#until one day i foolishly bragged about it... and they all came back... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

batgirl-87 · 5 years ago

Note

Hey! I love your last ask, the questions are really well thought and I'm curious about 12, 16, 17, 18 and 19 👀if you want 💜

Thank you so much for asking! Sorry it took me so long to answer! Life happens -_-

From this ask

12. What was MC’s reaction learning Bill and Charlie’s little sister went missing her First year?

Physically restraining her and holding her back from storming into Hogwarts and causing a RIOT! She will find poor Ginny probably trapped in some damn Vault again! CURSE THESE VAULTS - oh wait a minute....

But wait, why didn’t every single Weasley, all the older protective brothers storm into Hogwarts to find their little sister? Did they not find out until later?! Did Percy, Fred, George, and Ron just neglect to inform Bill and Charlie that Ginny was missing until found? Prove they could handle it? Or did Bill and Charlie believe in the rest of their siblings that they could handle it and trust them...Nah, big brothers would storm in and find her. They’d be damned if they just sat around and waited for her to be found!

Assuming they all did not learn until afterwards, still would have to hold her back from storming into Hogwarts, most likely to no avail. Some going off on Ron and the rest of the brothers - Why are they only finding out about this now?! Yes, they handled it and got her back BUT STILL kind of a BIG thing to hide from your family! And then of course storming into Dumbledore’s office and going off yet again to which he is probably very used to at this point. A FIRST YEAR GOES MISSING AND WTF DO YOU DO?! THIS IS THE VAULTS AND BEATRICE ALL OVER AGAIN! WATCH YOURSELF OLD MAN! Going to shave that damn beard off, tie it into a noose and - Yeah, she’s not going to be very happy.

And of course once she gets all her anger out, she’ll ask Ginny if she’s okay and check with how she’s doing. And if they did find out while she was missing and Bill and Charlie somehow decided to allow their brothers to handle it and get Keira to calm tf down and not go storming back to Hogwarts (idk how tbh =p) she would be caring and comforting towards them, ask them how they’re doing, if they need anything, if there’s anything she can do, what they’ve heard - and also just do little things to reduce any stress she can. Look she cooked or got them food! And cleaned! Let’s go look at the baby dragons! You’re hair is looking fabulous today - I mean, it always looks good, but today extra bouncy.

16. What was MC’s reaction to Tonks getting married and having a child?

I’m sorry, she’s marrying who now? Remus? Like...Keira’s Uncle Remus? Secret Werewolf Remus? Her anam cara Remus?! HER COUSIN AND UNCLE WTF - well obviously they’re not related BUT STILL THEY’RE HER FAMILY!

She’s going to need a moment.

SHE’S PREGNANT?! THEY - She’s going to need several moments...Clearly this is a lot for her to process on many different levels. She may have malfunctioned for a moment.

But once she processes things - also the fact that imagining Tonks married and a mom, like that’s so grown up and mature and it’s a little difficult to wrap her head around Tonks as a wife and mother instead of the rebellious punk prankster with colorful hair - alright, she’s going to make an awesome mom, that’s not the point. The point is, again, it just seems like such a grown up thing and Keira doesn’t even see herself really as a grown up =p She still see her and Tonks as teenage cousins getting into shenanigans, even as technically adults, rebelling against the system a bit and stirring some things up in their careers. Getting married and having a kid - wow.... are they getting old? Existential crisis time!

BUT then! They both deserve to be happy. If anyone deserves to be happy it’s Remus Lupin. And they make each other happy. And she fully accepts him and loves him as he is, Werewolf and all. Of course she would, she’s not a judgemental person! They’re happy and in love and that’s all Keira wants for them, to be happy and loved. And once she gets over the weirdness they’re adorable... and then it get’s a little weird again... but still cute...but weird... Hugging is fine, a little peck but so help her if a kiss lasts too long SHE CAN’T! Got to go, cannot see this, do not want to see this - HER EYES! =p

OH! And if you think they’re sneaking off to get married without her there HAHAHAHA THEY ARE SORELY MISTAKEN! If you don’t think Keira and Jacob (and Sirius because no I can’t let him die I JUST CAN’T) don’t come strutting in with Back in Black playing in the background to be the best man and woman/maid and man of honor - whatever - right before they take their vows, confused as to how they found out and found them then you are wrong. So very wrong! One might even officiate, who knows! Getting married without them HA! Nice try.

17. What are MC’s opinions on the Golden Trio and the happenings at Hogwarts after they left?

Ron - Aww little Ronny! Look at him growing up, he’s getting so big now! She remembers when he was little!

There’s a lot of affectionate teasing and reminiscing of embarrassing childhood stories that Keira feels maybe his friends need to hear =p A lot of messing with his hair and forcing him into tight hugs that again may embarrass him. Honestly, he views her as his older sister. He pretty much grew up with her or hearing about her from Bill, Charlie, even Percy and the Twins. She would come to visit and she’s very close with his two eldest brothers, even working with Bill, and every time she’s around him she treats him like her little brother. She’s been a big part of his life for most of what he can remember. He grew up hearing stories about her adventures at Hogwarts with his brothers so he should have been better prepared honestly for everything he had to deal with when he attended.

I’m sure he tried to brag even about her. “Yeah, my brother Bill is a Curse Breaker and his partner is Keira Black - yeah, the one who dealt with all the cursed vaults here - allegedly...” “My brother Charlie works with dragons but he could have gone on to play Quidditch professionally. Actually, his girlfriend - fiance? Unofficial wife? - played in the World Cup. And won. She could have played professionally too.” *insert Oliver Wood fangirling over Charlie and Keira’s Quidditch skills and how skilled their children would be!* “My big brothers and their friends would sneak into the Forbidden Forest all the time.” - but he doesn’t want to do that necessarily =p

But then after all his bragging when she’d actually appear and he’d get all embarrassed and wouldn’t want his friends to meet her because she just embarrassed him =p Sure Bill and Charlie partook in this as well. Likes to brag about his cool older siblings but no one actually meet them because they’ll embarrass them. Also they’re all giant dorks. Bill and Charlie smashing tables into each other when they’re supposed to be setting up for the wedding? All of them obsessed with their hair in some way.

“Bill, remember that time you were obsessed with Emily Tyler and you had to ask ME to ask her out for you because you were too afraid!” - Some brave Curse-Breaker he is.

“Well, remember when you dunked yourself into the courtyard fountain in the middle of the day? Then you were stuck with soaking clothes for the rest of classes that day. Everybody thought you were mad. Definitely looked mad.”

But she and Charlie were definitely the first people Ron thought of to help get Norbert safely out of Hogwarts, specifically her to get Norbert to Charlie if he couldn’t make it himself.

“Remember when you came into the Prefect’s bathroom and dove into my bath and Charlie walked in - he was so upset!” - Which would then lead to a series of embarrassing stories of Charlie because he foolishly thought being quiet and not sharing stories back and forth as Keira and Bill were would somehow save him from this but nope. Ron can’t have his friends hearing all these stories about them after bragging about them to his friends! Humiliating.

Hermione - She should be in Ravenclaw. She’s so smart and her hair is amazing. She should be the chosen one. Are we sure she’s really not? Thank Merlin for her because without her Ron and Harry would be doomed! I think there’s mutual respect between the girls.

Harry - Ohhhhh the special chosen one... Isn’t he so great and amazing -_-

Oh is there some bitterness and animosity from Keira towards Harry. She went through so much hell at school, broke all these curses to save people only to get punished and reprimanded by teachers and other adults, and had nasty rumours spread about her around school from the students, called cursed herself - no one appreciated all she did for them and that school! All the sacrifices and people she lost!

But Harry freakin’ Potter here basically gets a parade everywhere he goes and can do no wrong - HONESTLY. He caught the Golden Snitch in his mouth and won the game - she literally won the World Cup. Guess who got more praise and admiration. Dumbledore clearly favoring Harry when Keira feels he was not really on her side or supported her much.

Now, she gets it, he didn’t ask for this - but she didn’t ask for her role either that was thrust upon her but at least he gets love for his while she was shunned.

It’s an interesting dynamic where she can definitely empathize with his situation, having this responsibility thrust on him he didn’t ask for and constantly fighting of his and his friend’s lives, not wanting to put his friend’s at risk, being so confused about wtf is going on - she’s been there, she gets it. And when Ron requests her to give Harry some advice and help him out because he needs it and she’s the only one really who understands she agrees - mainly for Ron and his little puppy dog eyes - he’s adorable, how could she say no?! And she listens to Harry and validates him, because yeah, his feelings are totally valid and true, and tries to offer some advice based on her experiences and they sort of bond, and it’s not like she wants him to die or anything bad to happen to this kid! She’s not a horrible person! But she still has this resentment towards him, or at least the praise and adoration he gets, which again really isn’t his fault but... She also has a hard time being sympathetic to all the danger he’s experiencing because she dealt with so much so it’s like - yeah, yours isn’t really that bad =p You think your life is so hard? Psh, classic teenager.

So she offers her advice and to be someone to talk to for Harry if he needs it per Ron’s request and they sort of bond and she may even offer some help with things such as sneaking into the Forbidden Forest.

BUT THEN

Sirius breaks out of Azkaban and it’s all Harry, Harry, Harry. HARRY?! HARRY FREAKING POTTER AGAIN?! Oh, Harry is his godson and he looks like James and reminds him of his friends he misses and he just wants to make sure he’s safe with everything he’s dealing with, sure his life is hard - oh what a supportive fucking person for Harry - WHAT ABOUT HER, HELLO?! She’s actually related to you! Sir! And she went through hell herself at Hogwarts. Didn’t go right to see her - okay she was probably in Egypt or Romania when he did BUT NOT THE POINT - straight to Harry because he’s the most important person in the world apparently! (I have an AU sort of story I really need to finish where Sirius actually breaks out during Keira’s 6th year I believe...no wait maybe 7th but even still clearly Sirius loves Harry and they have a special connection/bond and yeah Keira can get jealous).

Oh Keira may have hated Harry for awhile. And yeah, she gets it, Sirius has been through hell in prison, Harry is the only link to James and Lily who he loved and misses terribly, and those people he lives with are awful and Sirius would provide him a much better home that Harry deserves because no one deserves abuse - but Sirius is her family! Blood family! And she went through hell about being a scandalous member of the House of Black and admired Sirius honestly so much and then she finally gets to see him and he’s obsessed with Harry! She might just kill Harry herself. You’re welcome, Voldy! Jealous Aunty Bella? She’s that bitch that killed Harry =p

She wouldn’t actively try to kill him but there were moment at the top of the stairs where she thought of giving him a little nudge and claiming he tripped and fell down them.

Thank Merlin for Remus who always managed to be there for Harry and Keira and not show any sort of favoritism because he loves them and cares about them both. And is also a helpful voice of reason to Sirius who honestly doesn’t seem to get it =p Because Sirius is happy to see her and Jacob too, don’t get him wrong! And he’s proud of how she handled everything and what she’s done in her life, but feels like she did all that without him, like she doesn’t need him but Harry still does. And really, he broke out not because of Harry but because of Peter. If he broke out for Harry he would have done it years ago, not when Harry was a teenager, right?

I’m sure Remus sort of mediates a little sit down between Keira and Sirius because as members of the House of Black he knows very well they can be dramatic =p And he’ll get them to sit down and talk and be real and resolve this nonsense because they’re family and they love each other. And honestly they are so similar - SO similar - that Remus can get frustrated and be like ‘you two are acting exactly alike - like stubborn petty arses’ essentially to which they would both definitely respond about how they have nice arses =p

No worries about that, Sirius and Keira quickly bond, they are similar, and have a close relationship. But this is about Harry and Keira. And their relationship goes from bitterness to sort of a mentor to raging resentment to - omg, are we...family? Like...technically...sort of... And then this raging resentment turns into more like sibling rivalry/teasing... Like Keira is much harsher with her comments and ‘teasing’ towards Harry than any of the Weasley’s who she also views as family, as does Harry, but also forms this protective ‘I can mess with him and be mean to him but you can’t!’ She can say mean things, even beat up on him a little bit, but if anyone else tries it she’ll end them. He’s her punching bag =p

She likes Harry, and they bond through their life experiences. She just has some resentment to work through. But then they actually form a sort of sibling-like bond. Where she then teases Harry and Ron mercilessly although still nicer to Ron and they may try to stand up for themselves but honestly they’re both pretty afraid of her and they know she loves them and will do anything to protect them. She just takes a long time to warm up to Harry. But they get there eventually.

The Trio and their shenanigans - They should hang out with people from other houses not just a bunch of Gryffindors. Why are they being so cliquey and House-ist? =p

Part of her is also a little proud of their shenanigans but then part of her is like “oh a troll? Cute. Life size moving chess pieces? Psh, cursed ice knight. Spiders?! Still?! At first terrifying but now seriously annoying - he’s still causing drama?! Honestly, call an exterminator. A BASILISK?! ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME I WANT A BASILISK! I get a dragon that - okay, the dragon is super cool too, don’t get me wrong BUT A BASILISK! UGH SO JEALOUS! Oh you had a lesson on Boggarts? Yeah I had to deal with a whole army of them as part of a curse... Also had someone trying to kill me so... Yep, DADA Professor. Well she tried to use one of my friends so... Oh they just tried to kill you themselves? Didn’t use your friend so you couldn’t trust them and then kill one of your friends? Yeah, Cedric is incredibly sad and unjust but he wasn’t your best friend!” So a little... unimpressed...

“Yeah, Rita is a real piece of....work...”

“Dolores Umbridge?! Oh wow... I’m...I’m so sorry...that’s awful. That’s worse than anything I had to face.”

18. Did MC ever return to Hogwarts for some reason?

Prior to the 1994 World Cup game I like to think they honored the previous winning team in a little pre-game ceremony so Keira was there for that obviously (although not technically at Hogwarts) and then attended the dragon challenge of the TriWizard Tournament because Charlie was clearly going to be a part of that and she does want to see him as much as possible with them working in different countries plus Bill was going as well and she can’t really work without her partner - they’re a package deal!

Did she make an appearance as an OG member of Weird Sisters for at least one song at the Yule Ball also that year? Perhaps. And she looked awesome =p

Oh! And she definitely visited like the first day of Remus’ new job as DADA Professor - she was so proud! And maybe also to make sure he was getting Wolfsbane and all of that was good and taken care of. And then when he gets fired OH does she flip some tables and desks - Storms into Dumbeldore’s office, flip that desk, storm down to Snape’s Potions classroom, flip some of those tables and goes tf off! She is so pissed!

And then she’s obviously there for the Department of Ministry battle where she saves Sirius because nope, sorry, cannot have Sirius die like that. I have a whole post ranting about this =p And then the Battle of Hogwarts because again she’s not letting Remus and Tonks and Fred die. CAN’T DO IT I’M SORRY CANNOT! She came to fight and she came to win.

*(I swear I wrote out a whole post about how I cannot acknowledge Sirius’ death or Tonks and Remus because of how unfair it is to Remus in particular whose life was so hard and how he deserves to be happy but I cannot find it! I looked and looked and I’ll keep looking but I’m sorry!)

19. Did MC attend Fred and George’s Grand Opening of Weasley’s Wizards Wheeze? What was their reaction to the twin’s epic exit of Hogwarts?

Keira has never been more proud of anyone before ever. That exit was... the most beautiful thing... awe inspiring, amazing, incredible... Literally brought a tear to her eye. SO PROUD! Slow clap proud =p

Of course she made sure to be there at their opening, she’s very supportive of them and wants to make sure they know that! She probably made Charlie and Bill go to - not that their whole family probably weren’t already going and supportive but Keira was just making sure they showed their support. She didn’t care about what work they had - the baby dragon will hatch without you just fine! Let’s go! Allons-y! You telling me Tonks and Tulip weren’t also there?! They probably could keep that place afloat alone by themselves even though they’re not in school anymore - maybe just for the nostalgia. I’m sure a few other members of the Cursed Vaults Gang came to the opening to show their support as well, even if Keira made them =p

Sorry this took so long to answer! Thanks for being patient! 💜

#ask game #thank you for asking #hphm #hogwarts mystery #hphm mc #my mc #adelyn keira black #katherinewilliams221b

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seokoloqy · 6 years ago

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MINT. | myg (m)

➳ PAIRING: hades!yoongi x persephone!reader

➳ GENRE: smut, pwp, greek myth!au

➳ WORD COUNT: 2.6k

➳ WARNINGS: jealousy, smut; oral (f receiving), mutual masturbation, their clothes are on the whole time...sorry?

➳ SUMMARY: you find yourself back in Hades when Spring turns to Fall, but this time you’re less than thrilled to see your husband after learning of his ex-lover, Minthe.

➳ A/N: yes, hello, they’re back already and this time we‘re talking about minthe who I originally wanted to include in ‘hello paradise’ but eh she can have her own tiny moment here instead

Despite being an immortal, six months is forever in Yoongi’s eyes. He wonders what you do on Earth. Do you spend days relishing in the sun and running through the flower fields with other nymphs? Are there days when you sit by the window and watch as the sky weeps in Spring? Are those the days you think of him too?

When Spring comes to an end and the season turns to Fall, that's when he knows you’ll return home.

“How are you, my love?” Yoongi stands from his throne with a full grin, ready to rush and embrace you as soon as you walk toward him. Instead of the warm and tender greeting you always give, you walk straight past him and towards your shared bedroom.

While spending time with the nymphs, you learned of one in particular who was said to have been the king of Hades mistress before you came along. This was news to you. Yoongi never spoke of anyone he was with before you. And it’s not that you doubt his faith to you, he is the most loyal god of them all compared to the rest.

But the nymph in question, Minthe, bragged to all the other nymphs of how many glorious and heated nights she spent with your husband before you came along and ruined it all. Her assumption about you being a ‘thief’ who stole Yoongi from her made your blood boil. You had done nothing to provoke such hateful words. If Yoongi loved her instead of you, he would have chosen her.

You overheard her one day by the lake talking ill of you while she thought you weren’t there.

“She’s foolish to think he loves her. I’m the one who warmed his bed every night before her. Gods, the way he used to…”

You brush off your thoughts and throw open the bedroom door. Normally, it would be a welcoming sight, but you grimace, only being able to think of how many nights Yoongi would spend here with Minthe wrapped around him. You know you’re taking out unnecessary anger on him, but can’t help the petty feelings getting in the way of your reunion.

“What’s the matter?” Yoongi trails after you, watching as you bury yourself underneath the sheets and turn your back on him. “Have I already done something to upset you?”

You bring the blanket over your head and shut your eyes tightly, hoping he will just give up. You hear his footsteps come closer until he stops beside you, soothingly rubbing your shoulder.

“It’s been too long, love,” he whispers, sliding the blanket off your shoulder, along with the sleeve of your dress. You shiver at the feeling of his lips gently pressing against your neck and his hand gliding down your arm, creating goosebumps in its wake. “It’s lonesome sleeping in this bed without you.”

The blanket is halfway off your body at this point and his hand moves to your stomach, rubbing slow and comforting circles. You struggle to stay angry at him while feeling a familiar wetness begin to pool between your thighs as he continues to nip and suck on your neck.

“Why didn’t you just ask Minthe to come to keep you company?” You spit, sitting up and pushing yourself away from his roaming hands that started to get dangerously close to your core. You watch as a glint of recognition passes his eyes and then it disappears into a smirk. “I’m sure she won’t have a problem coming back to please you while I’m gone.”

Six months is a long time for one god to spend alone, starving for tender kisses and passionate caresses. You’re sure your husband has to have urges, ones you’re unable to satisfy on Earth.

Yoongi ignores your venomous tone and piercing glare, leaning onto the bed to trap you between the bedpost and his amused face. “Ah, was that her name? And what makes you think I still want that nymph?” He leans into your neck again, continuing his work of leaving marks on your bare skin, letting his tongue and lips glide down the curve of your neck. His mouth momentarily distracts from your anger.

You hold yourself back from reaching up to intertwine your hands in his hair, knowing you’re slowly losing the fight. Your legs press together to relieve the throbbing in your center as he kisses the base of your throat, biting your lip to prevent the moan threatening to escape.

“Answer me,” he commands roughly, foregoing the gentle approach for your forgiveness. He pulls back to survey your expression, bottom lip caught between your teeth and pupils blown.

“I-I don’t know,” you speak, struggling to keep your tone steady as his hand settles on your thigh. You want to push his hand away, but you can’t resist his suggestive touches. Six months is a long time for you as well. You miss the way he makes you feel and tremble beneath him.

But you can’t give into him yet. The smug face Minthe wore as she explained to the nymphs of how much pleasure she would receive from Yoongi night after night only encourages you to resist him. “She said you couldn’t get enough of her. That you’d fuck her so good until she couldn’t walk,” you sneer, feeling the jealousy in your words rise the more you speak. The arrogant way she spoke about Yoongi’s seemingly unending lust and carnal desires for her drive you insane.

“And what else did she say? Exactly.” Yoongi waits for your response, staring into your challenging eyes.

You don’t know his game but foolishly play into it. “You would throw her onto the bed and put your tongue on her,” you repeat bluntly, not caring to include the explicit details you recall she cited. It’s not like you wanted to anyway, the words that fell from her puckered lips were too vulgar for you to repeat.

“Where? Where was my tongue?” He rasps, raising a pale finger to your neck, lightly caressing the curve. “Here?”

Slowly, the pieces of his lustful gaze and hand slowly moving down to your chest begin to click. Yoongi’s hand moves between the valley of your breasts and he repeats, “Here?”

You release an uneven breath as his hand moves to your abdomen, the heat radiating from his hand makes you squirm and lets him know he’s close. Yoongi climbs onto the bed, laying on his stomach between your slightly opened legs, still intently watching your expressions change.

“Yoongi…” you whisper, as he spreads your legs apart to get a perfect view of your leaking core beneath your dress. You don’t try to hide from his prying eyes or wandering fingers.

“Or here?” He slides your dress up, gliding a hand along your thigh and leaving it at the juncture of your hip. The teasing look in his eyes as he looks up through dark lashes with a smirk makes you whimper in need, wanting to feel his warm breath on you, digging his tongue into your heat.

“Yes,” you mewl, bending your legs to your chest to give him better access to your glistening folds, aching for his touch. You’ve already forgotten the insignificant nymph, wanting nothing more than to replace the feelings of jealousy with pleasure. “Right there, Yoongi.”

He leans into your throbbing center, tongue first connecting with your clit and giving it a slow kitten lick. You release a heavy moan, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip and throwing your head against the headboard as he continues to flick your bud with his wet unrelenting tongue.

Yoongi presses his lips around your clit, sucking the throbbing mound into his mouth. Your feet dig into the mattress as your fingers grip onto the sheets with waves of pleasure rolling through you, moaning out his name, “Yoongi, fuck.”

He releases the swollen bud with a pop and moves down to your slit, greedily drinking up the sight of your wetness leaking out of your pink folds and onto the dark sheets. He mutters, lost in the desire to taste you, “Mm, you’re so wet, love. Dripping for me, only me.”

Heat moves through your body at the sound of his gruff tone, muscles clenching and thighs aching. “Yes, Yoongi, just for you.” You moan in this delirious lust he has you in, ready to receive his tongue. “Give it to me.”

You can already feel the way he’ll bring his mouth down on you, lapping up all your juices and savoring the taste until next Summer.

“Ah, but do you deserve it?” He teases, sitting back on his heels. You reach out desperately for him to get back down and devour you, only for him to move further back. He shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest, dark fabric stretching over the muscles hidden beneath. “You accuse me of wanting another woman and you just think I’ll just give you whatever you want? Oh no, my love, I deserve an apology.”

“No, Yoongi, please.”

Your whines and needy whimpers aren’t enough to make him move. He sits in place, watching you with hungry eyes and a plan formulating in his dark thoughts. He wets his lips, swiping his sinful tongue across his lower lip. The sight makes you ache, you want him back on you until your legs shake and you come over and over.

“Touch yourself for me,” he orders. “Show me what you do when I’m not there to please you.”

You can’t deny you don’t long for him on Earth. Six months without him—his touch—tests your patience. You’d spend long nights with one hand muffling your whimpers from your mother and the other between your thighs while imagining they’re his fingers pleasing you and making you writhe.

“I…” you start, squeezing your thighs shut to relieve pressure. You’re reluctant to pleasure yourself when you both know he can easily be the one giving it to you, but you can’t deny the thought of touching yourself as he watches doesn’t arouse you further. You part your legs and allow your hand to wander, a familiar act when you were alone on Earth.

You imagine his ring clad fingers, the cool touch of metal and rough fingertips, roaming down your chest and to your clit, rubbing agonizingly slow circles. A wanton moan falls from you and your toes curl around the sheets as your hand copies your imagination. The jolts of pleasure run through you with each flick of your finger. You watch as the real Yoongi works on unbuckling his pants, springing his erection free.

“Yoongi,” you pant, distracted by the grunt that escapes him as soon as his hand wraps around the base of his hardened cock. You’re mesmerized by his leaking tip and the way his hand deftly strokes his length easily. The silver hair matted to his forehead sticks to his furrowed brows.

He notices your hungry stare and encourages you further, “Come on, keep going for me.”

You snap out of your revere and do as he says, working your clit with the same swift motions as Yoongi uses on himself. The waves of pleasure that roll through you from just your fingers on your clit alone aren’t enough to satisfy you. You want to be filled—filled by his throbbing cock as he slams into you over and over until you choke on your own voice.

You whimper at the thought, sliding your fingers down to your slit, rubbing the slick folds, listening to the wet sounds of it fill the room along with Yoongi’s hand against himself.

“Gods, you look so fucking good like that,” he rasps, snapping his wrists quicker and running his thumbs along his leaking slit.

You easily slip two fingers into yourself, clenching and rocking around them, not fully satisfied but loving it anyway. Your back arches off the headboard, feeling the damp sweat coating your spine meet the chilling air. You clench your eyes shut and focus on your fingers, imagining they’re his cock stretching you full. You push yourself onto your knees and ride your own fingers, rocking your hips down.

As you pump your fingers in and out, feeling the pressure build in your abdomen, you pant, “W-Want you, need you now please, Yoongi.”

Six months without him inside of you, touching you. When he’s close enough to touch, you can hardly wait. You’ve had six months with your fingers, now all you want is him and his godly strength as he pounds into you.

Yoongi can’t resist you for long, the way your chest heaves with each lazy thrust of your fingers and you whimpering his name, it’s his ultimate weakness. God or not, it’s every man's weakness.

“Lie down.”

The words are music to your ears. You pull your fingers out with a wet pop, happily pressing your sweaty back against the sheets and shifting your dress higher onto your hips. The damp material sticks to your skin, but you can care less. He’s in front of you in an instant, aligning his cock with your entrance, teasing your folds with the hardened tip.

“Tell me,” he pants, controlling himself from the urge to sink into your addicting heat, “would I fuck that nymph like this?”

Just as you open your mouth to complain about the mention of Minthe again, Yoongi slams into you with no warning, filling you up with the feeling you’ve been missing this whole time. You cry out instead, curling your fingers around his shirt and pulling him in for a kiss.

Your mouths mold together, sloppily intertwining tongues and clashing teeth. You moan into the kiss as he begins thrusting into you, wrapping your legs around him to encourage him to go even deeper.

The bed creaks with each impossibly rough thrust as Yoongi steadies his hand against the headboard. As he continues pounding into your clenching core, he brings his hand between your connecting bodies to rub your clit. The intense feeling of stimulation combined with his powerful thrust cause your legs to shake around him and you to clench tighter around his cock.

“I-I’m close.” Your back arches off the bed, brushing your damp clothed chests against his. Arms wrap around his neck to bring him into the crook of your shoulder.

At the sound of your warning, he wordlessly speeds his attack on your swollen bud to help you find the sweet relief of your climax.

As you feel the coil within you snap, you bite down in his shoulder to muffle your breathless cries. With a few more thrusts, he comes inside of you. You can feel his cum coating your walls and you clench yourself around him to milk him dry.

Yoongi slowly pulls out, letting your mingled juices spill out onto the bed. He brushes away your sweat-matted hair with a slight chuckle. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the nymph before. She just didn’t matter to me anymore.”

“It’s alright,” you mumble, wrapping your arms around him as his lays back down. “I’ve already dealt with her.”

You inhale his familiar scent, fresh mint, and let yourself get lost in his embrace. The nymph is no longer any problem for you. It’s doubtful anyone will hear from her again anyway.

“How?”

“I turned her into a mint plant,” you shrug nonchalantly, tracing the curve of his nose and lips. She really shouldn’t have gotten on your bad side.

Yoongi lets out a hearty laugh, pulling you on top of his chest to engulf you into a hug. “That’s my girl.”

#bts #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi x reader #bts fanfiction #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi #btsguild #min yoongi #i hate tagging

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self-proclaimed-chaotic-good · 5 years ago

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Ordinary Cousin of a Superhero | Cousin!Pearl Pangan and Filipina!Reader (Oneshot)

Prompt: Metamorphosis

Fandom: Marvel

Warning: A short scene with violence, nothing too graphic

Words: 1844

A/N: Just caught up with the arc for the new Agents of Atlas and Atlantis Attacks. I’m loving Wave and I hope that she gets her own comic book series soon. The fact that the entire team for the new Agents of Atlas is made up of Asian characters is amazing. By the way, I have not watched Agua Bendita yet, but if someone knows how to watch it, lmk

Being the cousin of a superhero has its pros and cons. Pros, is that you’re related to a superhero, you’ve got bragging rights, you’ve grown familiar with their lifestyle, get to meet other superheroes, and you’ve got a powerful ally that has your back no matter what. Cons, they’re always busy, you become a target to their enemies, people believe you got where you are because of your relations, not your own capabilities, being constantly compared, along with feeling… not special.

But after a while, you weren’t as insecure about being the cousin of Pearl Pangan, also known as Wave, the water manipulator and member of the Agents of Atlas. You were a scientist, a member of an innovative research team in Stark Industries. You got where you are because you worked hard and wanted to help change the world, even if you didn’t have any superpowers of your own. You don’t always need superpowers to change the world.

The team’s current project was regeneration liquid. “Think bacta tanks from Star Wars,” Tony had said. It wasn’t a cure all solution, but would help deal with superficial injuries until the patient could be transferred to the hospital and if your team got the formula right, submerging the patient in the water could help heal internal injuries as well.

One day, you were eating lunch with Cindy Moon, Amadeus Cho, and his sister, Maddy, over at the pizza parlor when Cindy froze mid bite. She tossed her pizza slice down and looked around with a frown.

“What is it?” Amadeus asked.

Maddy pulled out her scanner, checking the reading for abnormal activities. “Ammy, it’s coming from the water off the east coast,” she said.

Amadeus cursed under his breath. “Sorry, (Y/n/n), we have to-”

“I know,” you said, shooing them away, “Go save the world. Pizza can always wait.”

“We’ll stop by the tower,” Cindy promised. She finished her slice and stood up, her silk-senses tingling like crazy.

Suddenly, you were left alone with an empty pizza pan. You slurped the last of your drink before leaving a tip and heading out. There was a small tremor in the ground, but everyone seemed to have shrugged it off. You were checking your phone for any updates on the project while you were on lunch break when someone bumped into you. Then another. And another. Your phone was long gone in the stampede of retreating pedestrians. The ground began to rumble until all the manholes bursted open with rank sewer water spewing out.

You began to move towards Stark Towers, the only safe place you knew, when a hand shot forward from an alleyway, yanking you by the collar. They threw you against the brick wall, your form hidden from passerbyers by the large garbage bin.

“Where is the formula?” A man in a black ski masked demanded, holding a gun at you,

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” you sputtered, trying to pry his hands away.

He gripped your shirt, pulling you towards him, then slamming you against the wall. The air was knocked out of your lungs, your vision blurring for a moment. “Listen, I don’t have time for this. Where is the formula?”

“I don’t know!”

He sighed, tucking his gun away. Your shoulders sagged, foolishly believing that he was going to drop it. Maybe he was just some thug hired by a rival company, desperate to find a way to cheat Tony Stark.

A knife came towards you without hesitation, a leather gloved hand preventing your screams as he went to work. Tears ran down your face when your struggling was futile. You were powerless.

Your bruised and bloodied body was placed in a crate and delivered to the front of Stark Industries. The pain came in bursts as the crate was rattled around, muffled voices could be heard beyond the thin walls of your confinement, but you were too tired and weak to make a noise.

There was a sound of some kind of scanner surrounding the crate, followed by a loud gasp. The crate was quickly pried open, a flood of light filling in and making it hard to keep your eyes opened. The last thing you remembered was being lifted out and carried onto a stretcher, panicked voices surrounding you.

You had a dream once where you were at a beach. It was the beach that your family used to go to when you were little. You turned and saw your cousin, Pearl, stare at you before her eyes widened. You were suddenly sucked into the ocean, being dragged down as if there was a chain wrapped around your limbs, pulling you deeper and deeper down. You were alone under water, but you could see blurry figures above the surface talking, but they couldn’t see you.

What you were feeling was quite similar to that dream, being tied down while under water with people conversing as if you weren’t there. Though, this time, there was that rumbling again. The same one you heard out on the streets. Lights above the surface of the water flickered as the water vibrated around you, a current sucking you in again.

There was a sudden surge of light, hitting directly at you. Water entered your mouth and you began to choke. It was all too real to be a dream. You struggled against your restraints, flailing your arms until you felt the water move and you were strangely falling forward towards the surface.

Alarms blared around you as you gasped for air, your body soaked and surrounded by shards of glass. A sturdy pair of hands grabbed your waist before slinging your arm around their neck. You continued to cough as you tried to regain your bearings.

You were pulled into another lab that seemed to be unscathed by the accident. The person propped you up on one of the exam tables, holding your face steady as analyzing brown eyes scanned your face. You winced at the sudden flashlight in your eyes, a quick apology muttered by the person examining you. They waved a small scanner over you and gave a huff.

“(Y/n), can you hear me?” they asked softly.

You nodded slowly.

“Can you tell me your full name?”

“(Y/n)... (Y/l/n).”

“Do you know who I am?”

You blinked your eyes as they slowly focused. “Bruce?”

He nodded, relief written on his face. “Do you know where you are?”

You briefly looked around. “One of the labs… at Stark Tower.”

“Do you remember what happened at the time of your accident?”

You frowned, nodding. “I was grabbed…. At an alley. A lot of things were happening at once. They wanted the formula. I refused to give it to them. They… they beat me up and knocked me unconscious. I was… in a crate… i think. Then… I was in water.”

“We submerged you in the H.O.L.Y. water,” Bruce said, “Your readings showed that most of your injuries had already healed in the last few hours until the explosion.”

“Holy water? Explosion?”

“Right. I’ll explain one at a time. Tony called the project H.O.L.Y. water, which he hadn’t explained what it stood for, but while you were in the water, there had been a few explosions in the area and one in the building. It wasn’t an ordinary explosion and… i believe it had reacted to the water, causing some side effects.”

Your heart began to race. Had the formula become unstable or toxic? Bruce sensed your panic, resting a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“It’s okay… just, take a deep breath. What I’m about to show you might shock you. Let me know when you’re ready.”

You took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. When your heartbeat returned to normal, you gave him a nod. He handed you a mirror, which you took with shaky hands. You lifted it, slowly revealing your face. Your skin seemed normal, making you nervous that you were missing something major. Your heartbeat picked up again and your skin turned blue, becoming more translucent the more you panicked. Almost as if you were water.

“What… what… what’s going on?”

Bruce sighed. “We believe that this explosion has caused you to absorb the properties of the water.”

“The… there was electricity that surged through the water, I think,” you said, gripping the mirror as you concentrated on trying to keep your form stable.

He nodded. “I just took a scan of you and you are completely healed, faster than we anticipated. That explosion destroyed that lab and you emerged unscathed. I believe you have rapid healing abilities.”

“I…” You gripped the edge of the table as you tried to wrap your head around the situation. “I need a nap.”

Pearl had been staring at you for the past fifteen minutes in curiosity, but also concern. Having the ability to manipulate water, Pearl was also able to sense anything water, which was why she had been surprised when she was called over to Stark Tower right after a mission, only to find her cousin in a distressed state with her skin fluctuating between her normal skin color and ocean blue water.

“Oh diyos ko, you remind me of Agua Bendita!” she finally exclaimed.

The tension in your muscles loosened at this, a laugh escaping your lips. You weren’t sure how she was going to react, but you were glad that she was at least approaching you as she normally would.

“Oh my god, I think I am.” You reached out and hovered your thumb over a cut on her cheek before pressing down and wiping it as if it was a mere stain.

“That was cool.”

“Yeah, I guess this is my life now,” you said.

“I’m tempted to dunk you in the water to see what happens.”

“Pearl, no.”

You shook your head at her, then looked down at your hands. They seemed to return to their normal state when you’re calm, but turn to water when you’re upset. You would have to talk to Bruce about how to keep your condition in check. No doubt that they’d want to run tests on you to see what else you could do. Tony had even mentioned that he wanted to keep it a secret for as long as he can from Fury.

With your new condition, you didn’t want anything to change. Going back to work after the incident, you noticed that only the researchers who were present during the incident were aware of your condition, being sworn to secrecy by Tony or risked being fired. You could still feel their eyes on you, making you self conscious and turn to ocean blue without you meaning to.

You didn’t want to become some miracle healer, and there was no way you’d have those powers without a price. Until you find your full potential, you feared that if word got out of your powers, you’d gain plenty more enemies than when you were Wave’s ordinary cousin.

#WritersMonth2020 #pearl pangan #filipina!reader #pearl pangan and reader #wave (marvel)#wave #filipina superhero #marvel #marvel imagine #cindy moon #silk #amadeus cho #brawn #new agents of atlas #I wish I knew tagalog

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hope-for-olicity · 6 years ago

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Airplanes, Coffee and Deadlines 6/?

Felicity begins working at a national newspaper where she has always dreamed of working. On her first day, she meets a very interesting photojournalist. The two will eventually work together but sparks fly immediately. This and all previous chapters are also available on AO3.

This chapter is set in a war-torn country.

Oliver was waiting to feel some sort of regret for breaking down Felicity’s door but he couldn’t. She was in distress, he needed to be with her.

Hearing the knock on his door, Oliver opened it to find Felicity with her things. He could tell that she’d made an effort to look less shaken. Makeup on, ponytail firmly in place but he knew it was a front.

Felicity put her bag on the bed, “Let’s head down for dinner.”

Oliver followed her out the door, locking it behind them.

~~~~~

Felicity was digging into her burger and fries, she wasn’t that hungry she but she figured she couldn't talk if her mouth was full. She had no idea what to say to Oliver. It was all so overwhelming. Yet, she got to go home. The Syrian people had to stay here. This was their life. What right did she have to feel bad? She needed to suck it up so they could tell their stories.

Oliver was on to Felicity’s avoidance tactic. He’d been in her shoes. He ached to help so he did something he’d only done once. He decided to tell Felicity about covering the aftermath of a suicide bombing in Afghanistan. He only ever told Caitlin what happened. Felicity’s eyes were riveted as he explained in detail, the smell and taste of carnage he witnessed. The wails of grief he heard all around him as people found their loved ones. “I heard those wails in my dreams for months after, still do sometimes. The bombing was so wrong. These were innocent people. I felt grief, rage, sadness and most of all he felt useless. Also, I felt and still feel I am not entitled to my grief. I’m not a victim, I’m an observer. Here to tell the story. But Caitlin, my doctor, explained that everyone, including me, is entitled to their grief. Yes, I get to go back to my safe life but I was there and I have feelings.” He looked at Felicity to see if any of this was sinking in.

“I’m so sorry you witnessed that and continue to suffer. But you must know that those photos impacted the way I and so many others thought about Afghanistan. I felt their pain. I wanted to help. You made a difference.” Felicity reached for his hand, squeezing it in solidarity.

“Felicity, I hope I’m not overstepping but I think when we go back you should speak to Caitlin, Dr. Snow. She really helped me sort out all the overwhelming thoughts that come from being in a war zone. Because I’m pretty sure those nightmares of yours will not go away on their own.”

Felicity took the last bite of her hamburger. She had the utmost respect for mental health professionals, it’s not that she’d ever been against seeing someone. It’s just she didn’t know how to talk about what she’d seen or felt, for the first time in her life she struggled with words.

Oliver could almost see Felicity thinking as she chewed. “No pressure, you can think about it. Caitlin never forced me to talk about things I was uncomfortable with…” Oliver really wanted to help but he knew he wasn’t the one with those skills.

“Thanks, Oliver.” She yawned. “I think I’m going to go to bed.”

“Here’s my extra key,” He handed her the secondary card he’d been given he checked in. “Sleep well.”

“Thanks,” Felicity began to walk away then stopped and returned. “I forgot to pay for dinner.”

“No worries, I got it. Get some rest. Tomorrow is another day.” He gave her a weak smile, knowing just how long nights can be.

~~~~~

When Felicity got back to Oliver’s room she did her nighttime routine, taking her makeup off, brushing her teeth, putting on comfy PJs. She foolishly believed this might provide some level of comfort to keep the nightmares at bay.

She climbed in bed. It felt better than she was expecting. The sheets smelled like Oliver. She smiled. It was like he was here with her. This might be just the comfort she needed.

Felicity was so grateful to have him in her life. Maybe she would go see Caitlin when they got home. It was worth trying. But for now, she’d try to get some sleep. Tomorrow she wanted to talk to Oliver about going a little farther out. She knew there were stories out there that weren’t being heard.

Thinking about tomorrow made her realize she should send her Mom a quick message. She knew how much messages from Oliver meant when he was away. She wanted to provide her Mom with some comfort.

To: [email protected]

Fr: [email protected]

Hey Mom,

I hope everything is okay with you and Baby. I miss you both so much! Please give Baby extra hugs from me. Please keep the pictures coming, they are a bright spot in my day. I’m doing okay, there is no need to worry. I’m doing important work and realizing just how lucky we are. Off to bed now, didn’t want you to worry.

Hugs and love,

Felicity

Felicity saw an email from Lyla, felt guilty for not opening it but decided it would best to wait until morning to open it. She took one more look at her most recent picture of Baby before snuggling into Oliver’s blankets.

~~~~~

Oliver decided to stay in the bar for a while after Felicity went to bed. He uploaded today’s photos to his laptop. He knew he had some pretty good shots that would work to enhance Felicity’s story. He was going to suggest this story be made a feature in this Saturday’s edition.

As he looked at the photos, a notification came up that he had a new email from Lyla.

To: [email protected]

Fr: [email protected]

Hey you,

Just want you to know that the work that you and Felicity are doing over there is having an impact. The TV news channels are doing panels to discuss the ongoing war. I know it can be tough when you are in the field but what you do matters.

I wrote Felicity earlier but no response yet. I hope she’s doing okay. We all know the first time is especially rough. Her writing is amazing. Maybe she went to bed early?

Take care of yourselves and come home safe.

Lyla

Oliver smiled. He knew how lucky he was to have a supportive editor back home. Not everyone had that. He looked at the bartender to signal he wanted another beer when he felt someone sit down beside him. He turned, happy to see a friendly face.

“Oliver Queen, back again.” Sara Lance gave him a quick hug.

“It’s good to see you, Sara. Although I hope you being here does not mean the rumours about Nora and Zari are true?” Oliver gave a concerned look to his long-time friend sometimes friend with benefit.

“Well, if you heard they are missing, that much is true. Of course, we are worried they are kidnapped but there has been no ransom demand yet.” Sara got the bartender’s attention and ordered a drink. “So, where’s Digg?”

“Lyla just had a baby so he’s sitting this one out. I have a new reporter with me, it’s her first time.” Oliver took a sip of his beer.

“How’s she holding up? We all know the first time is especially rough.” Sara sighed knowingly.

“It’s getting to her but she’s not throwing in the towel. Her work is amazing, even Lyla thinks so.” Oliver worried he sounded like he was bragging but he couldn’t help it. Felicity impressed the hell out of him.

“Well, I look forward to meeting her. Anyone who impresses Oliver Queen is worth meeting.” Sara smiled. “Anything going on there?”

“No,” Oliver answered quickly. “I mean no, there is nothing wrong with her. She’s smart, funny and beautiful but we are colleagues. Nothing more. We are friends.” There Oliver thought he put that to bed.

“Now I can’t wait to meet her. The gentleman doth protest too much.” Sara laughed. “I’m off for some shuteye. I’m heading out in the field tomorrow.”

“Good luck with your search,” Oliver said solemnly. Both he and Sara knew of too many cases where missing journalists went missing forever.

~~~~~

Oliver decided to walk past his room on the way to Felicity’s just to make sure she was okay. He stopped to listen. He heard nothing, good maybe that meant she was sleeping soundly. He began walking away when he heard a “NO.”

He rushed back to the room slipping his key in the door. He saw Felicity tossing in bed. It broke his heart. He knew she longed to help these people and that is what was causing all the pain.

Oliver walked slowly toward the bed. He leaned over to turn on the light next to the bed. “Felicity,” he spoke softly. “Felicity, it’s just a dream. Wake up. I’m here.” Oliver sat on the edge of the bed. He began to lightly stroke her hair as he spoke.

Felicity grabbed Oliver’s hand in her hair as she woke out of breath, eyes looking around the room.

“Hey, it’s me. It’s Oliver. Everything is okay. It was a dream.” Oliver could see Felicity adjusting to reality. “Here, let me get you a drink of water.” Oliver went to the small bar fridge, grabbed a bottle of water he stocked. He opened the lid as he returned to the bed, handing it to Felicity.

Felicity took a large gulp. The water felt good going down her throat. She focused on getting her breathing under control. She turned to Oliver with tears in her eyes. “Please don’t send me home. I’ll get better. I need to be here. Please, Oliver, don’t tell Lyla. I want to stay.”

Oliver hated the fear he saw in her eyes. “Felicity, I’m not going to send you home. Your reaction is totally normal. You are a caring person and what you are seeing here is horrific. Lyla knows that the first time is hard, she will never judge you for having nightmares. I’m sure she’s had her share. I wish there was something I could do to help you.”

“Oh Oliver, you are already helping me. More than you will ever know. I feel less alone when I’m with you. Knowing that a journalist as amazing as yourself has also struggled makes me feel less like a weakling.” Felicity looked away as she took another sip of water.

Oliver cupped Felicity’s face in his hands. “You, Felicity Smoak, are no weakling. You are are a woman who feels things. Important things and it’s coming through your work. Your words are making a difference. I heard from Lyla tonight, she said are stories are stirring up talk at home, there are panels on TV news. People are talking about Syria again. People are aware and it’s because of your work. You are making a difference. You are helping these people as best you can.”

“Oh Oliver, thank you.” Felicity removed his hands from her face and pulled him in for a hug. After holding him for a few minutes she pulled back. “I want to go farther out. To areas, we haven’t been to see if it’s any different. Can we do that?”

Oliver thought of Nora and Zari. He wasn’t sure what to say.

“What is it?” Felicity studied Oliver’s face.

“Two Reuters journalists went missing. They went a little farther out and now they are missing. So I’m a little wary of going too far.” Oliver decided honesty was best.

“Oh, of course. That is terrible. Were they kidnapped?” Felicity bit her lip. She knew kidnapping was possible but now that it seems to have happened it is all more real.

“No word from kidnappers yet. I met with their colleague, a friend of mine, Sara before coming up here. She’s heading out to search for them tomorrow. They are both experienced foreign correspondents so we are hoping for the best.”

“I hope they find them soon. I understand if you don’t want to venture farther given the situation.” Felicity yawned.

“How about this, tomorrow morning I’ll head out to talk to one of my local contacts early. I’ll ask him for a suggestion for where we should go. I trust this man. Once I know, I’ll come back for you.”

Felicity smiled. “That sounds perfect. Thank you, Oliver.”

“Okay, you try and get some sleep.” He got up and began walking to the door. “Is there anything else you need? I was going to grab some stuff for the morning.”

“Stay,” Felicity said it so softly she wasn’t sure she’d actually had the guts to say it out loud.

“Stay?” Oliver didn’t want to presume he heard that.

“Yes, I mean if you don’t mind. I mean, the bed is big enough for both of us and I think, I think I’d sleep better if you were here. But if it makes you uncomfortable or….” Felicity trailed off. She couldn’t read Oliver’s face at all. Maybe she’d said too much.

“Okay.” Oliver smiled. “It’s probably for the best. If I wasn’t here I’d be worried about you. Plus, you know, it’s safer. The door is broken in your room. So it’s safer that I stay here.” Oliver knew he was trying to give himself an out for something he wanted to do for entirely different reasons, non-platonic reasons.

“Yes,” Felicity repeated to reassure them both they were doing the right thing. “It’s safer.” Felicity scooched over to create space for Oliver. “Ready? I’ll turn out the light.”

With the click of the light, the room was plunged into semi-darkness, with only the light of the moon coming in through the window. Oliver lay still trying hard not to encroach on Felicity’s space.

Felicity could barely breathe, Oliver was in bed with her. She wanted to curl into him but she knew that would be inappropriate. “All comfortable?”

“Yep, I’m all good. Night Felicity.”

“Night Oliver.”

~~~~~

Felicity awoke the next morning to a thumping in her ear and daylight streaming in the window. She was shocked to have slept through the night. She slowly lifted her head to try to figure out where the thumping was coming from. It only took a moment to realize it was Oliver’s heart. Despite, her best intentions she had curled into his arms. Well, maybe he’d slept through the that. She’d simply move before he woke up and all would be good. No uncomfortableness at all.

She slowly began to pull away from Oliver, ever so careful not to wake him. First, she untangled her leg from on top of his, than she ever so slightly began to move back, holding her breath the whole time. She had just about dislodged herself when Oliver’s arm pulled her securely against him. She looked up at him as innocently as possible, knowing she was caught.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Oliver’s voice was gruff from sleep, his eyebrow rose as he looked down at the beautiful women in his arms.

“I...I was going to go to the bathroom.” Felicity stuttered. “I didn’t want to wake you.” She blushed.

Oliver lifted his arm up so she could escape. Felicity quickly got off the bed and ran for the bathroom. Oliver chuckled once she closed the door. He knew they should talk about it but he enjoyed sleeping with her far too much to dissect it now.

Felicity came out of the bathroom, looked at Oliver. “All yours.”

“Thanks.” Oliver got out of bed. He could tell she was trying to avoid his gaze. He decided to give her a moment. He grabbed some fresh clothes before entering the bathroom. “I’ll take a quick shower then head out.”

Felicity nodded. Oh My God! What had she done?? She heard the bathroom door open again.

Oliver stepped out, “I was going to give you a moment but I didn’t want you to worry. I really enjoyed sleeping with you, Felicity. I was the one to pull you in my arms when you started to stir. It seemed to quiet your nightmare. I hope that was okay?” Oliver felt a little nervous for her response, he rubbed his fingers together to ground himself.

“It was more than okay, Oliver. It’s thanks to you I got any sleep at all.” Felicity smiled. “So thank you. Go take your shower.”

When Oliver went back to the bathroom he was smiling too.

~~~~~

Oliver ate quickly while Felicity lingered over her coffee. Oh to be loved as Felicity loved her coffee. “I’m going to head out and meet with my contact. I’ll text when I’m on my way back then we can head out.”

“Sounds great. I’m going to finish my coffee and write Lyla back.” Felicity waved as Oliver headed out. She didn’t care who saw their exchange of goofy smiles. She was in a good place, not physically and mentally, but she had coffee and Oliver Queen in her life.

She had just placed her mug back on the table when the bomb exploded.

Thanks so much for reading!

@mindramblingsfics @memcjo @mel-loves-all @wherethereissmoak @green-arrows-of-karamel @spaztronautwriter @wrldtravler @tdgal1 @vaelisamaza @oliverfel4 @lucyyh @swordandarrow @smoaking-greenarrow @it-was-a-red-heeler @miriam1779 @coal000 @blondeeoneexox @laurabelle2930 @allimariexf @onceuponarrow @msbeccieboo @tangled23works @icannotbelieveiamhere @1-crazy-dreamer @stephswims

#Airplanes Coffee and Deadlines #olicity fanfiction #alternate universe #oliver x felicity #MyFanfic

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powerstrangerdacre · 6 years ago

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Signals

Summary: Falling in love was easy. Listening to her was easy. It only became complicated after I had already fallen.

Deciphering her signals. That was the hard part.

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Warning: alcohol consumption, swearing

Word Count: 4600+

Requested?: YES (thank you @my-name-is-alice-ayers for requesting this! I hope you like it! :D)

AN: Ello everyone! I don’t know how I feel about this... but here goes nothing. It’s a tad longer than I wanted and a bit over the place... but I hope you guys like it. (It’s still unedited.. so… sorry.) Also like, tell me if you wanna be tagged in my stories or something... idk. haha :))

I realize maybe a little too late that I made a mistake. I misunderstood the signals she sent me for ones of apathy or monotony. I had definitely broken her heart with my actions, and I don’t know how to fix everything I so foolishly pulled to pieces.

But I watch as she sits with Evans, his arm wrapped around her shoulder, as if to protect her from something. Or someone. And that someone was me.

Taylor’s hand wraps around my own, squeezing it gently. “You alright?” she asks. Her eyes are searching mine, a sad smile on her lips.

Am I alright? No, definitely not. I don’t like watching her laugh with someone else. I don’t like the way she doesn’t speak to me anymore. And I don’t like the way she looks at me now, because it’s not the same as before.

When we first met, she looked at me innocently.

It was her first day on the Avengers’ set, and she looked like a fish out of water, figuratively speaking. One of her hands was playing with an earring, her feet constantly shifting. Her eyes were scanning the crowded room when they fell on me. They instantly widened, and I couldn’t help but smile and make my way over to her.

I don’t know what exactly it was about her, but it seemed to just pull me in. Maybe it was her meek demeanor; something I didn’t see often in actresses. Or maybe it was the fact that even though she seemed so timid, she didn’t hesitate to smile in my direction. Maybe it was the fact that she seemed so obviously uncomfortable and out of place. But that doesn’t really matter. What matters is that there was something about her that attracted my attention, and I couldn’t stop myself at “Hello, I’m Tom.”

Then, we slowly got more accustomed to each-other. Her first scene was absolutely mesmerizing to watch. Her gentle nature completely shifted, a content and yet wicked look taking its place. Amora had come to life right in front of my eyes and I was left speechless.

“Loki… line?” her whisper brought me out of my trance and I could already feel the blush searing through my cheeks. I suddenly felt awkward, probably much like she had felt when I first laid eyes on her. The director called for a break, and I could already hear Chris and Rob chuckling at my blunder.

She looked at me quizzically, as if she didn’t understand what had just happened. But her chest shook as she tried to suppress her giggles, so I realized she knew exactly what she had done.

When the fascination about her acting ability finally diminished, I got to understand the person that lied underneath all that shyness.

She always made sure that everyone was having fun while filming. If she even sensed that someone was uncomfortable with something, she would address it. But at the same time, whenever someone would thank her for it, she would blush and stutter out a “It’s fine.”

The way she acted around others was just… amazing, for lack of a better word. She never bragged about her abilities, though she had enough to brag about. And although she was obviously beautiful, it seemed like she didn’t realize it.

So, let me tell you this: she is nothing like any other woman I ever met before. She is shy and sweet, but at the same time so confident in her abilities and skills. She’s down-to earth and just, so kind. Maybe I’m just saying that because I fell in love with her, but it’s what I truly believe.

Falling in love… that was easy.

Listening to her talk about things she loved while walking down the street to the café… that was easy.

The way she looked at me with that sparkle in her eyes, searching for the confirmation that I wasn’t growing tired of her. That was easy, because it would never happen. I would never grow tired of her.

It was the part that came after that, that got more confusing.

Reading her signals… that was confusing.

She would place her hand on mine from time to time as we talked while our coffee was getting cold.

But then she would say that she was happy to have a friend like me during filming.

She would smile that charming smile of hers my way, and I could feel as though I’ve melted into a puddle of love and affection.

But then I would see her smiling to other people.

I could stare into her eyes for hours as we talked, and then her eyes would shift downwards, blood rushing to her cheeks as she fidgeted for the next thing to say.

When filming was nearing its end, I knew I was in too deep to just let her walk away. So I did the one thing I had wanted to do ever since I first saw her.

I grabbed her hand, stared into her eyes and with my heart rising to my neck, I asked her: “I really enjoyed the time we spent together. I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date with me?”

Well, that’s what I imagined… What came out was a jumble of incoherent words and sounds, which she somehow still managed to decipher. Her eyes shone brightly as she nodded, a smile coating her lips.

I went to pick her up at her apartment. I knocked on her door, chuckling lightly when I heard a thump and a curse word coming from inside. When she opened the door, I was left breathless. She was wearing a short sundress, the white fabric making her look… simply put, like a goddess. Her hair was pulled up haphazardly into a bun atop her head, allowing me to see her smiling face better. I was too taken by her to utter a word, and once again I was left speechless.

“Hey,” she said as she started lacing her sneakers. The strap of her dress slipped of her shoulder, making me clear my throat and look away. “Tom?” she asked, seeing as I hadn’t even said hello. I had made a fool of myself and the date hadn’t even begun.

“Yeah, hi. Hi…” I stumbled over my words, and if it wasn’t me actually speaking those words, I would’ve laughed. “You look… gorgeous.” As if that word could ever encompass everything that had just crossed my mind. But she giggled, her shoulders shaking slightly as she stood back up. She gave me an once-over, nodding at my attire: a simple, blue button-up and dark trousers. She locked her door.

“Thanks, you look gorgeous too.” She smiled widely, her hand grasping mine as we walked to the lift. I was taken by surprise at her suddenly-bold ways, but I surely didn’t mind, seeing as I was too nervous to even get words out straight. “So, where are we going?” she asked.

As the lift descended, her hand left mine for a second to place a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The loss of her touch already made me feel lonely, even though she was still so close. The doors opened and we walked through the lobby to my parked car. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.” I opened the door, allowing her to get into the car, before going over to the driver’s side and getting in myself.

“Always the gentleman,” she said, smiling.

“Of course.” I put the car in gear, rolling out of the parking lot and heading in the direction of the beach.

As we reached our destination, I could read the excitement written on her face. “Really? A beach-front restaurant?” she asked, a giggle falling off her lips. Sure, her question might’ve made it seem like she wasn’t interested, like this would’ve been too cliché. But I already knew her well enough to know that she loved all things romantic. I knew her well enough to know that she loved the clichés. I wanted to say: ‘Yeah, I know you enjoy things like these.’ I wanted her to know that I cared enough to know, but I just shrugged, leading her to a table.

We ate and talked… and soon, the sun was setting right before our very eyes. The restaurant had begun to empty out, but we didn’t care much about what the other people did. We were too engrossed in our conversation. Or at least, I know I was.

When it was time to leave, I could feel the heaviness of my heart in my chest. I was disappointed. Disappointed that our date was coming to an end, even after spending hours upon hours with her. But still, I drove her back to her apartment and walked her up the stairs, trying my best to prolong what had been the best time I had had in a while. And as we reached her door and she opened it, I knew it was time to come to terms that I would have to wait until I saw her again.

“I had a great time,” she said, turning to face me with a sad smile.

“Me too, we should do this again.” She looked up at me with those beautiful eyes, her tongue gliding over her bottom lip. I would’ve given anything to kiss her senseless then and there, but instead I reached my arms around her, like an idiot, and pulled her into a hug.

Her chest vibrated with laughter as she shook her head, unwrapping my arms from around her. “Always the gentleman,” she said.

“Of course,” I answered. Entranced by her beauty, I stared at her as she walked inside, the most lovesick smile I had ever sported painted on my lips. Yeah, I was in deep.

And so, we went on a second date, then another, then another, and by the time I finally got to kiss her lips I was simply hooked. Hooked by the way she carried herself. Hooked by the way she didn’t take herself to seriously. Hooked by her mind and her body. We just, fit together, and it showed as much in real life as it did with our characters Loki and Amora, the Enchantress, on screen.

Our relationship was one of those that you don’t want to let go of. It was the kind of relationship that you wish would last forever. Because we could spend weeks apart while filming and still find our way back to each-other like we had never been apart. It wasn’t just some fling. It was the kind of relationship where you talk about the future like the other will be there with you; like they’ll never leave you. Because, that’s what you hope will happen.

But like all good things, even that faded. Whenever we were apart, it just felt like she didn’t mind it. Whenever we were together, it seemed like she didn’t care. And slowly the conversations died down, the kisses and hugs stopped, and the future, our future didn’t seem to exist anymore. So, since I thought she stopped caring, I stopped trying.

I wish I knew then what I know now. I wish I would’ve known how bleak the world would seem after I would lose her. I wish I would’ve known how cold my bed would seem if she were to ever go away. I wish I would’ve realized how addicted to her I had become, but of course I only realized that after I lost her. I only realized how much I needed her after she had broken things off.

Filming for Thor:Ragnarok started and ended, and I had hoped to somehow manage to… at least talk to her. But it was obvious… that wasn’t her plan. She wouldn’t talk to me. Wouldn’t look at me. Wouldn’t smile at me like she did when we first started filming. No, this was a whole different thing altogether. She didn’t want me there. It was too late to fix anything.

It was too late then, and it’s too late now. Because I walk into Chris’s party with Taylor on my arm and see her laughing with him. I’m not the one next to her anymore and she’s not the one next to me. I’m not the one she loves, but yet I never managed to forget her. I never managed to let go of her.

“Hey Hiddles, Taylor,” Chris says, coming up to us with two glasses of wine in hand. “Nice to see you made it.”

I can see the way he looks at us. I know he doesn’t like her and I know he doesn’t like the way I have become. Because however hard I try to hide how unhappy I feel, he could always see right through me.

“Thanks for the invite, Chris,” Taylor says, smiling at him.

Chris looks at me quizzically, and I shake my head. “I’ll take Tom here off your hands, okay? Scar and Susan are by the bar.” With that he pulls me away, not allowing her to answer.

We walk over to an empty table in a corner, Chris chuckling and shaking his head along the way. “Mate, you’re crazy.”

“Not as crazy as you. You won’t even give her a chance. How do you know she’s not good for me?” I ask, rolling my eyes as I took a sip out of my wine glass.

He looks me in the eyes, searching for something. And he apparently finds it, since the next second he’s scowling at me like a parent who is about to scold his child. “Because we both know that there’s only one girl for you.”

“Oh, really? And who’s that?” I scoff. As if I don’t already know what his answer would be. But it’s too late, isn’t it? I’m not about to rip her from him and her happiness just because I can’t forget her.

“C’mon mate, you and I both know that you haven’t been the same since Y/N.” Chris turns towards her as he speaks, a smirk overtaking his lips. “And something tells me she hasn’t felt right either.”

“Oh really, what makes you say that?” I won’t let him get into my head. I had let that happen one too many times.

“She’s coming this way. Right now. And I sure as hell don’t think it’s just to get chummy.” He stood up, slapping my shoulder and walking away.

I try to stand as well, but lose my footing as I crash into her. My hands fly to her shoulders, trying to steady us both. “God, I apologize, I didn’t see you there.” My eyes are fixed on her face, her eyes wide and comical. She chuckles, her eyes shutting for a moment as she takes a step away from me.

“Always the gentleman, huh Tom?” she asks, though it’s more of a statement.

“Of course,” I answer.

She’s so close, I can practically feel the heat radiating off of her. Her eyes search mine and I can feel my heart pumping louder and louder. Her scent is enough to make me dizzy, but then she shoots me a smile and I can’t help but feel light-headed.

“Look, I’m sorry about how I acted during filming. I know it was harsh… it’s just been kinda hard ever since… you know.” Her eyes find the floor, probably to stop me from noticing how tired she is. But I know her too well. I know that she isn’t like she used to be. I know she’s tired and scared.

And for a moment I forget about Taylor. I forget about the people in the room and just focus on her. “I know… It’s been hard for me too,” I say, pushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Her eyes find mine and she seems hopeful. She smiles slightly, her cheeks turning rosy. “I… I…”

“I missed you,” I say.

“Hey Tom, I was looking for you.” Of course, this is when Taylor shows up. “Who’s this?” she asks.

“She’s…” my eyes don’t leave her. Not even for a second. Once again I’m entranced and I can’t even form one sentence.

“I’m Y/N, Tom’s… friend,” Y/N says, smiling. But I know her smile is fake.

“Tom?” Taylor pulls at my shirt, trying to get my attention. “Tom?”

“Right… This is Taylor. My… girlfriend?” I wince as the word slips over my lips. Because this seems to break Y/N even more. Her eyes shift between me and Taylor, before she finally nods.

“Well, it was great meeting you… I should probably go.” She turns to walk away, when I wrap my hand around her arm. I don’t even know what overcame me. But maybe, maybe there was just a bit of hope left.

“Just… wait a second,” I say.

Her hand rubs at her face, before she shakes her head. “No, Tom. I won’t stay. As much as I want to be… I’m not okay with this.” She turns to me and Taylor.

“I’m not okay with this either… okay? But I won’t just let you walk away again.” My breathing gets heavier and heavier by the second. I don’t want to hear her say those dreaded words again. I don’t want to hear her say that it’s not enough. I don’t want to hear her say that I’m not enough.

“I’m sorry, Tom… But… This is just… bullshit!” My eyes widen as she points to Taylor. “You missed me? Well… I’m sorry, it sure seems like it’s been so goddamn hard for you!” Her chest heaves as she gasps for air, tears flowing. And somehow, I think this is way better than being stoic. Somehow, instead of realizing that I just fucked up big time, I realize that she cares.

That simple thought fills my head. She cares. Sure, she might hate me, but at least she cares. A smile pulls at my lips as my hand finds hers.

“What the hell are you doing?!” She pulls at her hand, trying her best to escape. But I won’t allow that anymore.

“I thought you didn’t care anymore,” I say. I need to hear it. I need to.

“I didn’t care?! You’re the one who just… gave up! And I… I-I couldn’t take it,” she says.

“You think I gave up? I just… I thought you didn’t care anymore.” My eyes sting, but I sure as hell won’t stop this. “I… I hated it. I hated the way you didn’t seem to care about whether we were together or not! I hated the way you just… distanced yourself.”

She looks at me, eyes glistening with tears. Her makeup is smudged and her lips are quivering, but there’s still only one thing going through my head. She cares. That, and she still looks as gorgeous as ever.

“You… you think I liked that?! I just… I thought… I didn’t want to be clingy…” she stutters, her choked words messing with my heart-strings.

“Tom?” Right… There’s still Taylor, who’s standing right behind me. “What’s this about?”

In the second that my attention isn’t on her, Y/N slips away. I watch as she walks back to Evans, with my last chance of making things right.

Taylor’s hand wraps around my own, squeezing it gently. “You alright?” she asks. Her eyes are searching mine, a sad smile on her lips.

And this is where we come back to the beginning. With Y/N wrapped under Evans’ arm. With me wishing I had realized sooner that I was just an idiot. A heartless idiot at that, because my heart was still in her hands.

“I’m… not alright.” I say, making Taylor’s eyes widen.

“What?” she asks.

“Look… that girl… she’s…” I begin to explain, only to be stopped by her sigh.

“She’s your ex-girlfriend?” Taylor asks.

I nod, not understanding where this calmness was coming from. Taylor shakes her head, a chuckle falling from her lips.

“Well… what are you waiting for? Go get her.” Taylor let’s go of my hand, pushing me towards her.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

“Hey, I’m not about to fight for someone who never belonged to me,” she smiles sadly, nodding her head towards the place where Y/N is.

“Thanks…” I say as Taylor walks towards the exit.

I watch as she takes shot after shot, and it’s clear that tonight won’t be the night where I finally have her back in my arms. But I’m okay with that, because I know… she cares as much about me as I care about her.

The hours pass and the crowd gets thinner and thinner. I’m about to go myself, when Evans walks towards me, Y/N in tow.

“Can you take her home? She came with me but I had something to drink and well…”

I nod as he ushers her towards me. I can’t help but feel ashamed as she walks over to my car, getting into the passenger seat.

Evans looks at me, eyebrows furrowed, arms crossed over his chest. For a moment, I think he’s about to give me the ‘No hands.’ dad-talk. “Don’t fuck it up,” he says. I nod, scurrying towards the car.

“And hey! Maybe give me Taylor’s number sometime, huh?” he yells after me, making me chuckle and shake my head.

“She’s not exactly into the beefy type, Evans. But sure.”

I get into the car, eager to finally have some time with her. Light snores reach my ears, and I notice her leaning against the window of the car, sleeping peacefully. I sigh, leaning my head against the wheel, laughing lightly to myself, before I start the car and drive slowly to her apartment.

As I put the car in park, I notice her stirring lightly. Her eyes shoot open, frantically searching for something, before they fall on me. She then smiles shyly, a giggle escaping her. For a moment, I think she’s gone crazy as she turns to open the door. Then, I know that the whole ‘craziness’ is probably because of the alcohol. She stumbles to her feet, lightly swaying from side to side. I turn off the car, rushing to her side to aid her.

Her arms go around my neck, and she’s giving me the look. That look, like she’s so happy to see me. The look that makes my heart race and ache at the same time, because I hadn’t seen it in so long. “Let’s get you inside, okay love?”

She giggles as an answer and her arms unwrap from around my neck. She sways again and my arm goes around her waist, keeping her close. God, how I missed her warmth.

As we finally reach her apartment, she searches for her keys, handing them to me. I open the door, but think better than to walk inside. Her steps are careful as she walks, but not careful enough, and she stumbles into the small table by her entrance. I rush to her side, closing the door behind me.

She holds onto my hand, pulling me to her living room. “Y’know… I’m happy you’re here,” she says, sitting down on the plush couch. “Everything’s spinning.” She laughs.

I can’t help but chuckle. “Of course it’s spinning, you’ve had a bit too much to drink.”

“No I didn’t.” She looks me in the eyes, patting the place next to her. I shake my head. “Tom. Sit.”

I do exactly as she says. I could never really say no to her anyway. Why would that be any different now?

She looks up at me through her long lashes, her smile never once disappearing. Her tongue glides over her bottom lip, and my eyes are suddenly focused on only that.

I should know better than to kiss her when she’s like this, but I can’t help but indulge as she presses her soft lips to mine. My eyes shut and I hum involuntarily at the wonderful feeling, but pull back as she moves to sit herself on my lap like she had done so many times before.

“You’re too drunk,” I say. She looks down at me, her smile intoxicating me.

“No, I’m not.”

I’m about to dispute that, when she interrupts me. “Tom, I’m not drunk… I kinda…”

“Pretended?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“You minx.”

Her smile widens, turning into a smirk. Her lips are once again on mine, before I can even comprehend what is happening. She turns, straddling my waist, her thighs pressing against mine. And she kisses me. Reverently. Longingly. Her lips move against mine with such fierceness that I can’t bear to stop her. I don’t want to stop her. Her arms find the hairs at the nape of my neck, tugging lightly, eliciting a low, moan-like growl from me. My hands wrap around her body, tugging her closer. As close as humanly possible, until I feel like there’s no air left between us. No open space. No distance.

And then, she pulls back, but doesn’t get far as my arms are still snuggly wrapped around her figure. Her chest is still pressed against mine, her forehead lightly touching mine.

“I want you back.” The words slip before I can even consider what I’m saying.

“What?” she asks, obviously startled.

“I need you back. I want you to come home. I want you to come back to me.” I sigh, tugging her even closer. “I love you.”

He body visibly freezes, her breath halting for a second, before she realizes what I’ve just said. “I… I… What about Taylor?” she asks.

I chuckle. This is exactly like her. She cares too much about other people, but then again, it was her that just kissed me without any care in the world. “Y/N, you think I’d be sitting here, kissing you, if I was still with her?” I ask, raising an eyebrow quizzically. “Is that the kind of man you take me for?” I smile.

She frowns, hitting my chest lightly. “Well, are you still with her?”

I smile, grabbing both her hands. “No, she kinda broke it off. I guess she realized that my heart belonged to another.”

“Hmm… Yeah, I get why she would do that. You’re pretty horrible,” she says, a smile playing at her lips.

“Really? Am I now?” I snuggle closer to her, my mouth pressing kisses at the nape of her neck.

“Mmmhm…” Her voice is breathy, almost moan-like. “Getting girls to fall for you… when you’re obviously mine.”

I wake up the next morning with her body pressed closely to mine. Her arm is wrapped around my waist and her head resting on my chest. Her eyes flutter open and she looks up at me, her smile as bright as ever. “Morning, love,” I say, kissing the top of her head.

“Morning.” She yawns, stretching her arms in front of her. “Sleep well?” she asks.

“Mmhm,” I answer. “Best I’ve slept in quite a while.”

She smiles at me, standing up from the bed and stretching once more. Her fingers intertwined and pointed to the ceiling, she lets out a groan as her knuckles crack. “I’ll go take a shower,” she informs me, making a grin pull at my lips.

“Let me join you.” I stand up, following her into her bathroom.

As we both get under the steamy, hot stream, she presses her lips to mine once again, standing on her tiptoes to do so.

And I smile because I can’t believe how lucky I am. I smile because even though we had managed to mess things up, she went ahead and fixed everything with a kiss and a smile.

Taglist:

@theoneanna @artisticlales @imnotusedtobeingloved @im-a-slut-for-an-accent

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namjuicyy · 5 years ago

Text

Forbidden - Chapter Four

Masterlist | Requests are open.

Genre: Fluff, smut, angst.

Genre of this part: Oh baby, check the warnings. This is all smut, whole smut and nothing but smut.

Word Count: 4.2k.

Summary: Prince Hoseok had never been told “no” until his father lay on his deathbed. Hoseok was ordered to marry, but his eyes were set on the one woman he wasn’t allowed to have.

WARNINGS:

Previous / Next

Throughout the day, the palace had become a hive of activity, more so than it usually was. Even the corridors downstairs were being decorated to the point of being over-done, but it was just another way for the Queen to brag about her status and wealth. Eunjae never spoke about the incident in the garden, not even about Hoseok – and you refused to bring him up because you know there were things you needed to address. You just couldn't. Addressing these things, these feelings and situations would mean that you'd lose face; and if you did that, your husband would find out how you truly felt and you'd never see Hoseok again. Surely that would be a good thing? To permanently remove the cause of your unfaithful thoughts and keep you at your husband's side forever. Your wifely duties – your duties as queen would seem more like a prison sentence without Hoseok there to shine his sunlight on you.

The reason your husband called you was because he was stressed, and all his usual whores were back at your home. He, rather foolishly, forgot to bring some with him so you were the next best thing to relieve his stress. You were surprised he summoned you and not attempted to bed one of the Qedian palace staff members. But it was made clear to you as soon as you entered your host's drawing room that it would be politically incorrect and sensitive to find yourself balls deep in the help of another's kingdom.

Taeoh didn't greet you. He didn't smile at you nor did he really look at you. He simply pointed to the plush sofa opposite him and said, "bend over it." Duty called. You obeyed your husband like a good wife should, bent as far over it as possible and spread your legs slightly for comfort. You felt the skirt of your thin dress dropped onto your back, and your undergarments pulled down, allowing access to your core.

In three... two... one... "Ugh." You groaned at the feeling of your husband stretching you. The familiar pain that walked together when it came to sex with your husband causing you to become vocal only at the beginning.

You'd heard stories about sex – how it could be pleasurable for both parties involved. How women could reach the same climax as men. You'd heard stories about Hoseok and how he knew how to please his women. How the staff in the palace were falling over each other to spread their legs for him. You began to wonder if the stories were true; if he really was this God between the sheets that brought his conquests to a euphoria they'd never experienced before. Would he do that for you? Would he stretch you out just right and hit the spots inside of you didn't know you had? Would he be gentle with you? Or would he be rough like your husband? Would he-

"Ugh, fuck!" You heard your husband growl from behind you. His hands flew straight to your hips and dug in harder than before. "You just became so much tighter. Fuck yeah." You'd never head Taeoh speak like this before. Never had he remarked on your body – in fact, he'd barely even made sounds besides the odd grunt here and there. Then you could hear it, the sound of your slit ever so quietly swallowing Taeoh's cock repeatedly. Had Taeoh not been so loud, you'd have heard every thrust. And there wasn't quite as much pain. There wasn't pleasure but you weren't hurting. Was this from thinking about Hoseok? Was your body reacting to another man without the other man being present?

If your body reacted like this to just the thought of Hoseok, how would it react if Hoseok was the one behind you, burying himself deep into your core?

"Ah – ah yeah. Just like that. Keep squeezing -"

Somewhere along the way, Taeoh's voice turned into Hoseok's. The hands on your hips became slender and long. Your body began to sweat. Oh, oh. Pleasure. This is it. This is what everyone had been talking about. Oh Gods. Your body felt hot, like there were flames nearby and getting closer to you. Hoseok hit somewhere new and you gasped aloud. Yes! Hit that spot again. Please. Please do it again. Oh Gods! Oh yes! Yes! Right there! Right –

You felt Taeoh's cum shoot into you, his body collapsed onto you and you could smell the tobacco and liquor on him from his meeting with the neighbouring monarch. Disgust washed over you when you felt his sweat drip into your hair, and you wanted nothing more than to push your filthy spouse off you. Eventually he removed himself from inside you and dressed himself once more. Just as you were about to gather yourself, you felt your husbands hand drop harshly onto your backside as if you were one of his cheap whores. "Good job." He complimented, then left the room leaving the door open behind him. Just as you were pulling your undergarments up, footsteps rounded the corner and Hoseok appeared turning away quickly when he saw the white linen under your crinkled and creased dress. "Forgive me, Your Highness. I did not mean to look."

"Don't apologise." You told him. "This is your house you're free to do as you please."

"My father -"

"Is not here. However, you did just miss my husband. If it is a King you would like to see, mine has just turned left out the door and has vanished."

"Hopefully for forever."

"You are out of line, sir."

"Forgive me, ma'am. I did not mean to offend. But the look on your face tells me you hope for that, too."

"Do not presume my thoughts, young man." He was, in fact older than you. But you outranked him by a crown and could speak to him in such a way. You held your head high and strolled gracefully out the door, pretending that your hurt wasn't hurting, and your slit wasn't screaming from the scenario it had to endure. "I will see you and your fiancée tonight." You called to him without turning around. And once again, you disappeared out of Hoseok's view.

The evening of the ball came around incredibly fast and you didn't feel prepared enough for it at all. After seeing Hoseok in your mind during the time spent with your husband, you were shaken throughout the rest of the day. You couldn't fathom the fact that your brain allowed you to think such a lewd thing of another person - especially when that other person was not your husband. Eunjae noticed a change in you, too; but she didn't say anything to you. She simply kept her mouth shut and her mind focussed on getting you ready for the evening's festivities - the sole reason you came to this kingdom in the first place. Unlike your husband, you didn't want to leave the kingdom when the party was over. You'd grown accustomed to the way Hoseok's family had run things, and though you wouldn't admit it, you'd also grown attached to the kingdom's heir himself. Despite knowing deep down that you both had significant others and a kingdom to run, you couldn't help but let your mind wander. What would your life be like if you accepted the prince's proposition? If you became his secret mistress and lived somewhere quietly in the palace? Even now the idea seemed like a good one. You'd have no rules, no responsibilities, no worries. You'd live a life you wanted, not one you were forced into by your socialite parents.

"What are you thinking so hard about, ma'am?" Eunjae boldly asked. Though she was styling your hair, she was asking you as your only friend and not as your maid.

"An alternate life." You answered her honestly.

"With the Prince?"

"Eunjae." Your voice was warning but you held no threat to her. You could never.

"Forgive me, ma'am. I do not wish to offend but I also do not wish to see you upset and so distracted. Would you confide in me? Unburden yourself, ma'am. You do not have to feel so alone."

You sighed. "Yes - with the Prince."

"He is handsome and capable from what I've heard."

"Capable how?"

Eunjae blushed. This amused you. You'd never seen her like this before. "I-it's only what I've heard from the staff here, ma'am."

You grinned and stared at her reflection in the mirror. "And what have you heard, pray tell me, friend. Do not tease me."

"No, ma'am. I wouldn't dream of it. The prince on the other hand..."

"Eunjae!"

"He also likes to cook in what little free time he has, ma'am. Which only proves he's good with his hands."

You playfully hit your friend for her gossiping and the laughter died down. You could feel your mind willing your mouth to tell her about what happened to you that morning when you visited your husband. Some voice inside of you was telling you to not, that you shouldn't admit it to anyone lest you be shamed. But, "I thought of him earlier. The King called me into his equal's study to get inside me. I wondered what it would be like to feel the Prince instead of the King."

"My Queen!"

"It is true. I had heard whispers about him before and my brain decided to betray me. Are you... have you... Gods, I cannot speak the words. Have you ever been with a man like that before?"

Eunjae nodded. "I was married for a time, ma'am."

"But you're so young!"

"As are you." A solemn look appeared on your friend's face. "I had his son."

"I didn't know you had a child. Why do you look so sad?"

"My husband took our boy fishing. That was what my husband did for a living - he was a fisherman. He wanted to show our son the ways of his world. He didn't anticipate the storm that night. Both were lost to the ocean."

"Eunjae, I-"

"It's okay, ma'am. Truly it is. I've made peace with it. I moved to the palace and I met you. You were able to help me heal." She paused. "May I be so bold, ma'am?"

You smiled. "You usually are."

Eunjae laughed. "Your husband doesn't treat you well. You know this, but I do not believe you understand it. When you're with a man like that, he's supposed to be gentle. He's supposed to make his lover feel just as good as his lover makes him. Your husband leaves you beaten and bruised and blooded - no man, regardless of their power or position should do that to their wives."

"That is bold."

"Forgive me. I only want your happiness and safety. But I've seen how he leaves you some days, ma'am. You do not deserve it."

"It is the hand that I have been dealt, though. I have made my peace with it as you have with your misfortune."

"We have both suffered greatly."

"We have."

Your husband came to collect you not too long after your conversation stilled. He was dressed as formally as he could be without upstaging his counterpart and you, like a dutiful wife, matched him. He took your hand in his arm and led you to the ballroom, though this was a simple formality he had no choice but to obey. He normally would not touch you unless it was to try and put his baby in your belly. Though, you had never had much luck thus far. Despite the medical checks.

You could hear the orchestra playing music from most areas in the palace and the sound of music filled you with a joy you had not felt in years. You and your husband were announced to the partygoers as you entered the ballroom, and as soon as the two of you had completed your obligatory greetings to the political officials of both kingdoms, you were left alone whilst your husband drank, mingled, and harassed the party staff.

The King and Queen of Qedian were announced an hour or so after your arrival to the ball and completed their obligatory rounds before the couple you were all there to celebrate arrived. Prince Hoseok and his princess entered the ballroom to a round of applause from their guests. The newly engaged couple. He was breath taking. He wore the Kingdom's colours of red and white, with gold lavished around his uniform giving him a regal glow. You felt your mouth dry at the sight of him, your heart increases its speed and your lungs fight for air. You wanted him. Perhaps it was just an infatuation - perhaps it was something deeper. But you were sure that if he were to proposition you again similarly to how he had done previously, you would have no strength to resist him. Therefore, you tried to avoid him for most of the evening.

He found you in the corner, however, and insisted upon greeting you.

"I couldn't find you during the main dance, Your Highness. Where did you go?"

"I was here, sir. I saw. Your princess looks very beautiful tonight."

"She does. But the Queen in front of me is the most beautiful of all."

"Hoseok..."

"Dance with me. Please."

You couldn't resist his request and allowed yourself to be led onto the dancefloor by a man who was not your husband and could never be. He held you in his arms as the two of you danced to the slow melody playing. You could feel yourself being absorbed by him, losing touch of the entire world because you could feel yourself becoming his with each turn of the dance. His smell intoxicated you, his touch had you begging for more - and had it not been the applause from the onlookers watching your every move (along with the others on the dancefloor), you're sure you could have easily and happily betrayed your husband by kissing another.

Hoseok's voice lowered enough for you to hear it. "The double doors behind you - come into the room behind them in five minutes."

"Hoseok?"

"___, please?"

You found yourself nodding. When Hoseok pulled away from you, he did so abruptly you felt like he was ripped from you rather than him willingly leaving. You couldn't breathe again - it was as though he'd taken all the oxygen from you.

Five minutes had passed so slowly, but once your time ran out you were all but sprinting to the double doors Hoseok had instructed you to walk through. They were open just a crack, so you snuck in.

You felt him before you saw him; his lips were on yours in some sort of frenzied manner before you even had a chance to call his name. You knew how he tasted though, so despite your shock you reciprocated his desperate touch. No words were exchanged in this desperate turn of events. Just moans of pleasure escaping from your mouths and silently begging for more. And more you received.

His hands fell to your waist from your neck, gripping your plushness and pulling you flush against his body, limiting your escape from him. Your hands were in his hair, grasping onto him for life as though he'd leave you the moment you let go. He pulled his lips away from you, but barely, as when he spoke you could feel his lips still moving against yours. "Tell me to stop." He ordered. "Scream for help, please. Don't let me go through with this. I want to claim you. I'm going to make you mine tonight. Stop me."

"Take me." You mumbled. You sat on the couch, your back to the door. You raised your skirt exposing your thighs and spread your legs allowing him to see everything. Your lack of undergarments boldly exposing a part of you no one had truly seen before. "I'm yours."

"You naughty little temptress." Hoseok was on top of you as quickly as you allowed him. You were sure he could hear your beating heart over the sound of his kisses, but the feel of his weight on top of yours was enough to deter your thoughts just as quickly as they came. "I'm going to worship you, my Queen." He said, his mouth trailing lower to your chest. "The Gods hold no power nor beauty in comparison to you." His mouth kissed your clothed body, too desperate to undress you completely. Your dress was too tight to take off without extra help, so he lifted your skirt, got to his knees, spread your legs and dove in immediately giving you no time to adjust or think otherwise.

You felt his breath on your womanhood then his tongue gliding up your slit ending its journey in your clit. You gasped in shock and the air left your lungs at this new sensation. Hoseok's tongue wasted no time in rubbing your clit, creating patterns over the bundle of nerves that had you covering your mouth to stop the sound of your moans escaping. Though, in reality, no one would be able to hear you over the sound of the orchestra playing, you were still worried about getting caught. Even as your hips began to move on their own accord and made your clit grind on Hoseok's tongue, in the back of your mind you were still aware that anyone could walk in at any time and end the paradise you'd found yourself in.

"Hoseok!" You gasped. Your voice didn't sound like your own. It was higher pitched and breathless, dowsed in undeniable pleasure as spots of your body you didn't even know existed lit up at the ministrations of your new lover.

"You taste so good, my Queen. Does it feel good?" He asked. His tongue was replaced by his long, capable fingers. Fingers that he slipped inside of you when he'd finished talking and continued to wreak havoc on your clit.

"Oh Gods! Hoseok! Yes, that feels good!"

You'd never felt anything like this before. You'd never had the opportunity. You had no idea that this is what sex could be like. Yet here you were, spread on another's couch for a man who wasn't your husband, tingling from head-to-toe from what said man was doing to you. You couldn't quite describe the pleasure you were feeling. You just knew something was building. Something new. It scared you a little, and you reached for Hoseok. His free hand grasped yours as you sought out his body, holding your hand through this experience. Somehow, he could sense your fear, and instead of stopping to talk you through it, he continued to lick your pussy and coax you to finish.

You couldn't describe what you'd just felt - it was kind of like an explosion of pure, unbridled pleasure but it crept up on you, so it almost wasn't an explosion. Your breath escaped your body once more and your mouth opened in a silent scream. You writhed underneath Hoseok, your body moving of its own free will.

When your breath came back you were panting loudly as if you'd finished running. You looked down and passed your dress to see Hoseok's face covered in... well, you. His lips were shiny from your sopping entrance, but he looked so pleased with himself. "Gods," you gasped, "what have you done to me?"

"Nothing more than what you've done to me, ___." He countered. "Please let me inside you. Let me feel you."

"Yes."

"Bend over the back of the couch."

You obeyed him and braced yourself for the pain that you usually felt when your husband entered you. However, when you felt the head of Hoseok's cock enter you, your mouth opened once more but in pleasure. There was something different about Hoseok's stretch that felt better than your husband's - but you couldn't understand what. Hoseok felt much bigger than the man you married, so surely it should hurt more? It didn't make sense to you. But you didn't have much time to think about anything else as before long Hoseok had begun to thrust into you, roughly taking you from behind.

Unlike your husband, he felt exquisite. Your core was humming from the way he had made you feel previously and grew even more sensitive the more he made love to you. You could hear his moans from behind you, merging with yours each time he hit your cervix.

"You - fuck - have no idea how long I've wanted you. Gods you feel too good I won't last long." All you could do was moan in response, but this wasn't what he wanted to hear. "Tell me: how good do I feel?" When you didn't answer him, you felt his hand tangle in your hair and pulled, it was hard enough to yank you back, so your back was flush against his chest, but not hard enough to hurt. "Tell me." He ordered. His voice was darker now, sounding more malicious. You should have felt scared, but it just turned you on more. Made you crave him more.

"Oh! Yes! You feel s-so good! Mmm. P-please."

"Please what?" His voice was in your ear. "Please make you feel good? Make you cum again?"

"Yes!"

"Look at you, Your Majesty. You're acting like a whore right now. Just next door there is an entire party of people and you're in here getting your brains fucked out of you."

You laughed at his words - this surprised him, and he stopped thrusting into you. "Yes but this is your party. Your engagement party. I think you're more of a whore than me."

Hoseok pulled out of you and slammed back inside. He chuckled darkly at your statement. "That may be true, my Queen. But look." You looked where he told you to, pointing to the gap in the door that allowed you to see a small part of the party. The door you'd forgotten for close when you first entered the room. "Look at the party in front of you. Look at all those people. And, oh, who's that on the dance floor? Is that your husband?" It was. You were watching your husband dance with another woman while the Prince was deep inside your cunt. You tightened at the thought and the sight. If he looked - if he really looked - he would watch his wife being fucked with the door open.

"But l-look, Hoseok. H-he's dancing with y-your betrothed."

Hoseok groaned. The fact that the two of you were forbidden to be together - were unable to truly be together was so delicious to you both right now. Both of you made hard love to one another watching your significant others dance. No doubt they were looking for you both all this time. Luckily they hadn't found you.

"I'm gonna cum inside you, ___. I'm gonna shoot everything I have. I'll get you pregnant. Your husband will think it's his but whenever you look at your pregnant body you'll remember that it was me who did this to you. You're mine now. Say it."

"I'm yours! Hoseok. I..."

For the second time in your life you reached orgasm, and you could feel the tears pouring down your face as you did. You didn't feel Hoseok finishing off inside of you, however you knew he had when he pulled out of you and you could feel his cum running down your thigh. You vision was blurry, and you felt so weak, which is why when Hoseok had sorted himself out, he pulled your dress down, lay on the couch and pulled you on top of him. He held you in his arms and shushed you as you recovered from your climax. He was so gentle with you again; back to the Hoseok you knew and fell in - no don't say it. Don't finish that sentence.

God you're such a fool for allowing Hoseok to bed you like that. For getting so attached to him. You have less than a week in his kingdom before you must return to yours. You started crying for a different reason now. Genuine tears of sadness fell from you as you shook on top of your lover.

"I know." Hoseok said simply. "It's a miracle I'm not doing the same." You couldn't understand how he could almost read your mind. He was able to pull things from you without you even having to speak the words. "___, whether we're in the same palace or kingdoms apart I love you with every inch of me. Distance will never stop that. And when you leave there will be a huge hole in my heart that will only be filled when we're together. But I promise you my love for you will never die. I will fight to see you. I will fight for you. So don't you ever give up on me, my love. Promise me."

"Hoseok."

"Promise me."

You looked him in the eyes. "I promise."

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raleigh-ocean · 6 years ago

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white light

summary: set in the new timeline; Billie still is contacted by Iris and the Devil's Night still scare the shit out of her. However, when she comes home, she realize what's really important to her even more than a bunch of ghosts.

N/A: this is a very specific setting, mostly because of the other (original) character. Dara is also a medium of some sort, and she's been Billie's lover for the last nine years or so (they started ‘dating’ when Dara was 25 and Billie 35 (circa 2010, before Murder House), now 34 & 44). I'll write more about her during this fic and in some others so you can get to know her! ✨

Billie felt her heart beating loudly in her throat, still with the nausea settled in her stomach and the uneasiness from the situation back at the hotel. It was like a never-ending pain in the back of her head and her eyes, maybe she strained herself past the line she drew for herself years ago.

Not even a cigarette could help her body feel at ease this time.

Maybe it was her conception of time or the absinthe messing with her brain, but it was taking too long to reach the apartment. Billie tried to focus in little things at first - like her fake nails, like the sound of her pearls with each bump of the road - and then she tried to hold her tears, a warm sensation pushing softly, to not spill them foolishly.

How long she didn’t let herself cry for real? Not even when she broke her forearm a few years ago; not even when she had to stand in front of all those people at her mother’s funeral, judging her choices as if they knew her.

When her manager pulled over, Billie didn’t even bother in putting her heels on. She ran - and maybe waved goodbye, she doesn’t know - towards the front door as if someone was still chasing her. Her dress made her feel hot, her sweat making it stick to her back and her arms.

It took her four tries to open the door, each time making her more anxious and desperate to get inside. Once she was in, her anxiety skyrocketed so hard that she had to support herself in the countertop dividing the kitchen and the living room. At times other times, she used to ask herself how she felt comfortable in a tiny apartment instead of in a big house but in this specific situation she remembers.

Remembers how everything around her is at reach easily; how she could see what’s happening in almost every room from the living room, no surprises unless she was the one giving them; how being herself the one doing her chores anchored her vivid mind and powers to the ground.

As soon as she felt like being capable of moving again, she moved forward to the tiny master room. The bed took a good chunk of the room, not a single mirror there, clothes discarded in the floor from the day, the tiny ensuite bathroom’s door ajar...

...and the woman in the bed, sprawled like a big cat, stirring awake and reaching for the nightlight and filling the whole room with this orangish light, trying to get to her and make the cold go away.

“Bills?” her voice was tinted always with tenderness when she was speaking to her. Billie felt her face do this little pout, in the verge of tears again. “Sweetheart, why- Oh sweet God, you are drenched in sweat,” Billie didn’t let her finish that first sentence, throwing herself in the arms of her lover, clinging to her as if her life depended on it. “Hey, I’m here sugar...”

Billie felt bad, she always did when the breakdowns came, because she was too used to carry all burdens. She felt bad for putting her whole ‘bag of utilities’ in her lover’s arms, to let go everything without notice her first...but the younger woman always picked it up like it weighed not less than a feather. The medium let herself cry then, when she had her arms around her, cuddling in that strange sitting position with Billie’s head in her chest, her whole body cuddled against her body and the other woman’s back resting uncomfortably against the iron-bar headboard.

One thing that amazed Billie the most was that Dara Ann Lynch - the woman that was holding her tight, that was rocking her lightly and kissing the top of her head -, was still with her after almost ten years of the most bizarre shit she would ever imagine happen to her. Billie gave her a handful of motives to just walk away, forget about her, build her own life; but Dara was always there, smile in her face and what she needed to hear at the right moment.

“Let’s get you out of this dress and get in the shower, okay?” still crying, she only nodded and let Dara to help her stand up. Her hands were warm against her skin, soothing the pulshing energy that was trying to get out of her body all at once. “I’ll make some tea while you are at it, and this time I promise I’ll let you put all the liquor you want.”

They were entering the bathroom when Dara said that, making her feel this raw sensation coming from her stomach, more like the crippling fear of being alone.

“Don’t leave, please,” Billie tighten the grip in her hand and there was something in her voice, sheer panic, that made Dara destroy in her head the idea of leaving her side.

“Okay,” Dara smiled and then helped her...girlfriend? partner? to undress fast, getting her under the hot water and letting her to adjust. “Do you want me to wash your hair?”

That was the cue. Dara always had this kind of domesticity to handle things as to ‘hey, sweetheart, I’m making your favourite dish tonight!’ when she was having a really rough day, even when she still didn’t know about it; as to ‘do you want me to wash your hair?’ when Dara knew Billie was in the edge of her anxiety, because it soothe her to have her hair washed; as to ‘come here you starlight, I’m doing your nails today’ when she was so tired from filming and Billie didn’t want to talk, leading Dara the conversation all the time.

Thinking about all the normal things made her realize that she wasn’t in a situation where she was in danger, but it wasn’t until she saw Dara letting fall her nightgown and her panties to the bathroom floor, stepping in the shower behind her, that she actually felt the bits of white light coming back to her.

All the ride from the hotel to that moment, she really thought the white light left her forever. There were times that, yes, she didn’t consider that was a thing that was real at the very beginning; but it for sure was now.

However, feeling Dara’s hands in her hair and her humming while she was at it felt like an energy charger.

Dara was herself a kind of medium, but she wasn’t one that wanted to brag about her gift often. Tarot was the thing she did the most, having late night shifts from a very young age and even now - even if now she had the opportunity to choose when -, but Billie knew she had actually more power than she credit it. There was something about her aura that gave her this tickle inside, as if Dara was something more she wasn’t even close to discover.

“Never thought having three in the morning shower would feel this good,” Dara’s voice brought her back, now they two completely soaked and clean just because Billie seemed to have spaced out and then her partner also helped her wash her body. “How are you up there sugar?”

Billie turned around in Dara’s arms to hug her properly, water still running over them from the shower. The white light was surrounding them now, Billie’s worries resting somewhere while the only thing she was starting to care about was Dara’s hands caressing the small of her back and upper.

They had this thing between them going for so long and they never addressed it, why?

“I want a break,” were the only words that came from the medium’s mouth. “I need a break from all this.”

“Actually, that’s going to propose to you over nice breakfast,” Dara chuckled at that, lifting always the heavy weight in Billie’s chest. “Constance called me this morning, asking if we were going to visit soon because Nora was getting whi-”

“No,” it even shocked herself when the word came out a bit too harsh. “No ghosts, no Constance, no cameras; only us, the beach and some martinis,” Billie chuckled and let the last drop of panic go like that. “We deserve this. We need time, some healing time.”

“Nora is going to be so fucking pissed off,” Dara laughed at that and she turned off the water, reaching for a towel to wrap both of them with it. “I can hear her already, sweet God.”

And when Dara made a really good impersonation of their dearest ghost, Billie felt like she got a shot of white light right in her lungs and even her heart. The cobwebs the hotel left her went away just like that, the cold those spirits left her with actually going away just with her lover’s laugh.

“We’ll visit her for as long as she wants once we are back,” Billie wasn’t one to be clingy, but she let herself for that night and search for Dara’s embrace after they were on their pajamas. Dara never joked or laughed at that hidden part of her, receiving whatever she had to offer. “But I want to spend time just with you.”

“Wow that’s really sweet, Bills,” Dara looked moved, younger even, and Billie felt a soft pang of guilty in her heart because even when her lover was happy and overall okay, she wasn’t able to see that raw emotion in her that often. “Last time we went on vacation was...after Constance asked you to help the Harmon girl, I think?”

A very long time, how did you manage to put up with me for this long?

Billie hummed in agreement, making herself comfortable in Dara’s arms while the younger woman led them to bed. When they were settled, the ‘magic’ was still surrounding them in this protective way that she learned to appreciate as years passed by. Maybe when they were alone and far away from everything she could ask Dara about this kind of stuff, Billie said to herself; maybe getting her to talk more about that part of their lives they also shared.

“Are you going to tell me what happened to you there?” Dara’s fingers made their way up and down her arm, trying to still calm her down even when Billie was feeling much better.

She closed her eyes, leaning towards the woman to keep being cuddled and kissed and held. Of course she was going to tell her, but not now. She now had a very clear goal in her mind and thinking about the Hotel Cortez wasn’t in the road to it.

“I will, but not now,” Dara smiled at the words knowingly, being used to that kind of response. She was patient overall, so it didn’t matter to her when she was getting the answer to her question. “Can you keep the white light coming however? I think I need some refillment, honey.”

“Sure miss Howard, I have an unlimited subscription to it,” Billie kissed Dara’s cheeks, nuzzling against her after that and being kissed in the forehead fondly by her. “I love you Bills, I really do.”

She didn’t answered right away, knowing that Dara would doze off in a matter of seconds - she had that gift too, light sleeper but quick dozing off. When that happened, she let herself focus in her heart beating steadily to try and get some rest too. Billie thought that maybe when they were on vacation, she would be able to give Dara something back too like all those ‘I love you’ that she was so afraid of give back.

Actually have a talk about them sounded like the right thing after that night.

Nonetheless Billie let herself be cocooned in Dara’s warm arms, the true white light protecting her from what had happened, and soon the tiredness from all took her away too.

The only thought left in her head was that as long she had something to come back and call home, that would be her true meaning for the white light.

#billie dean howard #billie dean howard x original character #billie dean howard imagine #ahs imagines #american horror story #ahs murder house #original character #dara ann lynch

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nina-the-bookworm · 6 years ago

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Competition.

I never really thought of myself as competitive. That’s a lie. I have but maybe most of it is me being competitive on myself and not on others. Thinking about it maybe it all started when I was in grade 3. “Fun” has been an alien word for me especially when I was a kid. I stopped playing with other kids when I was in third grade because I have to focus on my studies because I want my parents to be proud of just how much they are proud of my older sister. They never really pushed or said anything to pressure me and I think at some point that’s worse because you start to say it to yourself or hear it from other people. I felt that I had to be better. I had to do more. to listen more for my studies and focus. to go into different school competitions just like my sister because people will compare, and expect so much more from the daughter of their local teacher. I had to do better so that people will stop the rumors of “oh she passed because of her mother’s connection.” I have to say it helped. I enjoyed learning, I enjoyed reading and going into competitions because at some point it earned me “bragging rights”. I have to admit that frustrated me every time I do my best and the outcome that I wished for never came. It frustrated me that someone got the highest score, got first place in the competition, prettier, richer, happier, freer. I never really thought that this behavior will manifest up until I’m 21 years old.

High school, I tried my best to go beyond my sister’s shadow. I wanted to compete for declamation, to be part of the “reader’s theatre”, to be part of the jazz chant competition, and to be part of the “sabayang pagbigkas”. I never had the chance to compete or be part of any of them. The feeling of not being good enough is a recurring feeling, a feeling that I have known ever since I was a kid. I’m always average. I guess this is also why College really made me happy. For the longest time that I could remember it’s the time where I really had the chance to get to know myself. I deviated from the CBA course just so the comparison fro my sister won’t happen. It made me happy that I chose the AB English curriculum and it is something that made me happy and somewhere that I actually excel at.

I don’t know why I’m writing this, to be honest, I guess I just want to voice out these realizations of my life because now that I’m working I feel like that feeling is coming back again. 2019 has been a year of ups and downs. Unfortunately, most of it is downs. I don’t know when this feeling started reoccurring, maybe from my past job where I would get numerous errors even just the minor ones and not being able to get the target number of elements to be done in a day. Maybe it started when I applied for my MA and then quickly realizing my incompetence, how I even dared to walk the pathways of UP and foolishly think that I would get in. Or maybe with my current job where everyone expects me to be this person who’s great at writing and editing when in fact it’s all just a facade and that I’m not even half as smart as people think I am. Now that I recently applied for prof-ed classes without any goals or motivation whatsoever it quickly made me realize how much I have changed since college. It made me realize that the feeling of incompetency of being lost and insufficient is at its full bloom. It made me realize that I miss doing things that make me happy. I tried to think of things to do that makes me happy but I couldn’t think of one thing. I thought of reading. God, I miss that feeling. I probably have 50+ untouched books on my bookshelf but the energy and willingness to read is gone. I thought of painting. I have always wanted to try painting, I always tell myself that the reason why I’m not doing it is because I don’t have the materials but I know deep inside that there’s more to it than the scarcity of tools and mediums.

I watched a youtube video from the Youtuber “oh no Nina” with the video entitled “ when you don't know what to paint, paint the sky | painting with Nina 5″ this video is actually the reason why I wrote this post/rant in the first place. I want to paint so bad but I quickly realized that over the course of my childhood the very reason why I never had the courage/happiness with the process is that I am not good enough or at least that is what my sister always tells me. She never really directly said bad things but just some bad side comments about the things that I’m doing or anything that relates to art I guess. I got insecure overtime, intimidated to even dare draw or mix different colors of paints on a palette, knowing for a fact that I’m not one bit good at it. Because what exactly is the reason for doing something when you know that you’re not going to excel in it right? This is such a bullshit mindset I know but I unconsciously ingrained this mindset overtime ever since I could remember. It’s a high time that I unlearn them.

I’ll try painting, even if it’s not that easy for me because I’m sure It will frustrate me in the process, it will make me sad and remind me of my insufficiency but I have to keep going, I have to keep going for the sake of getting the finished product because it might actually make me happy and contented. Just like everything that’s going on with my life right now. Just keep going.

#rant of my problems and realizations in life that I immediately talked amyself out of at the end #the pain and joys of being a pisces

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avani008 · 7 years ago

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Multiple 3+1 fills, Mama Baahu

For @ratnananda!

* Three ornaments/clothes/accessories that had sentimental value for her and one weapon she mastered (or vice versa)

1. When she is six, her father offers as reward a ring of emerald to the child who can capture the cuckoo that roosts in the tree by his bedroom and wakes him up too soon; and while her brothers reach for their bows and fail, she bides her time until she can ensnare it and present it to him.

The King is a man of his word; he slides the ring from his own finger at once, and she twists it around her finger, the better to remember the worth of waiting.

2. She has a headdress of silver that she is foolishly proud of—until she learns it is only one of the Chief Queen’s castoffs. At first she wants only to throw it away, but then she thinks better of it. What if it had belonged once to another? It would be hers now, and greater by it; more fool those who sniggered at her.

3. Her mother has the packing of her trosseau, as all mothers do, and in its depths she finds Mother’s best petticoat, embroidered all over with butterflies. She never wears it—it is too precious for that—but on nights when she thinks of home (she does not miss it; who could long for misery?), she lies down with it held carefully against her cheek.

&1. “Smile,” Mother warns her, “smile; there is nothing so sharp as a smile.” And she does, come hurt or rage or weariness; she smiles until she can smile no more.

(“Always happy,” Kattappa marvels at her son years later; “always pleased—however can he manage it?”)

* Three places she wanted to visit and she actually did (or vice versa)

1. Books are not common in the women’s quarters—not forbidden, necessarily, but not stored as assiduously as they are in the princes’ apartments. Besides the most basic of verses, the only volume she finds for the first fourteen years of her life is a battered old atlas, and so it’s the names of faraway lands she learns with devotion.

“Samarkand,” she sounds out carefully—home of art and culture and marvels beyond imaging. She wants desperately to see it with her own eyes, but even so young, knows better than to ask her father for anything.

2- Her second eldest sister marries into the royal house of Muziris, gateway to the seas: and to imagine the rest of the world open to one! Visitors might come from anywhere, her sister brags, and bring her anything; and if her voice is desperate rather than dauntless, not one woman in the wives’ quarters says anything of it.

3- Her mother came from Pushkar, land of lakes, and when Mother falls ill, she wants nothing more than to take her there for treatment. But: “No,” her father commands, and she cannot countermand him. Instead she curls up at her mother’s bedside, praying desperately, and perhaps there is some strength in that. The fever breaks, Father congratulates himself on assuring all that she would live, and they never speak of it again.

&1-“Mahishmati,” she reads disinterestedly, and dismisses it as nothing but a dot on the map ringed by a river, without anything further to recommend it. But then the King her father sends her to spend the rest of her days there, and she learns that like it or not, she will know no other land.

* Three lives she destroyed and one she saved (or vice versa)

1. It is easy to be unkind when she is young: a careless word there could lead to a servant’s dismissal and what of it? If she never sees one again, she thinks nothing of it—and when guilt creeps at her gut, she reminds herself that she and her mothers have more than enough worry than to take on those of another.

2. She wonders, once, what might have happened had she told her brother-in-law that his father asked for him on his deathbed; had she risked the danger a deathbed reconciliation might have done her husband’s prospects. It occurs to her that he might have lived, if not necessarily longer, at least more happily—but who is she to wish such things for him?

3. Her husband would be happy to take not so much as a sip of his brother’s gift of wine, but she only scoffs. “What sort of king—what sort of man—is so weak he cannot tolerate his spirits?” she asks sweetly, and pours him a glass herself.

&1. Sometimes her sister-in-law wonders what might have been if the Queen had not appointed her a representative to the council of advisors—if the Queen had not given purpose where once, Sivagami had none. Nothing but dullness and despair: no life worth living.

“I am in your debt,” Sivagami whispers to thin air, and means it.

* Three ways she did not die and one life she never lived.

tw: infant death, hinted to be intentional

1. Babies die easily enough in the royal nursery: some from illness, some at the hands of jealous rivals, some (it is rumored) at the discreet order of the King. The princess born of His Majesty’s favorite wife is no exception; and after some years, none but her mother even remember her.

2. Bandits frequent the roads that lead to Mahishmati, and there are few prizes more promising than its future Queen. In her memory, her betrothed bargains with Kuntala to enact more rigorous patrols, and generations after bless her for it.

3. “To settle your stomach,” her brother-in-law assures her; and when the sweats and pains begin hours later, she thinks nothing of it.

&1. She opens her eyes to see her sister-in-law smiling at her—a sight so ununsual she knows she must have lived despite all expectation. “Welcome back,” Sivagami murmurs, and clears her throat: a maid comes forward, bearing an infant wrapped in green silk.

She takes her son into her arms, pleased beyond words and tears, and it’s only when she notes bloodstains on the cloth that she looks up at Sivagami, alarmed. She has not heard about the events that took place in the throne room earlier that morning; nor Martand’s final treachery, and Sivagami’s retaliation.

But her sister-in-law only smiles. “We have much to tell you, the boys and I.”

#baahubali #mama baahu #3+1 #as much as alcohol is not my thing personally #historically it would show up politically so....#i guess it worked out for bijju

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marietraverse-blog · 7 years ago

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Personal Narrative

Marie Traverse

English Comp 1

Prof. Edward McCulloch

20 September 2018

Trees, Terror, Guilt, Adventure

Hands sweating, sticky sap creating an uncomfortable numb feeling in my palms, I contemplated whether this would be my ultimate demise, being too ambitious. Unsure whether I was glad no one was around, I looked down at my destination and remembered how soon before I had foolishly made my current situation a “destination” which needed to be sought after. Suddenly my contemplation was distracted by panicked yelling.

“CALL THE FIRE DEPARTMENT!” was exclaimed so loudly I almost fell, which would negate the need for the fire department at all. FInally in my sight, my mother seemed to be skipping from my grandmother’s front door, she has a bad leg so “running” is not an accurate term for the way she was moving towards my position, not her usual slow walk, but a panicked gallop almost.

“I’m fine Mom, we don’t need anyone!” I yelled nervously, not wanting my thirst for adventure to cause any inconvenience. I was told time and time again not to climb the tree, “it’s too tall, you’ll get hurt, you’ll get stuck,” they said.

“Pish posh,” I said to that one day. “Seven is plenty old enough to climb trees, I can handle it!” I thought. It did not help that my brother, three years older than me teased me all the time about being tall enough to climb to the first branch, as I was not for, in my mind, a very long time. Shortly after my seventh birthday, feeling like an older kid for the first time, I realized I had grown tall enough to reach the first branch, which would allow me to easily climb to the highest peak of this ancient pine tree. The tree, similar to any other pine tree, stood quite tall compared to short, little me. The bark peeling back at some points revealed the sweet, sticky sap which wafted into my nostrils with each gust of the cool, brisk, autumn wind, making it that much more inviting. Considering no one was around and I really believed in myself, I figured I would climb up and back down with no problem. Then I would quietly and sneakily find my older brother and brag to him that I could finally climb the tree on my own.

The problem came when I arrived at the top. What I had not anticipated, was the climb down being so incredibly intimidating. Going up was easy, like climbing a ladder, each branch conveniently placed right above the next. But going down looked dangerous, branches were swaying in the wind, creaking and cracking with every gust. For some reason the swaying looked lovely from the bottom, like standing at the top of a mountain peak, able to see the whole world with the wind cinematically gusting through my long, brown hair. Now it seemed as if the slightest wrong move with my feet or hands, or a slip caused by shaky, sweaty hands, could send me tumbling down to the bottom, like a barrel plummeting down Niagra Falls. For the first time in my young mind, I had put myself into a dangerous situation even after I was warned not to climb the tree.

The longer I stood at the top the more I could feel the apprehension to make my way down increasing. It seemed like hours but was mere minutes before my mom came trodding down the driveway screaming for my grandma to call the Fire Department. Obviously overreacting, my grandma came out to see what the commotion was about. My grandmother, having raised a daughter and three sons, was slightly annoyed but didn’t panic and, lucky for me, the fire department was not called. Seeing my grandma come out of the house was all the motivation I needed to begin the terrifying descent.

I could not recall a time my hands shook so violently and involuntarily. The terror and guilt seemed to manifest itself right in my core, behind my stomach, directly into my soul, maybe. It was perhaps the first time I had felt such a strong feeling which I was not familiar with and was unsure how to deal with it. Being an overly emotional, confused, seven year old at the top of a fifty foot pine tree, it was probably not a great time to discover these new emotions and thoughts. With sensational lucidity, I recall advising myself to stop thinking and just start climbing.

The first branch was the worst as towards the top, the branches thinned, and as I stepped down, the branch nearly collapsed under my weight. Luckily I was grasping a thick handhold above me and was able to swing my legs to a different, more sturdy branch. At this point my mom was still screaming wildly, protesting my every move, and my brother was inside watching television, not even slightly interested in the feat I had put myself through to impress him. My grandmother, perhaps the only sane and rational party at the time, yelled that she would search for a ladder as my mom screamed and I continued shakily down the tree. My body was covered in sap and ticks, not really a concern in my mind, but my hair kept sticking to my face. Sap and sweat create an odd sensation that is both unforgettable and unforgiving; it took days to get all the sap off of me.

“Nick’s on his way with a ladder,” my small, red-headed, Polish grandma calmly walked over to my mother, and the tree, and I was able to see the disappointment on her face with startling clarity.

“Oh thank goodness,” my mom was finally able to take a breath and stop screaming obscenities. A sense of dread washed over me when I heard what was happening. Nearly halfway down the tree at this point, I screamed,

“NO TELL HIM TO GO BACK!” The last thing I wanted was to ruin someone else’s day for my dumb decision. However it was already too late. Just as I had reached the bottom branch and all I had to do was hop down about four feet, my uncle pulled up in his white pickup truck with his tall, metal, house painting ladder in the back. More guilt and terror washed over me with an unexplainable intensity with the thought of making my uncle leave in the middle of his job, only to find I had already made it down.

“Guess I won’t be needing that,” my Uncle Nick chuckled, pointing to the ladder as he walked over and evaluated the situation, “Your grandmother made it sound like you were at the top of a Redwood!” he said to me. Glad he wasn’t angry, I smiled and cheekily said,

“Yeah not yet!” as my uncle easily lifted me from the tree onto the ground.

“Rescue mission complete! Now I’ve gotta get back to work!” After a brief laugh and high-five, just as quickly as he had arrived, my uncle was off, back to finish a normal day.

Being only seven, this was probably my first experience of imminent danger and guilt. This fact was made worse with the knowledge that I had put myself here, this was my fault, I caused panic and inconvenience. I felt bad. Before this, I was a relatively safe child who did what I was told, did not do was I was told not to do, and watched my older brother do the complete opposite. He would do what he was told not to do and made fun of me for being boring and not adventurous. Finally a chance to prove myself courageous, I climbed the tree and ultimately screwed myself over and scared myself away from adventure for a few more years, until I was left completely unsupervised, with no chance of the fire department being called.

Adventure is something people crave from the time they are toddlers and everything around them is new and exciting, to adults who desire to experience something out of the ordinary. To this day, I love hiking in the woods and finding trees to climb, the higher the better. Nothing is more invigorating to me than standing at the top of a mountain peak or balancing on a tree stump leaning over a waterfall. Humans are naturally curious about the unknown or unseen world around them. As a seven-year-old I could not imagine what the world looked like from that little squirrel’s point of view at the top of the tree so I decided to see for myself. I believe curiosity of the unknown is what pushes people to discover their potential and live the best life possible. I know I will never stop climbing trees and I will never turn down an adventure because I will never stop being curious about the world around me.

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probablythevaria · 8 years ago

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It Happened So Suddenly (D96)

((This is unusual for this blog, but I was asked to share a work I did for someone a while back since they didn’t have many ways to get the work, so you guys can enjoy it too. I don’t notmally post my shipping works here, but it will always be rare. ♥ Anyway this is TYL Dino and Chrome since they based this off a post I made for them a while back!))

Distress marked the very beginning of her doorway. A trail left of clothes unwashed because she didn't quite know how, and dust drifting by from the weeks of the weakness.

The unfaltering, dismal, pains that made her swell on the ideas of escape. Though she had one escape as it was just waiting by the bed inside a bag tucked between the shelves of bland books she could never read. They were never meant for her anyhow.

Her binders lay wide open with the pages messily marked, and the papers scattered themselves over the bed by her legs hardly moving like her breathing chest just even with the devoid ceiling. Nothing but gross white and grey.

Nothing here but the barren taste of hollow charity she was given as everything swallowed her at once with demand. For her to be social, for her to be successful, for her to be the perfect daughter they always dreamed of with that amazing GPA and test scores they could all brag about.

Chrome Dokuro was thrust into immense anxiety before she could have ever objected to the massive pile-up of essays and homework glaring at her even when her head pressed hard into her pillows and covers. There were no options of running away presented to her, no chances to find little loopholes in her education everyone seemed more keen on than herself.

There were too many who cared about him. Too much noise before the final alarm by the bed where mussed, blond, hair turned over underneath the layers of heavy blankets tangling a muscular form in their grasp.

Groans filled with agony, the weak pull of sitting up when all he wanted to do was flop back down and forget college ever happened with a stroke to messy locks. Studying made him ache, made his head throb by morning worse than any hangover he'd crawled out of. And the swarm of his homework under the bed had toppled out of his satchel by then. The opened case spilled out all over the floor as his arm fell off the edge of the mattress just to feel around for the blaring sound of his clock truly forcing Dino Cavallone out of his warm bed.

"Dino, do you need a ride?" Was the first words he heard that morning. The shouting, the hushed panic of thundering steps of men just dying to be the best assistant they could be before 10 am.

He was hardly able to stand, but everyone else was already gathered by the door waiting to see his exhausted face again. To see the dark circles and that less than pretty boy glow he emitted before 12 in the noon time. Dino loved college, but what he loved more was a serious break in the monotony.

Chrome couldn't remember all the fairy tales she had read, but this wasn't exactly one of them. It was on the tip of her tongue the entire time; her mind harping to their story since day one when it was like she sat there dreaming. Shyness through her eyes away from his form in the study hall nervously because if he saw her staring then it was all over.

She never thought about him that way before until it was all coming down to chance.

The chance that he so happened to be in the same place almost all the time, the coincidence that he just so happened to be handsome, and the reasonably possible way that he always knew the right thing to say after stumbling over his own legs and plowing straight into the tiled floors so clumsily and without a care.

To be honest, she never saw anyone that way. Dino was just foolishly similar to the same pains she thought she could feel too. His eyes would droop before class. His only breakfast was whatever he could stuff in his mouth before he was hounded about making his way out of the brilliantly red car by the school's campus Chrome people watched daily.

His books were crammed with papers, and his hands teeming with restless trembling that came when one student breathed word of a quiz he was certain he would fail.

It was, frankly, something she had never before laid eyes on. The concept that someone so different could be so alike to her.

When he waited next to her, he liked to talk, his idle stance by the shaded wall so simple that she couldn't find meaning in why he'd be so close. The garden nearby flowing with stones and clear water, roses peaking out between tall posts that had strewn themselves over the lawn so vast that Dino could have waited anywhere else before his classes.

But he chose to see her instead.

"It doesn't seem like you got any sleep either," His voice made a point to chuckle slightly as he formed out a small yawn, his back leaning further to the stone wall as his guest looked up to him from her smaller shape on the green. "I can't afford another test failed though."

She wanted to offer him so much because her heart said she should. Coffee for his sleeplessness, notes for the tests he'd missed tossing and turning, an apology because she was just standing in his way of the blotchy shade while the sun started to creep along his back.

But her nerves refused to stop leaping out of her skin. It was like Chrome were stuck on one line- and saying sorry again and again seemed so silly while she fidgeted in a small blush faced away from his mocha eyes.

Loose curls fumbled over the face that was slowly sinking back into that sleepy gaze he tried to force away even when it was all just forged from rolling straight out of bed. She could sense his playful nature seeking to come out as he snickered when she glanced at him holding back a powerful yawn where he stretched out tall along the stones.

"I don't mean to bother you if I am,"

"No...not at all,"

Dino noted the immediate response as though he had gotten the reaction he had wished for. Her speech was relaxing, her tension fading with subtle steps toward bells in the distance like it tolled for them to follow upon a path leading away. Her skirt ruffled, legs moving slowly as he found it mildly difficult to realize how he stared for so long uselessly when his voice never called after her.

She was something different. A break in the loud voices and the early wake-up calls- the demanding and the coddling all escaping his mind as he fell hard to his soul for the thoughts preying on his brain thudding against his skull.

God, he was a mess, but he was melting over the slightest of things. Things like how he'd grown to feel as though the break he wanted were walking away from him in a shy duck toward her class without a word, but slender fingers offered merely a wave of closure that he jumped at.

Though there was no need for a kiss, he imagined her lips to be so soft. And there was no reason to believe they were meant to be, but Dino wondered restlessly if her hobbies were like his own- what they could share and discuss no matter where they were.

They could stay home, go for dinner- his eyes shut suddenly as he leaned into the breeze caressing his skin softly. And she was gone. Her body pale, but nowhere among the peachy earth simply devoid of further students, he took interest in as he hurried along, unable to forget the mere words she said.

Her heart was a tower, built up with walls. The walls unlike the books forming a barrier where they could speak alone among the hollow room where voices echoed. Her trembling lip like the fluttering pages turning as he leaned in, his chin touching the table as he laughed until the tint of red returned to her cheeks. If he felt so warmly, then so shall she. Her stomach turned to knots where the room seemed silent and listening. The eyes of all watching and yet obscured by the hard covers- her walls hiding how she toyed with the hem of her skirt where he could not see.

He liked what she did. His opinions light and so gentle like the way he spoke to her with a grin causing shivers along her back.

If he wasn't supposed to be so close then why did he lean that way- his eyes locked to hers energetically as his leg bounced as though he too could stumble and fall at any moment?

Wealthy, but rich in good looks. Poor in his combat, until he was frothing mad and determined the way she'd seen, but he was a gentle giant with his face beginning to blush as Chrome managed to form such a kind conversation. The friend he'd sought among the endless hours of monotonous work, but never found among strangers and students.

"I always wanted to learn more about you," He breathed so gently behind the books still covering their speech. "You're quiet, so I never heard anything about you."

"I-I'm just myself."

Words around her caught her eyes; the flashing phrases of textbooks and notes alike that surrounded her making her hallucinate things like "affection," "tenderness," -

"Then I like you,"

Her face was timid at the response- her body recoiling with a small gasp Dino replied to in an urgent raise of his hands and brows.

"N-Not like that yet- o-or anything!" He spoke as though he were falling apart at the thought of romance so soon. His brain scrambling for better words as Chrome started to leave, but only so he could not see how she blushed so madly. How her ears, neck, and shoulders spread with the dusky pink as she escaped and told him they would see each other again.

They did. They saw each other often, whether it be the looks they shared in the hallways when she had yet to face the truths- the truths that she blushed endlessly at his face. All the times they shared out on the greens just trying to keep up that same, energetic, pace he had with all the bumps and the bruises she treated with a shy smile.

The moments together she adored so much it gave her chest a tightness impossible to shake. Like the shake of her head, her hands, her body that learned the cold was no match for sharing in his jacket loaned to her and on the hook just waiting for him in her lonely apartment spiced with little touches now.

His notes spilled on her desk. The clutter that made home a little more home. His hair tie when hers was misplaced and nowhere to be found as shaggy locks fell loose and brought about that timid nature all over again.

It was every detail. Everything. It all meant the very world to her when Chrome Dokuro sat alone just gazing at her books that didn't bring about the same, little, grin she gave when he appeared over the pages looming like a shadow and in baggy tees, jeans- it all was as carefree as his self.

That's why she liked him.

But it wasn't a game of guessing reasons why, not a list of excuses to find the courage to just speak to him like he was more than the friend she always wanted- not another journal to express the feeling of happiness that pounded out of her chest and lips when he asked her to lunch a hundred times- but the notion that all these things built up into the one time it all mattered more than any moment they ever shared.

When his voice was draped in a veil of shyness. The loop of his hand over his mouth just to muffle the way he coughed nervously and shivered like he was facing a summer cold across the table.

He'd asked her to lunch a hundred times or more, but not with his hand crossing the border of wooden planks to skin. Smooth knuckles that jolted faintly when they were warmed by his hold- eyes flustered yet fixated on the dust of blossoming pink Dino didn't want to hide until her face was stirred up with shock.

"I-I-" Where were his big boy words now? The proud, dauntless, attractive- the point is, Dino Cavallone without a single thing to say as he watched Chrome Dokuro fidget in her seat and still master that wondrous smile.

While his courage could falter, her rose up. Maybe it was him. Maybe he gave her the reason to light up like that- glowing as his hand latched to hers tightly and didn't wish to let go when he finally managed the words he felt he should say.

"If you want to go somewhere after class today," Dino tried, trailing a bit as her head tilted, violet locks dripping along her neckline. Delicate fingers lacing slowly around his in the caress of a gentle breeze somewhat like her expression.

Light, breathless, the elegance of nature itself as she held back that timid gaze. "I would love to take you."

"That sounds...wonderful- b-but you don't need to do that!" Chrome insisted, her voice faltering as she suddenly reiterated again. "I would love to go."

"I-If you want to."

"I wanted to learn more about you," Dino wanted to say, but he didn't. But he learned so much about her. The way she smiled, her radiance, her tastes- how she cringed at spicy foods, but laughed when she was cherry red.

Her hand held everything she passed- grazing railing, lamp posts, stands, and his hand that sweat when it pressed between her knuckles softly. He learned that she adored sweets, but wasn't picky.

She couldn't blow a bubble with her gum, but it was cute to watch her try, and cuter to see her try and dance in the shaky movements he provided in the corner of the park to faded radio music straight out of his cell.

He was a clutz, she knew- stumbling over heart, words, and steps when clashing with her calmness. That innocent gaze shattering his tough guy act when they learned the moves together, slowly, getting better with the days and the minutes passing until it all came to the moment blurred in time.

Frozen. Clockwork paused just to have her forehead leaned to his in a bend so he could see those deep eyes through wispy bangs. Arm around her, embraced in his warmth with the jacket she adorned in both their scents. Fur-topped, tickling her nose as she buried it into him sweetly and watched him melt into the feeling.

If there had been a time, that was it. To repeat what circled in his head- harping at him, singing out like a siren's call as Dino muffled his voice into her hair.

"I wanted to learn more about you," He breathed nervously, heart thudding hard even against Chrome's fragile form. "And I love every single thing."

His lips moved to her cheek, hands feathering through the intricate touch of her bangs that fell right back into place when she gaped. Lost in the bliss of his warm lips touching to her skin and leaving that gentle peck.

The affectionate graze of his palms rubbing past her neck as he didn't want to let go. Dino Cavallone smiling so hard that she slammed herself back into his hold and wouldn't let go. Not until he walked her home. Not until he was at her door, and not until he said he would get to see her again.

Because he would always have so much more to learn.

#khr #Dino Cavallone #chrome dokuro #fan fiction #D96

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hoverbun · 8 years ago

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soulstolen

fandom: league of legends character(s): vladimir, elise, karthus, brief appearances of leblanc and katarina ship(s): vladimir/karthus synopsis: After the Harrowing, Vladimir feels haunted. word count: 5394

The mist clings to his lungs, infecting his too-human self with an otherworldly infestation. The ghost of claws rest heavy on his throat. The haunting has stayed, deep within his bones.

The Black Mist is not a single collective hivemind of thought and instinct - it is a mass of shifting souls, rolling from the split seams of the veil shrouding the Blackened Sea and the islands that exist beyond. It knows where its cold hands have not been, roaming the land with a coveting, searching urge in its cold grasp, tainting the untainted with a mystic corruption.

To many mainlanders of Valoran, the Black Mist is a Bilgewater sea legend, cursing the sailors who foolishly trust the ocean and the mysteries it keeps. It does not often crawl over the Empire of Noxus, chokehold presence curling its iron fist over its people. It had been a long time since the Harrowing came to Noxus - to live it is to feel the wind drop cold and to see the coastline grow eerily steady against old docks, still water lapping against pilings.

The sky goes dark, first. Then, the wind picks up.

The capital was split, like a skull over marble’s edge. The poor districts beyond the city walls were gutted, slain corpses left on scratched wood - unwanted by the isles’ savage culling, their souls harvested whilst their bodies were left to rot. Bodies are not needed - corpses mangled and torn by spectral weapons left in streets and homes. Noxus is built upon mountains that never were, and the walls that divide the city from its poorer districts kept the legions at bay.

The skies remember how the mist stained the city black. The following days feel raw and abraded, like the waking period after deeply dreaming. To see Noxus, in all its talk of glory in death and pride found in bloodshed, take pause after a massacre of its own people - it briefly, fleetingly, amuses Vladimir.

He was among the living left standing. The taste of death lingered in his mouth. His veins felt empty, a haunting air drying him of blood, essence, and life. Haunted.

His body felt hollow, like his skin had been cut and nothing bled from within, coursing down his arms and limbs in thick rivers of red. His blood grew thin and chilled his bones - the absence of warmth had never bothered him until the mist had loosened its hold over him and dragged itself away, across the continent and back to the blackened islands it came from.

( He does not dream often when sleep manages to find him, when the night is no longer restless and his thoughts recede for one evening. But now he dreams of long bones for fingers, skeletal palms over his wrists and throat, roaming his body and holding him. Searching for where his life beats within him the loudest. Searching for where it may draw him out. It’s never cruel, and it’s never violent - roaming and searching, a careful touch, a slow caress. )

Documentations regarding the Harrowing and the lands from whence it came are rare to find - there are old texts, though often they are untranslated, as well as belonging to nobility he has chosen to separate himself from, - those nobles of Noxus keep them for novelty reasons, something to brag about, something to fill their libraries and vaults with ( he doesn’t like the people emilie introduces him to. they pry, more than nobility with their own secrets to hide should. but they can't ask about the blood under his nails if they can't see it. ).

There’s a song sung in the back of his mind, something like a melody he wants to memorize, hymnals that have the right kind of wrong threat woven into their fogshrouded promise. It caught him and curled itself into the back of his thoughts, heard in the rumbling horde of the Harrowing.

“Do you hear singing, Emilie?”

Emilie LeBlanc offered him a glance, curiosity cut clear over her sharp features, until her interest waned. She always responded to her true name when it came from him - the matron’s title she had bestowed upon her however many years ago need not to be spoken. “The Kindred cult are in the streets. Do you mean them?”

While there is singing among the followers of Kindred - who walk winding streets as dusk settles over Noxus and sing for those lost, cleansing the streets of the lingering haunt of the Harrowing - the song he hears is more chilling, more slicing . Gouges in the skin that don’t bleed the way they must.

“No. Something else. It’s far away.”

“Then I don't know. You're imagining things, Vlad.”

Of course she wouldn't understand.

( my song is not for her. it is ours. )

The Kindred choir songs are meant to finalize death, close the eyes of the lost and carry their spirits away. Vladimir wonders why they do not revel in the captivating mysticism of the un dead, life beyond life.

He never expected to witness a Harrowing. Either he'd hear of its effects on a neighbouring state - from outlying city states and factions not yet assimilated by the heavy boot of Noxus, to their neighboured kingdom Demacia ( flawed and unpolished as it is, of course it is susceptible to the ravaging spirits from the west ) - or have it kill him before he can breathe its rotten air, tearing his soul from his body like a dissection, swallowing him whole and taking millennia of hemo magic knowledge with it. It was abrupt and sudden, as death often comes.

Vladimir feels a great weight in his bones, exhaustion that feels heavier than the insomnia he is well acquainted with.

“Maybe you're traumatized,” the General’s daughter offers, clicking her tongue like the scrape of her heel on stone, a blade tucked alongside her wrist, cutting the skin, bloodletting the insult. “Scared because you could’ve died.”

“Probably.” He's very curt with the people he's meant to charm. Emilie has told him he blunders through conversations quite often for a man who carries himself the way he does.

“That isn't very Noxian of you, is it?”

He slouches against the stone, looking over the aggregating buildings of Noxus, the fortress’ walls serving as an imposing divider between the recovering city and the untouched beacon of Noxian integrity. A chill ran through the Immortal Bastion, passing through them both like they were stripped of their flesh with exposed flayed bone - curling wisps of wind dancing against exposed marrow.

When it waned, it felt like the fleeting touch of a lover.

He has a single book open, split at the spine over a desk. There is so little to learn. Most accounts of harrowed lands and roaming spectres are tall tales from the shores of Bilgewater, passed along countless tongues and across waters like stones on a lake - finding their home on an empty sheet of paper. Vladimir questions how many sea tales have their merit anymore, if they ever did at all.

( He finds a story of a warlord, a once feared tyrant of a land before Noxus, but he doesn't consider it useful. )

Sleep won't take him. He thinks he's going to die.

It is -

( beautiful. consuming. intoxicating. to feel the caress of death for the first time - )

comforting.

He does not seek council with the High Priestess often.

Elise circles the parlour, her personal finery untouched from the invasion. The walls are tall, silkscreen drapes over wide windows shrouding the ugly Noxian sun. She had acknowledged his entry with a full smile and outstretched arms - when he sat himself without a word, she continued her movements, rigid and held together. She’s anxious as well, but he won’t acknowledge it, for her sake. It’s unbecoming of her.

“All of Valoran is susceptible to the Harrowing,” she states to him in a passing breath (because of course he’s come to discuss it with her, he knows where her pilgrims follow her to, kept in close council with every person who can speak the names of the Black Rose without feeling dread peak in their stomach, breathing in the sinister purpose of the order like they could the once familiar air of Noxus) when her gaze is swept outside an open window, the low breeze harbouring a cold memory casting itself inside. “But I never expected it to come to Noxus.”

“Not while you are in its service?” Vladimir suggests, head lowered, dark eyes on the steel that plates his fingers. Pretending to play Noxus’ courtly games is so tiring. He is so tired. He wants to sleep.

“Its influence has reached Noxus already.” Vladimir does not look at her, but he knows her gaze is on him. “It is not widespread . But it has taken root. Has something angered them? Drawn the attention of the Isles?”

The wind that rolls through the salon grazes his skin with a draining touch, the lingering dread of a stretched horizon etching itself into Vladimir’s bones. Death lingers in the air, from the rising filth in the almshouses turned crematoriums for the countless dead in the capital, to the presence of spirits hanging in the very parlour Noxus’ elite meet in. The memorabilia and religious fixtures Elise had carved from Vilemani skulls seem to rattle and hum with an elegy of the Shadow Isles, carried upon the wind.

He can hear her steps on the marble. She stands to his left, arms curved and crossed over her chest. It is now that Vladimir offers his cold eyes, hollow and bone white with dark rings under swollen lids. His tone is steady and his body stiff. Peaceful sleep has not reached him in years, and he will not show wear of such effect now.

“Maybe they’re questioning you,” Vladimir suggests, tersely. Elise’s stare is cold, and so is his. She speaks slowly, deliberately.

“If She was to question my capability, I can assure you that I would not be standing here.” Elise’s tone carries the haunting echo of a woman who knows what she risks. The price she has put on her life is tremendously high. He respects very few people. A person who knows her death is so easy to reach yet stares it in its eight eyes is one of them.

Between them is a glass table, low to the ground and framed in brass. Elise sits herself across from him, long legs crossed over another, and watches him carefully. Her eyes feel heavy over him, a weighted gaze that looks to split him apart and find his purpose. Skin from bone. He knows that trick too well.

“Has it taken its toll on you?” She asks, watching him through her lashes.

Vladimir looks at the skull behind her. “There's a song.”

“Have you been sleeping recently, Vladimir?” Emilie asks. For a moment, he wants to tell her he doesn’t sleep - apparitions of the Shadow Isles haven’t change this.

He keeps his eyes down, on the silver curled around the tips of his fingers. Emilie clicks her tongue, and leans farther back in her seat, one leg over another. She knows him, and he knows her - as well as she’d ever allow someone to know her, anyway - and because of this, she lets the edge settle back into her voice, and her curt tongue is sharper. “You’ll terrify everyone if you let yourself walk around like that. You look dead.”

Vladimir still doesn’t respond. Emilie drops her hands into her lap. “Vladimir.”

“Yes?”

“Pay attention to what I’m saying.”

“I can hear you fine,” he says, lifting his head and staring at her. His eyes feel heavy and his gaze isn’t steady but this isn’t new , he’s never slept well and he spends many of his nights restless and awake - the exhaustion that has taken over him that is worse than any insomniac episode is what pulls on him, drags his body to the earth and tries to bury him beneath it.

“I want to see it.”

“See what?”

“The Isles.”

She doesn't show the way her thoughts pause and her curiosity piques, or the way her heart beats twice and the light in her eyes is interest over concern. The game Noxian nobility plays is an interesting one - all who participate know that no word spoken is genuine, yet speak to one another with the same heartfelt concern as any other.

“ Why? What purpose do you have there?” There is no back support of the seat she's taken. Elise leans herself back anyway, away from Vladimir, away to watch him.

Vladimir responds by leaning forward, hands curling to loose fists and resting his chin on his flat fingers. He thinks of the empty wind through his windows. He thinks of the way death washed itself over him. He thinks of a song that he has never heard before but can't get out of his head.

“It's calling to me.” He wonders what the shoreline will look like. “When you went, did you have any reason beyond an insatiable curiosity?”

Her silence is consuming, turning over the request in her head like she'd turn a stone in her palm. Nothing subtle, nothing hidden in code or court talk, nothing she can't understand. He lies about many things - who he is, where he came from, who he's killed - but his intentions are always clear, like the hour after a morning fog. “I only deliver disciples of Vilemaw to Her lair. Are you asking to be converted, or are you asking me to deliver you to your burial?”

He smiles. She thinks he wants her God. “I only ask you guide me.”

If she knows he's lying, she's better at hiding it than he is. “I will organize a pilgrimage.”

The air shifts when he breathes in for the first time. The ocean salt fades - familiar and tepid, like the roll of water - and Vladimir can taste death in the air.

The stale rot in the sickly warm air roots itself among the coven of hooded acolytes, rolling dread cast over the shoreline the same way the fog does. Elise carries herself with a determined clarity, too comfortable in the way the wind rolls over her shoulders and the howling silence consumes the island. She is in long dark robes, ceremonial in purpose - dark regalia laced and lined with spider silk hemwork, etching where the cuffs drape down her forearms and curl in the crook of her arms.

He wears a hood to match the mass of acolytes at her heels. The unsteady caution of the isles roll up behind him - skeletal hands that curl like the wisps of fog around his ankles seem to hang over him. He’s urged along.

He’s welcomed inside. He’s awaited.

Vladimir looks to Elise, who smiles to herself as means of routine - the island knows her, and it allows her to walk easy through the mist, bowing to her presence by dissipating. He wonders how it will speak to him. He, too, is willing , as she was, however long ago.

His heels sink into the dirt, damp from a receding tide. Elise turns her head, glancing down at Vladimir, and waits to see his apprehension. She finds none. He knows she’s watching.

“The temple is a means away,” she states, spoken to those who draw their attention to the macabre surroundings of the isles, and also unto Vladimir - he knows what lies within the temple she details. He offers her a look, one that turns her lies over in its hand, considering. She smiles at him, threateningly. Do not jeopardize this. You are not my priority .

Death rolls around them as they embark within the beaten paths of the island, paths framed by flora that hangs between consuming life and peaceful death. The sky is dark, a low moon shrouded by clouds that seem to curl, domed over the mass and its priestess - closing in, winding them tight, crushed between the star-barren sky and the cold, lifeless earth. Flowers that bloom with dried petals hang at their feet. The taste of rot reaches their throats. Vladimir breathes in, and Elise knows that reaction too well.

He steps on something that cracks. Fallen oak branch, or forgotten bone - it’s a sound that resonates an eerie serenity within him. He considers, for a passing moment, he should not find peace.

The song keeps singing to him. It’s louder here.

But it does not come from a spider’s web.

It is then, that Vladimir also considers he is not here to submit himself to the altar of Elise’s sacrifices. It is not in him to stop her, use the knowledge earnt through secondhand gossip passed among the elite of the Black Rose to halt her pilgrimage and spare the lives of her congregation. Even if he cared, found it in him to consider the lives of humans deserving of whatever self-sacrificing mercy he could possibly find within him, they’d die at the hands of the island anyway.

It’s buried into his skull. Death that sounds like a melody. Luring and lulling and pulling him along. Like hands at his sleeves, only nobody is there, clawing at his wrist and taking him where he never feared ( he’s never feared death. it has intrigued him, kept him wondering, but never wanting, never longing. its new hold on him is exhilarating. ).

She knows he steps away when the footsteps over familiar dry earth lose their even rhythm, a pause in the congregation behind her. Elise turns herself around and searches for the dissent, and grits fanged canines when her most interesting catch is gone . One of the women she had brought steps to her left side, passing a glance upward.

“Should we search for him, Your Reverence?” it comes low, and pulls her from her consuming thoughts of budding rage . Elise’s eyes find the ones of her attentive disciple, looking through the fear she tries to bury beneath her skin. The island is cold, and the fog passes through her bones, no matter how she swallows down the anxiety swelling inside her.

Her gaze is sharp. “No.” Elise steps further into the shadows. “The island will claim him soon enough. If it doesn’t, I will find him myself.”

He is filled with the exhilarating feeling of getting away with something he shouldn’t be doing. Every step into the eternal darkness that hangs over the isles, foot over blackened earth, fills him with invigorated excitement. Vladimir does not know where he is running. He hears the sighs of spirits, echoing through the trees and calling for names he cannot recognize, long forgotten by the waning memory of time.

Some sound like his name, but he reasons it's the delirium reaching him, mesmerized by the holy ground he has found, anticipating it awaits his arrival.

He’s breathing deeply, sharply inhaling and exhaling heavily, looking across a horizon that closes in to find the meaning of why he chose to come. Vladimir realizes he hasn’t a single idea what he is meant to do with the death he breathes in, lightheaded on the rot clinging to his lungs and throat. His arms are stiff at his side.

There’s a fog over the islands, not unlike that which had ravaged Noxus, hanging heavy and shrouding the horizon and the lands long beyond it - the water that rolls against the shorelines pull mist from over the ocean, pulling it around him, trapping him with cold air flooding his lungs. There is a wind, and it blows low, close to the ground, passing through the fabric of his clothes. Shapes move within the fog, and the spirits take notice of him.

He’s never been much of a person , but unfortunately, he is alive. Life brought to the Shadow Isles calls upon the attention of the dead.

With a low roll of wind, he comes - a wraith that follows the curling mist, long limbs that hang without use above the rotting earth, eyes alight with the cold glow of a haunted harbour - Vladimir sees no iris nor pupil, nothing within the armoured priest but icy decay. He is unsure if something wills him to stay, or if fear (once thought dead, only dormant) has rooted itself inside his bones. The spirit narrows its glowing eyes, and approaches Vladimir.

Clutched in one hand is a staff. Ceremonial in its own purposes. It resembles nothing of what the spider priestess shares with her coven. He considers running, but the wraith’s free hand is at his throat.

The skeletal hand gripping the frame of his jaw feels like a cold knife, lingering presence of hanging, long dead flesh over the curves of each finger with sharp clawed talons for nails. The wraith has no need to breathe yet exhales vulgar death over Vladimir, eyes void of human spark and lifelingering meaning, leaning in to stare into the white irises of his painfully ( unwillingly ) human shell. He's being watched with an interest that terrifies him. Vladimir feels pulled apart, picked through by death itself, life drawn out of him.

It's instinctive to bring a hand up to the hand clutching him. His own wraps around a thin wrist, and only feels the curve of bone beneath it, wrapped in tattered red cloth. He doesn't push. The spirit pushes his nails into Vladimir’s flesh regardless.

His voice is cold water underneath winter’s ice, lingering on vowels and dragging them through the space between his rotten teeth. It sounds like a voice that didn't die with the rest of its host. “Why are you here?”

The grip doesn’t, can’t tighten. Vladimir knows this. But the tension in the bone feels as if his hand longs to. “I fled a coven, dedicated to one of the spirits on these islands-”

In all of his life, Vladimir is thankful his voice can remain clear when he is lying. He can’t look away from the miraculous sea-green of the priest’s eyes. He fears if he does, he may perish.

“I was drawn here.” The words feel strange around his tongue. He never believed in the common faiths of Noxus - he never found comfort in their words. He doesn’t consider himself faithful now. Following the desires of death doesn’t accredit to any newfound piety, he believes. “Surviving your Harrowing inspired me.”

Death’s grip recedes from him. His talons pull away, leaving pressed lines where they gripped Vladimir’s skin, a cold touch that is not replaced with warmth, but he still misses it. The haunting within Vladimir keeps him still, rooted in the grasp of perfect death. The sea-green is captivating.

There's a slow blink that covers those eyes boring into the bones of Vladimir’s face. The wind howls, and the spirits that hang off him sigh. His feet won't touch the ground, and he continues to stare at Vladimir, whose legs feel rooted and dug into the ground, held down by decaying life. He seems to be considering something.

“It has been a long time since the living have come to meet the dead.” ( He speaks, recalling a memory. ) “For most, your presence is unexpected. Yet…”

He seems to lean leftward, against the sceptre he now holds in both hands. “The presence of a hemomancer - is that what you attempted to do moments before?”

Vladimir nodded. His voice was like a song through a glass hallway - loud and echoing and hollow, a voice of a thousand different lives culled and wound into one. It was captivating. And a little beautiful.

Those eyes, filled with an unholy light, seemed to brighten with anticipation. “So it is you. It was I who left the spirits to sing you my song when I departed your land.”

“Who are you?” a deathsinger was in the old writings he found, but the already little information had even less on this one-

“I am Karthus,” he said, with a smile less sinister, more sharp , with an unknown threat that has Vladimir captivated. “and I have been awaiting you, hemomancer.”

His heartbeat lulls, stilling in his chest - his blood turns to ice when Karthus’ voice rolls through him, a choir wound together in one haunting breath. The voice is familiar in the way the night sky is - ever present, hung over his head with reminders and omens stretched across, holding him hostage in a place he never thought to be. It sounds like a threat, something to scare him - and he's never trusted anyone, and he still doesn't, but maybe there is a way to sate the song in his head.

“Have you,” he tries, flippant, trying to keep as wary of a gaze he can.

“The power present in your nation’s capital could only belong to one person,” Karthus responds, smile as simple as if this is how it was meant to end. “I longed to meet them.”

“You could sense me.”

“Certainly, this capability of mine is not surprising . I knew of men with powers alike to yours in years past - to show an interest in hemomancy’s remaining sole practitioner is a rational desire.”

He is less hackled, posture once more impeccable and hand raised to his own face. He is familiar, but not in manners that Vladimir could name him at any other time - it is the way he is clothed, the insignia across his pauldrons and affixed on his hat. This isn't much different from the robes worn by priests of the Kindred - he recognizes them from Noxus.

“You came once you heard my song,” Karthus speaks again, with a knowing note to his choir of voices, a smile he would not believe residence of these isles to posses. “You are with the coven that passes this island.”

“You know about them,” Vladimir says, and thinks on the fury that must burn through Elise. She can kill another noble, if that's what she wants. He doesn't care, but won't give her the satisfaction either way.

“Their purpose is not a secret here.”

“Their priestess might come looking for me once she's killed them all.” She can try to kill him. “She wouldn't be currying favour with anyone here if she kills your guest.”

Karthus’ laughter is soft, wisps of souls once were curling around air that never was. It has a melody to it Vladimir wants to follow.

“Perhaps I may prevent her from harming you with my purpose of calling you here.”

Vladimir looks at him, directly. The wasting skin, the bones of his face rounded - he has never thought to stare at a lich. “And what is that?”

Karthus touches his throat.

Her mind drifts and her thoughts are distant when she pulls herself from the ritual, venom of the Vilemaw rolling down her curled fingers and over her cupped palm. The hall of the temple is silent once more, with no bones being cracked or silk being pulled, and no whispers of her disciples and final sobs of life. She stands as the final woman above corpses, the offered vials presented to her by the beautiful immortal Goddess she covets life for lined up on an altar bed. Elise does not enjoy this offering.

The vials are placed in a rucksack her last standing apprentice once held. Leather bound and older than the girl who carried it - Elise remembers countless girls before her, and there will be more girls that can replace her. All she can hear is her own breathing. She took no pleasure in this ritual, for a presence remained on the island that she could not account for.

She does not speak to the wraiths, spirits and spectres here. She has no need to. She is certain they are aware of her, and she is certain her favour with the arachnid god buried deep within the islands is what protects her from whatever wrath or curiosity would lead them to her. She never stays for longer than she must. She never searches, never travels farther than the temple she needs to be at.

Her gown is still perfect, silken robes rolling in the cold and gentle breeze that greets her when she steps from the temple’s once sealed doors. Those bodies will keep Her sated for many months to come - wrapped in the webs She has weaved, cocooned in silk. Elise keeps her gaze ahead, steady, narrowed. The wayward spirits that linger in the air like lost whispers croon around her, speaking to themselves in sighs. She is always fulfilled when she leaves, feeling the imperfections of her skin wane and her vision become sharper. She feels alive among the dead.

Vladimir is still at the forefront of her thoughts. She admits this is the most thought she’s ever given about his wellbeing, and saying it like that is far too generous. She knows he has chosen to bury himself within the isles - he wouldn’t be stupid enough to try to escape on the boat they arrived on without her.

Petty, yes.

But not stupid.

He knows he can’t get anywhere.

She can hear the rolling waves against an old dock distantly, water no longer following in a lazy river - and in between the whispering spirits and the dark, murky waters, she can hear something else.

“If you’re going to kill me, you should be quick about it,” she calls into the aether, her long legs coming to a halt. “I do not have time for your dramatics , Vladimir. I am awaited back home.”

The silence remains. She pauses, and then continues walking, head high and without visible care for his antics.

“Are you angry that I tried to kill you?” she asks to nothing, knowing he’s there. “I would apologise, but you should have seen it coming, my dear. At least we have reunited. Walk with me, we will return-”

She stops when he appears. Immediately, it seems to be that he appears from nowhere, but her eyes are sharp once more, and caught the mist sweeping upward from the earth below them, like the trail of fog around her was Vladimir following her. Elise stares and shock strikes her, looking between his lurid and sickly skin and the desecration of the hooded garment she had given him for their pilgrimage. His hands are not particularly human, and the shock turns to fury.

“Where did you go -”

“I didn’t come here for you, don’t give yourself so much credit.” It’s still him, with that agonizingly dry voice and the nasally drawl to every vowel, she knows it - even with the airy tone that echoes his taunt. “You were my method of travel.”

“Who did this to you?” it’s an appalled command more than it is concern, with Elise gritting her fanged teeth in slow boiling rage. “I know who resides here, Vladimir, and I know what they are capable of, as well as how they take lives-”

“He didn’t say.” He’s lying. He’s infuriating. “He offered I join his choir. I enjoyed the idea of necromancy. This is more than what Emilie was trying to encourage in my meditations.”

An eerie realization dawns upon Elise’s face, and the way her eyes widen tells Vladimir just that. She does not darken, only stiffens her resolve. She frowns, and walks towards him, past him.

“Am I to leave you here, or are you going to figure out how you are going to explain this to Emilia’s council as we return?”

He’s quiet. At first, she believes he did not follow, and remained where they stood before. Then she wonders if it was an apparition, the isles toying with her mind as she leaves, prying into her personal concerns and pulling her suspicions forward. But then he speaks, and it sounds as if he is right behind her. Elise doesn’t turn around.

“I’m staying.”

“I will not tell anyone about this. Mostly because I don’t wish to explain where I went.” It was stupid to bring him here. “That Lich is terrible company, I hope you know.”

She turns her head. He stares at her, empty white eyes over wan flesh, the beginning of decay around his eyes where shadows and bruises were but hours ago. His jaw appears set, gritting his teeth that he’s lost his edge over her. Her own smile is insidious.

“I know everything about this place. You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

The wind catches her gown. He hears the distant lap of the ocean.

#league of legends #vladimir #elise #karthus #vladimir/karthus

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siodymph · 8 years ago

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Symmrat Week Day 4

And here's day four! We're officially half-way through Symmrat week!

This is my take on their role reversal. And personally, even if their background stories are switched I still like to think they both still keep their talents with explosions and hard-light. But instead of making his stuff from scratch Junkrat had a life-time of experience and tony stark-level attention over his weapons. And then Satya is the one who makes her turrets from scrap and is completely obsessed with reverse engineering hard-light.

You can check it out under the cut or over on my AO3 Enjoy!

When he’d first joined Overwatch, Jamison wasn’t sure what to expect. He’d never really had friends, going straight from school to a fully-fledged career all through Hyde Global he’d been one of their finest chemical engineers and weapons expert. But he’d always been called a shut-in and knew embarrassingly well that most the other engineers he worked with never thought highly enough of him. Not even in their days together at the academy. The one time he’d tried approaching them on the matter they said he always made things awkward, that he was always so loud and unfiltered, also annoying, never shutting up. He never bothered trying to talk to them after that. It still made him a bit bitter. He knew he was different, but that had just made him all the more important to Hyde. He could do things, make things no one else could. His controlled light explosions had been a breakthrough in the industrial world. At least, that’s what Hyde’s suits had always said to him when he was first starting out. He’d done so much for Hyde Global, he’d given an arm and a leg for that company. Literally.

So when Overwatch came back from the dead and HG wanted a representative on the team, he was very skeptical. Why would Overwatch want Hyde Global’s weapons expert when no one in that company seemed to care much about beyond his bombs and weapon designs?

He could have never predicted just how quickly the Overwatch team would worm its way into his life. That for one he’d be a member of a team, that the people he worked with would honestly have his back, and that he’d actually enjoy working in a group instead of on his own like usual. That after a year on the team he’d be best mates with people like the gaming legend Lucio, or pop-sensation Hana Song, that one was especially surprising seeing how she’d become famous for her blatant opposition to Hyde’s presence in Busan, South Korea. And yet now they were some of his best friends.

And he would have never, ever expected Satya.

A new recruit, just like he was. That however was where any initial similarities between them had come to an abrupt halt. When she arrived at the Overwatch headquarters, she was wearing tattered clothes, hair unruly and ragged, and a thick layer of dirt clung to her skin. He’d learned a bit later that she was from the wastelands of India, and allegedly she knew deep secrets about Vishkar tech, a company that had just begun developing something called “hard-light” when the Indian Omnium blew up and along with over a third of the nation and the rest of Asia, destroyed Vishkar before it could truly lift off the ground. Satya was one of many abandoned people left to fend for themselves. She was silent as death and never took her eyes off any of them, as if expecting them all to turn on her at a moment’s notice.

And for a while that’s how things were in their team. But slowly, slower than anyone could have truly seen, things began to change. Satya began to open up to the rest of the group, put more trust in them. And Jamison was too, much to his surprise. What had started as a temporary gig for him had turned into one of the happiest times in his life. People who started out as just heroes and strangers he would work with had turned into friends and family he couldn’t imagine leaving. And Satya. Satya had turned into so much for Jamie, he could have never prepared himself for how much Satya would mean to him.

How much he would fall in love with her.

Her eyes, there was just such an energy hidden in them. A fire she held as she turned metal scraps and rubbish into beautiful weapons in the labs. The fire that seemed to explode out of her whenever they went on missions, going from silent and calculating to striking down their enemies, the ones who’d been foolish enough to underestimate her traps and her power. In quieter moments, far away from battles and payloads, that fire would crackled softly with such a warmth whenever she laughed at his jokes, whenever she got lost in thought, whenever she smiled. She was brilliant, she was amazing and it scared Jamison to think that he’d fallen so hard for someone in such a short time.

Then one night Satya pulled him aside in the workshop. Said she wanted to tell him something important, but she couldn’t tell him in the Overwatch base. That there were too many cameras hidden everywhere and they needed to get somewhere unwired.

Jamison had foolishly agreed and now seemingly for hours the two of them drove out of Gibraltar. The city became a small blip far behind them as they drove further and further inland away from the sea. Until finally they reached a safe house hidden far into the woods.

“Mei and I set this place up during our heists.” Satya explained as she got out of the driver’s seat.

It certainly looked like the type of building quickly rebuilt while on the run. Once it might have been an old cottage but now high-security devices outlined every window and the door. As they stepped in Satya directed Jamie how to step over all the traps that lay hidden all around the front entrance. Until finally they were both sitting on the floor of the living room as the only furniture was a musty matress in one corner of the room.

After rechecking the entire safe house one last time, she sat down next to Jamison. “Nothing leaves this room.” She said steely.

“Of course.” Jamison said, unsure exactly what he had been dragged into.

“You swear?”

“I swear, Satya.” He wasn’t sure what Satya was about to reveal, but not matter what it was Jamison rationalized that nearly nothing her secret could be would make him leave this room.

“Ok...” Satya took a deep breath, looking quickly to the door before locking eyes again with Jamison. “You wondered how I know so much about Vishkar’s hard-light? Well… this is my secret.”

She then began taking apart her mechanical arm.

But instead of removing it from its detachable joint on what was left of her upper arm, she began ripping off bits and parts. The arm she’d held so much pride in, she always bragged about how she made her arm completely on her own from metal scraps and wiring she could find in the Indian ruins. It had been her pride and joy. She’d refused everyone’s help, even Jamison’s, when they offered to upgrade her arm. And now she was tearing it apart like it was nothing to her.

Jamison was about to protest when he saw a flash of white emerge as the she slowly took apart the arm. It couldn’t be… It was impossible…

But slowly Satya took off all the scraped pieces, Jamison realized that the arm had just been a shell. Made only to hide a beautiful, pristine, sleek arm. And when the palm began glowing with a brilliant blue light Jamison couldn’t deny it any further.

It was a Viskar prosthetic gauntlet. Possibly one of the last in existence.

Jamison felt speechless, Vishkar was a tall tale, an Arthurian legend. So many people he knew at Hyde had said “hard-light” couldn’t even theoretically exist. And yet here it was. Beams of light were being bent into prisms effortlessly in Satya’s control. “H-How?”

“One time when I was younger and foolish I attempted to scavenge the Vishkar ruins. It cost me my left arm but in turn I discovered something much more valuble…”

“Oh my god Satya… It’s amazing.”

She smiled and brought the gauntlet closer. “Try it, pinch the light to make a shape…”

Jamison was tentative to touch the light. He felt like he was about to touch the holy grail of engineering. He watched as his hand was illuminated by the light and he attempted to pinch the light as Satya had instructed. It took him a few times to try gripping the light but the fourth time he tried something seemed to suddenly connect and the hard-light followed his hand, fanning out in into triangles. He grinned up at Satya who smiled back.

“If anything happens to me. I want you to have my arm.”

Jamison looked up at her surprised. The way she said it, she sounded so certain.

She continued before he could say anything. “It’d be a pity if it ended up left in a museum, collecting dust and going unused. Something like this deserves to be used. To its complete potential. That’s why I want you to have it, Jamison.”

“Satya, you don’t have to

“Ok… but just in case.” Satya pressed moving closer, closing her gantlet around Jamison’s hand. “Please, promise me you’ll keep it safe?”

“I swear I’ll never let anything happen to your arm, darl.” He murmured, kissing Satya’s beautiful hand. And he raised his head to look Satya directly in the eyes. “But I’ll be a dead man before I let anything happen to you either.”

Satya frowned at that, looking away from him and down at her arm. “Thank you Jamison, but I’m not as important.”

“You are to me. And much more precious too.” Jamison said gently taking hold of her chin and looking back into her eyes. Ad before he could think against it he leaned in and pressed his lips warmly against hers.

That night he learned an invaluable secret, one that could destroy corporations, entire nations if wielded wrongly. But most importantly to Jamison, he realized just how much Satya loved and trusted him. And in that night he finally placed his whole heart and trust in her too.

#symmrat week 2017 #symmrat #junkmetra #symmrat week #day 4

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thesinglesjukebox · 8 years ago

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HAIKU HANDS - NOT ABOUT YOU [7.12] Let's get bratty...

Will Adams: What it is about: the thwacking intro from Onuka's latest stormer, brattiness distilled from decades of the stuff, from Gillette to Icona Pop, the brashness of M.I.A.'s underrated Maya and, lest you get too serious about it all, the enduring credo of "CHIIIIIIIILL." [9]

Claire Biddles: Bratty shout-a-longs are best when their attitude is met with charm, and "Not About You" has heaps of attitude and heaps of charm: in its wild rhymes ("I'm going to tear up the lexicon with a hexagon and my sexy thong on"!!) and their delivery; heavily accented and with just the right amount of comic timing. This sits between "Mind Your Own Business" by Chicks On Speed and "Trouble" by Shampoo on my getting-ready-to-go-out playlist and it has already served as the precursor of innumerable nights of dancing and shouting and drinking cheap white wine, which I think Haiku Hands would deem appropriate. [9]

Tim de Reuse: Sounds like a bunch of friends having a blast, and it's infectious; the occasional sections where it sounds like they're just throwing stuff at the wall to see what sticks ("I'm gonna kick your arse...") are far outweighed by lines like "You look like a tortoise / Your issues are enormous," which is possibly the most fucking incredible rhyme I've heard in my entire life. [7]

Alfred Soto: Imagine Tom Tom Club or the Raincoats over the crummiest drum program they could find. "You look like a tortoise/Your issues are enormous" is funny because it's true and funny because it's funny. "Not About You" should be twelve minutes long. [7]

Iain Mew: I haven't heard something new like this since the UK industry decided to pretend The Ting Tings never happened. I'd welcome the return even if Haiku Hands didn't bring even more scrappy energy and such great brags and threats to kick arse. [7]

Katie Gill: I mean it's cute? But cute can only go so far, especially when the song just seems too juvenile. The way of singing (cheering?) is a schoolyard chant that occasionally matches the schoolyard chant lyrics. The beat just sounds basic and dull, like someone just discovered this fun setting on the keyboard to use. I'm certain that if you're drunk and screaming along with it then this is the best song in the world, and I can see why this would have appeal. But then again, I thought the Ting Tings were just okay when they first came on the scene as well. [5]

Nortey Dowuona: Bouncy, echoey drums, rubbery and light of foot bass bounce together with scatterings of synths and bubbles and noises as Haiku Hands hi-five, dap and secret handshake across the beat. [6]

Brad Shoup: I thought they were laying the shut ups too softly, but the track's less shit-talk than trash talk. It's nearly as posi as prime youth crew, but the punks couldn't rhyme. [6]

Jonathan Bradley: Haiku Hands give 2017 its own update of Confidence Man, but while the electro thunk remains rudimentary, the sass is more fun this time around. You can go a long way with a Fight Like Apes-level couplet like "you look like a tortoise/your issues are enormous." [6]

Ian Mathers: Some of the lines are a bit whiffed, but that infectious chorus chanting (complete with plenty of slight shifts in meter) redeems a multitude of sins. Which is why the middle here, where they go too long without it, drags a little. It's no "I Love It," but what is? [6]

Maxwell Cavaseno: It's a sign of the times really. The 00s version of white-girl electro-rap was all about the ironic detached nihilism pose of Uffie where everything was like, the coolest post-Kittin bomb-out of sick parties that sounded both more glamorous and more sordid than the hollow reality of what actually happened. Now, in the 2010s, we get a hollow sort of ideological boasting, solidarity as pep rally which is meant more as some kind of shield rattle than any offer of strength or genuine unity. You can hear in its industrial pulse, the grinding and pressing of many a "Queen of ___" meme ready to be imposed and impressed on any subject regardless of worth or merit, just to say they can. Frankly, one would just hope the music might do something a little different between then and now as well. [2]

William John: I suspect my submission of a blurb for this song contravenes its titular tenet. But I thought it worth mentioning that an aesthetic of "zippy shout-a-long to something that scans like a sped up instrumental of M.I.A. and Afrikan Boy's 'Hussel'" is one I wholeheartedly support. [8]

Will Rivitz: It's the last week of the semester where I'm at, and stress is approaching untenable levels. This song's making me want to throw my textbooks on the library floor and stomp out, making as big a ruckus as I can. It's impossible to put into words how unreasonably humongous this song is - try to encompass it in any manner and it immediately bursts the seams of whatever you're futilely attempting to contain it with. This grabs all the best elements of Justice, Erol Alkan, Boys Noize, Shiny Toy Guns, and really anyone else who caused a nuclear reaction by fusing synthpop and electro, and shoots them into the stratosphere with the force of a cannonball. [9]

Rebecca A. Gowns: At last, we get 2017's very own Gravy Train!!!! Fun as hell and makes me feel 15 years younger. (And then, like an ancient crone, I have to stop my frenetic dancing when I start wheezing for breath.) [9]

Stephen Eisermann: "212" by Azealia Banks without the lyrical bite, but just as fun to dance to. I haven't wanted to go to a gay club in quite some time, but now all I want to is drink too much, pop something I shouldn't, and get sweaty on a dance floor with my boyfriend. [8]

Julian de Valliere: The past two years have been an amazing time (at least in terms of quality) for pop music, but they've also been a not-entirely-stellar time for me. I'm gay, brown, and fighting every day to somehow crawl out of this homophobic hellhole of a country that I so foolishly decided to get born into. This means that I spend a good part of my time retreating into frothy pop tunes that can afford me some respite from what's typically an emotionally exhausting day. It also means that when it comes to the media I consume, I don't really subscribe to the idea of separating the person from the product. Needless to say, it's been fairly garbage having to accept just how little pop stars care about the things that matter to me. As the planet reveals itself to be even bleaker than I imagined, songs that previously brought me comfort have become tainted by the actions - or inaction - of the people performing them. New releases don't fare any better. No matter how desperately I need to escape into those earworms, the voice at the back of my head just won't let me forget how one-sided these relationships are. And it stings. It stings because I have no fond memories left, it stings because I can't make new ones, it stings to watch other people enjoy these songs unphased, because they have these beautiful, vibrant, synth-heavy safe spaces to escape into and I don't, because whenever I try to step inside, I can only notice how the guest list has my name directly below the host's favourite homophobe. And every tweet, stream, download, and new chart peak reminds me that I'm in a spectacular minority of people being affected by this, and it's so intensely isolating that I'm still not entirely sure how to put it into words. So yes, that's not ideal. And at the same time, I know I'm not the only person having a rough time. There are so many people who aren't being spoken for, who maybe I haven't even thought of myself, and being aware of that stings too. And that's what makes all this kumbaya bullshit being peddled by supposedly progressive acts so infuriating. No one should have to sit down and have a meal with someone who'd rather just spit in their drink. If someone's being wilfully ignorant, they don't deserve a seat at the table. They don't even deserve a polite "just so you know" in a corner of the room. They deserve to be told to shut the hell up, as forcibly and loudly as possible, preferably with a megaphone involved, until the entire building reverberates with the shock of just how wrong they are. And that's what "Not About You" does. I know Haiku Hands aren't singing for me either, but I'm so ridiculously glad that at least a few other people have been given somewhere to run to whenever they need it. And I'm also glad it's such a full throttle banger, because if you need the defence that Haiku Hands put up, god knows you deserve some fun too. [10]

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#Haiku Hands #TSJ Best of 2017

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