually smelling the oil, not the leather). It's very hard to describe, partially because I have so many memories involved. Unfortunately, I have to leave this to you. Just note, leather from armguards, quivers, and pouches don't smell the same as couches and your typical urbanite materials. Find your hippie friend and ask them to make you a leather bracelet or something. That'll teach you the smell.
FYC: Your archer will have very strong memories associated with the smell of leather and beeswax. They will be warm fuzzy memories.
TOUCH, aka shooting in the cold weather
All right, it's cold, and your character is wearing a big coat. Big, puffy sleeves to fit all those layers beneath. No biggie, just nock the arrow, draw, and shoot ...
FWAP!
The string hits the character's coat sleeve. The arrow goes about ten feet before falling limp to the ground like a sad puppy.
To fix this, you need to tie a thick band around your character's sleeve. Easy peasy.
Now, your OC tries shooting again. Unfortunately, it’s been raining, so to their dismay, they've noticed that their turkey fletchings (standard in the western US states) have flattened and shrunk. It looks like there is barely any fletching at all. Fear not, the arrow will still fly. It'll just make aiming a bit harder, but not terribly worse. Those fletchings are just stabilizers.
Your OC goes home. When they take off their shooting glove/tab, they notice their fingers are yellow. Oh no! Don't worry, your OC is not sick, the dye has just come off the leather in the rain. It'll wash off, but it'll probably happen every time the leather gets wet for the next few months unless your OC makes a new glove/tab that isn't dyed.
LEFTIE VS RIGHTIE
It is extremely uncommon to find a left-handed archer. This is because even if someone’s right-handed doing their day-to-day things, it doesn’t mean they’re going to be right-handed for archery.
In archery, whether you shoot left or right handed is determined by your eye dominance. Most people are right-eyed dominant, so much so it’s very hard for a left-eye dominant archer (such as myself) to find new bows. And I mean really hard. Go anywhere and there’s a severe shortage of left-dominant archery gear simply because it’s that rare (hah I’m special- jk).
BOWS
There are manufactured bows (lame), and there are good bows. Yes, there’s a huge difference.
I’m not sure of the technical terms, but here’s my experience.
Manufactured bows, i.e., the cheap bows you find at a renaissance fair, are typically made from a type of plastic. Good traditional bows, from almost any country, are custom-made from wood that the bowyer (bow-maker) has shaped, treated, and glued.
Bows are a lot like musical instruments. Essentially, manufactured bows (or guitars, violins, etc.) are poor quality because they’re made of cheap materials which make the shooting quality less than superb (more on that later), and because they aren’t given the attention they need, which makes them of lesser quality because they’re just ... eh. Special treatment makes for a better bow.
Like musical instruments, there are a lot of different types. Most websites say there are only four (recurve, longbow, compound, and crossbow), but that’s not quite true. These acknowledge the four general shapes of a bow, but not the subtypes. For example, Mongolian bows are recurves, but tend to be shorter than Western recurves because Mongolian recurves are meant to be shot on horseback.
SHOOTING QUALITY 
So, what is it like shooting a good bow?
Again, I’m speaking from experience with recurves, longbows, and reflexes.
A good bow has good speed. It moves the arrow faster than slower. This is a relative scale because recurves shoot arrows faster than longbows, and reflex/deflex tend to shoot faster than longbows but slower than recurves.
WEIGHT
Is it possible for people to have pulled 100 pounds of weight in a bow back in the olden days, or are people just confused?
Yes, it’s possible.
My dad, who used to do archery once or twice a week, had a 100 pound bow that he shot fairly regularly. That was before his shoulder injuries and, y’know, age. 
Also note that he’s practically a Viking.
I pulled 50 pounds at 28 inches when I was doing it regularly, although now I probably have to go back to 45 pounds.
BASIC SHOOTING FORM
This is going to be heavily effected by your character’s culture, bow, and upbringing.
There’s the English, upright stance for shooting a longbow. The archer stands very straight, and their pull hand goes to anywhere between the lip and the ear.
There’s the forest stance, which is my own, and that’s slightly bent over to avoid string-slaps, finger to cheekbone. Also, I made up the forest stance, so don’t Google it.
Then there’s Walt Wilhem, who, due to physical disability, had to shoot from the hip and was still one of the best archers in the world. Watch the video of him and his brother:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=np8u69YfSA8
THE ROBIN HOOD SHOT
This is actually very attainable. I’ve done it six times. My dad has done it about 30 times. I have a friend who did it about 25 times.
In order for this situation to realistically happen (if you’re writing something unrealistic, you really shouldn’t bother reading all of this), the character needs to prep a few things.
1. Years of experience. At least six, and that’s assuming your archer shoots at least seven hours a week, without missing an hour.
 2. At six years the archer might get a few Robin Hood shots. Very likely, it’ll be at a shorter distance and the arrow they’re shooting will be cross-wise instead of straight down the shaft.
3. At ten years, it’s quite likely your Robin Hood has shot straight down the shaft a few times.
4. Your Robin Hood must seek to improve every week.
SOME QUICK TIPS
unless you’re Walt Wilhem, you always pull from your back, not your arm
you never fire an arrow
back quivers are quieter and more mobile than hip quivers (suck it hipsters)
it takes practice and long fingers, but it’s quite doable to hold both a bow and an arrow in one hand while shooting
there is a system for very fast nocking 
beginners have no clue what this system is and so take several minutes to nock their arrow.
contrast, it takes a second for an experienced archer.
someone who doesn’t take long to aim is often called a snap shooter, and this isn’t exactly complimentary.
This ought to take you far in your journey of writing an archer. I’ve been sitting on this post for about a year now, but still need to add to it. PLEASE google the following in case I don’t get to sharing the info.
arrow breakage
bow breaking
materials for arrows
types of wood for bows
types of wood for arrows
arrow spine weight
bow tuning
bow shelfs
different forms
holding a bow
stringing a bow
bow at rest
temperatures + bows
fletching types
aerodynamics 
quivers
moving around
how to find the goddamn arrows
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mrs-gucci · 3 years
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There seems to be a darker, more violent take on Clyde floating around right now and I LOVE it!! I’m working on one for him too!
Since you say open for darker requests, I’d love to hear your take on a more violent Clyde! He could be saving you from a stalker. Clyde can show him what a real bad ass can do and then show you how well he can treat you too lol! He could be protecting you from someone at the bar. He could be showing you his special forces skills after some gets aggressive. You name it lol!
Secrets of the Blood Moon {werewolf!Clyde x Reader darkfic}
author's notes: helloooo! my friend shannon, thank you for this request!! I am also a fan of the darker take on Clyde and I hope I did it some justice!! I worked really, really hard on this one, and I’m super pleased with how it turned out.
**PLEASE HEED THE DARKFIC WARNING!! THIS FIC INVOLVES SEVERAL VERY HEAVY AND VERY DARK THEMES, SO PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION!**
warnings: angst. smut. hurt/comfort. a minor car crash. mentions of alcohol consumption. rut. knotting. breeding kink. werewolf stuff. attempted mating bite. murder coverup. clyde feels guilty.
tw's: noncon touching (not by clyde). involuntary attempted sexual assault (werewolf clyde pins her down & dry humps w/o consent, but human clyde doesn’t know he did it nor would ever intend to do it). blood & gore. graphic depictions of murder and violence. human-hunting. depictions of human body consumption (is it cannibalism if he’s technically a wolf when it happens?). werewolf sex.
**this is a work of FICTION. the author does not attempt to condone the actions/behaviors of the characters written.**
word count: 5.9k
my taglist peeps: @frank-and-honey @shygirl268 @icarusinthesea​ ​@gildedstarlight (if you’d like to be added to or removed from my taglist, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist.)
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Last Night
Stepping out of your car, you’re instantly suffocated by the thick humidity of the West Virginia evening. The sun paints cotton candy across the sky as it sets behind the trees on the mountainous horizon, the almost full moon hot on its tail, slowly rising on the other side of the sky.
The blood moon comes tomorrow, and from the old folk tales your mom used to tell about the deep West Virginia countryside, some weird shit goes down under the crimson moon. You never really believed her. What all could happen in lil ol’ Boone County, anyway?
The moment you step into the refreshing, air-conditioned Duck Tape, you’re immediately greeted by a loud call of your name.
“Y/N!” You smile and wave at Jimmy. 
Clyde looks up and smiles at you as you come and sit down at the bar next to Jimmy. He serves the customer before coming over to talk with you and the eldest Logan.
You lean over the bar to give him a kiss, earning a couple hoots and hollers from the bar crowd, which made you both laugh as you pull away.
“How was work, buttercup?” He asks, wiping off some glasses. “Weren’t ya doin’ that one presentation today? How’d that go?”
You’re always so flattered that Clyde actually pays attention when you talk about work stuff. Most guys just smile and nod, but Clyde actually listens and remembers. He even remembered your one year anniversary at the company you currently work for, sending you takeout from your favorite place along with some flowers.
“Yeah, it was alright. Boring as hell, but the partners seemed pleased, so that’s all I can really ask for at this point.”
Both he a Jimmy give a small chuckle, nodding before Clyde mixes your favorite drink, setting it down in front of you a few minutes later. You thank him, and the three-way conversation continues before the bar door swings open. 
Something about the man’s entrance makes you look over, already smelling trouble as he steps over the threshold. His eyes are glued on you, a smug smirk etched on his expression. 
A hush falls over the patrons for a few seconds, all eyes on the leather-clad man. Clyde’s hackles are immediately up, body tense as the mystery man saunters over, plopping himself down onto the vacant stool next to yours. 
Things on the floor continue as normal, the chatter picking back up, and you subtly scoot a little closer to Jimmy. 
“Bartender?” A thick New York accent calls.
Clyde walks over, plastering a fake smile on his face, seemingly the epitome of southern hospitality.
“What can I getcha, sir?”
The man gives Clyde a once-over and snickers. “No, seriously, where’s the bartender? I’d like a drink.”
Your grip clenches around your glass. You absolutely hated it when people were dicks about Clyde’s hand.
“Seriously, I am the bartender.” He states firmly. “So, what can I get ya?”
His tone sends a chill down your spine. Normally, Clyde just shuts down whenever someone starts poking fun at his missing hand, but tonight, there was a certain air of frustration, of dominance.
You just thought he’d finally cracked, after years of dealing with this bullshit. But as you would learn, there was an alternate explanation for his sudden outwardly alpha-like behavior.
The guy seems to back off a little bit, just asking for a cold Coors straight from the bottle. You startle a bit when Clyde slams the bottle down on the counter in front of him, and you could swear his eyes turn a light grey for a second before returning to the dark brown pools you’re familiar with.
Everything’s quiet for a little while, the man sipping his beer in silence, before he turns to you. He doesn’t say anything at first, simply allowing his eyes to drink in your seated figure.
“What’s your name, baby girl?” The beer smell of his breath is strong as he leans in. “You lookin’ for someone to keep you company tonight?”
You roll your eyes. Douchebag. “Nope. I’m perfectly content just sitting here, thanks.”
Clyde’s watching the interaction like a hawk as he makes someone’s drink. It’s a wonder he can concentrate on the drink when his thoughts and eyes are glued to you.
His slimy hand touches down on your bare thigh, just above your knee, and you jump in your seat. He grins, trailing it up as he leans in even closer.
“Are you sure? I could show you a real good time...”
Glass shatters from behind the bar and then, Clyde’s grabbing the man by his biker jacket, tossing him onto the floor with an almost superhuman strength. You stand up, appalled, as the man on the hardwood scrambles to get up.
An icy grey begins to frost over his sweet chocolate irises as Clyde clenches his fists by his side. 
“Don’t ya dare touch ma girl, ye pervert.” He growls, voice lower than you’ve ever heard it. “Someone ought to show ya what respect looks like.”
The bar has fallen pin-drop silent, all sets of eyes focused in on the developing scene. He cocks his fist above his head, snarling as he readies to pounce on the helpless man. 
It’s then that Jimmy hops up and puts himself between the two men, holding his hands up in front of Clyde. “Don’t do this t’ yerself. Ye know what’ll happen if ya do.”
This seems to bring him back, the warmness flooding back to his irises. His shoulders slump as he huffs softly, pushing past his older brother angrily, storming into his office and slamming the door behind him.
Shakily, the man stands and puts a twenty down on the table before running out of the bar, bell jingling against the wooden door as it eases shut after him.
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The rare blood moon hangs in its place against the pitch black sky as you pull up to the Logan’s trailer home. There aren’t any stars in the clear night’s sky, despite it being the dead of summer, but you don’t think much of it as you approach the shadowed porch.
Moths flutter around the dimly flickering porch light while you peek through the windows, which were as black as the night. Not a single light was on.
Odd. The Pontiac’s parked in its normal spot outside.
You flip the threadbare ‘welcome’ mat up, revealing the rusting gold key beneath. Sticking it in the lock, you turn until the door pops open, an eerie creak accompanying it.
"Clyde?” You say, looking around the trailer’s living room as you flip the living room lights on.
You call for him again. Maybe he’s just taking a nap. “Clyde?”
Still no response. 
Now, you’re getting worried. There’s no note, nothing noticeably out of place; in fact, it’s almost all too still. It gives you the creeps, how still and quiet it is in here.
The scent of suspicion thickens the air around you, and you just get the most awful feeling in your gut that something bad is happening or is about to happen.
Adrenaline begins to pump through your veins as you quickly walk around, peeking in the kitchen, and in the spare room. The air seems to thicken again the closer to draw to Clyde’s room, and you push the door open with bated breath.
You’re absolutely mortified at the sight before you. 
Shreds of carpet, fabric, and mattress stuffing is scattered the floor, and giant claw marks have torn straight through the drywall. The blankets and comforter, at least the remains of them, are disheveled where they lay across the clawed-up mattress. 
His vanity mirror is almost fully shattered, and the products that once sat atop are now tossed across the floor. The chilly summer’s night air flutters the curtains on the opened window above the bed.
The first thought that comes to mind is a bear attack of some kind. Now fully freaking out, you’re wondering how in the world a bear got into the trailer, and why it only seemed to attack Clyde’s room. You scramble to grab your phone from your purse with shaky hands, dialing Jimmy’s number in haste.
Was this one of the blood moon enigmas mom warned about? No, no, bear attacks are pretty common around here.
 It takes a few rings before he picks up.
“Y/N?” He sounds out of breath, exhausted.
“Jimmy, hey. Do you know where Clyde is? I’m at the trailer, and--”
Something that sounds like a growl rips through the speaker, followed by a woman’s voice. 
“Is everything oka--”
“Mellie, I can’t help ya right now! I’ll be there in a second!” He yells in the background. “Sorry Y/N, you were sayin’ somethin’?”
“No, it’s alright. I’m just at the trailer, and I peeked into Clyde’s room...”
“Ya didn’t touch anything, did ya?” His voice is rushed.
You shake your head, eyebrows furrowed. “Uh, no, but--”
The growl comes again, louder this time, and it almost sounds like it’s...a voice. A very deep and very animalistic one, but a voice nonetheless. And it was saying something, although you couldn’t really hear clearly enough.
“Jimmy, do you know where Clyde is?” You’re getting a little impatient.
“Don’t worry ‘bout Clyde, he’s okay, he’s, uhh, here with us.”
“Oh, uh, o-okay.”
But tonight was supposed to be your special night together.
“Y/N? Listen real close, now. I need ya to get outta the trailer and go home, right now. Don’t linger, and refrain from touchin’ anything in the trailer. Lock all yer doors n’ close all the windows when ya get back home, okay? ‘N don’t go outside for the rest’a the night.”
Okay, now you’re starting to get fearful. “What--”
“Jimmy!” Mellie’s panicked voice comes through the phone speaker again, this time a bit clearer. He curses under his breath.
Her cries clearly rattled the eldest Logan, and he quickly tells you to just do what he said and then hangs up in a frantic state. 
You’re frozen for a moment, but then you quickly scurry outside to your car, frantically looking around as you scramble to fit the key in the driver’s side door.  By some miracle, you hold your hand steady enough to unlock it, quickly shutting the door and turning on the engine, peeling out of there like a madwoman.
Suddenly, as you go to pull out of the driveway, a strange apparition appears at the edge of the wood across the street. You squint, trying to figure out what the hell it is. Whatever it is, though, it’s panting heavily and looks...inhuman.
It’s standing on two legs, but its large, probably almost seven feet tall if you had to guess, and must’ve had some type of black fur or skin since it almost blends in with the darkened forest.
The reddish light of the moon is the only light that reflects upon this mystery creature, before it seems to notice your car idling in the driveway. The crisp light grey pupils seemingly glimpse into your soul as the creature looks upon you.
Clearly, now, you can decipher what exactly it is, although you’re in utter shock and skeptical to think it real: A werewolf.
You quickly put the car in reverse, slamming down on the gas, flying backwards for a few seconds before colliding with the trailer’s tin wall. Your head slams forward onto the steering wheel, trickles of blood dribble down your forehead and nose as your consciousness is lost.
When you come to, only a few minutes later, you groan as the welt forms on your forehead. You look around, groggily, seeing that your car is in drive but isn’t moving. Surely when you’d passed out, your foot would’ve come off the brake and you would’ve rolled away...
Stepping out carefully, you find that some bricks have been placed in front of all four tires, effectively keeping the car at a dead standstill. 
Who in the world did this?
Then, you turn your head and walk slowly around to the front of your car, seeing the remnants of sharp teeth marks on your bumper. You’re frozen, a lump slowly crawling up your throat as the realization hits. 
A low growl comes from behind you, and your worst fears have suddenly been realized. You slowly, carefully spin around on your heels, afraid that one wrong move may make you tonight’s surprise entree.
Your eyes meet the soul-piercing grey’s of the werewolf, the one you’d seen at the edge of the forest minutes earlier. The one that seemingly saved your life, but...how did a werewolf know what to do?
As you continue to gaze at the large being before you, you’re struck with a sense of familiarity, almost as if you’d met them before. Strange, because you can’t recall ever encountering a werewolf. Hell, you’ve never even seen a wolf before, other than in pictures. Surely you’d remember coming into contact with a seemingly impossible biological phenomenon such as this one.
His presence is scarily comforting, and you find yourself briefly wondering what it’d feel like to be enveloped in his woolen arms. Well, arm, technically speaking. This particular werewolf seems to be missing the lower half of his left paw.
Then, your mind connects the dots, and you’re shocked to your very core. It wasn’t a bear that attacked Clyde’s room, it was Clyde. This werewolf that’s standing before you is Clyde. That’s why Jimmy and Mellie sounded so frantic and breathless on the phone; they must’ve been trying to keep him contained.
But why? Werewolves usually recognize the important people in their human lives...right? That’s why he’d saved you from rolling off...
Your headlights’ reflection was speared by your figure, creating a shadow that covered most of Clyde’s form, except for the very tips of his paws, which had enormous claws emerging from beneath the thick layer of fur.
“Clyde?” You whisper, and he seems to soften for a moment, falling down on all threes.
Just as you swallow the lump in your throat and begin to cautiously approach the creature, hand outstretched to allow him to smell you, his eyes suddenly darken, the once snowy grey now more like the color of storm clouds. 
He snarls, white teeth shining in the moon’s moody crimson-tinted reflection, and you immediately backtrack. Oh god, I’m fucked.
Your bottom collides with the front of your car, the engine thrumming lowly as it idles happily, grille warm from the machine inside. The headlights are now fully shining on the creature, fur shining under the bright lights as he approaches, lines of drool strung between his sharp fangs. 
“C-Clyde, please,” You plead with the creature. “It’s m-me, Y/N, your g-girlfriend. You know m-me, you don’t w-wanna do t-this...”
It doesn’t seem to do much to dissuade him, the animal within now overshadowing the kind, gentle man you know and love. No, this creature is something else. This isn’t your Clyde.
The wolf stops short of the hood, where you’ve crawled up onto and are laying back, raising his nose up in the air, sniffing. You’re perplexed by this action, but it becomes evident when his ear prick and he says, in that same deep, animalistic voice that was in the background of your call with Jimmy, 
“Mate.”
And then, he’s pouncing, trapping your hands above your head with his one arm while his legs scramble to find a good grip on the metallic surface of the car, hips rutting frantically. 
His muzzle dips down, wet nose running along your jawline and neck, teeth scraping dangerously against your thin skin. He quickly settles on a spot behind your ear, growling as his pink tongue darts out to begin lapping at the spot. 
You’re completely still, both physically restrained and unable to bring yourself to even try to move as the creature drags his fangs across the skin behind your ear. Your car is rocking back and forth with his hips’ violent movements, dragging his enormous cock against your lower stomach. 
He pants into your ear, breath hot as he prepares to sink his sharp fangs into your tender skin, marking you as his forever...
“CLYDE!”
Jimmy’s voice pierces through the still of the night. Crickets stop chirping for a moment, and Clyde’s body stills. His head whips around, snarling at his brother.
Mellie’s right behind him, and she peers around him, trying to look at you. “Y/N, are ya alright?”
“YYYeah,” You manage, somehow. “I-I’m o-okay.”
Clyde hops down, all three feet planted on the ground, hackles up as Jimmy takes a step forward. “Mate.”
“She ain’t yer mate.” Jimmy says, calmly. He points to you. “Look at whatcha done to ‘er, Clyde. Would a mate look like that, huh? Look at ‘er, Clyde, she’s all beat up and scared outta her damn mind.”
The wolf visibly stands down, slowly turning his head to look back at you, seeing the scratches on your wrists and the marks on your neck. He sees the bit of wetness on your shirt and shorts, from his slick.
He hangs his head and begins to cry, whimpering and whining as he sprints off, surprisingly agile and quick for a wolf with three paws, across the road and back into the woods.
His blood’s boiling, he’s angry that he couldn’t defend you against Jimmy, mad that his alpha instincts had failed him. Even as a werewolf, one of the most powerful beings in the forest, he was still weaker than and overshadowed by his showboat older brother. 
Loud barks of anger rip through him as he masterfully maneuvers through the forest, weaving through the trees, dodging thorns, leaping over the fallen tree trunks. 
The sky suddenly begins to empty down onto Earth, the cool summer night’s rain a welcomed refreshment on Clyde’s fur. He looks up at the blood moon, huffing softly as he silently curses the orb for bringing this condition to him each full moon, as he did every single moon before this, and will continue to do with every one after.
He reaches his cave a few minutes later, stopping dead in his tracks when he smells smoke coming from inside. He’s on high alert, now, as he moves to peek into the cavern.
There, he finds a lone man sitting by a very small fire, rubbing his hands together over the heat. He’s clad in head-to-toe tree camo with a shotgun laying just out of arms reach.
This man’s scent feels awfully familiar, Clyde thinks, but it takes him a minute to figure out why. And, when he does remember, Clyde is suddenly not so sympathetic for the unwanted visitor in his cave.
The wolf’s mind falls to a certain memory from last night at Duck Tape. This is the jackass that thought he could get away with feelin’ you up. The one that poked plenty ‘a fun at his missing hand. 
Clyde’s still-hard cock presses up against his furry stomach in excitement, tongue licking over his razor-sharp fangs. He couldn’t protect or avenge you last night, again due to Jimmy, but maybe he can now. 
Jimmy ain’t gonna get in my way this time ‘round.
He can’t just come running into the entrance, no, that allows him too much time to grab the gun. He thinks, and thinks, until he remembers the connecting cave that he’d recently found on the last full moon. He bets he can get in there and creep up behind the man, do a sneak attack. 
He’s salivating in anticipation as he bounds down to the opposite side of the cave, paws padding lightly against the soft gravelly dirt floor, trotting along carefully.
The man is none the wiser to the wolf’s presence, and the hum of the loud rain certainly wasn’t hurting. A loud crack of thunder suddenly rips through the forest, vibrating the ground. Clyde freezes briefly as the young man curls up further, chin resting in the gap between his knees. 
Predatory instincts pumping through his veins at an all-time high, he crouches down as he stalks closer and closer to the unsuspecting body by the small fire. The anticipation is almost too much to bear, now right behind the man, moving in slow motion so as to not alert his victim.
When the time is right, just as the next clap of thunder rumbles the rocks, Clyde pounces. He grabs the man’s shirt, dragging him out of the cave with an unprecedented swiftness. The fire is extinguished with the tussle, leaving the cave shrouded in darkness, the shotgun laid abandoned on the ground where he’d put it.
He struggles against the wolf’s grip, fabric ripping violently the further his body’s dragged along. Clyde throws him out onto the forest floor, pawing at the ground like a wild stallion as the disheveled man scrambles to his feet.
His hands are shaky as he holds them up in front of him, as if trying to calm the creature like a domesticated dog.  “E-Easy, easy.”
If he could, Clyde would’ve rolled his eyes at the man’s pathetic attempt to talk down at him. He snarls, watching in amusement at the way he startles and stumbles back. 
Clyde’s got the man backed against the trunk of an old oak within seconds, and he stands up on two legs, glaring at the much smaller figure. He bares his teeth, a wolf’s version of a devilish grin.
“Run.”
It seems like the man is caught in between being shocked that this wolf just spoke English and being chilled to the core by his word. He sputters for a moment, brain smoking as it churns on overdrive, before his legs carry him as quickly as they can down the mountainside. 
The wolf casually trots along after him, in very little rush to catch him. He’s throbbing hard now, the excitement translating into pure arousal. Clyde knows these woods like the back of his hand; there’s no where for this man to hide from his inevitable fate as the wolf-man’s next meal.
His head continuously whips around, meeting the grayish-white orbs tucked behind a thick coat of jet black fur. In a frenzy, he tucks himself behind a large tree, catching his breath.
Twigs snap in seemingly all directions, his breath heavy as his eyes flicker all around the dark, damp wood, the only light coming from the crimson-tinted orb above. He reaches back and wraps his arms around the tree’s trunk, panicked.
A low growl rattles his eardrums and he looks to the side, seeing the black creature right at his side. Clyde’s head snaps to the side, looking directly at his victim.
Crying out in fear, the man leaps forward to make a run for it, but is quickly taken to the dirt by the wolfish creature. The man squirms and screams out for mercy, for God, and Clyde knows what he has to do now.
He quickly sinks his teeth into the back of the mans neck repeatedly, effectively severing the spinal cord, leaving the man completely limp and defenseless. A quick and effective manner of disabling a victim, he’s learned through hunting animals, but keeps him just alive enough to see what’s being done to him. 
Clyde flips the limp form over, now on his back, and his eyes are wide as he watches the wolf above him, black fur now stained red around the mouth, stare down at him with a hungry gaze.
His mouth opens, probably to beg for his life, but it’s too late. Fangs sink through his shirt and into the flesh of his chest, just above where his rapidly beating heart lay.
The thump-thump rhythm slows, then stops, the life leaving his body. Sweet copper tang coats the wolf’s tongue as the body is drained of its remaining energy. 
There is little feeling better than watching the life slowly and steadily drain from the eyes of a victim, and suddenly, Clyde’s throbbing arousal has reached an almost unmanageable point.
But, he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to devour his freshly-caught prey, especially while it’s still warm. So he digs in immediately, carving further into the hole over the heart he’d already created, ripping out the vital organ.
He holds it triumphantly between his teeth for a moment before setting it aside. His craving is more for the meat, he’s never been much of a fan of organs, so he gets to work separating the good meat from the corpse.
Once he’s done, he lifts his nose in the air, howling loudly. He’s never been this hard before, he swears it, and there’s only one person that can satisfy this urge:
You.
For a wolf on three legs, he reaches your house in record time. He can already feel the wolf-ness fading steadily, the human beginning to peek through the cracks. But, his rut doesn’t give at all, and he bounds up the steps and scratches at your door.
You’re startled by the noise, already a gut feeling you know who it is. When you open the door, Clyde’s wolf figure is sitting politely on your doormat.  Should you let him in?
He pushes past, whimpering as he does so, before you can make a decision. You shut the door slowly before turning around to face the creature. He seems a bit different than when you saw him earlier, seeming a bit more human.
You stand against the door, back pressed up against it, looking down at the wolf in your living room. 
“Y/N.” He breathes, huskily, attempting to ignore the hardness pressing up against his wooly stomach. “N-Need you. Please.”
He’s ashamed as he stands up on his hind legs, wrapping a clawed hand around his oozing cock, jutting his hips out as if to show off for you. The alpha in him needs to show you how suitable of a mate he is, what strong pups he can give you.
“It hhhhurts, b-buttercup.”
The battle going on inside him, animal versus human, is painfully evident on his expression. Your hearts been ripped in half as you watch him struggle with himself, the human trying to overpower the animal, and the animal trying to fight off the human.  He doesn’t even know what he did to you earlier. 
“What do you need from me, Clyde? I’m here to help you, honey, I’ll do whatever you need.”
His eyes widen in surprise, but its quickly replaced by a look of what can only be described as pure, primal hunger.
“Floor. A-All fours.” The wolf-man manages, desperately humping his hand to offer some relief. “G-Get the lube, ffffuuuck, I mmuhhmight hurt ya without it.”
You rush to get the lube, placing the tube next to you as you pull your leggings down, exposing your bare cunt. Clyde watches with an eager anticipation as you spread yourself for him. 
As soon as you’re into position, he practically falls over on top of you, hips rutting uncontrollably as he smoothes lube over his drooling cock and lines up with your entrance. 
“B-Buttercup, I...I’m sssorry ‘bout what’s ggon’ happen. This ain’t me, ppuhpplease remember that, mmkay?”
You nod, tearing up at the pure agony in his voice. “I w-will, Clyde.”
His hips shove forward, a choked howl escaping his lips, balls tightening. You cry out, the burn of your walls stretching to accommodate his girthy length more prominent than usual.
Veins bulge out of his neck, jaw clenched as he begins moving, mercilessly plowing into you from behind. He plants his clawed hand next to yours, loud and desperate scratching noises accompanying the wet squelch of your joined torsos. 
The carpet is shredded, hardwood floor scratched permanently by his feet as he humps you with a desperation unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. This really wasn’t Clyde, but you soon realized that you exactly mind this side of Clyde, this primal instinct, this roughness. It was arousing, bittersweetly so.
When you look over your shoulder at the wooly mass moving behind you, your eyes widen. You didn’t notice the shiny substance from a distance, but now that he’s up close, you see that it coats his snout and has even dripped down onto his breast.
A gripping fear bubbles in your stomach. But then, you rationalize immediately, before you find yourself too deep down in this rabbit hole of worry. He probably just hunted a deer or a rabbit or something. He’s a fucking wolf, remember?
You almost sigh out loud in relief, but you keep it in, instead moaning along with each of his thrusts.
“D-Did ya like muhmmahhmm--ma w-wolf cock?” He asks. 
You nod. “Y-Yeah, ohhh god, I liked it.”
“Gonna gguh-give ya real nice p-pups.” His muzzle rubs over the spot behind your ear, the same one that he’d been after earlier, smearing some of the crimson across your skin. He licks it with as much consistency as possible, considering the speed and intensity of his hips. “F-Fill ya u-up, knot ya gggood ‘n deep.”
You’re almost positive he’s talking pretty much nonsense at this point, his rut brain having completely taken over. You know you’re not gonna cum, but it doesn’t really matter; you’re doing this for him, after all.
“Oh g-god, I’m cummin’, I’m gonna--”
He pauses his hips, howling softly as he cums. But this time, something else begins to swell, and you cry out as it does so. 
“M-Ma k-knot,” Clyde breathes in explanation. “Keeps it a-all inside y-ya.”
You nod, not really knowing what all he’s talking about but not really caring for an explanation right now. 
“‘m gonna h-havta stay inside y-ya fer a lil while. S-Should be ‘b-bout 30 minutes or so.”
His tongue begins moving over your cheeks and neck, something that makes you smile, that helps you remember that your beloved boyfriend’s in there somewhere.
The half hour waiting period passes, and as much as you’ve loved snuggling with your boyfriend (who’s wolf counterpart is relatively cuddly, despite previous reservations), you’re happy to have him off you.
After wishing you a final goodbye, citing the need to ‘clean up his cave a bit’, he trotted back out the door and galloped like a madman (wolf?) back out into the shadowed wood, leaving you alone once more.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It’s all over the news when you flip on the TV a couple days later.  Hunter Found Slain in Boone County Woods, Bear Attack Suspected.
You have this awful, sick-to-your-stomach feeling that what happened the other night, when Clyde came to your house still in wolf form with a snout and chest covered in blood, had something to do with this. 
When the picture of the victim came up on the screen, you audibly gasp, recognizing the face. It’s the guy that was feeling you up at a few nights ago at Duck Tape. 
Oh god, no. 
Suddenly, the door flies open, and Clyde’s panting as he rushes in and shuts it behind him. He looks pained, bottom lip trembling. “Have ya s-seen the ne--”
“...Police are still investigating the scene...foul play has not yet been ruled out...”
His entire demeanor falls, and the tears fill his eyes. He’s visibly shaking. You stand up and rush over to him just as he collapses on the floor. 
You’re freaking out, trying to confirm what it is you’re pretty sure you already know.
“C-Clyde, did you...?”
He looks up at you from where his head now rests in your lap. “I c-can’t quite remember, b-but I think...I think I m-might’ve.”
Sobs wrack through his body as he cries hoarsely. You’re in shock, somehow hearing the words makes the reality suddenly hit like a damn semi-truck. You run your hands through Clyde’s slightly matted mane, soothing him as best you can. 
“Clyde, it’s okay, baby. It’s alright, it’s not your fault.” You whisper.
“Y-Yeah it i-is, though. I k-killed ‘im.”
You try to stay strong, for Clyde’s sake, but the tears are swelling in your eyes at an uncontrollably fast rate.  “But you d-didn’t do it o-on purpose, h-honey.”
His face seems to drop even more when he sees that you’re about to cry. He sits up shakily, pulling you into a big ol’ bear hug.
“Oh, buttercup, oh god, ‘m sorry. I didn’t m-mean to drag y-ya into all ‘a t-this.”
You sob into his shirt, wrapping your arms around him, holding him close. It’s hard to believe that this man, this kind, gentle man, could’ve done something like this on purpose. Clyde would never hurt a fly.
From what he’s told you, which granted is very little, the line between werewolf and human for him is quite a blurry one. He seems to only be able to remember parts of what happened, and his subconscious is only there for part of the time.
Which means that he’s technically innocent, since he can’t remember nor could he control his canine impulses or instinct. As far as you’re concerned, werewolf Clyde and human Clyde are two different beings.
“I-If anyone ever f-found out ‘bout ma c-condition...”
You pull away and look up at him, holding his face in your hands. “Clyde, I-I’m not gonna turn y-you in.”
“What?” He looks at you with a furrowed brow, like he’s surprised to hear your words. “Y-Yer not g-gon’...?”
Shaking your head, you swing your leg over his lap, hugging him once more while your face settles into the crook of his neck.
“No, of course not. I know you’re a good p-person, and like I said before, it’s n-not you. Your w-wolf side is not really you, Clyde, at least not entirely.”
Clyde looks down at you with an incredibly grateful expression, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He tilts your head up with one of his meaty fingers, immediately pressing his lips to yours.
The kiss is relatively short, just a showing of his gratitude, of his love for you. When he pulls away, you maintain eye contact.
“Okay, so most of the solid DNA evidence will have been washed away by the rain and tampered with by the elements over the past few days that the body’s been outside. Plus, they aren’t looking for wolf DNA, and even if they somehow knew, your wolf DNA wouldn’t lead to your human identity, at least I don’t think so...”
Hours and hours of watching countless true crime shows, movies, and documentaries are finally paying off.
“But, do you remember leaving anything, anything that could indicate foul play? Really search your memory.”
He puts his metaphorical thinking cap on, closing his eyes as he tries to recall anything of use from that night, but nothing comes to mind. His eyes swell with tears as they blink open and he shakes his head. “I can’t ‘member anythin’.”
“That’s okay, Clyde. They won’t find out, I promise, they won’t.” You kiss his neck. “For now, let’s just try to relax and we’ll keep an eye on the news. Will you come snuggle on the couch with me?”
Clyde smiles softly, nodding as you pull away and stand up, extending a hand to him. He takes it, standing up seconds later.  As you walk into the living room, he says your name, causing you to turn around with a slightly perplexed expression.
“Thank ya.”
You smile brightly. “I love you, Clyde.”
“I love ya, too, darlin’.”
108 notes · View notes
gaybybirth · 3 years
Note
my dear author Molly,
i am BACK and with that another brainrot
and here's the thing i am gonna wait for a bit with the Laurent brainrots (especially since i am trying to hold back with the fluff since i REALLY look forward for the laurent fic)
so for who is my brain rotting today you may ask?
weeellll
I hear you so i raise you
the BIRD BRAIN HIMSELF
anyway we gotta set a scene so let's begin
we all lpve our birdman charming, cunning and flirtatious but I WILL BET EVERYTHING THIS MAN IS A BIRD BRAIN AFTER ALL
he is so smart, quick and completely capable of undercover work for sure always charming with the public BUT HE IS FAR TO STUPID TO GET THAT HE EITHER:
1- has feelings for the reader
2-sees that the reader has feelings for him
it's just.... that Mary go around between them of Going "naaaaahhhh we are TOTALLY just friends... yeah... friends can cuddle and playfully fight and tease each other... or maybe take a relaxing bath together... tOTallY"
but HOW DID THEY MEET
ever watched kikis delivery service? remember that artists that lived in the woods to create some art now let's take that as the reader (can you tell that i like the artist reader headcanonb xD)
and then let's maybe go with either tired bird man trying to escape the stress so he Flys a bit to the woods ooooorrrr the classic birdbrain somehow got himself hurt in the woods amd our lovely reader found him, took him back to her cottage and tried to help him
nooowwww whether or not the reader recognize that its THE HAWK i would leave it up to you tho i raise you foreign reader that really just came there for an aet vacation and isn't quite familiar with who the top heros are in Japan but he does recognise that hes a hero
so shes just brainstorming on "WHERE THE F- DID I SEE THAT FACE" probably because she already saw it in a magazine but doesn't quite remember
all that while our bird brain is resting
now the rest i leave up to you couse this is already getting FAR to long again
anyway hope you are having a nice day and don't stress yourself to much with the writers block
-Laurent anon
ps. i am LOVING ALL THE NEW LAURENT ASKS and i am not sure if i already told you this but i LOVED how you handled my late night cookie ask just *chefs kiss"* HOW DARE YOU TEASE ME WITH THOSE SWEET TENDER KISSES BETWEEN THOSE TWO.... I LOVE IT
!!!! YES IM ALWAYS HERE FOR HAWKS BRAIN ROT LET’S FUCKING GOOOO and !! I’m really glad you liked the laurent cookie piece :DDDD
A/N: Okayokayokay so i’m leaving this like it is....for now....cause i really like the idea of hawks being such a dumbass that he doesn’t realize he has feelings for someone (or that the other person has feelings for him), and i think i might try to turn this (or a version of this) into a full-fledged fic. 
also, i’m lazy, so this is unedited, and I'm sorry about that.
~ PART TWO ~
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Taglist: @pinktrouble
You’d met about a week ago.
You were out wandering the trails around your cabin, admiring the local fauna and flora scattered about. Some you snapped pictures of on your phone for reference pictures later, others you stopped and doodled in your sketchbook. All around you were a mixture of vibrant greens with splashes of color from flowers and wild berries. A gentle Summer’s breeze rustled the leaves of the trees overhead and scared small creatures out of bushes.
A bird cawed from a branch above your head, and you smiled up at the creature. Slowly, you opened your sketchbook and grabbed your pencil, worried that any sudden movements would make the bird flee. Its dark feathers blended in with the tree’s bark. If it weren’t for the leaves extending off the branch, you wouldn’t have even noticed it.
And just as you were finishing up the doodle, a twig snapped nearby, and the bird vanished. You frowned and quickly tried to finish the drawing, not wanting to leave it incomplete. You erased and shaded and erased some more. You huffed before blowing the eraser shavings from the paper, watching as the little pieces fell to the ground.
But when you glanced back at your notebook, a single red father had taken their place, stretching across the black and beige drawing.
“Sorry, that’s one of mine,” said an aloof, nonchalant voice.
You peered up as a hand plucked the feather from your book. Blond hair, gold eyes, a beaming grin that put the sun to shame. And the wings. Gorgeous, magnificent red wings the sunlight caught perfectly. You wanted to ignore every basic rule of human interaction and immediately start drawing him. Or, hell, at the very least, take a picture of him so you could at least try to recreate the beautiful image laid out before you.
“That’s okay,” you muttered in response.
And then you saw a trickle of blood traveling down from his forehead, and you dropped your book.
“You’re bleeding!”
A cloud of feathers caught your book before it hit the ground and brought it to one of the hero’s hands. The other went up to where your eyes had fallen, and he winced as a leather-covered finger touched the wound.
“Would you look at that? I am.”
He chuckled softly and shrugged, wings flexing as he did so. And before he could continue or even hand you your sketchbook back, you grabbed his wrist and started dragging him in the direction of your cabin.
“Huh, uh, wha-”
“I have a first aid kit back at my place.”
The hero could’ve easily pulled his wrist from your hold, could’ve flapped his wings and flown off, ending the interaction then and there. But as you led him through the forest that he’d been taking a relaxing detour through, he couldn’t seem to walk away. Or, in his case, fly away. And it dawned on him, as you pushed him through your front door, as his eyes fell upon canvas after canvas of art, as you fretted over him like his little scratch was fatal, that you didn’t know who he was.
“New to the area?” He checked out the small bandaid you’d put on his forehead in a hand mirror. It, which you had profusely apologized for before being unable to stop your laughter, had little birds on it.
“Kinda,” you responded as you brought him a glass of water. “This is my family’s cabin, and they’re letting me stay here for a few days on vacation. I think the last time I was here, I was seven. So it’s been a little while.”
There was silence as he sipped the water, flexing and relaxing his wings, his gold orbs studying your face through his typical lazy expression.
“You’re a hero, right?”
“Yeah.” He smiled.
Your leg bounced as you looked at him nervously. The more you stared at his face, the more you recognized him, but you just couldn’t place him. It was on the tip of your tongue -- you and your damned memory -- but you couldn’t figure it out. And it certainly wasn’t helping that your desperation to sketch him was overpowering your thoughts.
“Can I draw you?”
You blurted it out, hands fidgeting as you watching him cock his head to the side. Then his smile widened, and your heart raced in your chest. He knew he shouldn’t dilly dally; he should just thank you for your help -- even if it was just a scratch -- and for the water, and then he should just...be on his way. But, fuck, he couldn’t stop his shoulders from shrugging.
“It’d be an honor.”
He was there for another three hours after that. You finished your sketch after about thirty minutes, a stunning, realistic drawing that he wanted to fold and keep in his coat pocket, but he didn’t have the balls to ask you for it. And when you offered food? Fuck, he couldn’t refuse that. So he stayed, and the two of you ate and laughed, and you showed him your paintings, and he told you about the villain he’d taken down to earn such a fatal, horrible, tragic headwound. (It was a robber who tried to pepper spray him, and he happened to bang his head on the roof of the building when cleaning his goggles off.)
“So, you going to tell me your name?” You’d asked as he sauntered out your front door, stomach full and heart full of laughter.
He spun on his heels, wings flapping as he tapped his chin with his finger. If he told you his hero name, you’d be able to look him up and figure out who he was, and then he wouldn’t get to see the goofy look on your face every time you tried to remember who he was. But he didn’t have another name for you to call him, and he wasn’t about to tell you his real name.
“Call me K,” he decided.
“Okay...K.”
The hero gave you a dashing smirk before he disappeared into the night sky, going from a red and tan blur into a dot that the wind whisked away.
You didn’t think he’d come back the next day, and certainly not the day after that. And, damn, did it make your heart swell. Each time he returned, he was excited to find that you hadn’t learned his name yet. You’d made a point to tell him that you were determined to remember without any help. No internet, no magazines, no hero-related news, especially those associated with pepper-spray-having robbers.
The winged hero totally hadn’t meant to fly by your cabin that second day. Not at all. He just so happened to remember that he took that route yesterday, and his body subconsciously followed the same path and, damn, wouldn’t you know! He was spying the roof of your little cottage and was stopping by to ask if you figured out who he was yet. 
“I swear, I’m not as conceded as it might seem,” the hero leaned against the doorframe of your front door, eyes scanning over a portrait you’d guiltily drawn of him earlier that morning. “I’m just amused by your determination.” 
“Yeah? Says the man staring at a painting of his own face.” 
“Just admiring the art,” he quipped back.
He stayed for only about an hour that day. He had to get back to hero work, after all. The third day, he was there for three hours, munching on the lunch you’d made -- and you learned that he loved chicken -- and watching as you painted the view from outside your bedroom window. But, fuck, with him sitting there? The way the sun fell on his gold hair, caught the fuzz that he considered a beard, and how his goggles sent a vague discoloration across his skin? You had to paint him. And he let you. 
He watched how your brows furrowed together in concentration, the rest of your face scrunching along with it when you were thinking about how you wanted to start the next part. Noticing how your teeth captured your bottom lip when you dipped your brush into the paint. Your eyes reminded him of his when he was watching a crime unfold, and he was studying every minute detail of the scene and memorizing it. Well, it was exactly what he was doing now. Studying. Observing. Concentrating. 
His cheeks felt warm, and he frowned at the sun. 
“Oi,” you snapped as he started to move. “Don’t move.” 
He froze and blinked at you for a moment before settling back into the same position that he’d been in prior. Well, as close to it as he could get. As the sun started to set, you lifted your phone and snapped a picture, mumbling something about the painting being done sometime tomorrow or the day after that. An open invitation for him to stop by again, one you hoped he had understood. 
Although, all the hero heard was: “It’ll be done then if you wanna see it.” 
But he stopped by anyway. That day and the next, when you’d actually managed to finish the painting. And when he stared at it, you couldn’t help the way your heart swelled in your chest. And, fuck, if the hero didn’t feel the same way. It was an incredible piece of art. If it wasn’t of himself, he would’ve asked for it. Like he’d said, he wasn’t that conceded. Or, at the very least, he didn’t want you to think he was that conceded. 
“Do you want it?” You asked, and his face lit up. 
“What?” 
“The painting, do you want it?” You nudged his arm, and he looked at you, totally caught off guard. “I mean, only if you like it, obviously I don’t want to pressure you into taking something you don’t like-”
“I would love to have it.” He turned his attention back to it and spoke breathlessly. “It’s incredible.” 
That evening, he ended up staying longer than he ever had. You’d watched a movie, curled up on either end of your couch, sharing a bowl of popcorn and a bag of M&Ms. And as you both reached for the popcorn, the candy, the necessary napkins, the gap between the two of you closed and your limbs started to tangle. By the midway point of the film, your head was on his chest, he had an arm around your shoulders, and your legs were nearly on his lap. And when your eyelids started to feel heavy, and you slowly drifted off to sleep? He tucked you in -- on the couch, of course, he only breached the sanctity of your bedroom when you were conscious, and he didn’t want to cross a line -- and put the snacks away, making sure not to knock over your semi-packed luggage in the process. 
He felt lighter than air as he flew home. 
He blamed it on how sleepy he was. 
“Hawks!” You practically screamed when you found him on the other side of your door that next afternoon. 
His eyes widened, and his lazy smile widened into a full-on grin. 
“It hit me this morning when I was looking through my sketchbook and found an old hawk I had doodled.” You pointed at his wings and then at his chest. “You’re Hawks!” 
His laugh cut through your cabin as you high-fived yourself in excitement. You were beaming, Hawks noticed, amusement making your face brighten. Pride and smugness, even if it’d taken you days to remember his name, radiated from you in waves. And Hawks was living for it; the way your smile covered your face, how the corners of your eyes crinkled before they closed as you laughed. He wondered if the dumplings he’d had for lunch were bad as his stomach flipped. 
“Guilty as charged,” he said while giving you an over-the-top bow, his wings fluttering out dramatically in the process. 
He was met with you giving him the middle finger when he rose back up. 
“So,” Hawks nudged your suitcase with his foot. “When do you head out?” 
“Oh.” He swore he heard a tightness in your voice, but he brushed it off as you cleared your throat. “Today, actually. I have to head to the airport in a few minutes. You just about missed me.” 
Yeah, those dumplings were definitely bad. The flipping sensation twisted into a sharp, knife-twisting-in-his-gut pain. 
“Damn,” he kept his typical smirk as he plopped onto your couch. “Now who am I going to bother on my detour home?” He gasped and placed a hand over his heart. “Who’s going to feed me?” 
You unsuccessfully attempted to bit back a laugh, but it snuck out as a snort that made Hawks double over with his own laughter. You picked up a throw pillow and swung it at the hero in retaliation. 
“Hey, hey, hey, I’m off duty; this isn’t fair,” he said even though he was reaching for his own weapon of destruction. 
He knocked you onto the couch with an oof, and you tumbled onto your back. Hawks grabbed your wrists, and you dropped the pillow in defeat, listening to it tumble to the floor. Hawks’ mouth was dry as he stared down at you, hair splayed, eyes a bit dazed, lips parted as you peered up at him. His heart hammered in his chest, and he thought it was going to burst. He watched as you gulped, following the muscle movement down the length of your throat and the faint bit of collarbone that your shirt exposed.
He felt lightheaded. 
The harsh sound of an alarm sounded, and both you and Hawks jumped.
“Oh, I have to head to the airport now,” you whispered.   
Hawks slowly let go of your wrists before climbing off of you. He ran a hand through his hair as you rose off the couch, staring down at the coffee table with furrowed brows. The content of his stomach seemed determined to come back up the way they’d come. 
He waited by your luggage as you closed off the house, taking the handles as you reached for them and motioned towards the door. He was silent as he carried them out to the car you had rented and gently placed them in the trunk. 
He rubbed the back of his neck as you twiddled your thumbs, eyes shifting from the ground to the cabin and then to him as you tried to figure out what to say. 
“It was really nice meeting you,” you finally said. 
Hawks responded by smiling and pulling you into a tight hug. 
“Make sure to come back soon,” he whispered in your ear. “I like having my own personal artist.” 
He flew off before you could respond, and you once again watched him fly off into a spec in the sky. When you finally managed to get into your car and drive away, you clutched your steering wheel with a steel grip all the way to the airport. 
Hawks, on the other hand, thought he was going to lose his lunch while in the air. His chest ached, his stomach felt uneasy, and his head felt fuzzy. Your smile kept popping into his thoughts, the way your eyes lit up every time you saw him, how your laugh made his heart flutter...
The winged hero nearly flew into a building. 
“I’m a fucking idiot.” 
He stopped and spun around, trying to figure out which direction the airport was in. He had sniped a quick glance at your ticket before you left; he knew where you were boarding. When you were boarding. He checked his phone, fifteen minutes. Fuck. 
He lost a few feathers as he shot towards the airport, hoping to god he’d make it in time. 
To be continued...? 
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Footprints in the Sand
Part Twelve: Hunger
Summary/Author's Note: We are in Dorne people! You wake up in bed with your lovers for the first morning of what you hope will be the rest of your days. Oberyn tells you about his family and the two of you share some quality morning time. 
I need a fucking spreadsheet for Oberyn’s Daughters. I have a google doc and at this time in the Footprints era he only has 6 (there are two left to be born). Trust me, the age calculations were...time consuming. 
(gif credit to @pajamasecrets, yes this is my header. It's perfect.)
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Pairing: Oberyn x Ellaria x Lannister!Reader Word Count: 4.6k Warnings/Rating (NC-17/18+) - language, cockwarming, Oberyn uses ridiculous blades for the AESTHETIC, threesome, oral fem!receiving x2, penetration, lady on top, face sitting, mild breath play if you squint... (ALL OF THIS WILL BE HAPPENING IN PART 13, I HAD TO CUT IT.)
[Part Eleven] [Masterlist]
The sounds of birds quietly singing outside the open window in the branches of the citrus trees drew you slowly out of slumber. If you strained your ears you could hear the distinct sounds of the ocean crashing against the sands as the city started to rise and begin it's day. With tired limbs, shaky and weak like a newborn foal, you slowly sat up and pushed your wild hair out of your face. Even laden with fatigue, you had never felt more rested.
Ellaria slept quietly beside you, naked and draped in one of the many silk sheets that adorned the massive bed that the three of you now shared. Her ebony curls fanned over the pillows and her copper skin looked so soft in the morning glow of the sunbeams filtering through the gently swaying curtains. It was clear to you then that you would never get used to how truly beautiful she was, nor the idea that you were to wake beside her every morning. Was such a gift your new reality?
Looking to your left, you noticed the third member of your triad was missing.
"Oberyn?" You asked quietly to an empty room.
Ellaria turned over and pulled the sheet with her to help nestle herself down into the pillows and it made you smile. You could look for Oberyn alone--after spending the majority of the trip home sick she needed as much rest as she could get. Home. The idea of referring to such a place, and the ease at which the thought came to your mind made you feel light and giddy.
You grabbed one of Ellaria's oversized silk dressing robes off of the edge of the overflowing trunks and draped it over your shoulders. It didn't tie in the front and confirmed that it was more for decoration than for actual concealing of your nakedness. But it was soft, the royal blue slipping across your skin in a way that made you feel devine--the two of them had a knack for collecting devine and beautiful things.
The quiet trickle of water drew you to the room off to the side of the master bedroom. Before the three of you had tumbled into bed and well, into one another, Ellaria had given you a tour. The washroom was off to the side with a large marble pool for bathing, an ornate sun-shaped looking glass on the wall, and shelves full of scented oils and healing balms. Such luxury was something you had never seen, not even in the red keep, where money was thrown at armies instead of at the city's infrastructure.
Just as you had deducted, Oberyn sat in an armless, straight backed chair that he had pulled closer to one of the mirrors. A bowl of water sat on the table closest to him, and you leaned against the doorway and watched as he shaved. Despite the sunlight coming in from the window above the pool, a few candelabras flickered closer to where he was working to give him more light. There was yet to be a lighting in which his tanned skin didn't look utterly breathtaking to you and as you watched him drag his blade slowly up his throat and wipe away a bit of the soap on his neck, you had to remind yourself to in fact take a breath.
Your hand dipped down the valley of your breasts as you were suddenly filled with the desire to touch him. And yet, you didn't want him to stray from his task. You wanted to observe the way he moved, the way the muscles of his back shamelessly made your mouth water. The obvious solution for now was to touch yourself. Your fingers had barely ghosted the apex of your thighs when he spoke.
"What are you doing, lover?" His voice came as he looked at you in the mirror over his shoulder.
You took your hand away from your body and walked towards him, the silk of the robe blowing behind you gracefully while you walked. "Nothing.."
"Don't lie to your prince," he said, still holding a smile as he balanced the blade across the top of the bowl. "It looked like you were about to enjoy yourself to the image of me--come here." He grabbed your wrists and pulled you against him. He looked you up and down slowly, his dark eyes drinking you in as he reached up and pushed the robe from your shoulders to pool in the floor at your feet. "Aren't you a vision?"
"You flatter me."
"I simply observe."
“Did you sleep well?” he asked as he transferred his grip from your wrist to your hand and brought your knuckles to his lips.
“Best sleep I’ve had in years.”
“Good.”
You touched the smooth skin of his throat with the tip of your finger. The soap he had lathered onto his skin smelled of honeysuckle and rosemary. You desperately wanted to kiss along his jaw but he had only finished about half of his shaving, sculpting the sharp beard that ran along his pointed features perfectly. "May I?"
"May you what?" He looked up as he helped you slide into his lap.
"Teach me," you said, quietly as you straddled his thighs and nodded to the blade and then gestured to his jaw.
"Hmm," he made a thoughtful noise as his hands slid up your sides and cupped your breasts. His thumbs played over your nipples, drawing goosebumps to the surface of your skin. "I don't allow many people to have a blade that close to my throat."
"I overstep--"
He pinched your right nipple gently and stopped your words before you could apologize. "You never overstep in my presence. Whose bed are you in?" He took your hand and guided it between your bodies as he started to grow hard against your thigh.
"Yours," You gasp as he wraps your fingers around his thick shaft, growing larger by the moment.
"And who am I?"
"A prince of Dorne."
"Exactly."
He put his hand behind your head and gripped your hair, pulling you forward enough to kiss you hard. You stroked him gently as you felt your own core start to respond to him. A small whimper fell from your mouth as you felt his fingers part your folds. You were sore from the night before but not enough to push away his affections. His name fell from your lips and his large hands cupped your ass and lifted you slightly.
"I'll teach you," he mumbled against your lips. "On the condition that you sit that beautiful cunt on top of my cock while you do."
You nodded as he gripped your ass and spread you slightly, making it easier for you to raise up on your knees. Using his shoulders for balance, you let him slowly impale you. He made room for himself in a way that made you clench against the intrusion. He encouraged you to relax as he nosed your neck and up to your cheek.
"How are you fairing from last night?" He asked, a soft grunt coming from his throat as you get settled.
"Sore, but I'll get used to it," you play your fingers in the back of his hair and watch his face. "I--um," you swallow hard and fight to keep your blush down. "I dreamed about what we did."
"About which part, my dear?"
"About," you lowered your voice and said quietly. "About tasting Ellaria."
"Hmm, I dare say you enjoyed that almost as much as she did." He chuckled and put his knuckle under your chin before you could look away. “No shame in that--who wouldn’t want to taste something that sweet?”
He trailed his fingers along the curve of your jaw and down over one of the mouth-shaped bruises on your neck. He had already apologized for them and you wouldn’t hear it again. You had enjoyed the making of them just as much as he had. When you bit your lip his cock twitched inside of you and you readjusted on his lap with a soft groan.
“Easy,” he chided you softly. “I can’t fuck you until I finish shaving.” His grin was as mischievous as his desire to keep you waiting. It excited you, made you long for unspoken promises you knew he intended to keep. “Grab the blade--I’ll teach you.”
You looked to the table on your right and picked up the dagger off of the bowl. It was a solid weight in your hand, not too heavy, but not at all flexible or flimsy. Unlike his other blades that you had seen on his belts and belongings, the handle was not adorned with a snake or sun or any kind of writing. In fact, it was pretty plain. Its charred black handle was crafted from the horn of an animal of some kind and wrapped in a leather strap for grip--despite the lack-luster appearance, it was clear that the blade was incredibly sharp.
“Should you use this on your face?” You raised an eyebrow and balanced it gingerly in your hand.
“What else would I use?” he chuckled as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “Now, firm grip. You’re going to need one hand on the blade and one hand on my neck.”
“Oberyn--” you said, suddenly feeling less sure of yourself.
“You can do it,” he encouraged. “I happen to like the view better like this.” He smirked, looking at your breasts. He started to lean forward to put his mouth on them and you pressed him back against the chair, firmly.
“Stay still,” you teased and he nodded.
“As you command, my love,” he leaned his head to the side. “Use your free hand to press gently and pull down on my skin. It will make it taught, and then you can shave down with the grain. Short, smooth strokes.”
You bit your lip in concentration as you did just as he said. Weeks of being in his bed and your heart still hammered when you were this close to him. Here sat one of the most deadly men you had ever known and his calloused but gentle hands cupped your ass as you held a rather large blade to his throat. The intimacy and trust of the situation was not lost on you.
The blade gave a little resistance as you started to drag it gently through the soap against his neck. The suds parted revealing his skin in the most entrancing way and you carved a path down from his jaw to where his previous lines ended.
“Was Doran upset with you? Yesterday, that is,” you asked quietly once you finished your line and moved to dip the knife in the bowl of water and wipe it on the cloth.
“Yes, of course,” Oberyn, took the chance to smile as you paused in your process. “But it wasn’t the first time, and I promise you it won’t be the last.”
Your stomach turned at his words and you looked at him in earnest. “I don’t want to go back--”
“I won’t let that happen.”
His tone was sharp enough to make you flinch but his hands moved up your back as if to soothe the sting from his words. Although you didn’t know how he planned on keeping it from happening, you wanted to believe him. You had to.
The two of you sat in silence as you carefully moved the blade down his throat, taking any hair with the soap before rinsing, drying, and starting a new line. You went much slower than was probably needed, but if you drew blood on him, you would have never forgiven yourself--although Oberyn would have probably found it amusing. He took the cloth and held it for you gently, his eyes softening as he gazed upon you. The trickle of the water in the bowl sounded far too loud in all of the quiet, so you cleared your throat.
"Tell me about your family, other than Doran--your children, perhaps?"
"You wish to know about my daughters?" He asked, raising an eyebrow and when you nodded he continued. "I have six."
"Six??" You asked, unable to keep the shock from your voice.
"Yes," he said simply. His voice continued to hold a good-natured tone, despite the fact that yours teetered on audacity.
"I'm sorry, that's just so many for--"
"An unmarried man?" He moved his hand up your side and rubbed his thumb along the side of your breast slowly. "It's much different down here in the southern part of the world, my love. As I've said of our Ellaria--bastards are born of passion, of love, and we do not despise them. Should the need arise, any one of my girls would be accepted as a princess of Dorne and would be allowed to sit on the throne."
"I didn't mean any offense--"
"And you have given me none. I just wish you to unlearn the ways of such small minded people. I know it will take time, but you live here now. Your home is in Dorne, so are your people." He reached up and brushed your hair back from your neck.
"I'll try." You sat up a little, adjusting yourself around his length as you resumed the task of shaving his face. The way he spoke to you didn't make you feel foolish or small, much like his voice when you asked about the blade, he wanted nothing more than to teach you.
"That's all I ask." He put his hands back on your hips and leaned his head back against the chair, exposing his throat to you again. "Let's see, my oldest, Obara, is eighteen. Her mother was a whore from oldtown. She is an excellent fighter."
"Like her father."
"Yes," he smiled sadly. "Unfortunately the gods also gave her my anger. But I don't blame her, considering her mother's love was also full of betrayal."
"Where is her mother?" You asked without thinking and before you could apologize, Oberyn answered.
"Dead."
You kept quiet and let him continue. The blade of the dagger whispered through the soap once again and you meticulously inspected his skin for stray hairs. Hundreds of questions came to the tip of your tongue and although you were certain he would answer them all, it was enough to listen to him tell his stories the way he wanted to.
"Sarella," he paused as he said the name quietly. "Well, I guess she'd be almost nine. Also born in Old Town. Her mother is captain of a trading ship. She writes to me. Told me of her birth--perhaps one day I'll get to meet her."
"Is that something you want?"
"Of course. But only if Sarella wishes it as well."
“I can't imagine a girl not wanting to meet her father if it means she would be a princess." You smiled and worked on the last section of his neck, priding yourself on the fact that you had managed not to accidentally draw blood on him.
"Her happiness is more important than her title. And if she is happy at sea with her mother, then so am I."
“Not a lot of fathers think that way.” You nodded and pressed gently on his skin. "Almost done."
"Take your time," he reassured with a relaxed sigh before continuing. "Nymeria just had her fifteenth name day, and she was born of a Noble woman in Volantis," Oberyn said factually as he trailed his finger up your spine slowly. "She looks like her mother. Acts like her, too." He chuckled. "Tyene, now her mother was a Septa."
You paused and leaned back, unable to mask the obvious shock on your face. "A Septa?"
"Scandalous, isn't it?" He raised an eyebrow and grinned.
"Am I to believe that you charmed a woman from her own faith and into your bed?"
"You can believe what you want but the proof of our endeavor is thirteen years of age and currently living at the Water Gardens of the Martells." He laughed as you placed the blade back in the bowl and used the cloth to wipe the excess soap from his jaw. "She is the only one with blonde hair and pale skin--and you know that didn't come from me."
"You speak of them fondly. Not just your daughters, but...their mothers."
"I do."
"Did you love them?"
"I did. Once upon a time."
"You are…" you paused, shaking your head and moved to put the towel on the table.
"What?"
"Nothing." Your voice was sharper than you wanted it to be and looked away from him.
"I'm what?" he challenged. "I love each one of my daughters, just as I loved their mothers. That love may have burned out quickly, may have been nothing more than passionate infatuation but it doesn't make it less real. My heart has travelled a great distance before finding its permanent home with Ellaria...and you."
“Permanent?”
“Have you ever known me to be untruthful?” he asked and you shook your head ‘no’.
Did his list of lovers intimidate you? Did knowing he held genuine emotion for them make it any easier to swallow? Jealousy was a horrible thing and yet it burned in your heart for no reason at all. These women were long gone, lost to the past of his many lived lifetimes, and here you sat, perched on his cock no less, trying not to feel jealous. It was a childish way of thinking, a foolish way, and you were neither a child or a fool. He must have seen the anguish of your thoughts on your face because his hand reached up and grabbed your jaw roughly.
"Do you wish me to stop? Does my touch offend you, now?"
"No." You answered him stubbornly as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your cheeks.
"Do you want me to tell you that you're far more lovely than any of them? That they all pale next to the beauty of my stolen lioness?" He raised his eyebrow again and when you tried to jerk your face from his grip, he held fast.
"Don't patronize me, Oberyn," you scowled as you put your hands on his chest and clenched around his cock. You suddenly wished he wasn't inside of you, distracting you, pulling you from the jealousy that your mind so desperately wanted to cling to. And yet, you wanted him deeper, closer, you wanted to claim him in a way that the flames of his past no longer could. All you had to do was say it.
"Then what would you have me do?" He asked as he pushed his hips up slightly, the feeling making your eyes flutter as you dug your nails into his flesh. "Say what you're feeling. What you want."
"I want," you took a steady breath before opening your eyes and looking at him with a level gaze. "I want to know that Ellaria and I are the only ones that possess your heart. That you don't look at me and see a foolish girl who has never left home, who doesn't have adventures to tell you about, or a long list of colorful lovers. I want to know that you won't grow bored of me."
“Ah,” he nodded. “I see.”
“You see? That’s it?”
Before you could pull away his hand slipped from your jaw to the back of your neck. He pulled you into him and kissed your lips with such a tenderness that made the animosity melt from your very skin. You desperately wanted to hold on to the small amount of anger you had, whatever upper hand it gave you was a lie, but it was better than continuing to feel naive in front of him.
“There’s that fire,” he whispered against your lips and you succumbed to him at last.
“What do you mean?”
“You insult yourself when there is nothing to insult. What an honor it is to help you write your own adventures." He moved his fingers to his lips and licked the tips of his first two. "And I say you've already had quite a first one--scaling down the Red Keep and running away with your two lovers is nothing to make light of."
"I guess you're right," you say quietly. You rock your hips forward once and he hisses, but still keeps his eyes locked on yours.
“You are not the wilting flower that the Lannisters have led you to believe your whole life. How does Ellaria feel about timid creatures?”
“Timid is boring.”
"And how wonderful will it be, to make it my life's work, to make you experience a love so exquisite, it will ruin all other partners you may have had in this life," he kept his tone even as he slipped his hand between your bodies and pressed his dampened fingers against your clit. "Or the next."
"Oberyn," you gasped quietly, raising up as he started to gently move his fingers back and forth. He had been inside of you the entire time and you were practically dripping because of it. Your own wetness soaked the inside of your thighs and dampened his lap as your velvety heat kept his cock tight and warm. You didn't know how much longer you could stand him not fucking you like he had the night before.
"And how are you feeling about my affections now?" He asked.
"Better," you whimpered.
"Better? Hmm, an improvement. I'll just have to keep reminding you until you're confident in them."
His free hand pressed into the small of your back to encourage you to move your hips. Obeying his silent command, you put your hands back on his chest and started to ride his lap. The stretch of him inside of you was still a tight fight due to the lack of movement for so long, and it was one of the most exquisite feelings in the world. Your head hung forward slightly, your hair falling over the front of your shoulder, and you made a soft sound as he pinched your clit. The way the head of him pressed against the sweet spot towards the end of you, made you ache for more. The feeling was intoxicating, addictive, and made you feel powerful in ways nothing else ever would.
“Oberyn--”
“Yes, my love?”
"I am more lovely than your…," you swallowed hard as you forced the squeak from your voice. "Your other lovers."
"What did you say?" Oberyn moved his hand from your slit and grabbed your hips roughly, his tone surprised but still the deep rumble it had been.
"I said," you looked at him through the curtain of your hair before pushing it back and repeating yourself. "I am more lovely than your other lovers. Ellaria and I are lovelier and you will never grow bored of our bed."
“A much better tone.” He smirked, a grin that slowly reached from ear to ear and held a pride that was almost palpable. "And what makes you say that?"
"You're here, aren't you?" You leaned your forehead against his and whispered against his lips. "And whose cunt are you inside of?"
He chuckled quietly and matched your tone. "Hmm, I suppose you're right."
You yelped as he surged forward and kissed you hard, his tongue parting your lips as if he wanted to taste the words you had just said. He fisted his hand in your hair and held your head still as he devoured your mouth and thrust his hips up against yours. Your hands found his neck and moved up to cup his jaw, holding him in place with only a fraction of the strength he held you with.
His neck and face were soft and fragrant from the soaps you had just used to shave him. His beard once again was its normal crisp line that framed the edge of his jaw. He looked every bit the Prince that he was and you wanted him in the same desperate way that you wanted him in King's Landing.
Would that ever go away? Would the burning desire to claim such a powerful entity as your own ever truly leave you? The way Oberyn and Ellaria spoke of each other, it didn't seem so. And now that love included you. A triad of adoration, of burning passion that would follow the three of you to your dying day--you were ready to be consumed by it. You wanted to be consumed, to be devoured, and in their arms it wasn't a terrifying thought.
"Fuck me."
Normally such words fell from your lips, but this time, it was Oberyn that said them.
He purred against your skin as his large hand came down on your ass with a smack spurring your hips into action. You wanted to own him in the way he did you, possess his soul in the way he possessed yours. So if he wanted you to fuck him, you would happily oblige.
"I want your mouth on my tits," you panted as you grabbed him by his dark hair and shoved his face down against your chest. He obeyed, bowing his head to mouth at your breasts. He bit, he sucked, he grabbed handfuls of your chest.
“Like that, sweet girl?” he said, his beard rubbing harshly against your soft skin in a way that made you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him closer.
You leaned your head over his as you continued to ride him relentlessly and he held your hips, pulling you down on his cock over and over. A trickle of warmth started low in your belly as the tip of him brushed the end of you and you held still to preserve the feeling for a moment extra. It was a desperate fuck that was unlike the night before. It was about staking his claim on your body, or perhaps you were staking yours on his.
“Oberyn,” you whined as you felt your body teetering on the edge of its release.
“My body is but a throne for you and Ellaria. To use as you see fit and to sit on as it pleases you,” he looked up at you, his neck straining from the angle and making his voice a breathy plea. “Such a gorgeous woman and you’re all mine.”
“As you are mine,” you leaned down to capture his lips as you breathed your words into his mouth. You gasped and pulled away from his kiss as your orgasm took you abruptly. Your nails pressed into the back of his scalp as you bared down on his lap, enveloping his entire length and holding it inside you in a greedy moment of pure ecstasy.
His arm tightened around you as he cupped your pussy and used his hand to help bring you through the pleasure. You felt the wetness of your release on his fingers and lap as he stood, clutching you to his chest and giving you a moment to clench your legs around him. With a firm kick, he knocked the chair back out of the way and laid you bare on the floor.
“Apologies, but if I don’t fill you up soon, I may go mad,” he braced his arms on the ground next to your head as he rammed himself up inside of you and you pulled his weight down on top of your body.
“We wouldn’t want that,” you moaned as you claimed his mouth just as he claimed you with his release and a groan of pure adoration.
--
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649 notes · View notes
kaibacorpintern · 3 years
Text
the wound
word count: ~2500
summary: kaiba has some pointed thoughts about yuugi’s recent cooking injury. platonic rivalshipping. post-DSOD
a/n: a woman has too many unfinished one-shots in her google drive so i’m making time to finish them instead of overthinking them (and never finishing them.) yes this is about cooking and yuugi and kaiba and depression. yes i have already written about this. whatever man. enjoy.
++++
Same time as usual. Two in the afternoon, on Saturdays. Same place as usual. The picnic table under the massive oak in the park, two blocks away from the Kame Game Shop and twenty minutes by subway from the station under the Kaiba Corp tower. Seto took the subway mostly out of scientific interest, taking a professional curiosity in the world Atem had wanted to live in, and because Atem had told him to enjoy it. What had he seen here, in the faded orange seats and bright pastel advertisements and the quiet scattering of human-not-Puzzle bodies? What had he felt, as the subway swayed around the curve in the tunnel, unseen in the darkness and known only by its momentum, making everyone sway with it? Hands curled around handrails and books. Fingers on phones. The train burst into daylight. The side of that girl’s head against the glass, watching Domino slide by with an equally glassy look in her eyes. Two layers between her and the city. Missing someone? Or just bored of life? 
He slunk off the subway, unnoticed and unknown, in an immaculate white hoodie and aviators, stainless steel water bottle dangling from one hand. Yuugi was waiting for him at the park entrance, as usual, wearing some kind of fashionable belted dark purple romper, with the usual tote bag full of games hanging from one hand. On the other hand, something unusual: his fingers stuck out from a half-formed mitten of gauze, giving his slender hand a clumsy, snub-nosed silhouette. He was having trouble holding his iced tea, thumb and fingers alligator-clamped around the lid. Someone had drawn a pair of flowers in pink marker across the back of the mitten, a bumper sticker of cheerful admonition: 🌺 BE CAREFUL! 🌺 Not Yuugi’s handwriting. 
“Hey,” Yuugi said. “How’re you doing? You sleeping better?”
Seto pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, over his bangs, crown-like. 
“On and off,” he said, which was true. His nights were now vast, tossing oceans of insomnia between shores of just good-enough sleep. Last night he’d simply given up trying to swim and instead, for the first time in years, read a book for amusement instead of education. Some sci-fi novel Yuugi had mentioned and Seto bought on a lark from the bookstore in the subway station. Most of his amusement came from correcting the bad science in the margins, until he woke up at dawn with his glasses bent and his bed linens blotted like calico cats with black ink. “What happened to your hand?”
“Oh, this?” Yuugi said, lifting his mitten-hand. “So, I was making a ceviche yesterday…”
He told the story as they walked through the park to the oak tree: the protagonist was a ripe avocado, its tough, disingenuous alligator hide concealing a soft, buttery-green flesh. The arc of the conflict: avocado against knife, a natural antagonist. The climax: the knife, ignorant of its own bluntness and made arrogant by the shine of its own steel, slid off its trajectory like a failing rocket and plunged at speed through plant skin and plant flesh straight into human skin and human flesh. The resolution: two identical cuts, a half-opened avocado and a half-opened hand. Man versus fruit. 
"There was so much blood Otogi almost fainted," Yuugi said, thumping the tote bag onto the wooden table and straddling the bench sideways. "So we went to the ER and they stitched me up, and then when we got back home I finished making the ceviche. What game? You pick."
"Hive," Seto said. He couldn’t stop looking at his bandaged hand. It drew his attention like a glitch on a screen, an inescapable aberration. “Does it bother you?”
“I mean, it hurts, but whatever, you know?” Yuugi said, digging into his tote bag for the drawstring bag of wooden tokens. He spilled them onto the table in a clattering cascade of wood against wood. They rapidly sorted them out. “It’s not my first cooking accident.”
Seto raised his eyebrows. It was a testament to the amount of time they’d been spending together lately - every Saturday afternoon for a handful of hours, until he made some excuse to leave, and Yuugi accepted it not because he was gullible but because he knew Seto had a battery and it ran low - that he didn’t even need to ask a question, and Yuugi simply provided an answer, with examples.
“So, here, I was frying onion rings for Jounouchi, and I splattered hot oil all over my arm,” Yuugi said, lifting his hand and pointing out a haphazard constellation of white scars over his forearm. “Then here - I was baking cookies for Shizuka’s birthday and touched the tray fresh out of the oven with my bare hand, like a moron, I dueled Jounouchi after and drawing my cards was like, ow - ” he waggled his fingertips - “and this one is another burn - ” a long white ink-stroke across his wrist - “from when I was making ramen for Anzu, ‘cause she was home from New York. And this one - ”
More interesting than how and what were who. This burn for Honda’s birthday barbecue, that cut for Otogi’s game night. A violent kiss between blade and fingers behind a frothy veil of soapy water, cleaning up after a movie night. Another spray of oil splatters, frying tempura for his mother. A lot of meals for her, his grandfather, Jounouchi. Every scar Yuugi showed him had a name attached, almost all of them below the elbows, as though collected there for easy reference. Seto frowned as Yuugi's fingers flew over this map of friendships and family, their routes landmarked by midnight breakfasts, lazy brunches, beautifully-wrapped bento boxes. Something about it tasted sour to him, his tongue held tight and bitten between his teeth. All of his own scars had only one name.
“You probably think I’m a klutz,” Yuugi said, with a sheepish smile, sliding one of the wooden tokens into place around their hive. 
“I told you to stop doing that,” Seto said briskly. “I’m not some dumpster for all your insecurities. You think you’re a klutz. You have no idea what I think.”
“I - ” Yuugi started, and huffed, with another smile, his chosen defense against causing offense. “Sorry, force of habit - ”
“Forget it. You don’t ever cook for yourself?”
“Duh. Of course I do. And I eat what I make with everyone else. It’s not like I make a pizza for all my friends and just sit there watching them while they eat it,” Yuugi said. “But I like cooking for people. I love... nourishing them. Knowing they’re not going to go to bed hungry or anything, and I can make something for them that makes them feel good.”
Seto tapped a wooden token on the table, under the guise of thinking about the game but really thinking about the kind of friends Yuugi made, and how he made them. Jounouchi. Honda. Atem. Himself.
“Did you ever cook for Atem?” he said, because he couldn’t help it, and braced against the soft look that came his way, with a default smile, a pre-emptive look, I'm fine. this didn’t hurt me smile.
“Yeah,” Yuugi said. “I did.”
Like what? Did he like it? Did he help cook or did he just watch? Just the two of you or with everyone else? Tell me. What did you nourish him with? What do you think he’s eating now? I ate pomegranates when I was there. Bread and honey and figs and garlic and beer. Nothing I ate makes me spend six months with the living and six months with the dead so instead I trade off day and night. Sometimes I leave for a few minutes, mid-afternoon, and I can hear my own name clattering through me as Mokuba calls me back. Seto kept all these comments to himself. There was only so greedy he could get with Yuugi’s grief; only so much he could share of his own.
He slid his wooden token into place around the honeycomb of pieces. Yuugi swiftly countered. Seto lapsed back into thought.
Yuugi took a quiet slurp of his iced tea, gave it a shake, rattling the ice until it settled, and took another, watching ducks paddle into the reeds at the edge of the pond and paddle out, a portrait of calm patience. It had taken him some time to get comfortable with Seto’s long silences. In concession, Seto made the effort to shorten them.
It was the kind of day where stepping into the shade made a difference. The air was darker and cooler under the trees and the flowering bushes that lined the park paths, while the rest of the earth baked in a cloudless dry heat. Seto made his move and pushed the sleeves of his sweatshirt up to his elbows.
“How about I cook for you sometime?” Yuugi said brightly, nudging another wooden token against the others with a single fingertip. 
Seto scowled, not at the suggestion but at the way his thoughts splintered apart, like two halves of a wooden log split by an axe. He had no doubt Yuugi would pull out the stops for him, slave and sweat for hours over some seventeen-course feast of modern art finger foods. Or maybe something cozy that made him feel like he was just nineteen instead of nineteen and exhausted. Whatever it was, Yuugi would put in the effort. But.
“No,” he said, and made sure to clarify this refusal before the clouds finished gathering over Yuugi’s face in a dejected overcast grey: “I don’t need one of your scars named after me.”
“I - what?” Yuugi said, flashing him an uneven, sideways smile, and Seto felt a flicker of irritation. Atem would’ve understood immediately. But, in fairness to Yuugi, he was being a little obtuse.
“You have a way of suffering for your friends,” he explained. “And I think part of you likes it.”
Yuugi straightened up in his seat, suddenly electric. 
“What the hell? It’s just cooking,” he said, with a stormy flash of lightning in his violet eyes. “You’re reading into this way too much. I cook because it’s fun and artistic and I like feeding people, not because I like… self-flagellating or something. Seriously, you can’t just spout off - ”
“You misunderstand me,” Seto countered. “There’s no reason to… hurt yourself on my behalf. If you want to eat together, I’d rather go to that kitschy little ice cream place down the block and get a fucking waffle cone. I don’t want you unable to duel because you burned your hand trying to pan-fry a steak for me.”
Yuugi opened his mouth, brows furrowing together… and scoffed, a surprisingly affectionate sound.  He rolled his eyes around the park, his gaze swinging across the sunlit grass, and looked back at Seto. 
“Okay. First of all, I've mastered the art of the pan-fried steak, and you should try it,” he said. “Second of all, what makes you think you’re not someone worth suffering for?”
Seto snorted, masking his inwards flinch. Mokuba already suffered enough, thank you. And for what? A ghost of a brother. A black hole, a perpetual collapsing. Things went in and they crossed the event horizon and the pressure squeezed them for eternity without ever letting them reach the center and nothing ever came back out, as much as it wanted to. The scientific term for such distortion of effort, stretched to an immeasurable length without breaking, was spaghettification. Even a black hole needs to eat! 
He slid one of his tokens back and forth with his fingertip, short, scraping jerks of wood against wood, thinking. 
“Direct attack on my life points,” he muttered.
“Yeah, you also got me pretty good,” Yuugi chuffed. “Let’s call it even. But relax. It’s just cooking. I love the process, and I love the result, and I love doing stuff for my friends. It’s not some big… metaphorical… symbol of something. This - " he lifted his mittened hand - "doesn't mean anything except I mishandled a knife. It’s not like… you and Duel Disks.”
But Seto also loved the process and the result and more than once he'd injured himself, machining parts or fiddling with wires that, like all wild living things, bit back in fear of his touch. He splayed his hand over the table, watching blood drip onto his work station, knowing he should get up, clean it, bandage it. But it was only two in the morning and there was work to do.
“The Duel Disk is a symbol of Kaiba Corp’s future,” he said, closing his hand into a fist. "I know what you've done for your friends. I’ve seen it. Doesn't that merit the same... mythology?"
Yuugi gave him a funny look, half skeptical, half knowing.
"That’s nice of you, thank you," he said, and an uncomfortable blush crawled up Seto’s neck. Sometimes he did understand. “Are you sure you don't want me to cook for you?”
Seto opened his mouth, closed it, folded his arms on the table. He felt like he was trying to explain the feeling of the color blue, or the arguments for why numbers do or don’t exist, or what it was like to dream. Well, you see, the last time I saw Atem, he told me - correction: the last time as in the most recent link in a chain of time, not the last time as in the end of the line, because he also told me we’d see each other again - he told me to enjoy this, and you know me, I never do what I’m told. And I can’t do what he told me to do because he was my friend, and if friendship is just getting caught in a great sticky web of small cuts and large cuts and burns and bruises and tears and suffering because they’re here and suffering because they’re not, then just go ahead and let the spider drink me up and dump what’s left of me in the dirt. I am so sick and tired of pain. Mine. Yours. Ours.
But he did enjoy these afternoons. He was enjoying the process of making this: he had more with Yuugi now than he ever had before. He reached across the table and took Yuugi’s bandaged hand between his own hands, running his thumb carefully over the inked warning. Yuugi's hand relaxed in his. Yes, Yuugi was wrong. It was the same as Duel Disks. In any act of creation there was pain, there was power, and there was glory. What difference was there between a hologram of a dragon and a steaming bowl of soup? Both nourished something. Both were an answer to hunger. Discovering an emptiness and filling it.
“Okay,” he said, releasing Yuugi’s hand. “Alright. Cook for me.”
“Yeah?!” Yuugi said, with rising excitement, beaming. “What should I make? What do you like?”
“Make me a steak,” Seto said, smiling. It felt good to see Yuugi smile. His hypothesis neatly undermined. See? It’s not all damage. “No. Surprise me.”
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Chapter 29. Borrowed Time
‘Harder days are coming. The loan of borrowed time will be due on the horizon. (...)’ - Ingeborg Bachmann
The most northern village in Savoy was Valois-Narcisse, so small that it wasn’t actually reachable by any form of public transportation. Not a lot of people in Savoy even knew Valois-Narcisse by name; Bayona, on the East Coast, was the closest reference point, a beach village considered an under-rated touristic spot. Historically, Valois-Narcisse was populated by sheep and eggplant farmers, not a very sexy niche, and it was still how the village’s only export to local and regional farmer’s markets.
For the following few weeks after Ascot, every time Harry tried to talk about it, his phone corrected the name to ‘value narcissism’, so by the time I drove past the small, rusted iron sign that read its name, I couldn’t help but smile.
One of the reasons Valois-Narcisse was so abandoned was that it was mostly situated up a mountain. Not at the top of the mountain, exactly, although parts of it were. The village just stretched along the mountain, with most of its commerce and eateries, however scarce, down below, and the houses built towards the top, including a couple of small hostels and, lucky for us, one very odd Airbnb.
The houses, bridges and streets were all built of stone and wood, with wildflowers and weeds growing in between, and across the mountain, beyond the village, stood the vast, beautiful Celtic Sea. On days of low tide, locals swore they could see the outline of the Irish coast on the horizon, at least according to the description on Airbnb.
But even if that was an exaggeration, we wouldn’t have cared, because what drew Harry and I to Valois-Narcisse that weekend was how desolate and empty it was. Paparazzi wouldn’t dream of finding us there, so it was there that we scheduled our first getaway. Our first secret rendezvous. Or, as Harry kept reminding me, our first date.
We had been texting non-stop since I left his house after Ascot, about what happened, and also about all things around us, what we were doing or not, and a lot of nothing. It was over text that we made the plans to meet in Vallois-Narcisse for the first time since getting together, it was over text that we discussed the latest of the Adrien saga (he’d been seen out in a club with the singer-girlfriend and their friends), and it was over text that he informed me that since we never got to go on our date the previous year, during our weekend in Vallois-Narcisse, he was going to pull all the stops to ‘take me out’’.
“Are we going out for dinner?” I asked, in our Airbnb, while I got ready in the middle of the afternoon.
“Not really.” He replied, from the small sitting room right outside our suite. “And stop trying to guess, just get ready.”
He had refused to tell me anything about the date, claiming it was supposed to be as real as the real one would have been and in the real one, it would have been a surprise.
“It’s very hard to get ready when I don’t know what we’re doing.” I sighed. “How casual am I supposed to look?”
“Casual.” He replied, unhelpful. “Maybe wear sneakers.”
“Well, that’s one decision off my conscience.” I mumbled to myself, staring at my options laid out in the bed, my small suitcase open on the floor.
I had chosen a preppy, plaid short skirt in shades of white and blue, and I had all the tops I had brought in the bed as possible options. For shoes, I removed the flats from the lineup, and put on my white Nike’s, turning around to look at the tops again.
“Are you ready? It’s time.” Harry called from the other room.
“Just–! Just give me ten minutes!” I shouted back, nervously.
I realized how ridiculous it was. It was just a gesture – a sweet, romantic, gesture – to have a first date when we had already slept together more than once. More than twice. The previous night, for instance. It made no sense, it was just sweet. So there was no reason to be nervous, and I knew that. Rationally, I knew that.
Still, as I looked at the clothes I brought, I hated every single one. I threw the Jurassic Park tee back into the suitcase – too casual –, and looked at the Kimono top, a greenish blue shade, long, loose sleeves, a nice, laidback fit to contrast with the skirt. The other two options, a tight, square neckline, navy blue, crop top, and a loose, green, blouse with spaghetti sleeves, both matched the skirt and were casual enough, but seemed more appropriate for the weather.
“…It’s been ten minutes.” Harry’s voice came back from the other room, patiently cautious.
“Coming!”
In one panicked move, I grabbed the green, strappy blouse and put it on. I rushed to the bathroom and quickly applied some tinted sunblock to my face. I wanted to apply actual makeup, but convinced myself it was silly. He’d seen me without makeup many times already. It wasn’t a real first date, no matter how big the knot on my stomach was, so I just grabbed a pair of earrings, my every-day necklace, and sunglasses, and burst through the door in a hurry, ready to run as if we had an actual reservation, even though I was perfectly aware that no restaurant in this village town worked like that.
“Okay, I’m ready, let’s go!” I said, looking at him, who startled up from the couch and looked me up and down, appreciatively.
“Mary, wow.” He smiled, slowly, approaching me with careful steps. “You look…”
“What are you doing?!” I laughed, blushing. “You saw me five minutes ago. I look the same. I just put on a different, very casual, outfit.”
“Will you just pretend with me? Please?” He sighed, rolling his eyes. “We never got to have our first date, just… let’s just pretend we’re a normal couple today.”
I shook my head, grinning. “…Fine.��
He took another step towards me and, from seemingly thin air, produced a white daisy.
I sighed. I wanted to say ‘really?’, but I bit down my sarcasm, and took my flower.
“Thank you. It’s beautiful!” I said, adding a little more emotion than necessary.
He sighed heavily, making me laugh. “Come on, ma’am, we have a date.”
“Yes, sir.”
Our Airbnb was in a secluded property at the end of a dead-end granite driveway off of the main road. Instead of taking that direction, however, we walked towards the hike trail in the opposite direction. I wanted to ask what was on the huge backpack he’d brought, but I knew he was just waiting for the opportunity to tell me it was a surprise, so I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
He announced we had arrived when we reached a clearing amongst the trees. The grass and weeds were a little high, but nothing that made it impossible for us to sit down and enjoy ourselves. Especially because, as I soon discovered, Harry had a picnic blanket in his backpack. Because Harry had a whole picnic in his backpack.
“A picnic?!” I asked, excited.
“You like picnics?” He smiled, setting the blanket down.
“I love picnics!” I said, excitedly. “Don’t go to many, because… you know, outside, not very safe.”
“Yes, I do know.” He nodded, going through his bag, “Fortunately this place has enough privacy for us.”
“How did you even know to come here?”
“I googled it.” He replied, simply.
From his bag, he took out a bottle of sparkly wine and two ceramic looking plastic plates, which he sat down at opposite ends of the blanket. He then placed two linen napkins, folded, on top, with a set of cutlery over each.
“You thought this through.” I noticed.
“Of course I did.” He shrugged, removing a piece of paper from his pocket and reading it quickly. “I do have visual aids, though.”
In his bag, he also had acrylic Tupperware with a number of cheeses, which he then laid out on a wooden board. In another container, he had brought an assortment of cut veggies with a smaller cup inside, with ranch, which he remembered was my favorite. For our main course, he dramatically revealed large sandwiches from his favorite London restaurant, perfectly packaged and cut, for easier consumption. And for dessert, there were also a number of fruits and two small pots with what looked like cheesecakes.
“This is… incredible.”
He seemed the most flattered I had ever seen him.
“Thank you!” He said, folding his note quickly.
“Can I see that?”
“What? Oh, no, it’s just a little reminder of where things go–Oh–okay.”
I walked over to him and grabbed the paper before he could return it to his pocket; it was a list of instructions on how to set up the picnic, in his own handwriting. It even said ‘transfer cheese to wooden board’ and included a drawing of how to set up the napkins on top of the plates, with the cutlery on top of the napkins.
“This is… so sweet.” I gushed, watching him blush. “Where did you get this from?”
“I googled picnics.” He shrugged. “Well, first I googled first date ideas. Then saw the picnic idea and went on google street view to see if this place would be good for one. Then googled how to do a picnic.” He shrugged, grabbing the paper back and folding it. “Not a big deal.”
It was the way he blushed slightly and still made it sound like it wasn’t a big deal that he put in that much effort into giving us one afternoon where we could pretend we were a normal couple, untouched by tragedy. That’s what made my heart swoon for him.
I didn’t even have time to kiss him, though. He was so adamant to continue as if nothing was the problem that he just held my hand and sat down, pulling me with him.
“So…” He started, smiling. “So good that we are finally able to do this.”
“It is.” I agreed, amused.
“Wine?”
“Yes, please.”
“So, tell me, what is it that you do?” I laughed so loudly he reluctantly joined me.
“I’m sorry, it’s just too weird.”
“Come on!” He complained. “Like a normal first date, just go with it.”
“Okay, okay…” I sighed, still smiling. “What I do for a living… I… I am a lawyer.” He gave me an annoyed look. “What? If I’m talking to someone who doesn’t know what I do for a living, I’m not gonna tell them.”
“Fair. But be honest.”
I sighed. “Alright. I have a law degree from Harvard, which I’m really proud of, and I mostly have experience with copyright law… But I am not practicing right now.”
“Really? How so?”
I gave him an annoyed look this time. “I… I made a career change last year towards working on my… family business.”
He grinned. “How interesting.”
“Thank you. It’s been very rewarding.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t an easy choice to make.”
My smile faltered slightly. “It wasn’t fully my choice… But I’m happy with it, regardless.” I added, to assuage his reaction.
He nodded, silently. After a while, he added, “Are you?”
I shifted the position of my legs under me, using the time it took to think it through.
“Yes. Yes? I think so.” I shrugged. “Honestly, I haven’t really stopped to figure that out… Not exactly a priority.”
“It should be.”
I smiled. Not knowing how to change the subject, I reached out to the platter next to me and grabbed a piece of cheese.
“This is really good.” I added.
He smiled, accepting of the change of subject.
“Alright, time for you to ask something.”
“Oh. Okay… Uhm.” I finished chewing slowly as I thought about it. “Where… are you from? Originally?”
He rolled his eyes, smiling. “I’m from England.”
“Oh, really? Interesting.” I said, overly impressed. “Where in England?”
“London.” He added, grinning. “I was born and raised in Central London.”
“Fancy.” I added, appreciatively, making him chuckle. “Do you like living there?”
He considered this. “…not particularly.”
I stopped chewing. “Really?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know… I mean, I liked it, yes, in that… generic, mandatory way you always feel you must like the place you are from. Like, I will defend it if I must. But… if I had a choice, would I want to spend the rest of my life there? I’m not sure I would.”
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” I shook my head. “Well.”
“Go on.” He said, grinning.
“Oh, I just mean… I love New York, it was one of the best experiences of my life living there for a year after law school, even if those memories are tainted with the presence of my ex… But as much as I love New York, and a lot of other places I’ve been to… coming home to Savoy is just…” I shrugged. “I don’t know, I couldn’t imagine staying away forever, you know? It’s home.”
He nodded. “I don’t know, I just don’t have that sense of attachment to England. To my family and friends, sure. But to the place? I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
We were silent for a while, eating cheese and drinking wine, and pondering over the words said. Then he perked up again, cheerily, and said,
“Tell me about your family.”
I gave the sky an eye roll. “…Fine.”
“Wow. So aggressive.” He noted, chuckling.
“Shut up.” I said. “Okay. Well, I’m the oldest of three. My brother was the middle child, but he passed away last year. He was three years younger than me and we got along really well. My sister is about eleven years younger than me, so we are not as close, though we’ve gotten a lot closer recently.”
“That’s nice to hear.” He smiled.
“My mother was born in Northern Savoy, her father is French, her mother is Savoyen. My grandfather has a property management and consultancy business, and my grandmother was always a stay-at-home mother. My mother only has one sister, Aunt Katherine, who’s now taken over my grandfather’s business, though her husband, Merlin, who is a Lord, seems to be making most of the calls. That is the root of most of the disagreements between my mother and Aunt, currently.”
“Tough.” He noted.
“Aunt Katherine has two children, Camille is the eldest, she’s been married to Hamilton Costeau for a few years, he’s a hotshot nightclub owner from the capital, and they’re expecting their first child currently. Her brother, Adam, is a freelance graphic designer, he’s married to a writer named Marcia. They’re probably my most normal relatives except that they’re wild, crazy hippies.”
He laughed. “How so?”
“They had a fully vegan wedding in a bowling alley and they live in a boat.”
He almost spit out his wine laughing. “What?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m gonna need more information.”
“There’s not really that much more to it. To be fair, the vegan menu was actually pretty good and bowling is fun. Haven’t been bowling since, so it’s a good memory. We don’t see them a lot, because of the boat.”
“When you say boat…?”
“Not a yatch or anything like that. It’s one of those small, house boats, like in Amsterdam? Except they actually use it to sail around since they’re both freelance and can work from anywhere.”
“Honestly… that sounds great.”
“They’re cool.” I nodded. “Let’s see… on my father’s side, he has two older sisters. Marilou Bondy is in her sixties, her husband is a Vice Admiral in the navy, and they have two kids in their mid-thirties. Zaccharie, married to Amber, they have two kids who are three and five years-old. Zacc is a business manager in a shipping company, his wife has a graduate degree in Psychology, but now is a stay-at-home mom. Zacc’s sister, Heloise, is CEO of a multinational company, and her husband is a doctor. They’re by far my relatives who’ve got it together the most.”
“Sounds like it, those are some big jobs. They have kids?”
“A two year old, adorable. All my cousin’s children are. We have good genes.” He laughed. “Let me see, what else? My father’s second oldest sister, Stephanie, married a Lord of Luxembourg, uncle Ellis, so they live there. They have three kids, Josephine, Klaus, and Catarina.”
“Klaus! I know Klaus!” He said, happily, “Love Klaus. He’s fun!”
“Yes, he’s… very you.” I noted, amused. “How did you two meet, anyway?”
“Oh, he met a friend of mine during gap year, so my friend introduced us at a festival later on.”
“Of course.” I nodded. “As you know, he works for an investment firm. His youngest sister, Catarina, is twenty-three, she took a few years after school to figure it out, so she’s still finishing her degree. And the oldest, Josephine, is an interior designer, and she’s actually getting married next month, to Marius Allard, who owns a network of gyms in Luxembourg.”
“Royal wedding?” He asked.
“A small one, but yes.”
“You going?”
 “Yes.” I smiled. “Anyway. Then, there’s my father, the middle child, oldest brother, and they also have two youngest brothers. Or, had. Adrien’s father died many years ago of lymphoma, so now Adrien is next in line for the throne after Lourdes. You know him, so no need to go into it.”
“How is he doing in New York, by the way?” He asked, pouring us more wine. “I read he and the singer were seen partying in a boat?”
“For the fourth of July, yes.” I nodded. “My father and the advisors are… how can I say it? Pissed.” He chuckled. “Celebrating an American holiday, half naked, in a boat, with a bunch of celebrities, including his pink-haired girlfriend… they want him to come back.”
“Of course they do.”
“Adrien has a younger sister, Natalie, who’s my favorite.” I said, gushing. “She’s awesome, sweet, positive, always down for a good chat, though not big into parties or crowds–”
“So, the opposite of Adrien?”
“Yes.” I laughed. “Nat is getting her masters in Sorbonne, she studies literature and communications. Their mom, Princess Annette, has been a working royal for many years. Finally, my youngest uncle, Prince Albert, is also a working royal. He divorced his wife about five years ago, which was a huge scandal at the time, but we’ve managed to ride it out, and now everyone gets along fine. His ex-wife is even still a working royal, as well.”
“Woah.” He said, brows raised. “We could learn a thing or two from about how to handle divorce in a healthy way.”
“Agreed.” I said, teasing. “They have three kids. Maryanne is eighteen, currently serving her minimum military course post-graduation. Her brother James is sixteen, he’s in boarding school in Switzerland, and Sarah, who’s ten, attends the same boarding school as Lourdes… and that’s it. Unless you want to hear about my extended family, in which case we might be here a while.”
He nodded. While he digested the info-dump I’d just given him, I took the time to finish my wine and have some veggies and ranch.
“Question.” He said, unwrapping our sandwiches, “Why did you only mention two or three working royals?”
“My father’s oldest sisters lost their title upon marriage, and Aunt Stephanie lives in Luxembourg. Aunt Marilou and her husband do work sometimes, but that’s mostly because of her husband’s Admiral job. So, it’s mostly my father and his brothers who work for the Crown. Since Uncle James died, Adrien and his mom work, too, although he’s in New York now. His sister is still in school, so she’s excused. And that leaves uncle Albert and his ex-wife, and their kids are too young. There’s also some cousins of my father who are working royals, though they also have private careers.”
He nodded. “So that’s why you said you would have to become a working royal eventually.”
“Yep. That’s why a lot of the burden was already mine before, and also why I knew it would eventually be mine again. I just… I had hoped I’d have some time in-between.”
“Well,” he took the cheese platter and moved it to the side, leaning in closer to me. “You have time now.”
“I do, don’t I?” I smiled. “What should I do with it?”
“I have an idea.” He grinned, leaning in the rest of the way to touch his lips to mine.
His hand cupped my jaw as we kissed, my skin warm either from the sun or his touch. I put my glass down, mindlessly, not caring when I felt it fall to the grass. I slid my hand across his hair and laid back down, pulling him on top of me.
It was just one afternoon of borrowed time, but it was ours.
— ---- —
It was a cloudy summey day, not great weather for a royal wedding, but it would have to do because Princess Josephine Anne-Marie Elyse of Luxembourg was ready to become Mrs. Marius Allard.
Normally, we wouldn’t all go to a royal wedding just because we were royals, but we were family this time, so we arrived, my family and I, in Luxembourg two nights before. The rehearsal dinner went without a hitch, and so the following morning we got ready in our hotel and waited with other foreign family members for the shutles that would drive us to the church.
I had changed Harry’s contact on my phone to Hedwig – a name I took from Harry Potter – just in case someone saw me texting him, which was bound to happen as were texting so much more often. This didn’t stop my heart from nearly freezing when I received a photo from him. It was a mirror selfie showcasing him in his ceremony military uniform, black and red, with medals to his chest. The text read: ‘beautiful day for a wedding’.
I sighed; A few weeks prior to this, Harry had excitedly informed me during a late-night facetime call, that his family had assigned him to represent them to Josephine’s wedding.
“Why?!” I asked then, astonished.
“Ouch.” He said, sarcastic. “I’m great at weddings.”
“I’m not saying you’re not.” I said, rolling my eyes. “And of course I want to see you! But… my whole family is going to be there! Isn’t your father supposed to do these things? Or your uncle?”
“My father will be busy, my uncle was going to go, yes, but turns out his son has pneumonia so he’s staying put.” He shrugged. “And since I know Klaus, they figured I would be more familiar to the bride and groom than my brother.”
I was quiet, biting my lower lip nervously.
“What? This is good! I’m excited I get to see you all dolled up so soon!”
But I couldn’t get my excitement to match his – and I tried. It was just too risky, not to mention it felt like the day would be torture. To be near him again and have to pretend I didn’t want to hold his hand? Kiss his lips? Rip the clothes right off his body? It was too much.
Sighing, I went to the bathroom and discreetly took my own mirror selfie showcasing my light pink dress with a darker pink on a slit falling from my hips, and my large disc fascinator, and texted it to him.
‘It is unfair how perfect you look’, he replied. It made me smile, and I tried to hold on to that feeling as we rode to the church.
As family, we were close to the last group to arrive, so when I walked down the red carpeted entrance towards the church behind my parents, all I could think was that Harry must already be inside.
We trotted behind, stopping to salute the military battalion in formation under the country’s flag – a Luxembourg tradition. Military personnel saluted, civilians lowered their heads or curtsied. Since mandatory minimum service was still considered service, I saluted with my father, as mom and Lourdes curtsied.
Inside, we were ushered to the front of the church by a palace aide. Because of the odd number of seats, our parents and I were seated one row in front of Lourdes, who found herself sitting between, of all people, Adrien and Harry.
My parents greeted Adrien, who was there fresh from a plane from New York, and then looked at Harry, who received from then a curt nod before they turned to the front.
"How's...? Uhm?" I started, as my cousin kissed my cheeks.
"Sienna?" He asked, sighing. "Her name is Sienna."
"Right. Sienna."
"She's good. She's recording a new album." He replied.
"How... fortuitous." I nodded, as he took his seat again.
Before I sat down, Harry managed to give me a sneaky wink. I blushed, and turned to the front.
We seemed to be the last frontier between family and important guests, as next to Harry sat other royals and in front of us, were mostly empty seats that filled quickly after we arrived.
Just as the music started, Lourdes, who'd been chatting excitedly between Adrien and Harry, sighed loudly and stage-whispered,
"Ah, damn, I'll barely be able to see Josephine from here." She complained. “Margueritte’s hat is too big.”
As calm as I could, I turned to her, taking the care to make myself sound annoyed. "Do you want to trade seats?"
"Really?" She asked, "Is that allowed?"
I looked at my parents, who were already discreetly looking at us.
"Is it?" I asked.
"I believe so." My father said.
Mom leaned closer to me. "Are you sure you don't mind, chérie?"
I smiled, already getting to my feet. "It's fine. At least this way she'll be quiet."
"I heard that." Lourdes said as she passed me by.
I took her seat and crossed my legs at my ankles, holding my head high facing forward, pretending I didn't see the grin on Harry's face. 
Josephine looked breathtaking; lace bodice, three quarter sleeves, flowy, tulle, ball gown skirt, hair pinned back in a low hairdo, a long veil falling down from her family’s tiara – a Luxembourg tiara –, matching diamond earrings. It was difficult to take my eyes from her, except from one thing.
Harry was touching my hand. His fingers very gently grazed mine, slowly stretching until our middle fingers were enlaced. It was such a simple gesture. Such a light touch. But so many people around who were not meant to know about us. My heart beat faster on my chest and I felt my skin warmer as I remembered all the other ways in which that hand had touched me. I risked a look at him, who stared ahead determinedly.
As the song came to a slow end, I pulled my hand from his, startled, thinking for some reason the silence would make us more visible.
The priest began to speak in a monotone, calm voice up front. By my side, Harry adjusted himself in his seat, leaving his left knee to lightly, but very deliberately, touch mine.
I bit down a grin, sighing. Thinking two could play this game, I reached for the neckline of my dress with my hand, adjusting it slightly as if to fix something, but ‘accidentally’ pulling it down sligthly. As it was V shaped, this enlarged my cleavage only slightly, especially as I crossed my arms over my lap, pulling my breasts together.
I stared ahead, ignoring Harry, but I felt his leg press harder against mine.
“Beautiful wedding, isn’t it?” I whispered to him, pointing my chest in his direction.
“Is this another catholic tradition?” He whispered very lightly leaning closer to me. I smiled, blushing.
I looked down at my lap, fiddling with the program. I had no idea where we were on it, which is why I startled again as suddenly everyone rose from their seats to sing another hymn. I followed, pulling my dress up nervously, but I did leave my arm down hoping Harry would touch my hand again.
It took him what felt like the whole song, but then he finally did. I allowed my own fingers to caress his this time, missing being able to touch him, feeling my palms sweating as the thought.
When we sat down again, and someone else started speaking, he leaned down slowly and asked, whispery:
“Truth or dare?”
I sighed dramatically, and gave him a stern look, hiding my amusement.
“Truth.” I mouthed.
He grinned, and leaned down again. “What were you thinking about during the song?”
What he was asking was, of course, ‘what were you thinking about while our hands touched secretly in the middle of this very full church?’
I leaned to him, but starting ahead, said, “About how good it felt last time you fingered me–”
He sighed, heavily, leaning away from me, adjusting his tie as if it was the most important thing in the world.
He didn’t allow me to ask it back, his eyes stared firmly and frustratingly ahead for the rest of the – very long – service.
When Josephine and Marius walked out as husband and wife, we all waited for their close families to follow and then to the aides to guide us away at the right time. Harry continued to deliberately look away from me at all times. 
We were ushered back into the shuttles with the rest of the family, everyone talking excitedly about their favorite moments of the ceremony. I kept my comments to the dress, the only part I remembered in detail.
The reception was held in the palace; I didn’t see Harry again for a very long time. No one seemed to have noticed anything out of the ordinary, other than Lourdes who asked if I was mad at him because we seemed to have ‘barely spoken’.
As all the guests were in their seats, I finally found Harry in a distant table with other foreign royals who weren’t family. There were speeches, there were dances, there were entrées and champagne, and Harry’s eyes continued to find mine whenever I looked at him. Luckily, I was able to distract myself by my family grilling Adrien about his inappropriate girlfriend.
Conversation was the sound of the night in between courses when I decided to find a bathroom to re-apply my lipstick.
“If you pass by a waiter, would you ask for someone to bring me more water?” Lourdes asked as I left.
“I’m not your maid.”
“Really? It’ll cost nothing–”
“Shut up, of course I’ll do it.”
She rolled her eyes in response.
I was distracted, looking around for a waiter, when my eyes found Harry’s again. This time, too intense to look away. He put his hands in his pocket and pointedly walked out of the hall.
I sighed. It was too idiotic a choice to follow him. Yet, there I was. My feet moving of their own accord.
He walked off down the hallway, calm as can be, stopping only to ask an aide for directions. Down another hallway, he turned to the right, before confidently opening a door, turning back to lock his eyes on mine, and walk inside.
I bit my lower lip and looked around. There was a staff member walking off in the distance, but no one around other than that. I didn’t know if that would last. I walked to the door,  and casually looked around one more time. No one was watching. No one around. I took in a deep breath, and walked inside.
I quickly closed the door behind me, but I had no time to notice anything else. Harry’s lips were on mine, strongly, arms framing me in place against the door. One hand turned the lock, the other traveled up and down my side, his heavy breath on my skin.
“That was not okay.” He said, voice low, anguished, against my neck. “Back there.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I said, innocently. “All I remember is a lovely ceremony.”
He grinned against my neck in between kisses. “Fuck you.”
"It's true.”
“You liked when I fingered you, right?” He asked, lightly biting my earlobe. “Maybe I should do it again, then.”
My whole body trembled at the thought of going back outside, pretending nothing had happened, still pulsating with his touch on me.
“…maybe you should.” I said, weakly, feeling his large hand grasp my breast. “Right here. Right now.”
“…that would be really stupid, now, wouldn’t it?” He asked, reaching down for the hem of my dress, pulling it upwards. “We wouldn’t want to be caught… what would they think?”
“It would be such a scandal.” I agreed, feeling his hands now grip my thighs, pulling me up in one quick move.
He pinned against the wall, legs around his waist, leaving me in the perfect position to feel him thrusting his hardened dick against my crotch.
He touched his forehead to mine, and grinned.
“You’re fucking torture, Your Royal Highness.”
I grinned, happily, wrapping my legs tighter around him.
“You like it.”
He smiled in response, his hands rounded my thighs to reach below in between my legs, finding a path under my wet underwear.
“I do.” He confessed, touching me like it was the very first time. “I like it a lot.”
--- ---- ---
[A/N: Well. This was a lot. LOL what do you think??? A lot of...stuff coming so I wanted to take a chapter for happiness only. Also, I promise all that family tree stuff is important. THANK YOU FOR READING AND SORRY I’M LATE! Have a grat week! Next chapter: invictus games! harry’s birthday! MM and Harry get careless... tune in to find out what happens ;) ]
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purity-town · 3 years
Text
Little late getting to these -- that's fully the fault of a class project I spent all of Monday/Tuesday and most of Wednesday working on -- but I finished my project and wrote up some long replies to these!
(Apologies for any funny formatting -- I'm trying out the beta for the new post editor!)
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Absolutely not.
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Nope! There are a few people who do know (other guides Andrew's met before, the Dryad, and I'd imagine the Witch Doctor knows something's up even if he doesn't know why), but none of them live in Purity Town proper, and the Dryad and Witch Doctor aren't the kind to participate in rumors or spread what isn't theirs to share. The old man is also aware just because he and Andrew have talked about their curses, but he's 1) not currently in town and 2) not going to share even if he were.
Most folks don't know much about Andrew in general; Becca probably knows the most out of the townsfolk, knowing a little bit about his family and where he's from (he has some pretty specific skills as a hunter that betray this, but he doesn't talk about his exact town of birth), but no specifics and certainly not time periods.
Andrew is good at keeping things quiet; he has to be.
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I would actually appreciate if you didn't post to Pinterest -- usually I'm fine with people reposting with credit (several of the things I've posted to my DeviantArt have found their way to Instagram, for example) but Pinterest has something of a reputation for stolen art (things being reposted from another Pinterest post without credit this time, or credit being hard to view for users not logged in or just viewing through Google). So reposting elsewhere is fine (though if you repost to Reddit or Instagram, tag me at u/Ariibees or @Ariibees)! I'd just prefer my works stay off of Pinterest.
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The terminology related to The Guide/Andrew/The Guardian/The World’s Core/The WoF is all confusing because on some level, they’re all the same being. Kind of like trying to talk about Jekyll and Hyde -- same guy, different looks/actions, haha.
For all intents and purposes, references to the WoF being the barrier/core/whatever behind or within which the spirits of light and dark are contained is equivalent to saying “these spirits are held trapped by the magic of the Guardian, who when summoned appears as the WoF.” I do break slightly from the official lore in how the WoF/Guardian/thing holding back these spirits works (mostly because I don’t really like the idea that the Hallow is a “temporary guardian” or whatever), but the basic concept of “these are trapped by [thing that makes up the WoF]” remains unchanged.
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If “loony cultist” is a reference to something, I’m so sorry, but I’m lost on it. If you’re just talking about the lunatic cultist in a funny way, then yes, they’re in here as a very plot-significant character!
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I had to google what meme you were talking about, but it did make me laugh.
Andrew’s most annoyed by the nickname because people do like to call him Guide, and for someone who’s dedicated his whole life to his role, it can get tiring. He doesn’t really *mind* being called Guide -- it’s fine, that’s what he is and as long as people are respectful of his job he’ll take what he can get -- but at the same time, he’d like for people to stop thinking “Aah! Monster!” or “Weird academic know-it-all” and just...treat him like a normal person sometimes. So he fights to be called Andrew. And...Malik comes along and gives him a nickname that he doesn’t like and doesn’t allow others to use, save for maybe a small group of people of which Malik is not a part. So, not cool, man!
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People love to overcomplicate explaining shading/lighting, and if you wanted to you could certainly go on and on about reflections of light off the ground and shading colors and all sorts of things, but as I’m writing this at 1 AM I don’t really care to.
If you really want to get into shading, I see nice ones on DeviantArt or Tumblr from time to time, or you can always watch a YouTube video on it. Really, though, just keep at it, think about how the shadows should look and work, and you'll get better at it eventually and pick up new ideas on how it all works. (And this is coming from someone who is new to making comics and actually started as a painter.)
Purity Town’s shading comes down to this: simplicity. As much as I’d love to spend hours and hours redrawing the panels I don’t like and carefully shading every fold of fabric and painting detailed backgrounds, I’m a full-time college student and will be working full-time over the summer -- I don’t have the time. So, I cut corners: I reuse backgrounds or use brushes (see: bricks, trees, clouds) that make certain details easier, and I try not to obsess too much over panels I’m not fully happy with. Shadows go where they feel right, and light on the opposite side.
For shading, this comes down to making things quick and easy. For these last few pages, character shading/lighting has only been five layers. One hard light layer for the bluer soft shadows, one overlay layer for darker soft shadows, one linear burn layer for hard shadows, one soft light layer for soft lighting, and one overlay layer for hard lighting. I’ll often also make use of glow dodge layers for lighting, or change the color balance or add more hard/soft light layers if there’s a very heavy color filter on the scene (such as a celestial event, blood moon, or outdoors at night).
Using all the different layer types is essentially a cheat code to fancier lighting -- don’t want to use flat black? Boom, hard light or overlay or burn will give you colored shadows. Want to make your light brighter? Glow dodge will make it burn your retinas.
Sorry that this isn’t a very comprehensive guide, but in my mind, shading and lighting is really something that you pick up over time and it’s hard to sit down and write a guide for it without making it into a massive essay on art theory that I don't even know proper terminology for because I'm not an art student. Of course with some googling you’ll find *proper* guides for this sort of thing from art majors and the likes, and those can be super helpful and technical! But for Purity Town, I just sort of go with what feels right and what's easy to replicate.
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Firstly, I’m happy to hear you’re liking the comic!
Secondly, those buttons are actually there due to the theme! (For those on mobile who can’t see it, I have the theme set to only display on desktop as I prefer the current mobile layout on phone.) I’m using the simple webcomic theme (a quick Google should tell you how to install it for yourself) -- except I’m not actually using it for the webcomic features; rather, it’s a case of “this is the most simple, nice-looking non-default theme I could find.”
The previous/next buttons are added by the theme with the intent that the blog is being used as a typical webcomic website, with nothing but comic pages being posted. However, I post asks and other art here too, and I do so with the intent that people looking at #Terraria or their dashboards in general will see it. So...I use html formatting to make the first/previous/next/last links, along with an index and chapter-by-chapter viewing (using /tagged/chapter##/chrono) so that no matter where you’re coming from, you can still navigate just the pages!
If you want to add just the previous/next buttons, I can’t really help you -- web development is not my area of study in the slightest. But you can check out the theme that they come from and if you want to install only them, you can surely find a tutorial on it somewhere!
(As a side note, the comments section is not from the theme, it’s from a site called Disqus. I don’t expect many people, if anyone, to leave comments, but since I link back to this site a lot and many folks don’t have Tumblr accounts, it’s an option I like to make available.)
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Hiya! My hike was pretty nice; it was a short and easy one, but that was quite appreciated as the trail is unmaintained from November to April, and the trail was covered in fallen trees and quite rocky. Still had fun, though!
And for backgrounds, it depends! For indoors scenes (or outdoors scenes with buildings) I don’t tend to use references, outside of looking up things like “which side of a door is the handle on.” I will, however, integrate real-life textures (see: the quilt and rug in Guide’s house, the wood walls on the building in the background of this week’s page), and paint over paintings from the Terraria wiki.
For outdoors scenes, for simple backgrounds (such as foliage-heavy) ones, I typically don’t need references. I like the difference between detailed, lined indoor/man-made object scenes vs. painted, messy outdoor scenes. But for things like mountains, I do sometimes look up references to help with color choices and the likes.
The town’s layout is a bit strange in that depending on the scene, the background could be drastically different. One side of town faces more mountainside, one side faces the orchards/open hillside, and the other two sides face various degrees of open space and more mountainside/forest. References taken on top of mountains are helpful to get an idea of what degree of foliage I should include between the characters and the sky.
Though this is very specific to the town of Purity -- other towns/villages will have significantly different-looking backgrounds, even the foliage-heavy ones.
That said, what's even more helpful than looking at photos is looking at paintings. Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron is really good for getting an idea of how to draw grasslands and distant mountains, plus Studio Ghibli movies in general!
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queensdivas · 3 years
Text
Peonies Chapter 6
Finally getting to the good stuff because I have been waiting for these chapters!!! Like waiting for Chiara to get to this point and for the record. This chapter is very long. Freakin’ 15 pages on my google docs so just be ready for a long read. 
But!
+18 and older in this chapter!!! Smut alert (cause it’s spicy)!!!!!!! Once again +18 and older in this chapter!!! 
Other than that here we go!!! 
Next chapter 
Previous Chapter 
Masterlist 
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HOLY FUCK FUCK FUCK!
GOD THIS IS FANTASTIC HOLY SHIT!
My fingers were yanking on his hair as I was riding him to oblivion! His nails dug into my back for the tempo to pick up even more. I could feel his teeth biting hard into my neck which made me squeeze even harder. I never thought that being bitten was such a wonderful feeling in my life! His teeth just clenching into my skin just made it so much better!
“Holy fuck Chiara!” He took in a huge breath of air as I pushed him down onto the ground.
“Scream my name!” I yelled as we were getting closer and closer to that sweet edge!
“GRIGOR AH FUCK!” My nails digging into his chest!
“Choke me.” I stopped to then looked directly into his eyes.
“Do you want me to say it in italian? Ti prego soffocami Chiara.” Holy hell. If that’s what he wants then who am to say no. Picking up my rhythm again as my hand reached down to his throat.
“That’s it...holy shit that’s it!” God I could feel him..Holy hell. My toes were curling from the pleasure as me choking him would fuck me harder! The way he’s moaning is just absolutely stunning and making it so much better! It’s so..fucking..beautiful! His moaning just sends shivers up and down my entire core!
Grigor's hands traveled up to squeeze my breast tightly for then his left hand to travel up to my neck. Oh god he’s going faster! Yes yes yes yes! I could see flowers blooming! Stars exploding before my eyes. I had to let go of my grip to collapse on his chest as he pounded into me.
God I want to stick my tongue down his throat fuck! Turning my head for me to start kissing the fuck out of him. Our tongues slithered around with one another till he basically took over for a few moments. Stopping the tangliging as he began diving into my neck to mark the shit out of me.
“Stick your tongue down my throat.” Pulling his head from my neck to start slamming my lips against him for our tongues to start twirling around with one another. God his tongue can make me come just from this Jesus. He stopped as the final penetration was arriving and it was so beautiful! Each thrust was hitting exactly where it needed to be!
“Grigor! Grigor..” My eyes rolled in the back of my head as we looked at one another. Just watching his facial expression change was just intoxicating!
“Cumming..CUMMING!” Grigors neck leaned back as I laughed since I’ve never seen him in such selief. After a moment he looked up to see that I..I..
“Did you not?” It cued for him as he pushed me onto the ground and got on top of me.
“I may not be able to finish you with my cock. But I know your pussy loves other things besides cock. Ride my face.” My entire body turned dark red for me to slide down and positioned myself on his face.
Dear...Ah...God...I can’t even describe on how. Ahhhhh. My hands began to touch my own breast for my head to lean back to almost fall backwards onto his body. His tongue was going round and round constantly.
My hand went down to start rubbing my own clit to make the sensation feel even more exquisite. Yes..YES! While my right hand was continuing on my clit my left hand began to pull his air. His two bare hands travelled up my sides to then give my ass a wonderful smack.
“Gri..Grigor..almost..almost..” He kept smacking which was the final push over the edge. A wave of electricity streaked through my body in the final moment. Yanking his hair as hard as I could for him to moan underneath my body.
This Russian coldness couldn’t even bother us at the moment from the large amount of body heat radiating off one another. Climbing off of him to then lay down on the cool grass. My chest was rising and falling as we both were staring up into the tree. The leaves are swaying in the wind that was allowing a cool breeze to rest on our naked bodies.
“Holy fuck.” I smiled as we turned our heads to face one another.
“I don’t think I’ve ever experienced something like that…” He commented as I smiled.
“Our love making would’ve been the type you would see in great halls. The greek gods I believed experienced something like that before.” Grigor sat up to grab a glass of water. He took a large sip then for me to sit up and take a sip after him.
“Tell me my dearest do you always enjoy..” Motioning to his neck as he sighed.
“The Emperor told me once that it helps make this more pleasurable. Guess that’s the only time that he’s been right because holy fuck.” I guess so. He wasn’t wrong about that because that was fantastic. Wait..those are hand prints.
“Grigor..I left..” Oh shit. I left markings and more specifically my hand marks from too hard of choking.
“I’m so sorry oh my…” I feel horrible! My eyes drifted over to my shoulder where I had bite marks from what I could see.
“Barbarians we are.” He commented as he scooted closer to me and kissed his own bite marks. I leaned over to see that we still had some fresh bread and I am starving. Leaning over to grab a slice then spread a little jam.
“So when were you going to tell me you’ve been learning italian.” Taking a bite as he snuck in to take the next bite.
“Figured you would be more impressed. A tutor for the children was teaching them French and since French and Italian are very similar, it worked out perfectly.” He had a little jam on the corner of his mouth. Leaning in to lick it off he left a soft kiss on his lips.
“Thieves should be punished.” Laughing as I was extremely close to his face.
“Should I be?” My hand snuck up his chest
“Yes. But not at this moment.” Raising my piece of my bread to then scoot away from him. Grabbing a grape to put into my mouth to slow eat in front of him.
“You should try these grapes Grigor. They taste devine.” Taunting him with another grape as I could tell he wanted to get on top of me and ravish. But ah ah ah. He’s being punished for being such a thief. He took a grape from the vine scoot over towards me with it in his mouth.
“No reward for your Grigor. You’ve stolen from me.” Tapping the grape for him to chew it then kissing my finger.
“You’re too much for me Chiara.” Falling back onto the ground as I laughed at him for a minute. I enjoy a little torture in my life.
“When am I going to see those sketches on Grigor? You promised me.” Looking down at him as he smirked at me. Forming my puppy eyes to have him get up from the grass and onto the blanket.
Joining him on the blanket as he opened his sketching bag. He pulled out the first sketch as it..oh..why am I not surprised that it’s a naked woman. But the details are remarkable. To the smallest details on the naked bodies to small beauty marks.
“Grigor..Grigor this is scandalous.” Chuckling as I went to the next is that Svenska? Now the cold was catching up as I felt him place his coat around my shoulder. This is one of the most comfortable coats I’ve worn.
“How on earth did you persuade Svenska to get naked for you?” Asking him as he started to rub the back of his head.
“Costed a gold necklace.” Mhmmm.
“So you’ve slept with other people besides George?”
“Of course not! Before George yes but as I told you, all it costed was a gold necklace.” Well normally I’m not one for degrading fellow women in this world. But at least my nipples aren’t bigger than apples. I kept going through his artwork to see more than naked women, there was one of a wild elk with such gigantic antlers! I’ve never seen one with such large antlers and a tiger?
“That was my old tiger. His name was Maxim and was a wonderful cat till he ripped the arm off my old nanny. Other than that he was a wonderful pet.”
“You would enjoy Africa and all the wildlife there Grigor. You would be able see a herd of zebras and the elephants. Watch those wonderful Lions attack these prey and even better. Witness a cheetah running full speed at an ostrich!” Then reality kicked in. He wouldn’t come to Africa to sketch some wild animals. Truth be told I have been beginning to enjoy our time together. Even before the wild sex.
“Tell me more about Trento.” He asked for me to raise my eyebrow. It’s not like he’s ever going to visit there in his life.
“Why must I always talk about myself. I feel as if it’s all about myself without even knowing much about you. I know you obviously but I get old talking about myself.” Telling him as I handed him back his sketches.
“Rijn Van Rembrandt. My father took me to St. Petersburg for some business. When I was there I snuck off from the boring meeting to see an exhibition happening. His work Bathseba at her bath was on display and I just stood there. My father eventually found me and that is when he bought me my first sketching papers and pencils.” Kissing him softly to show a little gratitude
“Thank you for sharing with me Grigor.” Another kiss for him to place his hands on my cheeks.
“My mother surprisingly did not enjoy the idea of me drawing. Said it would lead to bad habits and wanting to seek out what is bad for me.” He took the sketches from my hands for his hands to travel up my left leg.
“You’re not imagining your mother are you? Catherine told me that the Emperor thinks about his mother when he does the deed.” I started laughing because Grigor fell back onto the blanket and laughed.
“My mother sadly loved me and always looked out for me in the end. Not to mention she treated me like a human being instead of a diseased child.” My eyes widened at his statement to pop another grape into his mouth.
“You really don’t enjoy him do you?” At this point this is starting to lay the seeds of the coup into the mind of Peter's most trustworthy associate. I’m not saying that all this time has been going towards the coup. Because I’ve enjoyed the time we’ve been spending together with one another. Trust me. But I also came here to help Catherine with the coup. Just took a little break because someone’s cock is marvelous. Oh that was too much.
“He’s a good friend to say the most. We do enjoy hunting together, drinking, and partying.” Not going to bring up George of course since it’s not my place.
“Hmmm. Must be interesting to see someone like Peter rule a country when he’s such a loose canon.”
“Well that’s where I come in my dear. I’m sort of that force that blocks those too mad for the country ideas. He’s tried to establish that the ladies of the court walk around in only robes and their hats. I then told him about the mysert that women hold and that they need to stay mysterious.” Wow. Who’d know that Grigor had such an important role. I’m not saying that he’s not important but he’s the barrier from all the bad ideas. Not all of them but tries his best I’m assuming.
Though reality striked that Grigor will be staying in Russia once I finally head back to Italy. I think that if we continue this sort of love relationship that he would want to come to Italy but I highly doubt it’s going to happen. He has grown significantly a part of my life in such an intimate way that it’s a little hard to imagine that possibly within a few weeks I’ll be going home and leaving this troublesome country.
Yet deep down in that hardened soul he wouldn’t leave his wife for some foreign Duchess because his home his here, his future children will be here, and I will be Italy. Eventually there will be a time that I will have to get married to some other Duke or Prince who the hell knows at this point. Eventually I’ll have to get married and bring some sort of child into this world and continue on the cycle of life. At Least I’m completely aware of this fact and if he wants to come to Italy he can if not then all I lose is a lover.
SHIT! I HAVE A MEETING WITH CATHERINE TO DISCUSS SPEECHES AND ABOUT WINNING OVER MORE THAN JUST THE LADIES OF THE COURT!
“Grigor I am so sorry but I completely forgot Catherine and I are supposed to have tea very soon!” Grabbing my shirt to stand up and slip it onto my body. I then grabbed my pants to practically jump into them. I finished getting dressed to see Grigor and watched me from the blanket the entire time.
“My darling. Come to my chambers tonight and we shall finish this sketch, with a lot of wine and cheese.” Ordering him but in a very seductive matter. Though this may not last forever, I might as well enjoy the time in the present.
“Add some oranges please, and peaches.” My hands moved around to then place my hand right underneath his neck.
“And make sure those peaches are extremely juicy.” Telling him as my lips hovered over his but didn’t kiss.
“Is that understood?”
“Yes m’lady.” He shivered and gave him one extremely long kis to the point I gave his bottom lip a quick suck and bite. He moaned for a moment as I got up from the ground and my boot knife since I forgot to put it in my boot.
“Ciao Grigor!” Swaying my hips a little more to know that he was staring directly at my ass. He is starting to grow on me and these unknown feelings that have entered my core are rather nice. Though this will not be a cliche story of where I just ignore my feelings and take months on them. I’m a little smarter than that.
Making it inside the palace to see Count Orlo walking up the stairs with rolled up maps tucked in his arms. Catching up to him as he turned his head to shake it at me.
“You missed the meeting.” He commented as I sighed.
“My apologies. You going to slap me on the wrist for missing?”
“No. Just you’re here to help, not sleep with the enemy.”
“Think of it as a way for me to help get closer to the enemy. What did I miss?”
“Catherine is going with Elizabeth to the front in order to bring up the moral with the soldiers. It’s a good tactic to get the military on our side and then the church afterwards.” They looked up maps underneath his arm?
“Are those maps Orlo?” He motioned me into the empty room.
We walked over to the big table for him to plop down all the rolled up papers he had tucked underneath his arms. Going through them till he found the one he was looking for. Opening it up to then place random tabletop places. The entire war map was displayed before me as I noticed that a lot of the Sweds were winning this war.
“The Swedish have taken control of Sosnovyy Bor. An important port but not as important as Vyborg where we’re keeping them completely out of.” Taking a look to see how close Sosnovyy Bor was to St. Petersburg and it’s closer than I could’ve imagined. At any time they could easily invade St. Petersburg and we lose the war. Though it would be a good way so that Peter can be bethrowned but now can head into Moscow then to us. I’m going to avoid bloodshed in this battle.
“Orlo. How much has Catherine learned from this map?”
“She told me that she would get all the information she needed when arriving at the front.” Great.
“Orlo. Let me have this map and I’ll go through my studies to see if I can find a solution.” I think I have an idea.
“What are you planning?” Rolling up the map for myself then smiling.
“Making Catherine look like a genius.” Walking away from Orlo to then head to my chambers.
This..this might work.
*The Next Morning*
Since I missed the meeting because of lust and sketches. Catherine came up with a brilliant idea (not sarcastic at all I promise) that we would go to the front to see the soldiers and how the war is going. This is a good learning chance on my military tactics that I was more than happy to accompany her to the front.
Now I understand what she’s trying to do and I’m here to help with bringing up the soldiers moral! But at such Godless hours in the morning. And macaroons? Bring them a feast with warm meat and vegetables! Not sugary sweets! Who knows maybe it will. Catherine does know what she’s doing...most of the time. Not that she isn’t smart but soldiers prefer victories over sweets, but we won’t know till we get there.
My hand was resting on Grigor's bare chest for me to open my eyes. I’m meant to go with Catherine and Elizabeth to the front for some moral and aid. On our way there I plan on slipping a little advice under Catherines greatness. Sort of passing a note in order to get the War moving on.
Scooting over to place a soft kiss on his cheek for him to still be asleep. Fernanda came into the bedroom with my clothes for the ride. She looked at Grigor then making sure that she wasn’t too loud.
“Heavy sleeper. We’ll be fine.” Telling her as I lifted the nightgown off for her to hand me my white shirt. The corset was next for me as I looked over at Grigor who was still asleep. Hopefully this doesn’t wake him up. Placing the corset on my body as I stood straight up to wait for her to start tightening it.
“Holy shit!” Whispering as she pulled a little to the tight. I think my lungs are coming out of my throat! Another quick tight pull for her to tie it up for Grigor to still be asleep. I finished getting dressed and he was still asleep.
“I’ll be going to the front of Fernanda. Let him know whenever he wakes up that I’m not sure when I’ll get back.” Telling her as she nodded. She handed me my belt and sword for me to tighten it. Then finally my boot dagger for safety measures. If I’m going to be with a bunch of men then I’m going to stay safe. I do need something to do on the ride so why not a book. The Spirit of the Laws by Montesquieu, seems fitting.
Walking back over to Grigor's bed side to place a soft kiss on his forehead. This must’ve woken him since he grabbed my arm softly. Opening his eyes slightly for him to get up from the bed and rub his eyes.
“Good morning.” Telling him as he yawned.
“Good morning. Where are you off to?”
“I’m going to the front with Catherine and Elizabeth for the day.” Kissing his lips for him to nod then widened his eyes.
“To the front? You’re not even Russian! So why do you care about the war?” Though he does have a point since they’re not my men, not even my country.
“You do remember that I’m here for Catherine. Where she goes I must go, and if she is to go to the front then I must go to the front.” Telling him yet he was still confused about my reasoning.
“I’ll be just fine. You know that I’m more than capable of handling myself.”
“Let me kiss you for a few more minutes please.” He begged to pull me on top of him and smashed his lips against mine. Sitting in his lap for him to place kisses all over my neck and face. His lips are wonderful and extremely intoxicating. But as much as I would love him to undress me and ravish me, I have to get going for our trip.
“Grigor..Grigor stop…” Laughing for him to stop and look at me.
“Must you go?”
“Yes. I promise I’ll be back this evening and you can tell me about that new trick you’ve learned.”
“Which one?”
“The seated wheelbarrow I think is what you called it.” Climbing off him to stand up next to him.
“Ciao Grigor.” He took my hand to place a soft kiss for me to walk away. I could hear Catherine coming towards the door from the other side. Opening it to see her all dolled up in her appropriate attire.
“Good morning Chiara.” Bubbly and excited in a sense for the front.
“Good morning Catherine. You are more ready than ever I see.” Telling her as we began walking down the hall.
“I’m very excited to see the front. It should be a very important learning experience for me and should help with the coup tremendously.” She told me as I nodded.
“Have you been keeping up with the war?” Asking her for us to start walking down the stairs to the carriages.
“Not really. Velementov can give me an update on arrival.” He won’t have time. He’s too busy trying to win the war!
“But you have to go in with some sort of plan Catherine. Even you would have something like that of the sorts going into it.” Telling her as she stopped walking down the stairs to turn to face me.
“This isn’t a tactic. And I imagine you are unaware of what’s going on in the war just as much as I am.” I love her confidence but this sort of idea that he’ll just tell her his plans. I think Catherine needs to understand the true situation.
“The Sweds have taken control of Sosnovyy Bor and will make their way up the coast to invade St. Petersburg. If they keep Bor they’ll use it as a city to regather supplies, the man power, and then they head to Saint Petersburg. If Velementov gets his head together he can invade Bor easily and push them all the way back to Hanko. Then from Hanko to Mariehamm, take over that group of islands and then the Sweds are back into their country. The war is over and we win. Only problem is that the Sweds have an extremely strong hold Hanko which will require even..”
“Catherine! Oh and Chiara I am delighted that both of you will be joining me on this trip. It’s quite lonely when I make this journey. Come come.” Motioning for us to follow her.
We stood next to the carriage as two servants placed two boxes inside the carriage. I’m assuming those are the macaroons. Elizabeth was first to climb in, followed by me then finally Catherine. What a weird way to bring morale up but if the boots fit then the boot fits.
“Chiara you have such a unique way of living.” Elizabeth commented for the carriage to start moving.
“Thank you?”
“I’ve heard stories like you Chiara. Women who go above the normal parts of society, always leads to such tragic deaths in the end. Poor Joan of Arc was burned at the steak, Artemisia of Caria who jumped from a tall rock in Leucas Greece.” I ummm. I don’t plan on leaping from a rock for the love of my life, and The Catholic church won’t burn me for heresy.
“No matter. Just know that it’s an exciting time to get to know you. For someone who only fucks one person you’re stronger than most.” Oh my god what is happening!?
I must say that Aunt Elizabeth is an interesting sort of woman who I think is as mad as a dog but smarter than most people realize. I believe that she uses her own sexuality to her advantage and sort of does what’s best for Peter. Which is understandable for she is his aunt. But there’s more to her than she’s letting on.
But to the front!
“It is nivering.” Elizabeth was messing with her cape as I was looking outside into the forest. Even though the Emperor is a sack of shit the landscape is gorgeous.
“A bit. But I’m glad you’ve allowed us to come with you on this experience.” I’m glad but I’m just exhausted.
“Oh I enjoy both of your company. You Catherine laugh at my jokes and you Chiara with your wit and spiteful tongue.” I wouldn’t call it spiteful. Maybe?
“Not to mention Catherines tales of German childhood are whimsical, and make me wish I knew what a kugelhopf was.” It’s a cake. Right?
“It is just a cake.” That’s what I thought. It’s a sort of cake that has raisins, fresh oranges, or lemons, and almonds. Mostly served at breakfast time if I remember correctly. They talked for a few moments till the mood changed within the carriage. Elizabeth sighed as she looked out the window.
“You should prepare yourself for a little unpleasantness on arrival.” It’s the front. I’m not exactly expecting a picnic on arrival.
“Yes. Of course.”
“So tell me then Elizabeth. What exactly is the attitude of the Russian army?” She looked at me with a small devilish smile.
“That we will not stop until every last Swedish soldier is dead. That is the attitude of the Russian army.” Leaning in closer to her as I was doubting that answer. On paper yes that would be the attitude, in the history books yes.
“Elizabeth. What is the..” The carriage stopped before I could finish asking her my question. I get that she understood what I was asking in the first place yet she has to put on a brave face to get ready for the front.
The carriage door opened for the smell of blood, vomit, gunpowder, and so much more to come swerling into the carriage. This is what war smells of. Blood and powder. I’m for certain that my great great Grandfather Sir Fabrizio would be proud of me finally experiencing some war. Even if it is just chatting with the Generals. Maybe throw in a few strategies I’ve studied through my entire life.
Catherine was the first one out as I noticed she was in a little star struck and blocking the door. Quickly moving for Elizabeth to come out and then followed by me. My boots sunk into the mud a little as it looked like a horrid place. War is horrid just remember this Chiara.
So many injured..so many dead. How can The Emperor who has been losing non stop allow this much carnage? The amount of lost lives alone, though war is war but you have to be aware when you’re on the losing side! Even I know that much! Wait Chiara. This is war and these men know that they might do for their country, for war is unavoidable.
“Ladies!” We turned our heads to see Velementov and his aids coming out of his tents.
“Empresses and Duchess. How wonderful that you’ve come. You are an inspiration to us all.” Diamonds in the rough are exactly what I would call us at this moment.
“Would you care for a macaroon? We’ve brought 300 for the men.” Ah yes. The Macaroons in order to bring up the moral of war.
“Do you mind if I take a couple?” He shoved two into his mouth and then a few into his pockets. Even I must say when I get back I’m going to stuff my face with panettones and delicious pastas.
“Please. Follow me.” Velementov instructed with his mouth full of food. Catherine looked absolutely disgusted and almost green before my eyes.
“What is that smell?”
“Bodies, mud, horse shit, smoke of cannons. It is not a place for women.” I feel offended. Joan of Arc and Khutulun were on the battlefield fighting alongside the men. Maybe not as much of the gunpowder and cannons but definitely the smell of blood and horse shit.
“If it is a place where Russian men die, then it is a place for us.” Elizabeth responded to Velementov’s statement.
“How is the war progressing General?” Asking Velementov for him to sigh a little.
“We have received some setbacks.” Some?
“But what the peevish Swede entirely lacks is our ferocious Russian fighting spirit. That in the end, always guarantees victory.” I think the Mangolians thought of that once but they successfully invaded Russia.
“So we’re losing?” Catherine and I asked and could immediately tell Elizabeth was burnt.
“Catherine! Chiara! Focus on the men. And only victory. They need hope.” Not my men. My men are in their warm beds with their family not fighting some war in order to prove that you’re just as good as your own father. Too soon? I watched as Catherine and Elizabeth began to pass around Macaroons to the men and put on a brave face. Bread and meat would be much better than macaroons but I understand the reasoning behind it.
“I’m told you’re prepared to pose for a battle painting.” A battle painting?
“Yes indeed General. Whatever will help fire the men’s morale.” A painting? Really?
“A grand victorious painting of the two of you is sure to do just that.” A painting!? So that the men could have a little time for themselves? Never!
“Tell me Velementov. What is your strategy exactly? From what I’ve read it’s been nothing but full head on attacks.” Stating as he took a macaroon from his pocket.
“The Emperor has ordered us to keep full on head attacks to the Sweds.” Catherine and Elizabeth were getting themselves ready for the war painting for me to start thinking about the strategies that have been taught to me from past Knights of my family.
“Velementov. I assume you’re away from the Norman Conquest of England in 1066?” Asking as I motioned for his aid to pull out a map.
“Williams' army contained 2,000 cavalrymen and 5,000 infantrymen with crossbows, bows, and swords. Williams only option was for a frontal assault in order to invade. After a no so frontal assault, William personally led a cavalry charge but was turned back by the Saxon defenses and the horrible weather of England. He was then defeated. Not to mention rumors of Williams death began going around, which we all know was a lie because he was seen alive, rallied his troops and renewed the assault. He ordered his soldiers to fire at a much higher angle instead of directly into the army in order to break their defense.” He looked annoyed as the map was opened for me to look at where exactly the war was going on.
“I don’t need a lecture on past military tactics. I might be a dishonorable general but not a moron.” That’s not what I’m trying to do exactly.
“That’s not what I’m trying to do Velementov. I know that the Sweds are held up in Sosnovyy Bor and from a reliable source that they might head into St. Petersburg.” Looking at a much bigger map to see that the Sweds had locked down Sosnovyy Bor.
“If you do not take Sosnovyy Bor back from the Sweds then you loose Saint Petersburg and then you might as well wave the white flag of war.” He knows and is aware of this. I think that the Emporer is too busy making stupid ideas and jokes that he doesn’t know that the Sweds are literally at his doorstep.
“What I’m saying is that you rain in from all different angles. You block them by the sea and by land to rain down on very different angles. There is only one road that the Sweds can use in order to escape and that’s an easy blockade to form as well. Attacking your own city may not be the best idea, but you save St. Petersburg from those damn Sweds. You then push them back to Hanko to surround them there.”
“You are a rare flower..a flower that blooms in the middle of a battlefield full of dead soldiers.” Velementov commented for me nod.
“One must have an understanding of war if one is to lead. Atleast I get the chance to actually understand tactics.”
“Whenever I am back at the palace. I might call upon you for more advice on war.” Picking my hand up to kiss it. Yeah this won’t be happening in a lifetime and even if he was the last man on earth I still wouldn’t sleep with him.
The carriage ride was dead silent before me. I could tell both Catherine and Elizabeth were beside themselves on having to stand on top of dead soldiers for a portrait. While I on the other hand feel extremely successful for sort of conducting my own first military tactic. Hopefully they can take back Bor and all will be settled.
“Stop!” Elizabeth ordered to bang her cane on the top of the carriage. We stopped as I looked up from my book.
Elizabeth climbed out of the carriage to stand in the middle of the forest. She began to hollar, kick, and looking like she was going to rip her own hair out of her body. That’s one way to deal with your problems and no wonder she’s kept herself sane. We looked at each other for me to wonder what that was about. Then back out to the window for a little more screaming. Only seconds later she gathered herself back together as Catherine and I watched her climb back into the carriage and place her poker face on to us. Catherine’s mood changed from tears into anger.
“Are you alright?” Asking both of them but definitely towards Elizabeth.
“Of course. Whatever it was is floating on the wind now. Do you need to? Both of you? We can stop.” Though I do feel the pain of these men. This is not my country and hasn’t affected my day to day life when I return home to Italy. This was only meant to wager Catherine in good favor.
“I need to scream. But not into the air, but at the world for allowing this to happen.”
“War is inevitable, since cavemen smashed each other’s faces in for control of the fire stick.”
“It cannot be. It is a choice.”
“Things that are built in our nature are not choices.”
“Such as our human need to seek companionship.” Commenting to look back down into my book. A macaroon sounds delicious. If a bunch of soldiers can have a macaroon then don’t mind if I do. Opening the box to grab a pink and blue macaroon to pop the pink one in my mouth.
I’m hungry. There’s no need to think that I’m some heartless woman because that is not the case. War is inevitable such as Elizabeth stated and there is no such thing as a permanent peaceful society. Eventually that society must go through blood in order to keep that peace. Both Elizabeth and Catherine watched me eat the blue one as if it was a crime.
“Can’t decide if I can stomach a macaroon or not.” Catherine took the blue box from the ground to then chuck it directly out of the carriage into the forest. There’s no need to waste macaroons, and these were delicious.
“FUCK!” She screamed for me to close my book and place it next to me.
“There you go. Let it out.”
“We have to object to this. We cannot subject men to this nightmare, their lives and hopes extinguished. Russia cannot continue on this path.”
“We will prevail.”
“At what cost?”
“Well, that is the trick to it. Knowing when the cost is still bearable and when it has tipped too far.” Though it is a certain matter that is meant to happen, eventually there is a time to call it quits. Unless you’re the Christians and Muslims and think it’s a great idea to have a war that lasts 780 years.
“That seemed too far.”
“I’ve seen worse. But I admire your heart and fire.”
“I am scorched by that, certainly and will not forget it.”
“What?”
“I hoped it would happen. You are becoming a Russian.”
I think Catherine and I need to have a long talk on ruling an Empire. War is inevitable, war is not a one time deal that goes away after a few days. It is only the continuance of politics but not solved in the halls until it’s too late.
Taglist: 
@mirkwoodshewolf @bonafiderocketqueen @johndeaconshands
@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels @amethyst-serenade @radio-ha-ha @i-have-a-wonky-eye-too @deck-heart @actuallyanita  @the-baby-bookworm @ewanmcgregors​ @panagiasikelia​
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siuilaruinofthegale · 3 years
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Fic Writer Review
i was tagged by ye olde devil @snickiebear
1. How many do you have on Ao3?
uhhhhh. *checks* 6. We don’t talk about the ones that are more than five years old, though.
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2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?
...embarrassing, tbh. 438,632 words.
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3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?
how many have I written for, or how many have I published for?
if the latter: Naruto, Mass Effect, Avatar: The Last Airbender, and Harry Potter
if the former: Dragon Age, Mass Effect, Game of Thrones, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Naruto, ATLA, World of Warcraft, The Hunger Games, Star Wars (sequel trilogy), Avengers, and....... I think that’s it.
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4. What are your top 5 five by kudos?
lmao i barely have 5 so i’m just gonna list the four that don’t make me want to hide from all existence
- melodies of the warborn, 379 kudos
- red strings & lilac skies, 236 kudos
- Who Holds The Devil, 97 kudos
- ethics & odd wings, 72 kudos
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cutting here because i realized how long this gonna be
5. Do you respond to comments, why or why not?  
I try to respond to each and every one..... except for the hate mail. that gets promptly binned. my lag time on replying to some comments is legendary but so far the only one(s) i haven’t responded to are the ones where someone comments saying “DO THIS YOU NEED TO DO THIS”. there’s a difference between “I would love it if you did this” and “you HAVE to do this” and what i’m talking about are the latter.
i don’t respond well to orders.
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6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?
*muffled snorts of laughter* yeah, uh, about that, i....... have only actually finished one of the multi-chapter fics i’ve posted on ao3. so technically rs&ls wins by default because it’s the only one with an ending.
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7. Do you write crossovers?
i’ve been known to dabble here and there but most of it is self-indulgent nonsense drabbles that’ll never see the light of day
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8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?
i got one (1) rude review from A Known Troll on rs&ls. presumably they go through the kakasaku tag periodically and talk shit. i laughed at it until my stomach hurt and then i deleted it. don’t feed the trolls.
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9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?
yes. and..... what do you mean what kind??
like do you mean what kind of participants does it involve? or what kind of detail i go into?? one night stands vs relationship smut?? kink smut or vanilla smut?
i’ve only ever written f/m smut, being that that is where i have experience to draw on, but i will be trying my hand at some gayer smut soon, i think.
i try not to go too detailed but i am VIGILANT about where hands and legs go. there will be no magically appearing and disappearing limbs in MY smut.
also i will write anything at least once. most of what i’ve written is probably fairly vanilla, and most of it is... if not within the confines of a romantic relationship, within the confines of a friendship
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10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?
nop. let me know if you see someone posting me stuff elsewhere, the only place i post these days is Ao3 because FFN is circling the drain and also i can’t remember my FFN password
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11. Have you ever had a fic translated?
NOP
12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?
perchance.
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13. What is your all time favorite ship?
*dodgy eyes* in what fandom?? i have too many fandoms for this to be an easy question to answer!
...i’ll just answer for the fandoms i’ve posted for.
Naruto: KakaSaku (don’t @ me)
ATLA: Zutara (don’t @ me)
Mass Effect: S H A K A R I A N  TRASH
HP: Dramione (don’t @ me)
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14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?
joke’s on you, m8, i plan on finishing everything...... some day.
there are a few things i started literally ages ago -- like, 10+ years ago -- that i’ll likely never pick back up, and some of them were cool concepts, but.... that’s life.
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15. What are your writing strengths?
uhhhHHHH. I don’t actually know what I’m strong at, so I’m just gonna list the things people tell me I’m good at.
- dialogue! apparently it’s Very Relatable and realistic
- accurately depicting neurodivergent people (gee i wonder how i managed that)
- making things feel very vivid and palpable, especially in emotionally charged scenes
- writing kids who act their age instead of like mini adults
- poetic turns of phrase out of the blue
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16. What are your writing weaknesses?
description. how much is too much? should i go lavish? people read Tolkien describing trees for three pages. can i get away with describing a dress for half a page??
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17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?
UHHHHH that’s a weird question. most of the dialogue i’ve written in ‘a different language’ for a fic is from a conlang (elvhen) so i don’t fuss too much over that. other than that, I do try to avoid it, or to keep the phrases something short that google translate isn’t likely to fuck up. if i was going to do anything more than like “where’s the bathroom” i’d find a native speaker to help me.
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18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?
.....just like Snickie, I, too, first wrote for X-Men. specifically, Evolution. the fic(s) are still out there... on the internet... with their self-indulgent self-insert Mary Sues......
i was twelve, leave me be
19. What’s your favorite fic you’ve ever written?  
anyone who goes here (here being my blog) knows the answer to this.
RED STRINGS AND LILAC SKIES
i don’t fuckin care if people think smut is gross. i think this story is art. i fucking love it and i am SO proud of it. i dead-ass bugged the boy about it until he read it and he’s never seen an episode of Naruto in his life and he thought it was good. i know it’s considered blase to like your own work but i think rs&ls is HELLA good.
I will not apologize for it, either.
.
tagging... @stsathyre @thornspun @nekophiliaff @favouritequeeronthecitadel
feel free to tag yo’self if this looks interestin to you, just tag me in it so i can creep on you... in a loving way.
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crystalninjaphoenix · 3 years
Text
The Magic Circle
A JSE Fanfic
Hey, who’s excited for my first non-AU piece in a long time? Who’s excited for my first one-shot in like forever? If you’re excited for either of those things, then this is the piece for you :D I took some inspiration from Marvin’s video on Halloween to come up with this. Here, Marvin meets a magic group for the first time. Let’s see what happens :)
It’s a bright summer day outside. The sun is still high in the sky, despite it being almost five o’clock. There are people walking around the city streets, either going somewhere or even just taking a walk. Birds are chirping on top of the power lines and in the trees planted along the sidewalk. And Marvin was locked inside his room trying not to break something in frustration.
“Oh my goooood.” He puts his head down on the desk surface with a bit more force than necessary. It hurts, but he doesn’t mind. “Fuuuuuck offffff.” The desk before him is lit up with a lamp, despite there being sufficient light coming from the window. The lamp shines down on a laptop, open to a Google Docs document, and a leatherbound book, open to blank pages. Marvin drops his pen down on the desk. “Fuck it.” And with that, he pushes his chair back and heads over to the room’s door, unlocking it and heading outside.
He goes down the hall to the stairs, then down to the first floor. For a moment, he stops and blinks. His eyes feel...weird. Well, it makes sense. He’s spent almost all day staring at a computer screen or a blank page. The only time he wasn’t was when he was going to the bathroom. That probably wasn’t good for his eyes.
According to the wall clock in the downstairs hallway, he’s been trying for nearly five hours. That explains why he’s so hungry. Marvin heads into the kitchen and starts looking through the cabinets for something quick but filling.
Someone knocks on the doorframe behind him. Marvin jumps, and spins around. JJ is standing there. He waves. Hello, Marvin. Did you finish?
Marvin snorts and rolls his eyes. “Oh, I wish. I’ve done like...three pages. God. Fuck.”
Oh dear...JJ frowns. What’s wrong?
“I dunno.” Marvin rubs his eyes. “I just keep getting distracted. Opening up YouTube and stuff. God, it’s just so boring. Why do I even need to write it all down in a book? All my spells and shit are saved online.”
Some people are sticklers for tradition, JJ points out. But anyway, maybe you should take a break. You haven’t eaten anything, have you?
“Uh...no. That’s why I’m here.” Marvin resumes rummaging through the cabinets. “Do we have any crisps? I’m thinking of making nachos.”
You’re not just going to eat nachos, you haven’t had anything since you woke up at ten. JJ walks over and slowly pushes the door to the cabinet closed. Here, go sit down in the dining room. I’ll make you something.
“C’mon, JJ, you don’t have to. You were probably doing something else, don’t stop that for me.”
I was going to make dinner anyway, JJ shrugs. I know you don’t eat until later, usually, but please make an exception. You can’t work on that grimoire if you collapse from hunger.
Marvin sighs. “Yeah. Thanks.” He bumps his shoulder against JJ’s—a sign of affection that could easily be mistaken for clumsiness—and heads into the dining room.
He wishes he’d never found out about the greater magical community. Ever since he had, all it meant were problems. He had to learn all about the structure of this community, about how this organization called the ABIM made laws, about how certain spells were supposed to be regulated, about how things like wands, crystal balls, and other magical aides were supposed to be made certain ways. Marvin had always done his own thing. He didn’t exactly think he was the only person in the world with magic—after all, if that was the case, who wrote down all the spells he found online? But it hadn’t exactly registered that they were probably organized somehow, and that he should probably go look for others. Thanks to his total lack of searching for other magicians, the ABIM hadn’t realized he existed until about two months ago.
But now they know. And Marvin has to learn and keep up with a bunch of rules and regulations. The one that’s giving him the most trouble is the existence of a “grimoire.” Apparently, magicians are required to write down all the spells they know, and keep them in one place. And no, the document where Marvin had copy-pasted all the spells he’d found online doesn’t count. So now he’s spent the last week or so struggling to transcribe the online document into the book he’d purchased. Progress is...slow. Marvin just can’t focus on something as unstimulating as copying words down. There’s not even any new information to process.
Luckily, eating dinner helped him get some energy back. But when it’s all said and done, and he pushes away his plate, he’s dreading going back upstairs to try and ultimately fail some more. “Thanks, JJ,” he says.
You already said so, and you’re still welcome, JJ says. Then he pauses. Is there anyone who could help you with this? Other magicians lately?
Marvin groans. “Yeah, I guess I know some, but...I don’t wanna.”
Yes, we know, you’re very stubborn, JJ signs patiently.
“I can figure this out,” Marvin insists. “I can do things on my own!”
Except for making dinner, apparently.
Marvin can’t help but laugh. “Ah, ya got me there.” He sighs, and stares absently out the window. “Look, all the magicians I’ve met so far are part of this government group. And I don’t like them.”
Well, if you ask them for help, perhaps your opinion on that would change, JJ suggests.
“Well I wouldn’t be doing this in the first place if it wasn’t for their stupid fucking law!” Marvin snaps. Then he winces. “Sorry, didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m just...tired.”
JJ nods. Maybe you should stop for the night. It could be easier in the morning.
“Maybe.”
And also, if you keep getting distracted, have you tried putting on music? Or perhaps doing something with your spare hand while you write? That helps me.
“Maybe.” Marvin’s still uncertain.
JJ pushes his chair back and stands up. Also, can you please do the dishes?
“What?! But you cooked!”
Exactly, and we both ate it, so it’s only fair we both do something about it.
“Oh come on, I’m all tired, please?”
JJ merely folds his arms and stares at Marvin.
“Alright, fine,” Marvin relents. “I’ve been sitting all day, might as well do something a bit active.”
Oh thank you! JJ says, beaming.
“Heh, act like you didn’t twist my arm,” Marvin mutters, shaking his head affectionately.
———————
Later that night, Marvin finds he’s having trouble going to sleep. He keeps thinking about JJ’s suggestion, the one about asking other magicians for help. Sure, he isn’t exactly fond of the ABIM magicians he’s met so far. But maybe someone else...then again, perhaps the problem with transcribing his spells is just with him, and not with the actual subject matter.
Still, it can’t hurt to get a second opinion, right? But how to find the magicians?
An idea starts to form in his mind. Marvin gets out of bed and walks over to the desk. His laptop is still set up from that day. He powers it on. The time on the computer clock reads 11:20pm. Wow, he’d only been trying to get to sleep for an hour, he thought it was longer. Anyway, he goes back to the document of his spells, searching through them for one specific spell.
Yes, there it is. The title is “Magic Minds,” a tracking spell he’d recently picked up. It’s supposed to be able to guide a magician to other magicians. Marvin hasn’t used it yet, since he had no real reason to. He didn’t want to run into magicians before, but why not now?
Marvin grabs his phone from where it was charging, and quickly changes out of pajamas and into regular clothes. He pauses, then also grabs his cape from his closet. There’s no real reason to wear it, but it would make him feel a bit better. And with all this, he heads downstairs and outside.
The spell is easy enough to cast. He’s done tracking spells before, and they all require the same basic steps. An incantation or a few gestures, then you follow whatever visual cue the spell uses to find your target.
He turns his wand over in his hands, flicking it upward, downward, side to side. Green sparks left behind by the movements make a cross, +, hovering in the air. Technically he could have used his hands, but he likes the wand. And with the cross sign hovering there, Marvin whispers a word, and blows on the middle of the cross. A wisp of green light dances out from the breath, and hits the cross. From the spot of impact, the cross turns from green to white, and falls down to be horizontal, parallel to the ground. It spins, reorienting itself, then one leg of the cross turns red as the cross settles, pointing somewhere. Marvin heads in that direction.
The cross acts as a compass, pointing in one direction. He hopes it’s not too far away. People would think it’s weird, seeing one guy with a magic compass in a cape wandering around the city at night. But unfortunately, it turns out to be far enough that he regrets not taking the bus. Then he remembers that the buses don’t run this late at night, and regrets not doing this in the daytime. How is he simultaneously the most impulsive and least impulsive person he knows?
He makes his way to a section of the city full of identical, red-bricked terrace houses. The compass starts glowing brighter. That must mean he’s getting closer. Though, looking around and seeing nothing but residential buildings around, he’s not sure he wants to break in to someone’s house. This situation doesn’t exactly call for it. He’ll probably just write down the address.
The compass flickers, drawing him out of his train of thought. It locks onto one direction, flares brightly, and then dies. Marvin growls, frustrated. This isn’t the time for the spell to fail!
“You couldn’t have waited to put it on?”
Marvin jumps a bit at the voice, and ducks into the nearest alley way. He glances around, and sees a pair of people on the other side of the street, walking. Oddly enough, one of them is wearing a black cloak. No...it can’t be this easy...
“Oh, who’s out to see it?” a different voice says. “It’s late.”
“It’s a busy city, you’re just lucky no one’s out in this section,” the first voice snaps.
The pair walks up to one of the houses, standing on the doorstep. They continue to whisper to each other, too quiet for Marvin to hear on the other side of the street. After a while, the door opens, and the two of them disappear inside.
Strange...Marvin walks out of the alleyway, staring at the house on the other side of the street. What’s this all about? He glances around, making sure there are no cars or people coming, then runs across the street, stopping outside the house. He pauses, then glances into the window quickly. The inside doesn’t look any different from an average house, but he’s not sure since he ducks away quickly so nobody inside will notice him. Though strangely, there aren’t any people inside, even though there must have been at least three. He glances back in, just to make sure they aren’t anywhere.
It’s then that he notices something strange. The image through the window is...shimmering. Like a heat wave in the air. But the glass isn’t warped or anything that would cause that effect. On a whim, Marvin presses a finger to the window pane.
And surprisingly, the window appears to shiver. A wave of warm yellow light ripples out from the point of contact, just like water across the surface of a still pond. Slowly, the effect ends, and once it does, Marvin can see people gathered in the living room. And they’re all wearing black cloaks.
What was this? A magic gathering? Marvin’s curiosity grabs a hold of him. He has to get inside. But how?
He gets out his phone, looking through the spells he has gathered again. There should be an invisibility one here somewhere. He hadn’t used it since his days as a stage magician, but he must still have it. Though it takes a while of scrolling, he does eventually find it. It’s just an incantation, but it requires the magician to use absolute focus as long as they want to remain invisible. He always had trouble with that part, which is why he gave up on using it as soon as his career ended. Until now, he thought it was only good for escape tricks.
Scanning the incantation a couple times to make sure he knows it, Marvin takes a deep breath. He puts his phone back, then rings the doorbell and quickly whispers the incantation. A rush of cool flows over him, like suddenly walking out of a heated building into a cold outside, and when he next looks down, he can’t see his own body. He gasps in triumph, but then he sees his body flicker, and returns to concentrating on staying invisible.
The door opens, and a man in a cloak looks around. Marvin ducks past him, and luckily just barely avoids brushing against him. “Hello?” the man calls. A few moments pass, and the man shakes his head and closes the door.
Marvin finds himself standing in a living room, decorated in warm colors. At least ten people are gathered, all wearing black cloaks, though it appears they’re wearing regular street clothes under them. There’s a coffee table in the middle of the room, with a few various desserts lined up on it. A low buzz of chatter fills the air.
“What was it, Callisto?” a woman asks.
The man who opened the door shakes his head. “Nobody was there. Probably some kids’ prank.”
“In the middle of the night?” the woman asks doubtfully.
“You don’t know this neighborhood,” the man—Castillo—grumbles.
“You should have taken the cloak off before answering!” Someone else says.
“Shut up Basil, nobody would’ve cared,” Castillo snaps.
Marvin walks closer into the gathering, trying not to be distracted by the various conversations. It was difficult. Words kept sneaking into his awareness despite his best efforts. No, stay invisible. Stay invisible. Complete focus.
“Why does everyone keep bringing desserts to the meeting?” A woman nearby complains.
“Because it tastes fucking good, duh,” another woman next to her says.
“Can we get started already?” asks a man. “Hey Castillo! Everyone’s here, right? Can we get started?”
“Jeez, who lit the fire under your pants, Leo?” Someone mutters.
“Hey, I’m only pointing out that it’s almost midnight, Lily,” Leo says. “We’re running out of time!”
“Alright, Leo’s right, we’re getting close to the time,” Castillo sighs. “Alright, listen up everyone! We’re heading down to the basement to get started!”
A wave of chatter breaks out, and everyone files out of the room. Marvin rushes to the side in order to avoid anyone bumping into him. He watches silently as they all move into the hall and then down a set of stairs. What are they doing? He hesitates, then follows cautiously. A bunch of people in cloaks heading down to a basement for some sort of ritual? Every movie, book, and game ever says that’s a shady thing and should not be checked out. Yet he’s so curious. Is this what other magicians do?
The staircase isn’t too long, and it opens up into a large, wide room. Marvin was expecting a concrete floor and visible rafters, but it looks more like an entertainment room. The walls were painted a pale yellow, the floor was mostly carpeted, there were sofas and chairs and even one of those huge beanbags. It’s lit up by lightbulbs mounted directly into the ceiling, which makes it look just like any other household room. The only thing different is a square section of dark hardwood floor with a circle drawn on it in, well, what looks like salt. A few tall candles sit around the edges of the circle, in alternating purple and orange colors.
Marvin walks closer to the circle. There are some symbols drawn around its edge, also in salt. He’s surprised to realize he doesn’t recognize any of them. They’re not part of any runes he knows. But he does feel like he’s seen them before, somewhere else. Maybe it’s a different runic alphabet? But what does this mean?
“Hey, did you see that?” someone asks.
“See what?”
“I dunno, I thought...nevermind.”
“C’mon, Morgana.”
“Well, I just thought it looked like a person out of the corner of my eye.”
Marvin inhales sharply and goes back to concentrating on staying invisible. This is the last place he wants that to wear off.
“It’s five minutes to midnight!” Castillo calls. “Everyone in position!”
There’s a bit of awkward shuffling as the group moves to stand around the circle. A few people whisper about watching the edge of the salt to make sure it doesn’t get knocked out of place. “Someone get the lights,” Castillo says.
“Uh, shouldn’t we light the candles first so it’s not dark?” Basil points out.
“Oh, I have a lighter!” Morgana volunteers.
“Oh yeah.” Castillo nods. “Mor, you light the candles. Uh, James, you’re closest to the lights, knock them out, will you?”
“Everyone watch their hems,” Morgana says as she starts going around the edge of the circle and lighting the candles. Once they’re all lit, a man dashes over to the wall and hits the light switch, plunging the room into darkness except for the candlelight.
“Hands, everyone,” Castillo instructs. Everyone grabs their neighbors’ hands, forming a connected circle. “Two minutes to midnight. Time to start. Make sure you chime in at the right time.”
Silence falls. Marvin holds his breath, waiting for something to happen. And soon, the circle starts murmuring. No, it’s not just that, they’re actually chanting, all in a low, quiet voice. More voices join in, and they all get louder. Harmonies break off as different strings of words jump in, until the group is singing, their voices echoing off the walls.
Lines appear on the floor inside the circle. Lines of orange light, each one starting at the feet of one of the magicians, then ending at the feet of another. There were so many, connecting each magician to every other member of the group. The light coming from them grew brighter, and then—
SNAP!
Sparks flew into the air in the center of the circle. Quicker than what should be possible, they grow into a fire, hovering about three feet off the ground. The flames start orange, and then flicker between different colors—red, yellow, green, purple, blue, pink, white, and everything in between. It was as if a firework had gone off in the room, completely contained within a small part of the air. Marvin couldn’t help but gasp. And, as he stared closer into the fire, he realized there weren’t just colors...there were images as well. Shapes of people and objects forming scenes. They pass by too quickly for him to fully make out.
The chanting reaches a crescendo, and the fire breaks down into small balls of flame. Each one shoots toward one of the magicians, disappearing into their chests. For a moment, all the magicians glow with the colors of the fire. And then it fades. The lines on the floor disappear, and the magicians slowly stop their chants.
There’s a brief moment of quiet, like the heavy sort of silence one hears after having finished a good book and absorbing the story it contained. And then: “James, can you get the lights again?”
The man from before walks over to turn on the light switch. Everyone gasps and blinks in the suddenly bright room. Idle chatter starts up.
“Hey wait a minute, who’s that?!”
Marvin gasps as one of the magicians points at him. They all turn to look, and he realizes too late that he’d forgotten to concentrate on the invisibility spell.
“Who are you?!”
“What are you doing here?!”
“How’d you get in?!”
And Marvin panics. He turns and runs up the stairs, hearing the magicians shout behind him. Skipping the last step, he bursts out into the first floor hallway and starts to sprint for the front door.
Someone shouts something, and there’s a burst of red light. Then only blackness.
———————
Marvin only realizes he lost consciousness once he starts regaining it. He groans, feeling a headache spike in his temples, and opens his eyes.
“Oh good, you’re awake.” A man is sitting next to him, wearing a black cloak. It takes Marvin a moment to recognize him as the Castillo guy. But upon recognition, he bolts upright. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down!” Castillo holds his hands up, slightly pushing Marvin back down. “You’re not in any trouble. Persephone hit you with a blackout spell, but she’s sorry about that.” He glares to the side. “Riiight?”
Every other cloaked magician is standing nearby. They’re all back in the living room from before, with Marvin lying on one of the sofas. “Uh, yeah, really sorry,” a woman says. “I freaked out and acted on instinct.”
“How are you feeling?” Castillo asks, turning back to Marvin. “Some people have allergic reactions to blackout spells. Are you having any trouble breathing?”
Marvin doesn’t answer, looking wide-eyed at the people around him. Now that he’s actively facing the prospect of talking to other magicians, his throat has closed up. It’s probably made worse by the fact that he technically broke into their secret meeting.
“Uh, sir?” Castillo reaches out and makes to grab Marvin’s arm.
“Don’t!” Marvin flinches away. “Don’t fucking touch me!”
“Oh, okay, sorry!” Castillo sharply withdraws. “Just wanted to be sure you were breathing.”
“Yeah, well, I’m fine, so don’t touch me,” Marvin grumbles. He shifts awkwardly, glancing around at the others. They’re starting to mutter among themselves. He can’t tell what they’re saying, and that makes him nervous. Are they mad at him? It would be understandable. But he’s terrible with tone of voice, so he can’t even tell, and the uncertainty makes him even more worried.
“I got it, no worries.” Castillo gives a friendly smile, no doubt meant to reassure Marvin. “But you are okay, right?”
“Yeah, fine,” Marvin mutters.
“That’s good,” Castillo nods. “Um...do you mind if I ask how you got here? This house is warded from any teleportations.”
“Yeah, if you guys tell me who you are first,” Marvin countered.
“We’re the Magic Circle, duh,” one of the other magicians says.
“Well I’ve never fucking heard of the Magic Circle, so excuse me for not knowing!” Marvin sits up on the sofa, scooting away from Castillo.
“Huh? Really?” Castillo looks puzzled. “Well, specifically, we’re the Mirygale chapter of the Magic Circle, it’s a nationwide organization.”
“Are you guys like a coven or something?” Marvin asks.
“We’re just a group, man,” another magician says. “We meet up, cast spells together, not that hard to grasp.”
“I’ve never heard of magic groups,” Marvin says warily.
Castillo blinks. “Seriously?”
“Well, I know the ABIM guys,” Marvin admits. “But that’s it.”
“ABIM is different,” Castillo says dismissively. “They’re like a government, and a loose one at that.” He pauses. “Are you...self-taught?”
“Yeah. Why the fuck does that matter?” Marvin demands.
It must have mattered significantly, because a chorus of “ohhhhhh” passed through the group. “Ah, that explains why you don’t know about magic groups,” Castillo says. “You’re a bit old for being self-taught, though. Most magicians from outside a magical family find—”
“—find out about the greater magic community when they’re in college, yeah, I know, I’ve heard that speech before,” Marvin says through clenched teeth. “So I’m a few years late, I was busy. Anyway, what are magic groups? Just like, magicians gathered together? Is that allowed? What do the ABIM think?”
Castillo laughs. “The Magic Circle is much older than the Association, they couldn’t get rid of us if they wanted to.” He shrugs. “Well, magic groups aren’t too hard to figure out. It’s just a bunch of magicians gathered together.” He sweeps his arm around the room. “Spells cast by a group are more powerful than just a single magician alone. We share spells with each other, come to each others’ aid in times of magical crisis, study magic together...they say two heads are better than one, you know? Stronger in numbers.”
Marvin nods slowly. “So...what were you doing in the basement?”
“That? That was a combination divination and prosperity spell,” Castillo explains. “Something like that you can only get in a group. It shows us significant events in the next year, then gives us good luck.”
“Never heard of a good luck spell...” Marvin mutters.
“Well, you’ve been practicing on your own, and doing luck spells on your own is a tricky business,” Castillo says. “So now it’s our turn. How’d you get inside?”
Marvin shifts uncomfortably, then reluctantly explains the whole thing with the Magic Minds spell and the invisibility.
“Ohhh, I know that spell!” One of the magicians says excitedly. “But you’re supposed to include your target’s full name in the incantation, otherwise it’ll just lead you to the nearest magician.”
“Why were you looking for magicians?” Another one asks.
Marvin looks down. Now that the time has come for it, he’s kind of embarrassed. “I dunno, I...sort of wanted help with this grimoire thing. But it’s stupid. Nevermind.”
“Huh? What kind of help?” Castillo asks. “You know the Magic Minds spell and an invisibility spell, you seem pretty knowledgeable.”
Marvin scowls. “Well, apparently, it needs to be in a book, not online at all. Which is fucking dumb. Why do I have to copy it all over?! It’s all already there!”
“Have you tried listening to a podcast while doing it?” One of the magicians suggests. “It gives you something to focus on.”
Castillo chuckles. “Well, if it’s a problem with focus, I don’t know if magicians specifically could help.”
“Shut up,” Marvin mutters. “Maybe there’s a spell to copy it all over for me—”
“If you found one, let me know, will you?” Castillo jokes.
Marvin glares at him, then stands up. “Well, I’m sorry for interrupting your Magic Circle shit, I’ll just go now, because clearly this was a stupid fucking idea—”
“Hey wait!” Castillo stands up as well. “What’s your name, bro?”
“Don’t call me bro!” Marvin growls. “But it’s Marvin. Marvin Moore.”
“Wait holy shit like Marvin the Magnificent?!” A magician says excitedly. Marvin recognizes him as the James one. “You had real magic the whole time?! No wonder people couldn’t figure out your tricks!”
Marvin can’t help but smile proudly at that. “Hell yeah, people loved it.”
“Well, Mr. Moore, you have some powerful magic in you,” Castillo says admirably. “You bypassed all the wards I set up here without even trying.” He walks over to a table with drawers, pulling one open and taking out a pen and notebook. After scribbling something down, he tears out the page, and walks back over to hand it to Marvin. “This is all our information, and my personal phone number. If you ever have a group you want to join, call us, okay?”
“Oh! Do it!” James encourages. “Then we’ll be thirteen, it’ll be the ideal number for most spells! And we’ll have a famous guy in our chapter!”
“Hey, let him make his own decision,” a nearby magician says.
Marvin scans the information from the paper. There could be benefits to joining a magic group...one of which being that he’ll finally have more than five people to talk to. And were these spells cast by groups really more powerful? A familiar feeling starts to grow inside him, a feeling of wanting to know, of wanting to be the best. That feeling led him astray in the past, got him mixed up in branches of magic he probably shouldn’t have been involved in. But if he’s with other people, it’ll be different, right? He hesitates for just one moment longer, then asks, “Hey, so uh, what if I’ve already made my decision?”
———————
The next day, Marvin finds himself sitting at his desk once more, with his laptop and his unfinished grimoire before him. But there were also a couple other things as well. A slim book, its cover decorated with the same sort of symbols he’d seen written in that circle of salt, and a sphere of black crystal. “Consider these your entrance-level gifts,” Castillo had said. “I don’t know how familiar you are with the types of magic the Circle likes to use, so this’ll be your beginner’s course.”
Marvin actually isn’t familiar with these branches of magic at all. And that makes this book all the more fascinating. It contains a guide to the symbols they use, the principles of the magic, and a few basic spells. Interestingly, it seems to be derived from alchemy. Or maybe it is alchemy, Marvin doesn’t know. He’d never had any reason to look up what alchemy was before this.
He sets the book down, taking a moment to pick up his new crystal ball and look it over. He can already think of several uses for this, but that might have to wait until later. For now, he really needs to at least make some progress on the grimoire.
And where better to start than with the new, interesting spells? It’s sure to keep his focus if he’s copying down information he’s never heard before. Marvin puts the crystal ball down and picks up his pen. But before he starts writing, he puts on his headphones. Listening to a podcast, huh? Maybe that will help.
He can feel that something new is in the air. Something is changing. Marvin had never worked with other magicians before. The prospect is both exciting and a little nerve-wracking. But however this ends, he knows now that things will be different from here on, in some way or another. And he’s certainly excited to find out.
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greywarde · 3 years
Text
more poking around my google drive and i found some scenes from a fic of sirius in azkaban very heavily inspired by nk jemisin’s incredible use of second person in the fifth season
i do like what i have but i don’t know if i’ll be finishing it up because it makes me too sad... lol. major character death warning, i guess? 
-
You are in a prison of your own making. An actual, physical prison, yes, yet the four walls around you aren’t half as tangible as the actions that have brought you here.
Dementors feed off emotions, joy and happiness and everything good. It’s a short sentence of a definition, another line of a lesson long ago that never merited second thought.
There are many things that you never thought twice about. Of course, it’s the thing that you decided to think over for once in your life, take the safe option for, that was the undoing. The bitter irony of it stings, an ever present tang in your mouth, more palpable than the grey slop they serve you.
It is always skimming the surface of your mind. The rat, always the rat, looking up at you with just enough fear.
“It’s only…”
“What, Wormy?”
“It’s only that you’re his best friend, his brother in everything but name. I’m… I’m scared that it’s too obvious. That they’ll go after you.”
And the end, the undoing, so obvious that no one gave it second thought. James and Lily, dead amidst the rubble of their safehouse by shattered secret. You, alone among a bounty of bloodied bodies, laughing as the end crashed down upon your shoulders because there was nothing else to be done.
But this is not what they want. No, there’s nothing more to draw out than pain, rage, hatred. Something else, then?
A boy with a messy mop of black hair and thick rectangular glasses grins at you from across a compartment, mirroring your own mischievous smile.
“James Potter.”
“Sirius Black.”
Him, smiling at you from across the table, his scars visible in the flickering candlelight.
“Remus Lupin.”
The last boy into the dormitory, a small cheerful blond boy.
“Pete—“
No. Not him, not the tidal wave of hate that comes frothing forth with nothing but violent intentions and sharp hatred. You’ve already extinguished the good parts yourself.
“Marlene Mckinnon.”
Always a kind word to offer, even giving you a helping hand up after you’d been hexed in another one of your schoolyard battles. You’d refused, but it had touched some warm place in you, buried very deep, only uncovered in this excavation now.
“Dorcas Meadowes.”
Giggling behind her hands at your antics, whispering to you of a few gits who could use a good hexing, laughing with you and James and Remus and—
Much later, Lily, with James. The two of them holding hands in Hogsmeade, the bite of brisk winter air on skin, the crunch of snow underfoot, the constant chorus of your laughter.
“Guess she’s sticking around, huh, Moony?”
“I suppose so,” his smile, his hand in yours, his warm brown eyes meeting your gaze, and—
The dog, summoned from where it always rests, the instinct etched deep into your bones, and then a layer of fur and forgetfulness over you.
Loyalty, its twisted twin betrayal, and nothing more.
-
You can’t stay the dog forever, of course. After all, you are still a man with a name and a crime.
“Black,” a low voice sounds. The dog comes with the stag, the rat, and, most importantly, the wolf and they can’t—
You climb back into manhood as the footsteps round the corner. Through a tangled mass of hair and the iron bars of your cage, there is a whisper of a black beard, heavy Ministry robes, and dragonhide boots, white fur lining just visible. Your feet are bare.
“Disgusting,” the warden decrees and walks on. A silver shimmer follows, a bright hare chasing the shadows away and your heart almost lifts—
“Furry little…? I didn’t know you had a pet, Remus!” Mary Macdonald presses.
“You could say that,” he says, tugging a hand through his light brown hair and looking up at you with a growing smile.
“His rabbit’s a beast of a thing. Nearly bit off his nose once, see?” James cuts in, indicating the twisted pink scar that crosses Remus’s nose. Their shoulders shake with mirth and you join in with your barking laughter.
When the glow finally fades from the corridor, your head is in your hands and you are sobbing, mouth salty and breath shaky.
And it’s only the beginning.
-
Time passes.
Winter, detectable by the way that it seeps under even the dog’s fur, into the very stones of the cell, breaths coming out in white puffs, tears turning to ice.
Spring summer fall, known only as a mercy now.
Those aren’t the only markers of time, though.
As a man, you are tall enough to see through the little barred window set at the very top of your cell. Usually, all you can see is the endless dark fog, sunlight so diluted that it’s nearly indistinguishable from nighttime. But sometimes, there are cracks and gaps in the haze.
You glimpse the stars sometimes, their names and positions drilled into you long ago. Your namesake glints in the inky blackness, billions of miles away, too far to be felt. A noble house, forever reaching for the aloof stars, their greedy hands grasping and coming down on anyone they could shove beneath them.
And of course, you see the moon. Sometimes a thin crescent, sometimes a perfect half, and the full.
His smile, eyes crinkling up, half-laughing as you showed him the dog, the stag, the—
Running around the forest, going into its darkest depths with only the moon and stars to light the way. Chasing the wolf through the trees, play fighting in the dirt, laughing together after full moons.
“I don’t… I don’t know how I could ever repay you…” his quiet voice, still ragged from howling, one morning in the hospital wing, a mug of steaming healing potion in his hand. His other hand laying on the white sheets of the bed and your own hand on his, feeling the raised outline of the scar crossing it, a thrill sparking through you when your eyes met.
“Give me your last chocolate frog and we’ll be even,” James’s uproarious laughter in your ear, snapping the spell. No, not breaking it. Only drawing it out longer, leading you to seek out each other on your own.
The ramparts, under the endless stars disrupted by no moon, only the clouds. Stone under your fingertips, him next to you.
“Sirius,” his voice quiet in your ear, a hand placed alongside yours on the parapet, the heat of his body inches from your own.
Your reply, placing your hand on his own, turning and meeting his lips with your own.
Even as you reach for the dog, the dementors feast.
-
Footsteps approaching, silver gilding the hall.  A stout man in formal-looking robes, squinting at you. You don’t know him.
“Who’re you?” you ask, bolstered by the warm glow of the silver ram at his side.
“Cornelius Fudge. Minister of Magic,” the man responds with a slight puff of his chest. You are cognizant enough to recognize that this man is most likely a monumental wanker. Your eyes alight on the folded newspaper in his hands. You don’t know how long it’s been.
“Can I borrow your newspaper… fancy doing the crossword,” you say. Your voice is a scant scratch on the air.
There’s a flash of disgust over his features, quickly covered up by a cool, detached expression. You’d have known he was a politician even if he hadn’t said so.
“Have at it,” he frowns, pressing it through the bars. As soon as the gnarled bones of your hand make contact with the newspaper, he yanks his hand away.
“Bloody madman,” you can hear him muttering as he walks off, the warmth retreating.
Below July 26, 1993, there’s a large headline and photo about some family going on a trip to Egypt. You nearly disregard it before you see him, the hole that the dementors have easily skirted around, feeding only on its edges for a very, very long time. The rat.
-
You slip out between the bars, iron barely scraping your ragged fur and protruding ribs, your destination in mind. It is the only thing that you will allow yourself to think of, subsuming all else.
Hogwarts, he’s at Hogwarts, Hogwarts, he’s at Hogwarts, the dog chants in its simple brain, stalking down the halls, past dementors and screaming and sobbing prisoners, diving into the cold sea, reaching steady land.
-
Remus has changed.
That seems like a conclusion that was rather obvious, you think wryly to yourself, the thought almost sharp enough to be a reprimand.
Some part of you had thought that he’d still be the man, barely more than a boy, that you last saw all those years ago.
But even his stiff movements betray his age, if the graying hair and lines around his eyes, creasing his brow weren’t a dead giveaway. You don’t see any evidence of smile lines around his mouth.
It takes you many days to realize that he must be feeling the same way, only about you. Where did the boy he loved, always ready with laughter and bright with youthful energy go?
It takes you even longer to realize that you might like these changes. Instead of the way he’d bent to any of your complaints, ignored your worst japes long ago, he returns them immediately with calm rationalizations or gentle rebukes, and sometimes, sympathy.
“I was alone. I had to learn to stand up for myself eventually,” he says one night as you both gaze over the rolling green hills up at a blanket of stars. Then, softly, almost as if in apology. “I grew up.”
You cover his hand with your own.
“Sirius… I might be presuming, but do you want to…”
You answer him by pulling him the rest of the way and meeting his lips with your own.
-
The veil in the center of the room, ever fluttering in a non-existent wind, low whispering voices ever beckoning. You barely spare it a glance as you rush to protect him, throwing up shields and firing back curses.
Blood rushes through your veins, your heartbeat thrumming with the knowledge that you are still alive and not a meager bag of bones imitating a man, that you are doing something -
“Harry, grab Neville and go!”
She seems to climb out of the darkness. Wild, tangled hair, cold coal-dark eyes, cackling laughter, a twisted mirror of you. Laughter froths forth as you duel, easily parrying her attempts at disarming you, until the red light hits you in the chest and you fall, the whisper of the veil at your back.
Harry screams and Remus reaches forward, not for you but for him, holding him back as a sob wrecks him -
Would it help if I told you there was never any other way? That your end was set in stone as soon as you stepped out of Grimmauld, as soon as you came back to Britain, as soon as you slipped through iron bars, as soon as you listened to the rat, as soon as you stopped trusting the man you loved, as soon as the hat on your head bellowed “GRYFFINDOR!”, as soon as you left your mother’s womb? No. That would be a lie.
In retrospect, there are a hundred, a thousand ways you could have gone. But there’s no time for the past now.
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stressed-crow · 3 years
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i didnt exactly get tagged, but @lieberts​ said the “whoever wants to do it” thing (like 4 moths ago but i just found it in my likes) so here i goooo
also i tag @krchov​ @cowardlylearningtobebrave​ @feathereddamsel​ @gruntie​ and @luwucifer-s​ but like, only very vaguely. feel free not to~
1. MUSIC TAG MEME 
Rules: Post your first twenty songs in a playlist on shuffle
Mama (My Chemical Romance)
Stigma (BTS)
Man Who Sold The World (Nirvana)
End of Spring (ONEWE)
Love Maze (BTS)
I’m so afraid (Holland)
Dear my friend (agustd)
O-O-H Child (The Five Stairsteps)
Go Go (BTS)
Time is Running out (The Muse)
Movement (Hozier)
Les Passants (Zaz)
The Witching Hour (ODJBOX)
Feelings (Hayley Kiyoko)
0X1=LOVESONG (txt)
YAYAYA (Stray Kids)
Empire (Of Mice and Men)
Problems (Mother Mother)
Question (Stray Kids)
Kill Your Heroes (AWOLNATION)
(i do not take any criticism on my music taste, least of all a costructive one)
2. Rules: MAKE A NEW POST, bold what applies to you and tag whoever you want to get to know better.
APPEARANCE 
I’m an I-need-to-pull-the-driver-seat-all-the-way-in kind of a person // i wear glasses or contacts // i have blonde hair // i prefer loose clothing to tight clothing  // i have one or more piercings // i have at least one tattoo  // i have blue eyes // i have dyed or highlighted my hair // i have gotten plastic surgery // i have or had braces // i sunburn easily // i have freckles // i paint my nails // i wear makeup // i don’t often smile // i am pleased with how I look // I prefer nike to adidas // i wear baseball hats backward
HOBBIES & TALENTS 
i play a sport // i can play an instrument  // i am artistic  // i know more than one language // i have won a trophy in some sort of competition // i can cook or bake without a recipe // i know how to swim // i enjoy writing // i can do origami // i prefer movies to tv shows // i can execute a perfect somersault // i enjoy singing // i could survive in the wild on my own (if it was like... chill wildreness. i mean i can get a fire going and shit like that i cant fistfight a bear or whatever) // i have read a new book series this year // i enjoy spending time with friends // i travel during school or work breaks // i can do a handstand
RELATIONSHIPS 
i am in a relationship // i have a crush // i have a best friend i have known for ten years // my parents are together // i have dated my best friend // i am adopted // my crush has confessed to me // i have a long-distance relationship // i am an only child // i give advice to my friends // i have made an online friend // i met up with someone i have met online
AESTHETIC 
i have heard the ocean in a conch shell // i have watched the sunrise // i enjoy rainy days // i have slept under the stars // i meditate outside // the sound of chirping calms me // i enjoy the smell of the beach // i know what snow tastes like // i listen to music to fall asleep // i enjoy thunderstorms // i enjoy cloud watching // i have attended a bonfire // i pay close attention to colors // i find mystery in the ocean (i dont like it tho the sea scares me) // i enjoy hiking on nature paths // autumn is my favourite season
MISC 
i can fall asleep in a moving vehicle // i am the mom friend // i live by a certain quote // i like the smell of sharpies // i am involved in extracurricular activities // i enjoy mexican food // i can drive a stick-shift  // i believe in true love // i make up scenarios to fall asleep // i sing in the shower // i wish i lived in a video game // i have a canopy above my bed // i am multiracial // i am a redhead // i own at least one dog // i have a cat ---------
3. THIS OR THAT TAG GAME (1)
sage green or baby blue | moon or stars | paperback or hardback | piercings or tattoos (i want a new one... both piercing and tattoo) | drawing or writing | saturn or jupiter | line without a hook or mr. loverman (what does this mean??) | ancient greece or ancient egypt | prague (yo i live here thats wild) or amsterdam | dark academia or light academia | indie aesthetic or cottagecore | stargazing or late night drives | strawberries or watermelons | rings or necklaces | extrovert or introvert | dragons or griffins | ocean or mountain | silver or gold | dawn or dusk | creative or free spirit | early bird or night owl | cook or bake | dagger or sword ---------
4. THIS OR THAT TAG GAME (2)
indoor plants or gardens // cloud-watching or star-gazing // water or fire // paperback or hardcover // running or hiking // sleeping with socks or without socks // fruit or vegetables // hanging plants or succulents // dark wood or light wood // handwritten or typed // instagram or pinterest (i dont do either) // braids or pigtails // books or movies // oceans or meadows // forests or fields // sweet or salty // ice cream or chocolate // hoodies or sweaters // long hair or short hair // piercings or tattoos (new!! both!!) // summer or winter (both suck) // boots or sneakers // cars or motorcycles // curls or straight hair // castles or cottages // sunny days or storms // reptiles or birds // disney or nickelodeon (am european) // strawberries or watermelon (im using this opportunity to pick the other one yes) // essays or posters // phones or laptops // glass or stone // dark or light // photos or paintings // circuses or theaters // reading or writing // dogs or cats // poetry or novels // monsters or ghosts // thrift shops or libraries // fiction or non-fiction
5. Post one picture from my camera roll (no new downloads) to sum up my personality! u get two bcs they are v good
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6. 30 QUESTIONS TAG GAME 
RULES: Answer 30 questions and tag others
Name/Nickname: lucy 
Gender: female 
Star Sign: leo
Height: 170 cm 
Time: 22:04 
Birthday: july 1  IS WHAT I WROTE INITIALLY bcs i cant fucking read and thought it just said “date” lol anyway its 11th of August
Favorite Bands: bts, stray kids :)
Favorite Solo Artists: sunmi, taemin :) and hozier i cant betray him 
Song stuck in my head: la la la la vie en rose
Last Movie: def some horror movie but i forget which lol
Last Show: probably the untamed lmaooo did not even finnish it 
When did I create this blog: december 2013 apparently 
What do I post: kpop babey 
Last thing googled: i gotta fact check lots of shit for work so probs smting sports related (but make no mistake i dont know a single thing abt sports) 
Other blogs: what for i dump everything here
Do I get asks: no
Why I chose my url: self-explanatory
Following: 100
Followers: ???
Average hours of sleep: about 8 hours 
Instruments: none 
What am I wearing: pink pajama shorts with kitties, black shirt torn beyond decent wearability and this dark green... jacket,,, hoodie...thing.
Dream job: village witch 
Dream trip: me @ japan: 
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(i was supposed to go study there starting winter 2020 :) im abt to lose my fucking mind :) so yeah you get a dead meme for this) also new zealand, iceland, and going back to sweden sometime
Favorite food: pizza bithc its versatile, also cereal coz im a child
Nationality: czech (rip) 
Favorite song: black swan (bts), levanter (skz), take me to church (hozier), noir (sunmi) (those are from the top of my head current favs theres way more but here u go)
Last book read: MIMOZEMŠŤANÉ V ČECHÁCH (= aliens in czechia) by idk, some married couple thats probs wanted whatever xfiles had but low budget, its pure nonsense, best read of this year, dont regret a single second
 Top three fictional universes I’d like to live in: magnus archives bich i dont give a fuck; middle earth to blaze it with hobbits; i wanna be one of those lil shaky-head-tree-things in mononokehime
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windermeresimblr · 3 years
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Story Process Challenge
I was tagged by @danjaley and @treason-and-plot (in alphabetical order, not tagging order). Thank you both so much!
Summary: My process makes sense to myself alone and it’s very much a work in progress! Also, I’m very boring and don’t do gifs or videos, so you’ll just have to look at my screenshots. Sorry!
This is behind the jump for length.
1. Your writing process - show us a part of your script or explain how you write your scenes. Do you write in screenplay format or novel format? Etc, etc.
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I write in novel format if it’s a wholly-posed story, mostly because that’s easier for me than a script. I feel like it really helps build the ~aesthetic~ of a scene that way. For my attempts at partially-posed/gameplay stories, I’ve gone for screenplay format, but it’s very new to me and I feel much more comfortable with the novel format. I usually write in Google Docs, since that can go with me everywhere and I can write on my lunch hour/waiting for my mom to get out of the pharmacy/etc, but sometimes I will write in Notepad. 
(Yes, this IS a flashback to Alasdair and Ma. Yolanda meeting; they were perfect teenage hellions causing chaos at a society party, don’t worry.)
2. Scene building - show us you in the middle of scene building through pictures, gifs, or a video. Explain what is the best thing about scene building and what is the worst!
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I’m still learning how to make a very good scene build; this is where being a historical player kind of hurts. It’s hard to get a good sense of what a 1810s Spanish drawing room or a 1600s merchant’s house in Amsterdam really looked like without abusing my library privileges! (Images from Wikipedia and historical sites only go so far.) The best thing about scene-building is when the vision of the room in my head matches the room that’s in-game, which is pretty difficult. The worst thing about scene building is that I’m very perfectionistic and a control freak, which does not help, and frequently I do get lost in the details and can’t see the forest for the trees. 
(This isn’t a scene, it’s that Iron Age Roundhouse, but it’s a good example of how I do things--all the lights on, everything bright white paint or the $0 floor until I am happy with the shape and placement, and then I decorate.) 
3. CC/Pose Making - do you make your own cc/poses for your scene? If so, what is your process like to create? Do you just go off the top of your head? Do you use reference photos?
I’d love to be able to make my own CC and poses specifically for scenes! I’m still very new at CC-making--see my hats collection--and again, I’m very much a control freak. I use a lot of reference photos, especially historical costuming sites and books, because it gives me a lot of pride to have the clothing and accessories look just right. 
The creation process is usually: gosh, I need a crispinette/gable hood/palla/whatever for this character, let me see if there’s a mesh from TS2 or TS4 that I can wrangle into submission if I can’t repurpose an existing mesh, and then a prolonged period of fighting with Milkshape and TSRW and other programs until it looks serviceable and works. I’m not very technically skilled yet.
I don’t make my own poses--I’d love to, I have a hand-spinning poseset idea living rent-free in my mind at all times, complete with a drop spindle accessory, but I’m not very confident with Blender or hand accessories, etc. When I pose my Sims, I do use reference photos if I haven’t already planned out how they’re moving around in the scene. (Well, reference paintings, usually, although sometimes I’m lucky enough to find reenactment photos!)
4. Getting in the zone - What do you do to get in the zone to work on a scene? Examples include: show us your playlist you use when working on a scene, what’s your go-to scene snack/drink, etc.
I don’t know if I get into a zone as much as I just carve out time to work on things as I can. I don’t have playlists for my characters. (Not a Deaf thing; I just haven’t really...had the urge to do that. I’m worried I’m a neglectful Simmer now, ha ha.) I don’t have a go-to writing snack or drink. I just...try to relax a bit, usually, and sometimes I will look at my past chapters to see what we were doing last time. 
5. Screenshot folder - give us a look into your screenshot folder to show us just how much goes into ONE scene for your story. (Scrapped pictures encouraged!!!)
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Do you REALLY want to see this? Really? I’m an AWFUL packrat. I try to organize it and I can’t. (Sorry. I’m very messy.)
6. Captions - are you a caption on the picture kind of storyteller or captions in text box type of storyteller? Why? Do you do both?
Captions and text go in the text box.
I’d love to be able to put dialogue in speech bubbles, because it seems cool, but I talk too much! (This is the same reason why I kind of go back and forth with Netflix-style captions. I don’t know when to shut up.) I also worry that the captions wouldn’t be visible in scenes with low lighting or overly-bright lighting. 
7. Editing!!!!! - explain and show us your process editing a scene through a video, gif, or picture. A Before and after will suffice if you aren’t in the middle of editing a scene as you answer this.
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Philomena, before...
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Philomena, after. (This is one of those images where I just threw up my hands at the hair editing. I wish TS3 had hat chops like TS4 did.)
I’m really not confident with editing--I want to have my pictures look aesthetically pleasing, consistent with the other images in the chapter, and “nice” in general. It doesn’t help that while I’m 95% Maxis-match, my aesthetic inspiration for scenes changes with the wind. I use pooklet’s lighting actions, and then from there I tend to use the Holy Colors, Batman actions. But I’m trying to find my own way of doing things--reliant on others’ actions, yes, but more consistently done and somehow conveying that it’s “of my workshop.”
8. Throwback-  show us an ANCIENT story scene you did in the past and explain how you would do the scene differently today!
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First: I think I’d choose a different pose for Vicar Max here. (It doesn’t quite fit; why would he be staring at Alasdair like that? It’s more of a mid-conversation pose.) I liked how it looked like Alasdair was genuflecting as he sat in the pew, but again, the pose needs to be changed. I might just go for neutral sitting-and-talking-looking-straight-ahead poses. 
This was one of those pictures taken when I was trying to understand Reshade, so I’d obviously skip that. I’d also add Pooklet’s lighting actions, of course.
It’s definitely not lit well in the back--I’m not sure how I’d change that. I didn’t want to lose the “quiet chapel” feel, but there has to be a balance, not letting the characters look like they’re spotlit. 
The angle also looks weird, but I’m horrible at angles; I have a lot to learn still.  I’d either close-up on the faces or I’d zoom out more. (I think I was having issues with Alasdair on the OMSP, for some reason.)
I tag whoever would like to do this!
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joopiterjoon · 4 years
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Piece of Peace- MiniMoni
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Pairing: Namjoon x Jimin
Genre: +18, Strangers/enemies-kind-of to lovers?
Warnings/Tags: Kittygang!Jimin, Professor!Namjoon, swearing, mentions of gangs and gang violence, stealing motorcycles, anal sex, sex on a motorcycle, exhibitionism (of course), FYI I don’t know much (anything) about motorcycles
Wordcount: 1k
a/n: this is technically part 3 of Boys Meets Evil and Burning Up, but you can read it by itself! Also this was FOREVER ago but thank you @honeymoonjin​ and @ddaenggtan​ for reviewing this and telling me if it’s kitty gang worthy!
Part of ficswithluv’s #FWLBingo!
Everything about the Harley dealership is new. The pristine floors, the smell, the design. Even the echoes of engines, obviously a repeated sound bouncing around the fancy space, sound unique each time. Everything the place contains within is shiny and desirable.
It’s exactly where Namjoon wants to be. Surrounded by newness, he’ll craft a new him. One that isn’t clumsy, isn’t known for being nerdy.
One that befits his new boyfriend, Jimin Park.
But with a shake of his glasses, Namjoon thinks he may need a new bank account.
“What do you think?” the ever eager salesman asks. Namjoon stands, straightening his secondhand, jean jacket as he eyes the (probably new) suit of the man.
“Ah, it’s… it’s nice,” Namjoon smiles shyly. He’s not sure what words he should be using. He googled motorcycle terminology, but all that escapes him now.
“Would you like to take it for a spin?” the salesman presses with a little shake of his hips. His balanced persona of friendly and pushy is a bit terrifying. Namjoon laughs nervously. He doesn’t know if he should get on something he can’t afford, it might just hurt more when he has to say no.
A hand slides around his waist under his jacket. Naturally, Namjoon eases into the touch despite the public display. He jostles into his boyfriend’s side. “What do you think, babe? Gonna hop on?”
“Ah,” Namjoon clears his throat. He looks down at Jimin whose head rests on his shoulder. He immediately regrets it. Behind the shades, Namjoon can see the lazy look in his eye. Namjoon tries to distract himself by looking lower, only to see Jimin’s tongue wet his plush lips, only to then glance even lower and see how far Jimin’s thin, white shirt is dipping down his chest. Jimin’s undeterred by the price tags that surround him. Hell, Jimin looks more expensive than the thousands of dollars of metal littered around the stage room.
Namjoon decides to focus on the salesman instead. “It’s a bit out of my price range.”
Jimin’s tinkling laugh sends a chill up Namjoon’s spine. He bites down his smile. He still can’t believe he can make such a man laugh. That from the shadows he managed to capture the attention of a man who constantly danced in the spotlight.
Jimin always laughed when Namjoon marveled at him. He apparently felt the same way. As a reckless boy from the streets, he doesn’t understand how someone with a masters would be captivated by him.
They fit each other, filled in the cracks of where they were lacking, the yin to yang, in more ways than one.
“He’s cute, isn’t he?” Jimin tells the salesclerk, pinching Namjoon’s cheek.
“Yes, Mr. Park,” the salesclerk chimes, tucking his hands behind his back with a small bow.
Namjoon’s jaw drops. He shoots Jimin a questioning gaze, but Jimin just shrugs.
“Are you serious?” He hisses, straightening his glasses. “What did you do?”
“What?” Jimin asks, lowering his glasses so Namjoon can see the faux-innocence in his eyes. It’s one of those looks that reminds him when to keep his mouth closed. “I’m just cashing in a favor… literally.”
Jimin gives his side a squeeze before walking over to the bike, his boots clacking on the floor. The salesman’s shoulders tense a bit as Jimin runs a finger along the back of the bike.
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Park.”
That. That’s why Namjoon wants a bike. Wants anything, anything that can put him on par with his boyfriend. No matter what Jimin says, Namjoon is still just a bookworm when it boils down to it. He knows Jimin’s much softer than he appears, too, but he wants that. Jimin’s ease, his natural ability to control a room and all that’s in it.
“I want to see what you look like on top,” Jimin winks. He leans over the back, head cocked, lightly shifting his hips towards the bike.
Namjoon’s brain short circuits at the insinuation. Unable to resist, he draws closer to the bike. His nervous hands tentatively stroke the handle, feeling the ridges of the rubber under his fingers.
“Please,” Namjoon folds his lips in, terrified he’d said that out loud. But he realizes it was the salesman, bowed with the key extended.
Jimin could make anyone beg.
When Namjoon takes the key, the salesman starts to wheel the bike towards the entrance. Jimin winds his arm back around Namjoon’s waist as they walk, rubbing circles into his back.
“You’re gonna look so hot, babe,” Jimin muses. He still watches Namjoon. Only him, nothing else in the store. None of the pretty toys, the other men, the passing cars. Whenever he’s with Namjoon, Jimin’s eyes are always on him. Namjoon shrinks under the attention, but he loves it.
Outside, Namjoon straddles the bike. He gives it a once over, trying to remember everything Jimin taught him. It’s different than his bike, but he can figure it out.
“Hot damn,” Jimin sighs. “You look like an 80’s heartthrob.”
Namjoon giggles. He appreciates that Jimin noticed he dressed for the part.Taking his glasses off and safely tucking them into his pocket, he pats it twice to make sure they won’t shake out.
“Oh my god,” Jimin giggles, tripping over to the bike. “Don’t. That was so cute.”
He comes round to the front of the bike. He puts his hands over Namjoon’s, straddling the front tire. Namjoon tries to sit straight under his boyfriend’s wandering gaze.
Jimin licks his lips again, fingers tightening over Joon’s as his other hand runs through his hot pink hair. His rings hurt a bit, but Namjoon would never tell Jimin to let go.
“This is a wet dream. I’m living a wet dream right now.”
Namjoon chokes. He should be saying the same thing. Jimin is about to buy him a motorcycle. Jimin is straddling said motorcycle, tight pants and loose shirt leaving little his imagination. Jimin is… Jimin.
“Wanna ride me?” Namjoon asks.
Jimin’s eyes darken, his lips parting a bit.
“W-WITH” Namjoon stutters. “Ride with? I meant do you want to-”
Jimin’s lips silence him. Soft, molding to his own. He brushes the stray strands of hair out of Namjoon’s face. He pulls back only to put the helmet on Namjoon’s head. Namjoon watches while Jimin pouts a bit, trying to find the strap under his chin.
Namjoon may be getting hard. Jimin pats the side of the helmet and all the thoughts in Namjoon’s head jumble.
“Let’s do both,” Jimin smiles. A large, boyish grin that lets Namjoon know he’s a goner.
“Wha-really?” Namjoon asks, trying to spin around as Jimin slings himself over the back of the bike. Namjoon yelps when Jimin’s hands accidentally dip a bit too low, grabbing at his crotch before drifting up to his waist.
“I’ll tell you where to go,” Jimin shouts. “Throttle it, baby.”
Namjoon nods, looking at the controls before him. He goes through the motions, missing how Jimin’s hands usually guide him. His favorite part about being with Jimin is he’s never in charge. Jimin watches over him, tells him what to do, what not to do, that he’s doing great. It’s such a contrast to Namjoon’s daily life where he’s constantly critiquing others and making decisions for his department. He craves Jimin even more after a long day.
And boy was today a long day. And he definitely, really craves Jimin when he nuzzles the plastic helmet into his back, all muscle pressed flush against him.
Namjoon never thought he’d like motorcycles. Until he met Jimin, he thought they were just accidents waiting to happen. But now, he sees the joy. Of course, it’s still incredibly dangerous, which is why Jimin directs him to the back roads. But the wind whipping by him feels like he’s flying. The loud roar of the motor cancels out all other thoughts. The metal horse beneath him answers to each of his movements.
And of course, he knows he looks fucking cool. Jimin’s friend Jungkook showed him photos of their nights together. Jimin was right, Namjoon looks hot on a bike.
Eventually, Namjoon figures out where they’re going. His heart rate picks up. There’s something different about driving Jimin to their spot, instead of him clinging to Jimin’s back as he guides them to the secluded spot.
He rounds the last corner up the hill, pausing before the road turns to dirt.
Jimin’s helmet knocks into his. Namjoon laughs. Jimin tried to tuck his chin over his shoulder as always, but the bulky helmets block him.
“Keep going!” Jimin shouts.
Namjoon rubs the handles nervously. “The bike will get dirty.”
He imagines Jimin’s eye roll, that accompanies his sassy, “Always such a good boy. Drive.”
Namjoon doesn’t need to be told twice. By now, he understands Jimin’s commands will always be obeyed, by will or force.
And he’s long from cursing how that makes his stomach stir with excitement.
The bike is harder to control offroad. Namjoon focuses hard. Each bump and shuffle reminds him how skilled Jimin and his friends are when they whip through the city streets, over curbs, and across sidewalks.
Jimin’s helmet is off before Namjoon’s brought the bike to a standstill at the top of the hill. The city lights are flickering on below them, but up here there’s nothing but trees. It reminds Namjoon of them. How Jimin sparkles and shines below, and Namjoon watches on from up here as a simple tree in a vast forest. It’s only a certain amount of time before Jimin consumes him, just like the city will someday reach this secluded space.
Jimin surprised him by not appreciating the implication that he would destroy the environment in some way. He’d wrestled Namjoon to the ground that day, demanding he creates a cuter metaphor before he declared it “their spot.”
But today, Jimin just jumps off the bike and jumps forward to twirl about a few times as he takes in the fresh air.
Namjoon stares on once his helmet’s off. The setting sun paints the sky a soft pink, the same as Jimin’s hair. His boyfriend looks so free out here, leather jacket filled with the breeze and his smile overtaking all his features. 
Namjoon swings his leg over the bike and leans against it for support. He feels a bit like jelly, hands and legs still vibrating from the ride. Jimin continues to prance around, shouting and giggling and jumping. He is free, Namjoon reminds himself. And not even Namjoon can tame him. Everything about him oozes courage and unbridled happiness. Namjoon wants to be like that. He wants to set his own standard for happiness, just like he chooses to forge head off road.
“Joonie,” Jimin sings, running full-force at Namjoon. Namjoon braces against the attack, but Jimin just skids to a stop in front of him. He smiles up at him, a giggle shaking his shoulders.
“Mini,” Namjoon murmurs low. Jimin somehow smiles wider. Namjoon loves it. They don’t get it. The world. The way confessions and blockades all fade away for Jimin. For anyone with Jimin.
As though Jimin knows he’s considering fading, he grips the edges of Namjoon’s jean jacket and yanks him forward. Namjoon gasps, hands bracing on Jimin’s chest. He closes in, simultaneously trying to take in as much of Namjoon as he can. He noses at Namjoon’s jawline. He waits for a shudder to rock through Namjoon before he nips at his ear, giggling in response to Namjoon’s whine.
“So…” Jimin trails off. He pulls back so Namjoon can see the devilish mischief in his eyes.
“Yeah?” Namjoon breathes. He leans forward, focused on Jimin’s smirking lips, but Jimin tucks his chin. Namjoon whines in protest, which only makes Jimin throw his head back in laughter.
“I rode here with you,” Jimin teases. He presses a chaste kiss to Namjoon’s cheek.
“Did I do good?” Namjoon asks.
“Yes,” Jimin laughs again. Namjoon runs his palms over Jimin’s shoulders, under the jacket. To his surprise, Jimin drops his grip on the jacket, shrugging his own off his shoulders. Instead, he shoves his hips into Namjoon’s, the bike shaking a bit as Namjoon falls back into it. He reaches out to support himself in case the thing falls. Jimin’s hands fall over his own, caging him into the bike. He could care less if the bike falls over.
“What was your other question earlier?” Jimin teases. His eyes have that same lazy look like in the dealership. Namjoon’s cheeks warm.
“Did I do good?” Namjoon repeats. He gulps when Jimin leans a little closer, lips hovering before his own. He looks like an angel, soft features and pink hair framed by the twilight.
“To ride you,” Jimin corrects with a roll of his hips. He finally closes the space, only to kiss at the sensitive spot below his ear.
Okay, well, Namjoon did say looks like an angel. He’s well aware he’s far from it.
“Ah, that would be,” Namjoon clears his throat, sinking on to the seat to help his shaking legs. He reaches to adjust his glasses but forgets he isn’t wearing them. No mind, Jimin grabs his hand, kissing over his palm and wrist, watching him with syrupy sweet eyes. “That would be cool.”
“Cool,” Jimin giggles into his palm. He scrapes his teeth over his wrist. Namjoon whimpers. “You’re so cool these days, Joonie.”
“Stop teasing,” Namjoon whines.
Jimin’s eyes darken. He grabs Namjoon’s wrist and twists. With a yelp, Namjoon’s body involuntarily twists to avoid the impending pain. Jimin grabs his waist to have him turned flush against his hips as he kicks at Namjoon’s foot to have him straddled lower. His hand wanders to the button of Namjoon’s pants, easily undoing them. His tongue travels, slow, up the length of Namjoon’s neck.
“Okay,” Jimin murmurs into the shell of Namjoon’s ear. Namjoon tries to lace his fingers with Jimin’s over his zipper, but Jimin grabs his wrist. He guides Namjoon’s hands to rest on the handlebar and the back seat. “10 and 2, babe. I know how you like your rules.”
Namjoon nods. The bike is sturdy beneath his hands, unlike his mind that whirls in a hazy fog of Jimin. When he looks up, he’s reminded that they’re in the open, in their spot, the city down below just as capable of looking up.
Jimin’s undeterred, of course. After fixing the zipper, Jimin slips both his hands into Namjoon’s jeans, letting the push help Namjoon’s pants down his thighs as he smooths over the skin, rounding out to squeeze Namjoon’s ass.
“God, Joonie,” Jimin groans. “Fuck, there’s so much of you. Love it.”
Namjoon hums in response, eyes falling closed as Jimin’s hands wander over his skin. He can’t be nervous with Jimin here. Jimin’s invincible. He doesn’t care. And when Namjoon’s with him, he starts to feel the same, too.
“Should I-” Namjoon starts to take the jacket off, but Jimin wraps himself around him.
“Fuck no,” Jimin answers. When he’s sure Namjoon won’t move again, he gets back to work, kneading Namjoon’s ass cheeks, thumbs sneaking closer and closer. As his pinkies sweep lower, Namjoon jumps, then almost falls over the front of the bike. Jimin’s arm wraps around his waist to keep Namjoon from falling headfirst over the other side.
“This isn’t gonna work,” Jimin tuts.
Namjoon’s heart drops. 
“What? No, please, please don’t, please fuck me, ride me, please,” he babbles. He turns quickly, a little panicked. He can’t bear when Jimin starts and leaves him hanging.
But when his gaze finally meets Jimin’s the man looks amused. He’s trying to bite back his smile. “Joonie, I meant the position.”
Namjoon’s blush deepens. Here he is, bent over (maybe?) his new bike begging his boyfriend to fuck him.
“Get on the bike backwards,” Jimin orders with a flip of his hand. He walks to the back of the bike, then straddles it til he’s in the seat like he’s about to go for a ride. He pats the rounded metal between the handlebars.“Come be my motorcycle, babe.”
Shit, how many times had Namjoon wished he was underneath Jimin, dreamed about being fucked on his bike? He almost trips trying to get out of his pants. Jimin offers his hand like a gentleman, helping Namjoon sit in front of him.
It’s not until he’s there, hands braced behind him on the extended handles, that he realizes how exposed he is. His pants are on the ground, his legs are tucked by his ass, hard cock dripping and on display.
And he can tell Jimin loves it. He runs his hands over Namjoon’s inner thighs before he takes his cock, stroking slowly. Namjoon shyly stares at Jimin’s own crotch, still clothed.
“Think you can handle this?” Jimin asks, reaching into his jacket pocket. Namjoon’s not even surprised when he pulls out a bottle of lube.
“Of course,” Namjoon mumbles.
“I mean the position, babe,” Jimin titters. Namjoon leans back onto his hands a bit more. He’s strong, despite his soft exterior. He nods.
“Good boy,” Jimin hums. He takes one of Namjoon’s feet, gently guiding it off the bike and into the air. Namjoon bites his lip, the cold breeze heightening his vulnerability.
Jimin kisses at Namjoon’s shin, undoing his own pants. Namjoon zeros in on the senses. Wet lips and gentle fingers, the sound of his zipper and the shuffle of fabric as he pulls out his cock, the scent of poplar and oak.
“You good?” Jimin asks. His voice is close. Namjoon didn’t realize he’s closed his eyes. Jimin’s eyes bore into his own, concern filtering through his pupils. Namjoon melts. It’s a look he’s only ever seen for him, and no one else.
He nods. “Please.”
Begging. He always gets here. Always more desperate for it. Always begging for Jimin’s cock. And Jimin always sits there like he does now, lathering lube over his cock, teasing fingers doing the same to Joon’s rim. No rush.
“I’m going to take your other leg now,” Jimin says. Namjoon opens his eyes again. Jimin has both his legs in either hand. He’s dressed beside his fat cock protruding from his leather pants. He’s a sinful mess, coming closer and stretching Joon’s legs higher until the head of his cock meets his rim. 
“You ready?” Jimin asks.
“Mini,” Namjoon groans. Such a fucking tease.
It stings. The push, Jimin entering him slowly without any stretching. Namjoon loves it. Loves how his body accepts Jimin so easily, how Jimin could just take him, take and take like he does in the streets, but always treats Namjoon with such tenderness. At least, in the beginning.
As he bottoms out, the stretch in his thighs has Namjoon’s eyes stinging. Jimin’s head tucks into his collarbone, trying to hide his haggard breathing.
“Fuck, it’s so hot how you just fucking take it,” Jimin rasps, rolling his hips. Namjoon can’t talk, just digs his fingers into the rubber handles. “Fucking ruin me.”
Namjoon sighs. He loves the power. Jimin takes care of him constantly, but in these moments, Namjoon relishes the power he has over him. Jimin starts to pump and pick up pace and has Namjoon whimpering as the bike shifts beneath him. Once they start, Namjoon’s in control. He has the power to ruin Jimin. Every moan has Jimin answering back, each squeeze of his muscles makes Jimin’s hips stutter. When Namjoon begs for his mouth, Jimin’s kisses are sloppy and needy.
“God, love your skin,” Jimin croons, sucking at Namjoon’s neck. He tosses Namjoon’s legs onto his shoulders so his hands can wander over his tan skin, taking fistfuls of his ass and tweaking his nipples. Namjoon’s hard cock bounces between their bodies. Jimin takes notice, giving his hands a better task. His lube soaked fingers tug at Namjoon’s length, fisting him in time with his thrusts.
“Mini,” Namjoon whimpers, no other words coming to mind. Nothing’s in his mind besides his boyfriend completely consuming him. The metal of the bike bites into his ass as Jimin sinks his teeth into his neck. His arms stretch from the angle on the bike while his thighs flex on Jimin’s shoulders. It’s so much, so good, accompanied by the breeze and the setting sun, and Namjoon can’t handle it. The beauty of it, the perfectness, the contrast.
When Jimin finds his mouth again, soft lips and wet tongue meeting Namjoon’s, he cums. Jimin’s hips stutter, hand momentarily pausing before he makes sure he works Namjoon through it. He takes care of him every time, before he breaks free, breathing heavy before he leans back and pumps hard. His eyebrows furrow, mouth forming a perfect oh as the softest grunts catch in his throat. His nails dig into Namjoon’s thighs, but the pain means nothing as Namjoon watches Jimin’s euphoria chisel into his features.
As he comes down, he collapses forward onto Namjoon. Namjoon’s legs drop to the seat behind him. It’s uncomfortable, the headlight of the bike digging between his shoulders, but he won’t move. Jimin’s tousle of pink hair fans over his chest as his boyfriend catches his breath. Namjoon takes his chance to finally touch Jimin. He runs his hands through the damp hair, over his shoulders, under his chin.
“That was such a quad workout,” Jimin chuckles.
Namjoon chuckles back, both of them rumbling with it.
Jimin perks up, tucking his chin on Namjoon’s chest. “I didn’t know you were an exhibitionist.”
Namjoon strokes his cheek, a blushing pink. Namjoon still can’t believe he’s his. “I’d be anything for you.”
Jimin’s smile falters for a second. The sly look in his eyes flickers with something warmer, something vulnerable.
But then as always, he’s giggling. He shakes his head, sitting up to get off the bike so Joon can sit up, too. “You’re such a romantic.”
Namjoon wants to press it. Press the fact that Jimin slips up sometimes. Namjoon can see it. His calm and cool exterior breaks every now and then around Namjoon. But he doesn’t. He takes his glasses out of his pockets and puts them on. He picks up his pants and pulls them back up, yelping when Jimin gives him one last swat to the ass.
“Why the glasses?” Jimin teases booping Namjoon’s nose.
“There’s no way I’m driving back after that,” Namjoon mumbles, scuffing the dirt.
Jimin laughs, falling into Namjoon’s arms. “Okay, okay.”
To Namjoon’s horror (but no longer surprised), Jimin heads straight home, not even passing the dealership. What Jimin wants, Jimin takes. And Namjoon’s so glad Jimin chose to take him.
Imma craft this into a nice big oneshot soon, so look forward to it!
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