#and his sass would be more unrestrained

[mimi-cee-genshin]

Has anyone written an enemies to lovers fic with Tighnari? I'm just imagining how he was as a student and reader getting into sass battles with him. lol.

[animeomegas]

Kinktober - Day 16

[Belphegor (Obey Me!) + Gagging]

Summary: Belphie was a brat, and anyone that knew him would agree. Over the past week alone he’d fallen asleep during sex three times and given you more sass than Asmo when he was drunk. And now he has the audacity to try and seduce you when you need to study! Brats like him need punishment. Alpha!Dom!GN!Reader

Warnings: This includes gagging as in things that go in your mouth and also gagging as in choking so be aware. Reader may come across as a bit pushy, but there is an established safe word system. Also, drool is a thing in this if that grosses you out.

“What are you waiting for?” Belphie complained, still rutting on your lap despite you telling him multiple times that you needed to study tonight to stop Lucifer from murdering you when you inevitably failed tomorrow’s exam.

“Stop it, I already told you I have to study. Stop being a brat, or I’ll go study somewhere else.”

Belphie settled down for a moment, falsely convincing you that he’d seen reason, before he started to wiggle, purposely grinding against your crotch.

“You’re such a brat,” your voice was somewhere in between amused and frustrated, but either way, you put your hands on his hips and forcibly kept him still.

“I wasn’t doing anything!” he argued. “I was just trying to get comfortable.”

You snorted, pushing him off of your lap because of his blatant lie.

“Comfortable, my arse. I’ve seen you comfortable laying on concrete spikes.”

Belphie scoffed but didn’t deny it.

“And anyway, even if I was up for sex tonight, why should I reward you for being so badly behaved?” you raised an eyebrow at him. “Not counting tonight, you’ve fallen asleep during sex three times this week, not to mention how much you’ve been talking back to me. Brats need to be punished, not rewarded.”

“It doesn’t matter what I deserve,” Belphie smirked at you and crawled back onto your lap. “Because you can’t resist me.”

Your face hardened at the blatant challenge.

“Okay then,” the grin you had on your face was cold. “I’m not going to touch you at all until you accept your punishment for being a brat.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped you at the outraged look on his face.

…

Belphie didn’t last very long.

Every cuddle session this week had been interrupted by him getting too hard to relax or fall asleep.

And nothing will convince Belphie to give up like a lack of sleep. It took only six days for him to crack completely.

“Fine!” he suddenly burst out one evening when you were alone together cuddling in his nest in the attic. “What do I have to do to make this end?”

You smirked at his outburst.

“Well… I thought of a suitable punishment for you. Something that should keep you awake, and something that will definitely shut you up.”

Belphie just stared at you as though he were already fed up of waiting for you to reveal your punishment.

So, you cut the bullshit and simply pulled a ring gag from your bag and held it up, the metal mouth ring glinting in the light.

There was a beat of silence.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Asmo,” Belphie deadpanned.

“See?” you grinned. “That’s the kind of lip I’m talking about. This should help you learn to shut up.”

“Whatever.”

“Now, because you won’t be able to talk, we need to come up with a physical safeword,” you explained. “Tap me once for ‘yes’, twice for ‘no’ and three times to safeword and end the scene. I’ll always keep your hands unrestrained.”

“I’m a demon, I’m not going to break,” Belphie rolled his eyes, his token response to everything you’ve said this past week.

“Just remember the safewords, you little shit.”

With that out of the way, you pressed the pad of your thumb against Belphie’s surprisingly soft lips and gently nudged them open so that you could slip the ring gag in.

“Is the gag too tight?”

Belphie tapped twice, ‘no’.

You smoothed a hand over Belphie’s head as a thank you for cooperating with your tapping system.

“There,” you smiled, running your finger around the gag. “Now you can’t be such a brat.”

To test the theory, you slipped a finger into his open and vulnerable mouth. Belphie sent you a challenging look and pushed your finger out with his tongue.

“You little-,” you snorted, tugging on a lock of his hair to tease him back. Belphie growled at you but the drool starting to slip out of his mouth ruined any sense of threat he might have been able to produce.

“Now that we’ve solved your little bratiness problem, let’s deal with keeping you awake. I have the perfect idea.”

You stood up from Belphie’s nest, leaving Belphie kneeling on the copious pillows and blankets. Your stomach clenched in anticipation of what was about to happen.

Gently but firmly, you held Belphie by the back of his head, took your cock out and rested it on the rim of the ring gag.

Belphie looked so beautiful like this. You brushed his cheek delicately with your thumb before slipping your cock in through the ring gag, just resting your cock on his tongue for now, allowing him to adjust.

And of course, Belphie immediately started to try and push you out with his tongue, just as before, but you held yourself steadily and smiled condescendingly until Belphie huffed and gave up, tentatively lapping at the end of your cock like a kitten.

“Good boy, that’s it,” you encouraged, slipping in a little more. You only had a couple of inches in his mouth for now, so Belphie could practice with the gag. You took your time, fucking the inside of his cheeks, enjoying the way his tongue followed you as you claimed every inch of his mouth. Little bits of drool were leaking onto his chin by this point. You wiped it away as best you could with your thumb, laughing gently when the drool was replaced almost immediately.

“So messy,” you teased. Belphie jerked like he was going to bite you before realising that he couldn’t, so he just levelled a glare at you instead.

“My, my, my, you’re still such a brat,” you chuckled, taking your cock out and using it to tap Belphie on the cheek, something you knew would only irritate him more. “Am I not giving you what you need? Is that why you’re behaving like this? Am I too gentle?”

Keeping up his challenging glare, Belphie reached out and tapped you one. ‘Yes’.

He was accusing you of not giving him what he wanted. You almost laughed. He really was talented to be able to keep the brat behaviour up while he couldn’t speak (or bite as he often did when he was displeased.)

“Fine. I’ll give you something more, you little brat.”

You pushed your cock back into his mouth, faster and further than you’d done before. Belphie’s hands flew to grip your thighs for stability. The second he was balanced you pushed another inch in, now about halfway in, completely filling his mouth.

Belphie still looked defiant.

You smirked, brushing his fringe out of his face as he gazed up at you. And then, without warning, you pushed in and hit the back of his throat.

Belphie choked immediately, but you held his head still, stroking his face as he coughed a couple more times before settling down and relaxing.

His throat felt so good bumping against the head of your cock that you struggled to keep your composure for a moment.

Belphie was breathing heavily out of his nose, saliva coating his chin even more than before. You looked back down, expecting to see his determined challenge reflected in his eyes, but you were pleasantly surprised to discover that you were successfully chipping away at it. His purple eyes looked glazed and had lost most of their defiant spark.

It was undeniable that he was a brat, but it also couldn’t be argued that he didn’t enjoy being put in his place.

Encouraged by his response, you pulled out a little only to immediately push back in, setting a steady pace for your thrusts but also slowly but surely getting a little further into Belphie’s throat each time.

Every little contraction of his throat sent pleasurable shivers down your spine. This was more than making up for the week of celibacy and non-stop studying.

Belphie’s lips were starting to look a little swollen, and his arms were completely slack at his sides, allowing you to manoeuvre his head however you pleased. He looked like he was ready to take all of it.

So you pushed it all in.

Belphie gagged instantly, and you couldn’t help but let the noise fuel your arousal. To hear the normally lax demon give such a violent reaction was undeniably hot.

Belphie choked again, but this time he pushed against the hand you were using to hold his head in place, so you let go, causing Belphie to fall backwards onto the huge pile of pillows and blankets, coughing into them and wiping the saliva off his face with his arm.

“Are you alright?” you asked, gently coaxing him back to a kneeling position.

Belphie nodded, his breathing slowly calming back down. You took on of his hands and placed it against you arm, silently asking for a more explicit answer to your question.

Belphie looked confused for a moment before realising that you wanted him to confirm he was okay with the tapping system. Once again, Belphie rolled his eyes but did as you’d asked and tapped a ‘yes’.

“Good boy, you’re doing so well. Are you ready to try that again?”

Belphie nodded and shuffled forward, revealing the tent in the crotch of his trousers in the process. You grinned at his obvious arousal and gently used your foot to apply pressure on the bulge.

A loud moan ripped its way out of Belphie the second your foot made contact, unable to be smothered or quietened as the gag forced his mouth open. He normally buried his head into his pillow or at the very least covered his mouth with a hand to quieten moans, but this time he didn’t have that luxury.

Belphie glared at you again, but you simply snorted and poked him on the nose.

“If you keep doing that, your face is going to get stuck,” you teased. You liked to say that whenever he was sulking, knowing how it only made him sulk more. Predictably, Belphie huffed in displeasure, but he still leant in and put your cock in his mouth again.

Impatient brat.

You obliged, however, replacing your hand on his head and immediately pushing all the way back in, confident that he’d warmed up enough to take you. He gagged again, but this time he kept his head there as he choked, holding out for longer.

“Good boy, you’re doing so well, breathe through your nose.”

Tears were gathering in his waterline now, glittering softly in a way that made Belphie’s eyes look bigger and more innocent. It was almost ironic.

Belphie’s throat still felt as perfect as before, but you didn’t want him to hurt himself, regardless of his assertations that he wouldn’t break from such things, so you tapped on his cheek to get him to release you.

“That’s enough,” you ordered softly. “Don’t push yourself too far.”

To your surprise, Belphie listened without complaint, but only a few seconds later, barely enough time to catch his breath, he was already pushing himself back down.

…

You’d been going for ten minutes now.

Belphie had only got more and more enthusiastic as you went, and it showed on his face.

He looked absolutely wrecked, tears falling freely down his face, eyes unfocused, gagging and choking around you.

Ten minutes was apparently your limit. You couldn’t wait any more.

“I’m going to cum, can I cum down your pretty little throat?” you asked, your voice coming out more strained than expected. You were close.

Belphie fumbled for a moment but managed to tap you once for a yes while you continued to use his throat like it wasn’t attached to him.

“Here it comes, baby.”

You buried yourself to the hilt, Belphie’s nose now pressed against the skin above your cock, and then started to paint the inside of his throat white. It was for the best that the ring gag stopped your from accidentally knotting Belphie’s mouth because your self-restraint was falling to pieces as you basked in the eroticism of the situation.

Belphie coughed and choked but swallowed as much as he could before pulling back. Cum immediately started to drip down his chin and there was nothing Belphie could do about it while the gag was still firmly in place.

Tears, drool, cum. He was beautiful.

[calaofnoldor]

Sixth Time’s the Charm [1]

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean, OCs

Words: 1,550

Series Summary: All the times Dean has tried to get Sam to admit his feelings for you.

Chapter Summary: Dean asks you to flirt with a cop for info. Sam is not pleased.

Warnings: jealous!sam, protective!sam, huffy!sam, badass!reader, exasperated squirrel, mutual pining, idiots in love, tropesss

A/N: this is part one of a six-part mini series that is essentially an amalgamation of all the jealous/protective tropes. sorry not sorry?

MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

The first time was an impromptu experiment. Of course, Dean already knew Sam had a crush on you; he raised the kid for crying out loud. That and the way Sam had stumbled over his own tongue and feet the first time they encountered you (and nearly every time thereafter) made it quite obvious to everyone… well, except you, apparently. Regardless, Dean figured it was just the case of a simple crush and poor Sammy being unable to match his finesse with the ladies.

So when the three of you came across a sleazy police captain, who was in no way shy about having the hots for you, during a rugaru hunt in Nebraska, Dean was rather taken aback by his brother’s unusual reaction.

Strolling into the Omaha police department with you and Sam on either side, the older Winchester had identified the captain immediately from his picture online.

“Captain Anderson,” Dean addressed the man directly in a low, authoritative tone, “I’m Agent Parker, and these are my partners Agents Stan and Lee.” He motioned to his right and left side as he introduced you, accordingly, pausing as you flashed your fake badges in unison.

The captain was a tall, slightly rotund fellow, with a mustache to rival an 80’s porn star’s, and he scoffed haughtily at your entrance. “What the hell do the feds want with us? And did they really hafta send three of ya?” He gestured pointedly at you with a patronizing raise of his chin and your blood began to boil at the implicitly misogynistic remark.

“Well no offense, Captain,” you spoke up; your FBI get-up always gave you an extra boost of confidence (something about the power suit vibes you supposed), plus men like him really pissed you off, “but there have been five deaths here within the last week, and from what I understand, your team has a grand total of zero working theories and just as many leads, so perhaps you can understand why the government would show some concern.”

“Mm, mm, mm!” Captain Anderson chanted obnoxiously in response. He gave you a painfully slow once-over, eyes filled with a crude and unrestrained lechery that forced a shiver down your spine. “A woman who knows how to take charge… I like that,” he licked his lips lasciviously.

Dean was torn between awaiting your likely ruthless and epic comeback or telling the douchebag off himself when he heard Sam clear his throat forcedly beside him. Looking over, he was surprised to find his giant of a little brother to be a picture of rage. Strained jaw, clenched fists, distended chest, and a murderous glare directed unwaveringly at the Omaha police captain.

Meanwhile, you were finding it difficult to resist the urge to roll your eyes and repress your temper to maintain a professional front. “We need information and clearance,” you stated firmly, ignoring the cop’s inappropriate and debaucherous display, “Are you going to hand it over or not?”

“Sorry little miss, no can do! You’re prolly gonna hafta talk to the chief if you want in on a big boy case like this one… but, you know, I can think of some ways you might be able to convince me otherwise,” he finished with a lewd wink before taking off.

Sam looked like he was about to lunge at the captain, but Dean put a hand on his arm to ground him. He was starting to suspect Sam’s behavior might have more to do with you than the fact that the captain was a regular dickhead. After all, Sam was usually the calmer and more rational of the brothers, especially during hunts.

You were too busy holding yourself back to notice though, staring daggers into Anderson’s back as you watched him walk away.

“What an asshole. I’m sorry, Y/N,” Dean began. An idea was forming in his head, one that could help him test his theory. “Look, you know I wouldn’t ask this if there was a better way, but dyou think, maybe, just this once, you could… you know? Turn on the charm a bit? Just so we can get in?”

Sam had not been fully engaged in the conversation until just then, too focused on trying to mollify the inexplicable rage that Captain Anderson had incited within him, but Dean’s request certainly caught his attention.

“What?! Dean! You can’t be serious. No. We’ll find another way. Just- No.” Sam’s voice was harder and deeper than usual and for a moment you lost yourself in it, daydreaming that perhaps he was exhibiting a sense of jealously. But who were you kidding? Sam was just a nice guy who detested sexist pricks like Anderson; this had nothing to do with you.

“No, it’s fine. Dean’s right. This is the easiest way. I’ll do it,” you stated quietly before adding with a small smile, “I can suck it up on account of saving some lives.”

Dean grinned and you walked away before Sam could protest any further. When you reached the captain’s office, you didn’t bother knocking on the open door, “Alright, Captain Anderson-“

“Please, call me Frank.” He looked up at you with such a smug and revolting expression, you decided there was no way you could follow through with Dean’s plan.

“Listen, Frank,” you crossed your arms in what you hoped was an ‘I mean business’ stance, but quickly dropped them when you realized the action had unwittingly highlighted your cleavage in the button-down blouse you were wearing and spurred yet another round of gratuitous leering from Frank. “What’s it gonna take for you to hand over the case files and grant us full access to the evidence and crime scenes?”

“Well, since I like you, I’ll make it easy for ya. How about we start with a smile?” He had leaned forward in his seated position behind his desk as he spoke, and you almost smacked him right then.

As you turned to leave, however, it was Anderson who smacked you, open palmed and right on the ass. You forced yourself to take a deep breath before slowly turning back around. Keeping your movements deliberate and unhurried, you bent over his desk, ignoring the impulse to gag at the greasy, utterly unholy scent that filled your nostrils as you got close enough to whisper in his ear, “You know what, I’ll make it easy for you too. How about, if you give my partners and I complete authorization on this case, I won’t report you to the feds for sexual harassment? See, I know people in the upper ranks and I’ve got a lawyer who wipes the floor with guys like you on the daily.” It was all lies, of course, but you figured it was for a good cause.

“So what’s it gonna be, Captain?” You asked after straightening yourself back up.

As you’d hoped, the bastard was looking a little worse for wear, though you could tell he was trying to retain what little he could of his arrogant persona. “You little bitch.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Fine. You can have it,” he pointed at a stack of file folders on his desk, and then sighed as he produced three security passes, “Go crazy! Go fuck yourself.”

“Gladly,” you sassed, ready to strut out of there with everything you came for in hand.

Behind you, things had not gone so smoothly. When Sam saw Anderson slapping your butt, he was fully prepared to march over and break the captain’s nose, but Dean again held him back, “Woah, hey, you know Y/N can handle herself. What’s up with you?”

Then when he was forced to watch you lean in tantalizingly close and whisper something in Anderson’s ear, Sam experienced an entirely foreign sensation. He was still burning with fury, but that anger was joined by a peculiar ache. His heart had risen to his throat as he stood there, completely transfixed, a look of dejection and longing written across his face.

‘Huh,’ Dean had thought with an internal smirk, ‘Sammy’s got it ba-ad!’ he sing-song-ed in his own head, storing the information away for later, when he could find an opportune moment to tease his baby brother about it.

For now, Dean gave you two thumbs up as he watched you return with a triumphant grin, holding up three official passes by their lanyards.

“Got it all. We’re completely in,” you supplied each brother a security pass when you reached them.

“Damn. You are good, woman! What did you even say to him?” Dean chuckled as the three of you left the station.

“Oh nothing, just a bit of light threatening.”

Sam stopped to look at you quizzically. “Wait, what? You mean you didn’t- you weren’t… flirting with him?”

“Nah, I was too appalled by the thought to go down that route.”

“Oh,” he huffed out, looking down with drooped shoulders and an awkward twitch of a smile. You could have sworn he looked somewhat relieved, but decided not to read too much into it, too pleased with yourself to allow the ever-growing gloom of your unrequited love dampen your spirits.

The whole time Dean was staring back at the two of you in disbelief. ‘These goddamn idiots,’ he thought with an exasperated yet slightly amused shake of his head.

→ CARRY ON

thanks so much for reading! feedback always appreciated 💞

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Day 12: “Aren’t fish meant to stay in the water?”

Masterlist; Pirate terms

This may be the best thing i’ve ever written! Also ahhh we are finished with 12 days of fanfics??? which is crazy?? I hope you guys have enjoyed because this has been so much fun for me!

Pirate/Siren AU

Percy Jackson can hear the whining of the sails from his little cabin and it soothes the jagged edges of him that continue to grip the life he once had. A life of peace; a farmer’s son, plowing at the earth underneath scorching sun and buzzing insects. It is honest work, but it is mind-numbing and his hands work too quickly for the plow, and his thoughts race too fast for the field, and he just needed more. Now, almost a year later, he has plagued the seas, knotting ropes and digging his nails into the rich wood of his ship. Andromeda. He loves her with every fibre of his being he should have loved his farm life with. She is sleek, a deep walnut colour, and has bright blue sails that can be seen from miles away. It is to tell his mother he is safe, should she ever look out to sea and wonder if he lives. His heart squeezes as he remembers their last conversation, so full of tears and words left unsaid. He hopes she understands, he hopes time has healed her wounds even if it hasn’t healed his.

The white buttoned shirt hanging open exposes his chest and the flat planes of his stomach to the elements. The cold draft that always seems to sweep through the hull, pebbles his earth brown skin. He breathes in the familiar scent of the ocean, letting it fill up his tired body, as he makes quick work of the ties holding what’s left of his shirt together, before shrugging on his emerald coat, the exact colour of his eyes, and his most prided raid possession. As he’s slipping his compass into his pocket his door is flung open, slamming against the cabin wall with a loud crack.

“Captain!” His quartermaster, and best friend, gasps, black eyes as wide as saucers. “You should come see this.”

He frowns, unused to seeing Frank so excited. “Are we under attack do we need to-”

“No Captain,” He shakes his head vigorously, “It’s a wreck.”

Percy is out the door and racing up the staircase before anyone can say Andromeda. The scene he is greeted with above is enough to raise the hairs at the back of his neck. His crew members all hang over the side, peering down at the floating pieces of wood, and cloth, and disaster littering the grey seas. The air is quiet, too quiet. As if nobody dares to break the silence because it is stringing the moment together in fragile balance. 

“What happenings?” He asks roughly.  His crew jumps, all turning to stand to attention.

“Captain,” His sailing master, nods, “She’s wrecked, bilged on her anchor.” 

“That does not cause this.” He frowns, moving towards the edge to see the wreckage up close. “This looks like she was blown through.”

“We didn’t hear any fire,” Frank says, getting nods of confirmation from the crew.

“Survivors?”

“But one Captain,” Reyna, holds out her telescope and offers it to him. It is usually attached to her, used to navigate them to his needs. His sailing master is nothing but talent and sass, but right now she looks stricken. “Northwest of the mast.”

He focuses his eyes, adjusting to the size of the telescopes frame, and sees only a flash of bright, gold-spun hair, and white hands clinging to wood. “A Jack Tar?”

“A beast.” The quarter-master mutters softly.

Percy whips around, green eyes ablaze. “Manner?”

“Siren, we believe.” Reyna’s voice is soft with disbelief.

“Bring them up,” He growls, handing her telescope back, “And do no harm.”

He can see the crew exchange looks at his request but with a thump of his sword against the deck, they all race into motion. Grabbing rope and sails in order to slow the movement of the ship. Reyna climbs up the mast and directs the crew from the crows nest, trying to get the ship as close as possible to the bobbing body, floating further away from them with every second.

Percy stands on the bowsprit looking through his own miniature telescope as he watches the figure get bigger. He hears a splash and knows someone has thrown a life-line over. He hears Frank shout to the creature, telling them to grab the float and hold on. They don’t move, don’t even look up, and for a heart-wrenching moment he thinks they’re too late.

But someone shouts again and ever so slowly the creature looks up, directly at him, and that blue gaze shatters every part of his soul. He stumbles back onto the deck and helps the crew in hauling the stranded up. Their skin, almost translucent, like moonlight, glitters as they lift an arm to wrap around the buoy. With two counts they heave, and heave, and heave. Until the creature is on the deck, ocean eyes hollow, and body shivering like they aren’t used to being exposed. 

Faint scales, the colour of coral, line the undersides of their arms, and wrap around their neck, but their torso is bare, and smooth as glass. The tail, gorgeous and gleaming in the rapidly rising sun, is the same soft pink, with flecks of green and sapphire running through it.

Percy crouches down, near their head of gold, and leans over them. “Aren’t fish meant to stay in water?” He smirks.

The creature doesn’t even bat an eyelash, continuing to stare up at the sky in devoid trance.

“What is your name?” He asks, and this time his voice is carefully constructed; the captain issuing a command.

They turn their head, finally looking at him. “Your human tongue cannot pronounce the name of the sea.”

“What should we call you?” He is not deterred. 

They blink their eyes, surprise there and gone in an instant. “Jason.”

“Why were you hanging around a ship wreck?”

Their face curls in disgust, “Stupid humans were having a battle and blew up their ship. I was-” They choke, as if it pains them to admit it. “I was too slow, and got injured in the crossfire.”

“Where are you injured?”

“I cannot say until i have gotten my legs.” They shrug, and he hears the scrape of their scales against his deck.

“You can acquire human legs?”

“Yes,” They purse their lips, “It is a painful process, but a protective measure should we ever be captured by humans.”

“Should it take this long?”

“It takes longer when I’m injured.” They sigh, “I will have to give it time.”

“What are we to do with you until then?”

Jason whips their head towards him, emotions flying across their face faster than he can comprehend. “You are giving me a choice? You are not going to slaughter me, or sell me?”

Percy frowns, the deep lines between his brows shadowing his beautiful face. “Why would we do that? What belongs to the sea should stay there.”

“I-” They blink, “You are not like other humans.” Before Percy can ask them what that means they are grabbing his hand, cold skin pressing against the pulsing heat of his own. “Please take me somewhere safe. The pain is starting”

And with that they close those hypnotic blue eyes and the hand in his goes limp. He doesn’t say anything to his crew as he tucks an arm behind Jason’s back, and another underneath the curve in their tail. Standing up with the grace of a dancer, he turns towards his cabin, stopping at the stairs, and looking out at his crew.

“Haul wind for Narcissus island, and do not stop unless attacked.” And then he is disappearing into his quarters, deliberately ignoring the questions he can see in his quartermaster’s eyes.

“Weigh Anchor!” He hears Frank shout, “Smartly!” before he shuts the door to the outside world.

He sets the creature down on his bed, holding their hand tightly in his as he watches their face bead with sweat. The pain is excruciating and it is a wonder the siren does not scream out. But slowly their legs appear, as translucent as the rest of their body, and the beautiful scales across their body fade into nothing.

They open their eyes, which glow in the darkness of the space, and look down to see their legs. They look up again, and a smile blooms across their face, as wide and glowing as the stars.

“Hello my love,” He grins, brushing a hand across their cheek. “I have missed you.”

“Please come home.” Jason whispers, leaning into his touch. “Your kingdom needs you. I need you.”

Percy smiles unrestrained, and captures their lips in his own. “You are here. I am already home.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tags:

@nishlicious-01​

@spoopylucy​

@leydiangelo​

[sablelab]

Covert Operations - Chapter 136

SYNOPSIS: Can Jamie help Claire erase the memories of her incarceration that seem to be entrenched in her psyche and improve her mental wellbeing?  Does his love have the power to make it happen?

N.B. Please note that this chapter starts off suggestively but in the middle parts becomes a little NSFW.  If this subject matter is not for you, then please skip this chapter.

Chapter 135(S) and all other chapters can be found at  … https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations Also … sorry to say but I am not on Ao3.

THANK YOU everyone for your support of my story.  I absolutely appreciate each and every one of you who have taken the time to read Covert Operations and come along on this journey with me as I write it. You’re the BEST!

   CHAPTER 136 (S - NSFW)

Claire’s breathing was erratic ... but so too was James Fraser’s.

Aligning their heads, his lips touched hers pleading with Claire to open her mouth to welcome him inside. Her lips parted and his tongue penetrated the moist recess of her mouth sliding easily through while tongues coiled around each other’s in an explosive coupling. They thrust forward and retreated in an erotic French kiss that sent shivers all over their bodies. Jamie kissed his Sassenach passionately then slowly but unexpectedly withdrew his lips.

Passion glazed eyes gazed at him in query at a loss for why, but it was not for long. Placing a kiss to her forehead, she next felt Jamie’s strong hands slide up on either side of her face cupping her cheeks with infinite tenderness. Oh, how Claire wanted him, and pressed her body to his in tacit need. Jamie drew his beloved closer to him as their mouths connected once more in poignant longing. His eyes sought permission to continue, asking if this is what she needed to make her pain go away. Claire’s head fell back in defeat, her eyes closed in sensual rapture. She felt faint. 

Of course, this is what she wanted … what she needed ... to make her get better ... to make her forget. All she needed was Jamie’s love and his kisses.  Her eyes flashed open and gave her love a piecing look responding to his unspoken words while at the same time indicating what she needed from him. Claire was highly roused but so too was Jamie. She had felt the evidence of her love’s aroused state of mind as he brushed against her. Seeing the longing for her in his eyes, she grabbed a hold of him to bring him back to her, but instead of responding to her actions, Jamie captured her wrists in a firm grip instead. He then answered her surprised look with a mysterious smile that gave her no clue as to what he had in mind.  However, his eyes gave him away. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Claire Beauchamp knew that look.  A glow radiated from Jamie’s eyes and she’d been the recipient of that look from the moment they had set foot in the villa. She had drowned in the depths of her love’s eyes whenever he had silently communicated his desire for her. This … was one of those times. Jamie raised the hands he held to his lips and gently kissed her palms. Claire closed her eyes in the euphoria that seemed to swallow her whole being. Her heartbeats were thundering in her chest and the noise was pounding in her head, but all she could hear was the hushed sigh that escaped from her mouth. She was drowning in a sea of sensation, while her equilibrium was in a state of agitation.  Jamie began trailing burning kisses down his Sassenach’s face and neck each leaving a spot fire in its wake. The feel of his hot breath across her skin felt delirious and Claire gave an inaudible moan in response. When he moved the shirt away from her shoulder exposing the velvet smooth skin of her collarbone, James Fraser danced his talented warm tongue along her bone’s outline. However, he was not completely satisfied with what he had revealed. So, he inserted his long fingers into the opening and pulled her shirt sideways, then with warm nipping caresses bit his way gently across to the other shoulder. Claire felt her limbs turn to jelly as the onset of his kisses continued.

Jamie was burning up inside with his desire for his beloved. “I’ll help ye forget yer pain mo ghràidh …,” he whispered to his love while his warm breath in her ear sent another shiver across her skin.

“Trust me.” Pulling her head back slightly, Claire’s eyes caught his and held for several seconds. 

Her love had done nothing but help her recover and she knew unequivocally that when they had to leave this tranquil place and return to Section, that she would be fully recovered. Madeline and Operations would have no cause to doubt that their downtime had been anything less than beneficial. If Jamie could ease her troubled mind with his love and devotion, she knew that her response to him would also be cathartic as well. They had experience trauma together, but they would also heal their pain together though their deep love and spiritual connectedness. Claire looked down at their intertwined hands. “I know …” She watched fascinated by the way Jamie’s thumb caressed the back of her knuckles so tenderly. All thoughts of their return to Section flew out the window as she melted with each touch. Her voice caught in her throat as she finished her sentence, “… and I do.”  Her vulnerability set off another chain reaction through his body. Jamie lowered his head and captured Claire’s mouth in a profoundly smouldering and possessive kiss … but no sooner had he initiated the kiss than her lips were again bereft of his touch.  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

His abrupt actions had tilted Claire off kilter but before she had time to know what was happening, she was suddenly lying on her back for Jamie had flipped her over into the softness of the cushions. Then lowering himself onto her, she could feel his body weight half covering hers. The sensation that Jamie’s heaviness caused was indescribable and she could barely think. Closing her eyes, Claire felt his touch as her instincts took over … she leaned into his body, and felt the evidence of his desire for her pressed up against her. 

“I have given much thought about what I want to do to ye Sassenach … to help ye forget what happened to us,” he teased with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“And what's that Fraser?” she murmured back wondering what he had in mind.

However, Claire didn’t need words because Jamie’s actions were all she needed.  Looking at her love, further dialog evaded her as her mouth was captured in a smouldering kiss as this wonderful man kissed her deeply, passionately, possessively. She was lost. Slipping her tongue between his parted lips she tried to taste the intangible essence that drew them to each other as their tongues duelled and searched for more connection.

Their breathing was heavy with the sounds of pleasure and the intenseness of their kisses. She was breathless, and gasped for air between kisses, but a distressed whimper rose from her lips when Jamie did not reconnect. Slowly Claire opened her eyes to look for him when she could no longer feel her lover’s touch. Then suddenly, she felt his hands at the hem of the shirt she wore. The next thing Claire was aware of was Jamie’s touch slowly sliding his warm fingers between the material and her heated flesh. Her soft curves tempted his touch and he uttered a sharp, muffled groan.

“Sass-en-ach,” he whispered into her ear evocatively.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

The sound of his hypnotic voice caressing her ear turned her inside out but it was what Jamie did next that truly took her by surprise. She couldn’t believe the things this man was capable of for when she next felt his heated skin against her, she capitulated to the sensation coursing through her being. Her love was naked and his powerful thighs were straddling her.  Her own reaction startled her, for James Fraser nude was having a profound effect on her. A radiating heat shuddered all over her body when seeking fingers touched her legs but Claire could feel the heat intensifying in her core when next he spoke.

“I’ve considered in great detail ... what I want to do, should I have ye naked and willing ... and no one hearing, with enough room to serve ye ... suitably,” Jamie declared before illustrating his very words.

Stroking his talented fingers up her smooth, silky legs once more, his hands paused for a moment to caress the backs of her knees. Tracing his fingertips from side to side he teased the sensitive skin before scraping his nails gently back up her leg muscles. Claire willed her legs not to go into spasms … but they quivered beneath his hands nevertheless as she scummed to his ministrations. Moving up her supple thighs, he drew his hands up and down rhythmically, while she sighed incoherently. Jamie wandered his hands to Claire’s inner thigh brushing her moist centre with the back of his fingers before returning to cup her sensitized area more intimately.

His touch was so pleasurable that she trembled as her senses heightened. She couldn’t help herself; Claire leaned into her love’s sublime touch shifting beneath him in unrestrained happiness completely lost in a passionate daze to the way he was making her feel.  “Well ... I'm willing Fraser. And there's ... certainly enough room. And as for being naked, well...”

“Ye can leave that to me … Sassenach.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Giving Claire a wickedly tempting grin, Jamie’s hands were never idle as they mapped his love’s body in glorious renewal. Pulling her up to him they roamed across the satin skin of her back, while his clever fingertips traced the column of her supple spine. The erotic sensation of his exploration and relentless tactile touches sent shivers coursing along every nerve ending as Claire’s nervous system plummeted into overdrive. Searching hands caressed the silken skin of her back over and over before eventually lowering them to her buttocks. As he gently savoured the feel of her taut cheeks in his hands, they flinched unreservedly. James Fraser was also in jeopardy of losing his own self-control.

“As ye can see Sassenach, that’s all part of the plan.”

She panted and uttered a soft whimper. “Hmmm.”

Claire knew exactly what Jamie’s plan was and that there would be no respite when flesh met naked flesh ... not that she wanted any. Raising her eyes, she looked at him. Passion filled gazes locked in mutual amazement. Piercing blue eyes narrowed as he held her look for, they were so attuned to each other’s needs that it was frightening. They had already made love several times today and Jamie knew that there would be no surrender when they eventually shared that glorious joining of their bodies yet again. He knew that he would never tire of making love to this beautiful creature and if by doing so would erase the memories of what happened at the monastery, he would comply without hesitation again and again.  Leaning forward, his hands feverously trailed back up her spine pushing the shirt away from inhibiting his touch of skin to skin. Then gripping the material in his fingers, Jamie pulled it up and over Claire's head in one swift movement until there were no barriers between them whatsoever.  He grinned. “So much for step one Sassenach.”

Cool air swept over her highly sensitized skin making her shudder as her flesh reacted to the change in temperature. She didn’t shiver from the cold but from the anticipation of what this man planned to do to her next. His eyes traversed her from her head to her toe caressing his love’s naked flesh exposed in its glory in the muted firelight. His Claire stole the breath from his lungs for she was oh so tempting in her nakedness. She gasped as Jamie leaned forward and his heated skin came into contact with hers. A muffled groan escaped from her mouth at the very moment his lips brushed against her flesh as he scattered kisses all over her body.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Stroking her fingers against his stubbled chin, Claire mewed, “Oh, I like this. It’s different …” She sighed breathlessly feeling the restless sensation in her groin pulsate.

His voice was husky. “How different?”

Exhaling a panting breath she murmured, “When you kiss me ... against my skin.”

“Well, ye have very fine skin, Sassenach. Like pearl. Indeed, ye have a lot of very fine skin, if that's what ye had in mind.”

A wicked grin bowed his mouth as Jamie locked eyes with his love. He kissed her very gently brushing his lips down her neck and collarbone in a slow-moving serpentine motion to the top of her bust.

“That's, uh ... more or less ... what I had in mind, yes.”

Bending his head, he then peppered Claire’s skin once more trailing biting kisses down the column of her neck, before his teeth nipped the flesh between her shoulder blades in feverish need. His mouth was working its magic everywhere it marked her and when Jamie kissed his way down her stomach, she suddenly wanted more.  

“Then, I shall lay ye down ... twist yer hair up in my hand... taste your mouth... throat... and bosom with my lips.”

Claire moaned softly at his evocative and sensual words were accentuated by his tantalizing actions.

“I shall do that until ye start making squeaking noises.”

She chuckled, “I do not make squeaking noises.”

Knowing eyes crinkled with mirth. “Oh, aye, ye do Sassenach.”

“And then ... Then what?” Sparkling eyes were riveted on Jamie’s face.

“And then ...” He too gasped softly seeing the longing in Claire’s eyes. “I shall lay ye on yer back and kiss the inside of yer thighs where the skin is so soft. The stubble might help there aye?”

Watching him through hooded eyes, she whimpered softly. “It might.  What am I supposed to be doing?”

“Well… ye might ... ye might moan a bit ... if ye like, to encourage me.”  He groaned exhaling a breath. “Otherwise, ye just lay still but if ye want to make those wee sounds, please do Sassenach.”

Pretending offence, Claire sighed on a keening mew.  “I do not pant Jamie ... or make wee noises.”

“Do ye not? I can prove ye do,” was his veiled reply as he then proceeded to demonstrate his point.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

His Sassenach was unravelling before his eyes but so too was James Fraser. At the sound of his shallow breathing, Claire seductively rubbed herself against him smiling dreamily. She thrust her aching breasts into his talented hands whimpering in wee noises of pleasure especially when Jamie rolled her pebbled nipples slowly between his thumb and index finger. It was too much to bear. Placing her hands over his, she pressed them more firmly to her body as Jamie tormented her senses.

Closing her eyes, Claire moaned contentedly.  Her heart pounded uncontrollably in staccato beats that echoed in her chest. Moving his hands lower, Jamie slid them slowly down her rib cage committing to memory the feel of soft, tantalising skin before crossing them around her waist. With her body connected as close to his as possible, Claire sucked in her breath feeling every last gasp of air leave her body. She was coming apart at the seams and was barely able to think clearly. Tossing her head back she pulled Jamie closer blindly seeking his lips.  

Desperate in her need to connect with her love, Claire’s body gyrated in pleasurable sensation as more keening moans filled the air.  However, Jamie was finding that he was having difficulty holding it all together himself. Their lips collided while their tongues sought the affirmation they knew so well. Deliciously duelling within their mouths their tongues danced in a connection of longing while the thrust and parry of their union was overwhelming.

In his own want for greater fulfilment, Jamie was powerless to stop the hold his woman had over him and his need to touch her. His throbbing arousal pressed achingly close to the heated core where she yearned for him so desperately. Welcoming his nearness, she pressed forward and Jamie let an unimpeded, guttural groan escape from his lips. Claire felt his hot and laboured breaths brush against her ear as his hands caressed her stomach sliding down until his fingers insinuated themselves into the curls protecting her femininity.  The sensation made her delirious. She felt lightheaded and overcome with emotion. This wonderful man filled her senses; he made her come alive like none other. Lost in delirium, Claire nipped the smooth skin behind his ear. Moaning, Jamie tightened his grip on her body, then he rested his forehead on her shoulder as deep breaths shuddered from his lungs in submission. There was no denying the grasp Claire Beauchamp had on his heart and he was completely lost to her charms. Uttering her name with devotion, Jamie pressed his lips to the base of her neck and let his senses absorb the essence of the woman he loved. “Sassenach, I love ye.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ His words blanketed her with an intense feeling of joy. He’d said it before but Jamie needed Claire to know that he meant every word.

He knew their time here at the villa would be over before they knew it and his declaration was the most honest thing, he could say to her. It was the truth. He did love her ... loved her unconditionally without reservation or regret. Claire was his world, his light in the darkness; she gave meaning to his life. Her very name was the epitome of light and he had filled his world with the beauty of her being.

Their life here had been more than they could have asked for or ever wanted. All he needed was for his Sassenach to be better and return to the Claire that was a ray of sunshine in the oppressive world of Section One. That had been his goal since they had started their downtime but he knew his love was still suffering despite his attempts to help her erase the memories of her incarceration. This was the best way he knew that would have the greatest effect. By reconfirming that everything he’d done in resecuring her at the monastery he’d done because he loved her by constantly showing her that this was true, would see his love get better. She only needed to feel it and believe it.  With a powerful need to have her know exactly how he felt; Jamie held Claire’s eyes communicating his deep passion for her. Darkened pupils locked with an intensity that stunned them both as reciprocal glances echoed their feelings for each other. Groaning, Jamie reached for his love again. Moving back down her body, his hands traversed his Sassenach’s skin only to be followed by a hot trail of kisses along her stomach once more. Then his strong hands seized her hips, lifting them up a little while nudging her thighs apart. Feeling the evidence of his hard arousal against her, Claire’s breath caught in her throat.

A keening cry discharged from her lips when his hand glided between her legs.  A rampant feverishness radiated through her body as it sensed that she was on the precipice of another something unforgettable.  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Slowly his fingers lightly slid through the little tufts of auburn hair covering her groin gently caressing her while the sensual sensation inside her nearly drove her wild. She moaned in fevered bliss, but Jamie wasn’t finished yet. Tormenting Claire even more, he brushed her inner thighs too, working his talented hands towards her centre, which sent energized sensations zinging throughout her body. His fingers caressed her intimately, inserting one, then two fingers into her depths, pressing against her inner walls and stimulating the highly sensitive tip of her bud. When he gently flicked it with his thumb, a hot shiver shook her core. Claire writhed and bucked her body under his exquisite tutelage, moaning in a passionate plea.  Heat pooled between her legs in anticipation of the ultimate connection that would be theirs. She was more than ready for James Fraser to finish what he’d started. An explosive sexual energy filled the room and their feverish breaths echoed in unison as a compulsive need for each other flowed through their bodies. They knew exactly what they both wanted and unable to contain his libido one moment longer, Jamie lifted Claire's hips even higher. She whimpered, groaning uncontrollably when she finally felt the glorious touch of his erection prod the entrance to her ultimate femininity. Her nipples hardened as the flush of sexual pleasure radiated all over her body. She lost all consciousness while her eyes filled with tears of happiness.  Jamie groaned too, giving in to the inevitable. He could no longer hold back his feelings of want, while his sanity had vanished as quickly as his desire had consumed him. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of Claire’s hips as he easily slid inside her welcoming depths joining their bodies in one swift movement. Then, when she clenched him tightly unwilling to let him leave her, a shudder coursed through his body and Jamie deepened his connection instead. Her husky cry was the affirmation he needed. Claire’s heart was pounding loudly; her whole body was a tingling mass of pleasure. She didn’t think she could ever be happier than she was now. This man completed her but when she realised that he had stopped his movements she turned her head and looked at him to see why. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  With a questioning look in her eyes, Claire was mesmerised by the vulnerable eyes gazing back at her. She was unaware that Jamie was overcome with emotion in his determination to make it all better for her ... to make her forget the atrocities at the monastery.

He knew that it would be his love and commitment that would be the cornerstone to her mental wellbeing, but if he failed in showing Claire that side of him, then he worried that she may not recover from this traumatic mission as he wanted or needed her to. It was crucial that his Sassenach know that he was there for her and always would be.

Simultaneously, if their intercourse was his love’s salvation then it was also his as well. He needed her love just as much as he needed to breathe. They had been through this horrific trauma together and together they would come out the other side thus making each other whole again.

Not wanting his love to know the full truth behind why he had stopped his lovemaking, Jamie instead showered her with an enigmatic smile that promised so much more. Claire smiled back realising that he was just bracing himself before he took her to places of unimaginable joy. She felt Jamie’s hot mouth on her skin as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. “Mo ghràidh,” he breathed heavily against her ear.

Then holding her gaze, he lowered his body onto hers once more inching his erection deeper into her depths desperately aching to surrender to her. Claire felt the slide of his flesh unite with her flesh, the sensation of his connection overwhelming her and was so aroused by his erotic torment that she whimpered in wanton restlessness.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  It was evident that Jamie too was rapidly losing control, for as he increased his movements, his breathing became more ragged and Claire felt the friction build within her each time he sank deeper within her body. She writhed beneath him as a powerful explosion of pleasure engulfed her body, but her love gave her no respite. His movements exacerbated her pleasure until Claire moaned, begging him to continue so that she could find release from this unbearable throbbing tension. They kissed.  Their breaths mingled together until she gutturally pleaded, “Don’t stop … please don’t stop!”  Jamie continued, but his muscles were taut like a tightly strung bow, trying to exercise some control but not succeeding well. He withdrew and returned to his love’s responsive body over and over again, each thrust harder and deeper, but each withdrawal agonizingly painful for both of them. Tumultuous waves of pleasure ricocheted through her being as their bodies sustained the joyous movements of intercourse. Reaching out at his body Claire’s hands found his, clutching a hold of Jamie’s fingers and squeezed them tightly. Powerful thrusts continued until they were moving in perfect syncopation while his mouth lathed her heated skin with sharp, smarting kisses in tandem. Claire was on the brink of total surrender and was trembling with the need for the fulfilment and pleasure only her Jamie could give.

They were insatiable for one other. Desire overwhelmed their senses as they both stood on the brink of ecstasy.  Pushing urgently against him, Claire could feel a volatile orgasm threaten to shudder throughout her body. She writhed on the rug as the imminent shattering of release surfaced.

Arching up like a cat, Claire rubbed her body along Jamie’s incredibly aroused one as her need for him intensified. She was in agony. Her breathing was shallow and erratic. Suddenly her hands fisted the shagpile rug beneath them as a rasping groan of need so overpowering sprang from her lips.  Jamie thrust into her without restraint, moving his hands to Claire's hips to grind her against him, holding her closer to him and biting her shoulder. She whimpered, melting in pleasure so profound, it overwhelmed her and overwhelmed him too. He felt the vibrations of her orgasm begin to ripple in his love’s body, but before it had reached its crest, he thrust into her once more. Her inner muscles clenched around him as Jamie took his beloved over the edge into total oblivion.  Tremors exploded around him in sublime ecstasy. Then seconds later, he gasped out Claire’s name in a ragged moan as he too reached the pinnacle of his pleasure. Feeling his body swell with his impending release, Jamie was unable to wait a moment longer and capitulated as well. Burying his face into his Sassenach’s neck, James Fraser reached another mind-blowing climax.

Feeling the explosion of his release to the depths of her womb, Claire cried out in the phenomenal bliss of a coupling that had been like none other they’d shared. She mirrored her lover’s groan as wave after wave of pleasure invaded her body.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Jamie and Claire lay back on the rug facing each other and wallowing in the sensations that flooded their bodies.  Although their hearts were still racing, they were both thoroughly exhausted but totally satiated in the throes of their release. Reaching out his hand, Jamie gently touched Claire’s face. His eyes caressed her with a passion she could not deny as they basked in the afterglow of their lovemaking. Stroking her tousled hair with a gentle hand, his eyes never left hers as they lay together in comfortable silence. 

Laying side by side, Jamie turned his head towards his beloved, a grin gracing his lips. He exhaled, spent from their explosive connection but couldn’t waste the opportunity to tease his beautiful paramour once more.  

“Next time we make love Sassenach …

“Next time?” She grinned at him then bit her lip as the look that Jamie was giving her melted her heart.

He bopped her on the nose with the most glorious look on his face that Claire couldn’t help but smile in return.

“Aye, Sassenach … next time, I shall lie upon my back and have ye stretched out at length upon me like the first night we made love here, so that I can take hold of yer buttocks and ... fondle them properly.”  

“I think you have done that already Jamie,” she sighed panting a little breathlessly.

His eyes crinkled with mirth at her statement.  Nevertheless, just the thought of his love’s derriere made him have wicked thoughts once more.  “My God. Ye have the roundest ass I've ever seen Claire. If ye wish to kick yer legs a bit, or make lewd motions with yer hips like ye can do, and pant in my ear and make those wee noises I said ye made ... then at any point in the proceedings, I won't have any... great objection.”

Claire held his gaze, her eyes flushed with excitement at what Jamie intended to do next time they made love but found that she needed to contradict one of his observations. “I told you I don’t pant ... or make noises.”

“Well … ye do Sassenach … ye made more than a few of them tonight.”

She blushed. Admitting to herself that Jamie was telling the truth, Claire merely mumbled waiting to hear his next reply, “Uh-uh.”

“Well, then I shall spread open yer thighs ... take down my breeks, and ...”

A keening moan escaped from her mouth as she provocatively bit her lip once more. “And what James Fraser?

“And then we shall see ... what sort of noises ye dinna make then, Sassenach.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They couldn’t help but grin at the post coital conversation they had just shared and gazed at each other.  Satiated and spent after what had been an incredible joining, smiles bowed their mouths as their eyes held in reflection of what they had shared and would share in the future.  Jamie and Claire both exhaled the breaths they were holding, moaned in sync and panted simultaneously as his words seemed to have resonated in their psyche.

Their lovemaking had been truly extraordinary and mind-blowing and now Jamie was taking about the next time.

“Jamie, I don’t think I will be able to walk tomorrow let alone make love. My legs are like jell-o.”

Claire looked back at her love, but Jamie had closed his eyes and had fallen fast asleep before he could answer her retort with a satisfied grin adorning his lips. She smiled and closed her eyes also feeling absolutely euphoric.

This wonderful man’s undying love for her had all but erased the pain she had felt earlier today and over the last few days. It really was time for her to put the past to rest and let go of the memories of Jonathon Randall at the monastery and what the triad had done to both of them. If Jamie could forget then so could she. He had just confirmed that together they could face anything. She felt good about herself and especially their relationship which had only deepened here at the villa. When the time came for them to leave and return to Section One, she now knew she could face anything.  Neither Madeline, Operations or another meeting with Karen Yee or Randall would be soul destroying.  She felt invincible and knew that she was stronger than them and would prevail.  With her Jamie beside her… nothing was impossible for now, anything was possible. 

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~to be continued Friday 7th August

We will leave Jamie and Claire here for a little while basking in their joy, and will find out what happens next in Section when Fergus tells his superiors who the mole is.

[phantom-curve]

find the strength, find the melody pt. 8

oof I don’t know if I actually like this chapter or not. imposter syndrome has taken up residence in my brain and it’s not looking to move out anytime soon. hopefully this is better than I’m giving myself credit for. 

I’m gonna try and get on a more regular schedule of updating this weekly. I think we’ve got one more part to day three and then a chapter each for days four & five. there might also be another middle of the night chapter, trying to figure out if it fits into the timeline like I want it to or not. you get some sneak peaks of angsty Luke in this part which I’m kind of excited about. can’t be all soft boy all the time. gotta get that ~dimension~

also, I wrote a one-shot of Ray and Rose’s first date that was referenced waaaay back in pt. 6! it’s also the story of Tia Victoria’s 21st birthday that was referenced in pt. 7! I really love it which isn’t something I’ve felt about my writing lately so you should check it out.

taglist: @blue-hat-girl, @lwhoscribbles, @bluefyoto94, @5sosmukefan, @moonlightxnder, @leahthewonder​, @kat-maybe-not​, @lukewearingbeanies, @imastrugglingartist​​

Julie had expected a mess of sloppy, overlapping notes and kinks that would need to be quickly smoothed out by Friday’s performance. She had been ready to go into the Showcase and just give it their best, hoping that maybe they would sound somewhat coherent, but not really expecting much all the same. A band couldn’t be built in a day. It was part of why she thought Luke’s plan was so insane. She couldn’t have been more wrong if she tried.

Within the first three run-throughs of the song things just seemed to click into place. It was like she had been playing with them her entire life. The longer they played, the more they slipped naturally into their role as bandmates. The energy in the room, the chemistry between the four of them, was palpable. She knew they could feel it too.

It was the way Reggie turned to her at the exact moment she moved towards him, playing off of her as she gave into her need to move to the bassline vibrating through her feet. It was how Alex’s face lit up with a kind of unrestrained joy she had never seen before, face shining as he nodded his head in time with his tapping foot when she turned towards him. They laughed together as she flipped her hair out of her eyes at the exact same time he did, completely in sync as they moved to the rhythm created by his fast-moving sticks. It was every single part of Luke.

His head, tilting to the side to call her to him just as she began to drift closer to his side. His voice, blending with hers like they had been made to sing together. His eyes, drilling into hers as she held her microphone out for them to share. His fingers, so sure on the strings beneath them that he didn’t once break their stare down. The tension she had felt simmering between them for the last few days exploded. They felt it at the exact same moment as their most seamless playthrough of the song came to a close.

Julie’s voice rang out beyond the instruments as she held her final note a beat longer than everyone else. She could hear the sound of Reggie and Alex’s voices rising with enthusiasm as they talked, but she couldn’t make out their words. Everything felt a little soft on the edges as Luke gazed at her with so much awe she thought she would float off the ground. He made her feel transcendent. Like the celestial being he claimed her to be. It was hard to feel like she wasn’t in Heaven when he looked at her like that. Her breath caught in her throat. He opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly she was being jostled from behind, her moment with Luke broken. Her feet stumbled as leather-clad arms wrapped around her tightly, sweeping her into a clumsy spin.

“Julie! That was amazing!”

Reggie’s voice was sparkling, and she couldn’t help but laugh softly, giving into the all-consuming feeling of happiness that was bubbling up inside of her. They came to a stop as a longer pair of arms covered in soft pink cotton pulled them close. Julie met Alex’s eyes, giving him a grateful smile as the studio finally came back into focus. He beamed back at her, completely relaxed and damn near glowing.

“I gotta agree with Reg for once.”

Julie giggled as Reggie let out an indignant shout, lips slipping into a pout. Alex ignored him, releasing his hold on both of them, but still talking to Julie.

“Seriously, Julie, I totally see what Luke has been saying. He was right, you’re perfect.”

Julie felt hot all the way from the top of her head down to the tips of her toes. She gave Luke a side-eyed glance, heart tripping as she caught the quick expression of embarrassed betrayal on his face. So, he had actually used the word ‘perfect’ to describe her. He had talked about her to his boys, and not just as a musician. This wasn’t only about the music. She knew that, or she should have known that by now, but to be faced with it so plainly was something else entirely. Luke attempted to slip into a casual slouch, but his hand scratching at the back of his neck gave away the nerves he was feeling as his gaze slipped back over to hers. Julie gulped, breathing out slowly.

“What can I say? You definitely make us better.”

Another attempt at a nonchalant shrug that was foiled by his still-scratching hand and slight vocal crack. Julie’s heart raced, her stomach flipping low in her gut. So, this is what a real crush feels like. Julie had crushed on boys before, or so she had thought. Never before had she felt like this. She hadn’t actually known the other boys she had been attracted to. Not in the way she was beginning to realize she knew Luke. She had kept herself at a distance from them, building up a fantasy in her mind as to what type of person they were and what it would be like to see that fantasy come to life. Her crushes had always been somewhat superficial and definitely unobtainable. Luke was neither one of those things. He was right here. She knew him. Connected with him on a level deeper than should be possible after only three days, but it was undeniable all the same. Her soul whispered that she had always known him, she had simply been waiting for him to return to his true home within her heart all this time.

Luke was shifting uneasily on his feet, just like earlier in the day when he realized he had taken his bold declarations a step too far. Only this time, Julie realized she liked when he did that. The way he built her up without even trying, an endless supply of support and admiration falling from his lips so easily. Julie simultaneously wanted to reassure him and also continue needling him because the way his words made her feel was a high like no other. His eyes crinkled at the edges, smile softening just for her. She gave in to the temptation to touch him, reaching up to lightly grasp his wrist. The scratching finally stopped, and Julie gave a special soft smile of her own.

“I think we make each other better. That’s a great song, Luke. Thank you for doing this for me.”

Julie released her grip and lowered her hand, biting her lip slightly. She didn’t miss the way that Luke’s ears tinged pink, his arm hovering in the air for a second as he processed her words. Their eyes locked, a million fleeting emotions passing between them in seconds, their own form of silent communication. With Luke, Julie was learning that there was a lot more in the things left unsaid than the things that he let slip out. Her words meant more to him than he would ever be able to express and she wondered if that related back to something with Bobby or something with his parents. Maybe even both. The moment stretched on, the rest of the studio melting away in the background. Until Reggie’s whisper broke through.

“I see chemistry.”

The twin slaps of Alex’s hand on his forehead and Luke’s hand falling to his thigh echoed in the otherwise silent space. Julie felt her cheeks burn, breaking away from Luke’s gaze to face the other boys once again. She really had to stop letting herself get swept up in him. Especially when they had such an observant audience. Her eyes darted to the clock behind them, surprised to find several hours had already passed. Her dad would probably be calling her up for dinner soon. Right on cue, the studio doors rattled and opened. Carlos, framed by the setting sun behind him, studied the group of teenagers.

“So, this is your boy band?”

“Boy band! Who you callin ‘boy band’?!”

Luke’s indignant shout would have been funny if Julie wasn’t hyperaware of how close she was still standing to him. Carlos’s skeptical brown eyes darted back and forth between them like he could tell he had missed out on a golden opportunity to embarrass her. He smirked slightly, crossing his arms as he regarded Luke.

“I mean, you’re boys in a band. Ergo, boy band.” His hands lifted in a falsely innocent shrug. “I don’t make the rules.”

Reggie giggled as Luke’s jaw dropped slightly, stunned into silence by her brother’s sass. Even Alex was fighting back a grin. Reggie stepped closer to Carlos, whipping out his hand for a high-five.

“Up top, little dude!”

Carlos’s smirk melted into a genuine smile as he lifted onto his toes to smack Reggie’s hand. Julie rolled her eyes, nudging Luke a bit while the others were distracted. He turned to her with a small pout.

“Kids usually think I’m cool.”

“No, kids usually think you’re another kid.” Alex chimed in gleefully.

Luke’s pout deepened and Julie couldn’t resist knocking their fingers together for a quick brush of contact.

“I think you’re cool.”

The whisper was low, but she could tell he heard it by the way he snatched her hand into his, squeezing it for a brief moment as he gave her that burning look again. The interaction was over in a second, but Julie felt the lingering fire race across her skin. She wished she could have a minute or ten alone with him. She turned back to Carlos in the doorway before he could notice. That kid didn’t need any more ammunition against her, thank you very much.

“Did you need something, Carlos? Or are you just here to be a pest?”

He broke off his conversation with Reggie to stick his tongue out at her. She repeated the gesture back to him.

“I need a lot of things actually. Like a normal sister for one.”

He snickered at the way her nostrils flared, fully aware that she wanted to reach out and cuff the back of his head but wouldn’t do it in front of other people. She settled for gritting her teeth and reminding herself that as annoying as Carlos was, he was also her little brother and she loved him. She just didn’t always appreciate his astonishing lack of a filter around older boys that he thought were cool. Luke had read him all wrong of course. Carlos only teased people he was in awe of. That reminder calmed her as well. He was teasing out of love, and because he was nervous around these teenagers that he clearly wanted to like him. She could give him a pass. She could also tease him right back.

“I know where you sleep, twerp. Relay your message or scram.”

He rolled his eyes at her lame threat, but dropped the bratty attitude nonetheless.

“Dad says it’s time to eat. He said the guys can stay if they’re hungry.”

Carlos couldn’t fully hide the hope in his voice, though he tried to sound indifferent about it. Julie watched the boys share a quick look, an entire conversation taking place in mere seconds. Alex’s arm went around Reggie, who sagged a bit like he was disappointed. Luke’s hand went back to his neck, body slumping as if to shrink himself. Alex’s fingers tapped out a restless beat against his thigh. None of them moved to speak. Julie couldn’t stand the uncomfortable way the air grew thick between them.

“I’m sure the guys have plans already, bud. This was kind of a last-minute thing. Maybe tomorrow?”

She aimed the question at the boys instead of Carlos. They seemed to melt all at once. Another silent conversation communicated through glances. Reggie took the lead this time.

“That sounds great! As long as you’re sure your dad won’t mind. We don’t wanna be a burden.”

Julie shook her head, heart aching at the way Reggie said ‘burden’ like it was a title he was used to.

“No burden at all. Dad always makes too much spaghetti anyway. And my Tía usually brings food a few times a week so we literally always have leftovers. You guys would be helping us out by eating them up, honestly.”

Reggie smiled at her, and Julie was surprised to find that she wanted to cry. Not because she was happy or sad or any particular emotion really, but because Reggie made her feel the same way Carlos did when it was the middle of the night and she was waking up to the feeling of his cold feet against her calves and his whispered confession about not wanting to be alone right then. She felt protective. Ready to fight whatever or whoever it was out there that had made him believe he was too much simply by existing. Was this what her mom had talked about when she said the best bands were actually families? Julie had always taken that to mean her family, as in her mom and her. Maybe what she had been saying all along was that the magic of music could make a family. The right connections, the right mix of artists, and it wasn’t just about playing anymore. It was about creating something together, breathing life into their art as one entity. Caring for each other, lifting each other up, bandaging each other’s wounds.

The enormity of the realization that all it took was one afternoon for her to adopt these three idiots hit her like a ton of bricks. She didn’t even know them, and yet, she did. Their souls were forever intertwined. Whatever feeling had overtaken them during their practice would linger for the rest of eternity, burned into her heart like a brand. The magic of music.

“Thanks, Julie.”

Alex’s voice was soft, fingers calm once more. Julie nodded, not trusting herself to speak right then.

“Cool!”

Carlos whooped, breaking the moment once again. This time, Julie didn’t mind so much.

“I’ll go tell Dad. See you guys later!”

He was off like a rocket, propelled forward by his unshakeable enthusiasm. The arm that Alex still had around Reggie flexed for a moment before dropping. Reggie gave him a quick smile, lifting his bass over his head. Luke swung his guitar onto his back, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. Julie could tell something was bothering him. Alex seemed to feel it too.

“Hey, Reg, can you go unlock the van? I’m gonna start carrying my kit up.”

Alex tossed the keys to Reggie, who somehow managed to catch them singlehandedly while still holding his bass. His eyebrows furrowed for a second, but then he looked over at Luke and understanding dawned. He raced out of the studio without a word, Alex close behind him cradling his bass drum in his arms. Julie turned to Luke once they were alone, only to be met with his back as he fiddled with his guitar in its case. His shoulders were raised high, muscles bunched tightly under his shirt. She took a few steps forward, resting her hand lightly on his back once she was next to him. He relaxed slightly and she sighed in relief. Her fingers took on a mind of their own, softly rubbing until he let his shoulders fall.

“Please don’t feel obligated to stay for dinner tomorrow if you don’t want to.”

Luke spun around so quickly Julie didn’t have time to step back. He grabbed her elbows, steadying her but not moving out of her space. His expression was torn, eyes intense. Julie felt her throat tighten.

“No, Julie, it’s not that. I just...families are hard. For me. For...us.”

His eyes flew to the still open doors and back. She didn’t have to ask who the us was.

“Your dad seems really great. Your brother too. I just...it’s silly, but I don’t wanna let you or your family down.”

He bit his lip, gaze slipping down to the floor. They stood toe-to-toe, the tips of their sneakers almost touching. Julie breathed in deeply, the faint smell of her shampoo tickling her nose. It had to be coming off of Luke. Her own hair had been tied back into a bun at the beginning of band practice. It was an intimate reminder of the night before. When he hadn’t been home in the middle of the night because sometimes it was better to be elsewhere, even if elsewhere just meant not there. She couldn’t relate to that feeling. Her home had never felt like anything other than a welcoming, safe space. Her family had never been anything other than loving and supportive, even in the rare moments when they fought with each other.

“Luke, I’m pretty sure my dad thinks that you’re an angel. He was so happy this afternoon he didn’t even bring up the meeting with Lessa. You’re the reason I’m playing music again and that’s as good as gold in his eyes.”

“No way, Molina.” Luke scoffed, hands raising from her elbows to her shoulders. “That’s all on you. I didn’t do anything except ambush you for my own personal gain.”

Julie was shaking her head before he even finished his sentence. He was trying to play everything off with that cocky, cool kid attitude, but she knew him better now. That bravado was all a defense mechanism. One of her own hands lifted, brushing his hair out of his eyes, fingers lingering along his jawline.

“You’re wrong, Patterson.”

She didn’t miss the way he jerked a bit when she used his last name, his pupils widening slightly. A small smile formed on her lips. Two could play at that game.

“You rescued my mom’s song and protected it all this time. You brought it back to me right when I needed it. Did you know that was the last song she ever worked on? The last song we ever worked on. That song is the last piece of my mom. I don’t think I would have ever been able to play again without it, and I didn’t even realize that until yougave it back to me.”

She edged forward until their shoes touched. It wasn’t that much closer, but Julie could feel every inch of space lost between them. Luke’s eyes were doing that soft, starry thing again, and Julie thought her own eyes might look the same. He let his hands fall from her shoulders until they were resting lightly against her waist. Her own hands snuck around his neck, fingertips brushing against his soft, jasmine scented hair. Luke swayed their bodies slightly, his need for constant motion of some kind getting the best of him. It made her want to laugh, but this moment felt too big for that. Of all the ways her relationship with Luke had rapidly shifted in the last few days, this felt like the most serious. She wasn’t trying to fight him anymore. She was laying her cards out just as openly as he had.

“Julie...”

She couldn’t stop herself from leaning into him further, his voice twisting her name into the sweetest sounding melody. Luke didn’t get a chance to say or do anything else before noise filtered in through the still open studio doors. Alex’s voice, louder than Julie had ever heard it before, as he chatted with Reggie. Luke’s shoulders curved slightly, like he was disappointed, before he straightened and put some more space between them. They dropped their hands at the same time, the loss of contact causing her to shiver. Luke shot her a quick smile, so Julie knew his actions were less about hiding her and more about not wanting to share their delicate relationship with anyone else just yet. That was okay with her, too. It felt a little too new, a little too fragile, to let anyone else in on it just yet.

Alex and Reggie appeared only seconds later, Alex looking a little wary like he wasn’t sure his loud approach had been enough warning, Reggie’s expression open and happy, clearly oblivious to the thick tension between Luke and Julie. He was babbling to Alex about something involving physics homework, both of them moving to collect several other pieces of Alex’s kit. Luke gave her one last glance before he left her side to lift an amp. Julie was silent for a moment as she watched them before a realization had her smacking her forehead. The sound was loud enough to startle the boys, who turned to her with matching confused expressions on their faces.

“You guys are going to be right back over here tomorrow. You don’t need to take all your stuff out just to haul it back in here in like 24 hours. I should have said something earlier.”

Another silent conversation, the boys wary and anxious again. Julie wished she had a better understanding of the landmines she seemed to keep stumbling upon. Luke had given her a small hint, but the rejection anxiety ran deep in every single one of these boys. Reggie spoke up before Julie had the chance to reassure them.

“Are you sure your dad won’t mind?”

He was fiddling nervously with the strap on his bass, eyes wide. Alex’s grip flexed on the snare he held, Luke stepping closer to his guitar case. She heard the underlying question behind Reggie’s tone. Are you sure these parts of our souls will be safe here?

“He won’t mind at all. He hasn’t touched a thing in here since we locked it up after Mom...since we locked it up a year ago.”

She tried to keep her voice soft, her steps slow as she moved to place her hands against the top of the grand piano.

“My mom’s piano has been stored in here my entire life. I promise you the Molina’s know the importance of protecting our instruments. It’s up to you though. I totally get it if you want to keep them with you.”

Julie didn’t wait for their response, letting them process and decide for themselves how they felt about the situation. She bent to lift the sheet that usually covered the piano, shaking it a few times before closing the fallboard and draping the soft material over the instrument.  By the time she turned around, only Luke was left behind her. She raised a brow, concerned she had said the wrong thing. His lips stretched into one of the smiles reserved just for her.

“They went back to the van to get Alex’s bass drum.”

Her eyes darted off to the side behind him, noticing that the snare Alex had been holding was back in place, Reggie’s bass once more nestled into a guitar holder. She felt her frown soften into a smile, relieved that they seemed to trust her despite not really having much of a reason to.

“Thank you...for, ya know, being so cool about all of this.”

Luke’s voice was quiet, hands fidgeting like he was fighting the urge to raise them to the back of his neck.

“Luke, I should be the one thanking you. Seriously, you guys don’t have to do this for me, and you are anyway. Actually, you very well could get into trouble for doing this, and yet you’re still willing to take that risk. The least I can do is house your instruments for a few days.”

Julie didn’t mean to, but something in her voice had his head snapping up at the way she said her last sentence. Like he could tell that she was trying to say it wasn’t just the instruments she was willing to care for. It was the boys too. It was Luke. They didn’t say anything more, letting the sentiment hang in the air between them. Luke’s eyes were impossibly soft. If Julie hadn’t already plunged over the cliff ledge falling for him, this moment would have toppled her.

Reggie and Alex stumbled back in, both of them laughing but unable to fully articulate why. Something about an old Vine video and bible study. Alex reset his bass drum, Julie scrounging up another sheet from the linen closet in the bathroom to cover it for the night. And if she took an extra second to run her fingers over the towel now hanging on the hook next to the shower, the faint scent of jasmine and citrus body wash and Luke drifting off of it at the movement, well no one else had to know about that.

[the--sad--hatter]

Game Of Survival (Bucky x Reader)

FANDOM - MARVEL

PAIRING - BUCKY X FEM!READER 

WARNINGS - SMUT, VIOLENCE, ANGST, GRAPHIC BLOOD AND GORE, SWEARING, DRUGS AND ALCOHOL

DESCRIPTION -

“If you do bad things for a good reason, they’re still bad things.”

When a serial killer decides to save the world, who can she turn to for help? You went to the people who supposed to be the professionals, the experts, the heroes. You should have guessed they would try to save you as well. 

When you were a young girl, you were taught that love was a weakness, a failing of the human race, an anomaly in your biology designed to keep you weak and the only way to be strong was to train yourself to never succumb to it. It was a lesson you learned well, because you had no other choice. You were a creature incapable of love, incapable of loyalty. And on your eighteenth birthday, with a stolen gun from the top drawer of your father desk, you proved just how much you had learned. The weight of the gun in your hand was a small price to pay for the weight lifted from your soul when you pulled the trigger.

“Goodbye papa.”

 You never forgot the look in his eyes as you fired the gun, nor the way it felt when his blood splattered against the pristine walls. It was freedom, and it was divine.

 You never stopped pulling the trigger after that day. Your goal was righteous, your methods were not.

 For a scared child who cowed at the crack of a belt, you pulled the trigger.

 For a young girl ripped away from her home and stowed away in the dark, you pulled the trigger.

 For the young boy enticed away from his family and his veins poisoned and soul stained, you pulled the trigger.

 For the parents who would never hold their child again, you pulled the trigger.

 Your price was non-negotiable, a promise. To be better. Better than the one who had hurt them, better than you.

 But you weren’t a hero, no matter the good you had done for the world. Nobody ever called you a hero. They wouldn’t even call you a vigilante.

 They called you what you were.

 Serial killer.

 Drug lords, crime lords, kidnappers, sex traffickers, abusers, rapists, murderers…. They were your victims.

 Your methods were brutal, unmerciful, terrifying in their violence, downright sickening in the satisfaction you derived from the heinous acts.

 Nobody felt a shred of pity for those who died by your hand. Nobody ever outright condemned you for what you did, but you were just too far over the line for anybody to defend you out loud. But behind closed doors, in hushed voices, they would say it. Whenever the news showed another monster in the world, the whispers were there.

 “I hope The Executioner gets them.”

 Natasha Romanov had met you only once, and not a word had been spoken between you. She had pushed open the door, gun at the ready. Her mark, the man Fury had sent her to take in, dead or alive was lying on his bed. If it weren’t for the gash along his chest, from Adams apple to groin, he might have been sleeping. Moonlight streamed through the open window, glinting off of the silver blade you carefully wiped on the edge of the bedsheet. You turned your head to look at the Russian Spy, your red lips curled into a feral smirk as you raised a blood stained hand to your face, holding a finger to your lips. ‘Shhh’ you gestured, blood dripping from your fingers.

 Natasha nodded once, a short but firm tilt of her head. She knew who you were because she knew who he was. A despicable man who called himself a doctor, she had seen the pictures of his ‘patients’. Or what was left of them. You turned away from her and walked out onto the balcony, disappearing from view.

 Had that interaction happened a few years earlier or later, Natasha might have reacted differently. But it didn’t, and she let you walk away. Clint understood why she’d done it.

 Clint had met you as well. But he had spoken to you.

 You had a gun pressed to the temple of the woman Shield wanted to speak to regarding a string of unethical and dangerous experiments. Biological warfare, her victim was a small town in France. Hundreds dead, thousands more in danger.

 “Put the gun down.” He ordered.

 “Give me a reason.” You demanded coolly.

 He thought it over before he answered because your tone wasn’t mocking or challenging. It was genuine. If he gave you a reason, you would stand down.

 “She’s the only one we can get to in time to stop the next attack.” He said.

 You raised the gun and pointed it at the ceiling immediately.

 “Tell them what they want to know. They will put you in a cell, you’ll be safe from me.” You told her.

 You walked away, right past him as if you didn’t think he would stop you.

 “Wait…” He said.

 “No.” You replied firmly as you continued walking.

 “You can be better than this, you just proved that. Don’t you want to be a part of something bigger than this? To actually make a difference, a real one. What you’re doing, you don’t have to do alone.” He offered.

 “Not interested.” You said dismissively.

 “I can’t let you leave.” He warned you.

 “Then stop me.” You told him without turning around as you walked out of the door.

 He wanted to, but Fury told him to stand down. Clint had always wondered how you found your victims. Now he knew.

 Sometimes when Nick Fury wanted someone dead, executed, a file always found its way to you. You were smart enough to know Fury was manipulating you, he was smart enough to know you didn’t care.

 Contrary to what the rumours said about you, you weren’t a vengeful ghost, you weren’t a righteous demon or a dark avenging angel. You were human, an as such, you made mistakes. You were flesh and blood, and when you were cut, you bled, when you were shot, it fucking hurt.

 The steady drip of your blood splattering on the floor was loud in the otherwise silent room. It wasn’t a heavy enough flow for you to bother staunching it, you wouldn’t die from blood loss so pressing something against the wound would just be unnecessary effort and pain.

 Better to let the blood flow.  Words you lived by.

 But even lonely serial killer sometimes needed somebody to dig out the bullets and stitch them back together. Sometimes even someone who was used to working alone knew when they were in too deep.

 You didn’t bother turning around when the door whooshed open.

 “You.”

 “Hello Clint, nice to see you again.” You said.

 “Uh, who the hell is this and why is she bleeding all over my clean floors? You, creepy lady, stop bleeding on my floor.” Tony Stark instructed you.

 You turned around, smirking at various The Avengers who had all gathered to hunt down the intruder. You held up the flash drive you’d almost died obtaining and tossed it at them. Clint was the one who caught it in his fist.

 “Would somebody mind digging this bullet out, I’d do it myself but I’m about four and a half minutes away from dying so I don’t really have the time.” You said sarkily.

 “I’m waiting for a reason we aren’t cutting that time short, Clint?” Tony sassed back.

 “What’s on the flashdrive?” Clint asked you.

 “Seven and a half billion reasons not to let me die. Saving the world is your thing right? Or have I broken into the wrong place?” You asked them.

 You were betting you hadn’t. You were betting your life on it.

 ~~~~~~~~~~The Next Day~~~~~~~~~~

 When Bucky was a young man, he’d been what nowadays was referred to as a player. When the war came and he shipped out he was torn between wishing he had someone to go home to when it was over, and thankful that there was nobody he might leave behind. Then came the fall and he didn’t think about things like love anymore. When the hellicarriers went down and Bucky started to regain control of his own mind, there was no space in his fractured mind for something like love. When he was in Wakanda, relearning how to be human again, he realized that someone like him wasn’t ever going to be able to find love. Then Tony Stark reached out and brought the lost Avengers home and Stark’s forgiveness went a long way to Bucky being able to start to forgive himself, but still, there was something in him that just knew love was not in his future.

  Or so he thought.

  It happened in a split second, on an unremarkable day. He had just returned from a mission with Steve and Sam. He was weary, bruised and tired. All that melted away, forgotten when he heard her before he saw her. A loud, unrestrained laugh, brimming and overflowing with joy. Bucky’s feet led him towards the magical sound automatically, like a siren call. He turned the corner and it was like he’d only been seeing the world in muted colours his whole life without even realising it. She had her back to him and as she turned around, hair flying out behind her, he saw the wide smile across her face, the twinkle in her eyes and everything snapped into place with an earth-shattering finality.

 She was the one.

 “Buckinator, come meet this delightful creature.” Tony called, waving him over.

 Bucky didn’t hesitate, it wasn’t confidence, it was desperation to speak to her.

 “Hi.” He breathed out, in awe of the shining beauty who was now smiling right at him. For him.

 “Hello.” She said and her voice was just as melodic as her laugh.

 That was the day he fell in love.

“This is The Executioner, one of the most prolific Serial Killers in the world.” Tony announced. 

Her lips curled up at the edges and like a magic trick, she went from sunshine to sinful. 

Unfortunately for him, she was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

A/N - This is a teaser/tester. I kinda just want to write a story where the reader character is not the good guy, but she’s not the bad guy either. She’s in a very moral grey area, like Natasha would have been when Clint first found her. 

However, I don’t know if it’s something worth writing or should just be one of the ones that only lives inside my mind. 

[alvaar-aldaviir]

Wondrous Tails: Kisses

Time Frame: Post Canon (years after Shadowbringers(?)), No Spoilers

Notes: All characters are aged up. Just a brief study on character dynamics.

They each kiss different.

It’s not something surprising of course, as even when Alvaar had first met the Leveilleur twins all those years ago he could tell the similarities mostly ended with appearance. And with his years as an unrepentant floozy, it wasn’t like he was wholly unfamiliar to the variety of the act. He’d had his storied share in his early days of adventuring.

Even so it was something so distinct between the pair he couldn’t help but be amused when he could tell without opening his eyes who was rising early from bed without looking.

That it was Alphinaud when a lingering chaste brush of lips touched his brow or Alisaie catching his mouth for a quick heated kiss.

Alisaie tended to kiss like any day could be their last. Gripping onto his clothes hard enough to leave ruffles in the finer fabric. He was half certain there must be perpetual indents at the base of his skull in the shape of her fingers given the frequency she’d haul him close and claim his lips with hers.

Sometimes there’d be a touch of teeth or a flick of tongue to ask for something hotter. She was fire and passion and unrestrained vibrancy when it suited her mood. Brash and often striking first like the testing blow in a duel. Physical and oft times controlling the initial pace with an abrupt and easy demand.

Alisaie was the initial burn of a strong liquor, and in much the same fashion would she settle into something cozy and warm and familiar. Show the sweet and compassionate heart under all the barbs and sass.

With the unspoken reassurance of still being there, of having the time for more than a passionate clash, the Red Mage would usually ease into something soft. Let him take the time to linger and touch and romance until she was almost as red as her clothes and moved to shut him up the best way she knew how.

Alphinaud, on the other hand, was far less prone to spontaneity and even less to the absence of words. In the faintest brush of lips against his skin there was the weight of words, spoken or otherwise.

He kissed like a promise that believed an eternity stretched out before them, prosperous and hopeful and bright.

It was why there was almost always a sound preceding it, often a familiar warmth and affection wrapped around the syllables of his name.

There were novels worth of speeches and poetry and vows in the way he lingered and the thoroughness of his attention. Letters formed sometimes with effortless skill or fumbled in embarrassment, given voice beforehand or pressed to his mouth in earnest belief the Bard would understand.

Somehow each time Alvaar does. From each unspoken ‘I love you’ against his cheek to the long prose the Scholar couldn’t voice. Sentences and feelings woven in lips lingering against each scar. Everything from how much he meant to how sorry he felt. The worry and fear and belief and admiration.

The silent plea to always return home hale and whole and triumphant. The way he sighed and sank a bit with relief when the Bard held him and answered back without words that he knew.

But as for Alvaar?

If you asked the twins there would probably have to be thought after the embarrassed fluster or annoyed scoff. Gossip was hardly becoming after all, and what an invasive question of the Hero of the realm.

But Alvaar kissed with all the timing and fervor and skill of a dance. Matching and answering in kind. Easy and effortless with little care for modesty when he’d always been honest in his affections.

It made it easy to miss the timidity underneath, veiled as it was. The faint hesitation on initial contact as if making sure it was still okay and that he was still wanted. As if he still expected to be pushed away or the moment to vanish or any other thing on a myriad list to intrude.

A pause for the other proverbial boot to drop as it had always seemed to do in his life.

It was most easily felt in the way his touch would linger beforehand, fingers threading together or leaning the faintest bit against them. A silent question in the warmth of that contact that waited for an answer of acceptance.

It had yet to fall on deaf ears.

[roidesrosette]

Blood donation? Blood donation.

God bless @narekashi​ for coming up with this genius name and enabling me to do this, i dont blame you thou i have a lot of fun

Yes, it’s me with another of my (mayhaps) contentless OC, please enjoy while it last– Jkjk, I’ll try to throw more content of her on here instead of Discord next time :’)

BLOOD DONATION:  Salvie/Salva/Sal, short for Salvatore

Age: ??? Gender: Salvie doesn’t like to define herself as anything  Birthday: 6/24  Height: 160cm  Status: Got revived as a vampire 

PHYSICAL  Appearance: Black hair usually tied in a ponytail, red eyes, sharp teeth, a constant “you dare challenge your god?” mocking expression (but doesn’t have the intention) 

Accessories: Poker case set, saber and gun

SOCIAL  Affiliation: On her own Occupation: Salvie runs a casino and is involved in a mafia Relationships:

Count: First met him when she was “adopted” by the bunch of vampires. He was offering to give them residence, but they all turned him down. Met him again when she was touring the world alone and made him an acquaintance, they became really good friends after that.

Leonardo: Met him when she was touring in Italy with Count. He kept treating her like a small child (still do), and they would drag each other like how he and Count would. He likes messing up her hair, she likes stepping on him when he’s asleep. Also a pair of good friends.

Arthur: Arthur was interested in Salvie and find her dominating personality challenging, but he knew well enough not to lay a finger on her. You just don’t simply go against someone who could lop off your head and had associations with the mafia. On the other hand thou, they were drinking buddies, and sometimes Salvie would pick up girls with him. They gamble a lot together too.

Dazai: They have an odd relationship. It might be because they’re somehow similar in a way, they know what line not to cross. They just have this weird bond that no one can put a finger to determine what it is.

Isaac: They don’t really talk much, she only knows he really likes apple from what she heard from Dazai, but that’s probably a lie…

Theodorous: God how Salvie loves to tease and sass him. Much like Leo, they would banter every time they met, but Theo always ends up leaving, flustered. He was too young compared to her, maybe a couple more years and his bantering skills might improve. They weren’t really on good terms, especially with how Salvie was involved with Shakespeare and the goddamn mafia, plus how close she and Vincent is.

Vincent: Pure, innocent baby boy. “I’ve only met Vincent for 15 seconds and if anyone hurts him I’ll kill everyone in this room and then myself.” Absolutely adores him and prefers him over Theo. Salvie admires how innocent he was, and that nature of him would always make her worry about him. She will also give him everything he wants or needs, just to see him smile.

Sebastian: When Count first brought him to the world, she was intrigued by the human who managed to charm him. So she would frequently visit just to see how Sebas works… Until he starts digging her information. She knew his passion well and understood that, but she would prefer if Sebas exclude her from his mysterious notebook.  

Napoleon: Salvie was very interested in him, being a demi-vampire, but she does not question him about it. If he isn’t willing to say, then she had no reason to pry. Along with Jeanne, the three of them practiced sword fights from time to time. Salvie would always be fascinated by both of their skills. You could say that their relationship is quite well.

Mozart: Salvie does not talk much with Mozart, but lowkey likes his performance. She would always attend a ball or an activity if Mozart is the one playing the piano. Salvie also finds his prickly attitude fun to tease, but would rather see Arthur tease him. They would only exchange words when it comes to music and that’s it.

Jeanne: Aside from sparring with him, Salvie also supplies weapons to him. She doesn’t question why, as that was the nature of her business. She couldn’t refuse too, since business is business, and he was a resident of Count’s, which she promised the dad before that she would sponsor his residents too, because he was a friend of hers.

Shakespeare: Basically (kinda) love at first sight. Both of them were born with chaos in them, and so they attract each other. She did not meet him when he became the first resident of Count, but she did hear about it. She met him in a ball. It’s a long ass story how they get together but yeah, these two dumbasses are doing fine and dandy as a couple, have their banters and bickers sometimes but all is well. Unless….?

Paired with: William Shakespeare (Maybe…?)  

PERSONALITY 

Likes: Gambling, attending balls (especially masquerade balls), hunting, going off adventures with her beloved horse, sword fight, overly sweet stuff  

Dislikes: Following a schedule/orders, getting treated like a feeble maiden/young child, proper meal, proper sleep  

Strength: She’s superb at gambling and swinging her sword, mediocre at drinking, she aced in “not giving a shit” 

Weakness: Hides her feelings a lot, tends to distance herself from people who know her to a certain degree, can’t sleep in peace ever

Personality: Let’s just start with: Salvie is chaotic. Very chaotic. Even the name “Salvatore” already tells you she spells trouble. She doesn’t like being bound by rules, schedules or anyone’s orders, she’s a free soul who decides every step. However, she isn’t reckless, each action she took is calculated and rationally think through, as she does not wish to take a step she regrets. That careful and meticulous approach made her seem wise–despite how young she looks–mature even. Well, but sometimes Salvie could be bratty too, since “her adorable looks is the biggest fraud” (quoted from Leo). She also has a bold personality, and that results in her sassing the great men fearlessly, yet that doesn’t mean she doesn’t respect them, in fact, it’s the opposite. She looked up to them greatly, as they were awesome enough to get their name engraved in history.  

Her biggest charm is definitely her carefree attitude. She’s just, y’know, damn chill. Salvie doesn’t have a care towards anything, therefore her pronouns and attire choices. Although her easy-going characteristics is an appeal, it’s sometimes a flaw as well. It made it difficult to get along with her as the specifics about her is unclear. Since she was so chill with everything, it’s certainly hard to pin down what are her favourites and stuff. Contradictorily, that light-hearted manner doesn’t apply to people. She unintentionally looks after people, even if she doesn’t want to care, she would still unknowingly do something for them, like leaving them a cup of tea on the table every morning. 

On the other hand though, kinda like Dazai, Salvie’s breezy and free demeanor makes it hard to grasp her true character, not mentioning the fact that she tends to sweep everything under the rug. She has a way with words that always, somehow, avoid the topic about herself, and that made her mysterious in a way. She was very quiet of her thoughts, especially things on her mind, rarely talking about her problems. She would tend to fend off questions about that with a gentle reassuring smile and a wispy attitude, as she disliked someone poking into her problems (and of course because she didn’t want to seem weak). 

HISTORY 

Backstory: Salvie was not recorded at any point in history, yet she was revived. She did not know why and did not question so. When she was first revived, she did not remember anything except her name. Dozens of questions were in her mind, yet there was no one to answer her. For what feels like an eternity, she wandered on the streets aimlessly until she met her kind. They were strong, independent, and raised her as if she was a newborn. Well, she was, kinda. The days gradually passed, and she too, came to understand that she had been reborn into a person–no, an immortal with unrestrained freedom, with unlimited time (not really, but you get the idea). As soon as she came to that conclusion, she bid goodbye to her friends, (guardians maybe?) and took a flight to achieve her dreams–to live how she wanted in her previous life. 

Family: Salvie doesn’t remember (or rather, it was insignificant to her) her family in her previous life. She only recognized the group of vampires that took her in as her guardians. 

Other history: How Salvie was involved in the mafia is… Well, chaotic. She was supposed to be on the tour with Count to Italy, to visit his long lost friend Leonardo, but along the way she somehow stumbled into an illegal gambling den, challenged the don (with very extreme conditions), defeated the don and accidentally become the new don of the mafia. After going through all the messy procedures, the news about a new mafia boss named  “Lord Salvatore” quickly spread through Italy. His nature was depicted as cruel and ruthless as he gets anything he wants, and no one stands in his way. Yet what’s weird was that the “Salvatore Family” was rumored to be civilized and noble, as they were ordered that no blood should be drawn unless it was required to. You can imagine the horror on Leo and Count’s face when they heard about this, and the compliments from her guardians. 

TRIVIA

Special abilities: None. (Her face as an instrument of deception)  Pet(s): A white horse named Vlad. Hobby: When she isn’t gambling or drinking, she will be out doing mafia business or just wandering somewhere else  Secret(s): Had a past lover who she later recalled and somehow disliked that shares the same name with her horse (which she then became devastated knowing that she named her horse after her past lover)  Habits: When she’s stressed or troubled, she will smoke from a pipe 

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Flood my Mornings: Found

I know, right??? Thank you for bearing with me while I’ve taken a wee ten month sabbatical! And thank you, too, for dropping in every now and again to remind me of how much you love this story. It means the world! - With love, Mod Bonnie 

This story takes place in an AU where Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

FMM Master List 

Previously: Hectic

Found

Early December, 1952

.

“Hey, Mummy?”

“Yes, pumpkin?”

“Um! Why come—”

“How....”

“—How come my hairs is all gray in all tha’ pictures?”

One grammar victory at a time.

“Cameras only can show things in black and white. Ours, anyway.”

Taking pictures was always great fun; poring over them once they’d come back from the developer, a joy, particularly coupled with Jamie’s still-sharp wonder in their implicit magic. Actually following through with organizing them into albums, though? A bloody-hateful chore I’d managed to put off for nearly a year, this time. The red album already held Ian’s first six months or so, but most of his subsequent life had accumulated in lazy shoeboxes and (better late than never) now lay scattered around Bree and me in a shiny arc on the living room floor. 

“Wouldn’t them—those pictures be better if it was all the right ones?” She popped up from hands and knees to shove a fistful of ginger curls toward me. “The good colors?” 

“Absolutely! Maybe someday.”

She nodded once, satisfied. “You should go tell them to.”

“Tell who?”

Shrug. “Camera people.”

“I’ll write Mr. Kodak right away.”

“Good. Which picture’re we doin’ next?”

“Hmmm....” It came out more like a ‘heeeeeee’, since I was grinning with complete, albeit exhausted joy at my unstoppable eldest. 

“How ‘bout THIS one?” She came up with a snapshot from the Fernacre Halloween party this year: Jamie beaming as he held Ian securely atop Kugel, one of the newer horses. 

“Oh,” I moaned, heart squeezing as I held the photo next to the page showing Ian at four months, fuzzy-headed and drooling happily with his hands clapped together. “Bree, when did my tiny baby become a grown-up boy?” 

“He izzzz a baby, Mummy.”

“Well, yes, but....”  

But oh lord, to see his infant photos again, compared with the walking, sometimes-talking little man across the house! Where had all the baby fat gone? When had the generic softness of his features been replaced with cheekbones and Jamie’s dimpled chin?! Jesus H. Christ, it made me want to curl up and sob for days and then get down to business making another one. (Except, no, absolutely not). 

“He IS a real baby,” Brianna was saying, with a sass that spilled over into guilty-glee: “He still poopies in his pants!”

“Touché, lovey,” I giggled along with her, rifling through our pile to make sure I hadn’t missed any from Ian’s birthday. “OH! This is pure Ian, right here, don’t you think??”

This was from just last week, from the packet Jamie had picked up on his way home yesterday. No special occasion: just our sweet, sweet boy standing in the doorway to the back garden, beaming with a magnetic smile even as he shyly resisted any coaxing to come out, blanket over his shoulder and pressed comfortingly against his cheek.

Somehow, he alone had managed to miss the gene for curly hair. His was still thick, though, brown and unruly as mine, with a tendency to poke up in little cowlicks every time you turned your back (and good bloody luck to anyone that tried to come at him with a comb and triggered a caterwauling to wake the dead). His eyes—dark honey—were slanted, seeming even more so as he grinned at the camera. So like Bree and yet so much his own. 

Resemblance wasn’t the only difference between my little ones, for Ian was less tempestuous than Brianna, to say the very least. Whereas she had seemed to exit the very womb inclined to speak (or howl) her mind with a fierce, vocal confidence in herself, Ian Fraser was a more subtle charmer. He got what he wanted by lavishing snuggles and carefully-placed puppy-dog eyes on his target, speaking his few words when necessary, but usually content to wheedle in his own way, or else let Bree do the talking for him.  

His own unique spirit, I marveled, running my thumbs against the glossed edges. Bree was, in a word, intense; her brother..... what? More shy by contrast, absolutely, but I’d always hated the milquetoast connotations of that word. He wasn’t at all skittish or morose; when in his element, he could be as boisterous as she, and if he sometimes preferred to play by himself in a group of friends, it always seemed to be by choice, not exclusion. In fact, I’d observed that he even spoke more when on his own, when he was absorbed in organizing a Gathering of the cuddly toys, or making tiny stick-villages in the garden, narrating his playtime in a mixture of English, Gaelic, and (the vast majority) Toddler. It was only when someone was watching that he would flash them a sheepish grin and start keeping his thoughts to himself. 

No, see, Ian’s quieter nature bespoke something beneath it, something that always struck me as remarkably developed and complex for a child of his age. Cunning, I’d call it, or some deep, satisfied knowing—slyness, in the best way! His twinkling eyes often seemed to so, so sweetly say, ‘You can’t make me do what you want, Mummy, but I sure do enjoy watching you try!’ A strain of the MacKenzies, I thought, not for the first time. 

“Hey-Mummy?” My little Fraser had her brows scrunched up as though contemplating murder, poring over the blue album from the shelf under the coffee table. “I dinna remember this pictures.”

“Those are of you as a baby,” I grinned, “so you were too small to remember.”

“Well....then...Da! He must—!” She nodded, full of budding conviction. “He remembers a whole, whole-lot, then, cause he’s really big!”

"Ah—” My lips hurt as little fizzles escaped from between them. “You’re not wrong, smudge.” 

“Uh-huh, I know.” 

She had flipped open to the middle of the album, to a series of snowy shots taken when she was...what...sixteen months old? We had gone sledding for the first time, and Ms. Byrd had captured the fleeting joy of it so perfectly. Little Bree’s jack-o-lantern teeth bared in glee above her muffler, the point of her elf-bonnet tickling my chin. My own hat had flown off into the wind, curls a blurry cloud above us.

She turned the pages to the left, going back in time. Cackles erupted at the images from her first birthday, elbows and eyebrows deep in chocolate cake, then she straightened gravely at the evidence of some of her exuberant early steps. “Was I walkin’ as good as Ian?” she dared me. 

“Very well! Though he did start sooner.”

“Hey-Mummy?”

I inhaled through a secret, tired smile. Eighteen hundred times a day.  At least. “Yes, Bree?”

“Hey-Mummy, where’s Da?”

“Putting Ian to bed.” I glanced at my watch. “Which means you, sweet pea, need to get your pajamas on, and—”

“NO, where is he in heee-rrrrre?” She lifted the album, glaring. “Where I was the baby?”

My jaw was open as though I’d started to say something. If only I knew what it might have been. Maybe then I’d know what came next. 

“See-look,” she insisted, turning the thick pages of the other album and pointing emphatically.

Jamie, showing Ian around the house on the first day he’d come home with us . 

Ian, in my arms in the hospital bed with Jamie at my shoulder, smiling down at us with Bree on his lap.

She thunked the album down, half on top of the other, contrasting the very first family photos I possessed: just the two of us, meeting one another in the morning light of that lonely, heavenly hospital room. “Where’s the Da-ones for me, Mummy?”  

“Da…he...” 

Damn it. 

“....He wasn’t there when you were a baby.”

Brianna blinked twice, and her eyes went fierce as she cocked her head. “Wasn’t?”

“No. He wasn’t.”

“Why wasn’t he?”

“He was away at—at the war when you were born.” 

Seeing the questions stacking up behind her eyes, I tried to explain, though my blood was thudding in my ears. “You know how Miss Della’s beau Peter is a soldier? And how he has to be away in Korea? That's like where Daddy was, too. He…” My voice cracked a little. “He was away, and didn’t get to meet you until you were Ian’s age.”

“Da was-not away!” Bree insisted, though her eyes were wide, unaccustomed doubt creeping in.

“He was, though, darling,” I whispered. “You don’t remember because you were still very little when he came back.” 

I turned the pages slowly, past those scattered glimpses of our early days, when we were the Randalls, then the Beauchamps. “Da was—” Goddamn it, what was the bloody story? “—captured, and we were told he died.”

I thought she hadn’t heard me. I cleared my throat and started to repeat myself, more audibly this time, but I glanced down and my heart clenched so hard the tears broke through. For, my little warrior’s face had completely fallen to despair. “....Daddy died?”

“No! No, no, no, sweetheart, he didn’t, but he was….lost....for a long time.”

She sucked in a breath, almost a gasp, all trace of fierceness gone as she searched my face. “Was he scared?”

I could only nod, the tears stinging, squeezing the walls of my throat. “But, one day, he did come back. He found us and he got to meet you. His wee lassie. See?”

Jamie, on our second wedding day, so very thin in his suit, but glowing as he held little Bree in his arms, looking down at her with unrestrained, awestruck  tenderness.

“You made him — make him  — so happy, lovey,” I whispered, pulling her close onto my lap and against my heart as I turned the page. 

The two of them, stretched out on this very couch, both their mouths open as they slept, her cheek smushed cozily against his chest.

I pressed my own cheek against her head. “He’d loved you the whole time he was lost. Getting to finally meet you was....” I flipped over to Ian’s first photos, pointing to Jamie. “Just like how happy he was here, when he met baby Ian for the first time.”  

“Mummy....I dinna—” Her voice was choked, tears streaming as she whispered: “I dinna w-want Da to be lost when I w-was Ian.”

“Ohh, love, sweetheart, I—”

The door from the kitchen opened. “Alright, Bree, your turn for—”

“DA!”

By long instinct, he dropped to a crouch to let her run, sobbing, into his arms. “Christ, what's this, then, cub?” He rubbed her back, coaxing brightly to ease her worries, his expert skill. “Heyyy, lass, there, now.....Dinna be troubled so, wee love—tell me what’s amiss.”

She couldn’t say anything coherent at first, but at last, she choked it out. “I dinna want—y-you to b-be—lost again!”

“I’m no’ lost, Brianna,” he nearly laughed. “I’m here, see? Safe and—”

“Mu—Mummy said you were dead and l-lost when I was littlest and–I don't—dinna—w-want—you—to—ever— ”

“Och, no, lass,” he moaned at once as he pulled her tight against his chest and rose to his feet, his eyes meeting mine with an understanding that ached in us both as he saw the tracks of my own tears. “Never. Not ever.”

He swayed with her for a very long time as she sobbed into his shoulder. His eyes were closed and I could barely hear what he murmured into her hair: 

“That was the saddest time of my whole life, mo chridhe....” In Gaelic: ‘I'll never be parted from ye again...nor your mother... nor Ian…...I swear it.’

“She’s truly growing up, then,” Jamie whispered, softly rubbing Brianna’s back where she lay curled up asleep on the sofa behind us. “That she can feel things so in her heart…..” He turned from her to lean fully against the bottom cushions, resting his arms on his knees. “It makes me want to weep, Sassenach. All the sadness that awaits them in the world....That I could keep all of it at bay.”

“Will we ever tell them differently?”

His head swiveled around, surprised. “Tell them what, mo ghraidh?”

“The truth.” The word was a ball of ice in my stomach. “About....everything. The stones... How we met. Who you really are.”

“I confess....I had assumed we never would tell them.” 

“When it was only me and Bree, I had thought...well, it was a vague thought, only....but I assumed someday she would know. Now, though....it doesn’t seem as simple, somehow.” 

“Aye.” His chest rose and fell heavily as he ran a hand backward through his hair. “In truth, ‘tis indeed a weight on my heart to think that they might never know all the dear memories—only the wee fragments, disguised as they must be.”

About Lallybroch. Jenny and Ian. All their little cousins. Murtagh. Brian and Ellen. Names the children knew, but only a surface-version; a bedtime story about people in a faraway land who were now lost; no more real than any other; far less so, with no photographs or brightly-colored illustrations to prove those people had existed. 

Still more....might they never know what their father did for them at Culloden? Of the sacrifice and pain we both chose on that day? 

“But we must bear it, no?” he was saying sadly, even as a half-hope grew in his eyes. 

“How can they ever truly know us, Jamie,” I said, “understand us without knowing where we’ve been? What we’ve been through?” I thought of my own parents, shrouded in so much mystery, so much not known; unknowable, now. 

“Perhaps...when they’re older? When they might be trusted to keep such a big secret, we might tell them. Though....” he considered. “They might both be fully grown before t’would be the right time for such a—"

“And yet, that’s the other side of the coin.” I hated this; scolded myself for being the devil’s advocate of cloying gloom. “It’s like adopted children that aren’t told until adulthood. If we wait so long, won’t they resent us for keeping such a monumental thing from them? The truth of who they are and how they came to exist?” My eyes must have looked as hopeless as Bree’s. “What do you think we should we do?”

A pause, then his mouth twitched in a weak attempt at a smile. “I wish I kent the certain path, Claire. I do.” Any light in his eyes ebbed. “In truth, we rob them — and ourselves, forbye — of something dear no matter the choice, aye?”

It might have lingered, the worry. It might have been a cloud over us throughout the fallen night. Instead, our eyes met and we softened in unison. He leaned his forehead against mine, pulling me closer to kiss my cheek. Many years stood between us and that day, should it ever even come. 

I was about to rest my head on his shoulder, but a photo caught my eye, right there by my ankle. 

It was barely in focus, fully half the image a diagonal, black nothingness, a childish finger covering the lens. Still, it had been captured at precisely the right moment, before Jamie or I had had time to react. 

Both of us were in pajamas in front of the stove, my hair an absolute wreck (though, when was it not?), the cup of tea in my hand in serious danger of slopping over the side, since Jamie had me by the waist and was working to pull me close. His head was bent to my neck, his grin sweet and roguish, though his eyes were hidden. Mine were closed and my head was thrown back, as though no other damn thing in the world mattered but the moment’s silly joy. 

I cradled it between us and spoke the simplest version of the ache within me.

 “I’m so happy you’re not lost anymore.”

[foryoumydearlybeloved]

May I request headcannons about modern!Ieyasu and Masamune and their high school crush?

Ieyasu

Being one of the smartest students in the school (not just the class), Ieyasu knows that it’s highly unlikely that he would be easy to approach. Though smart and constantly near the top of the ranking lists, he was indifferent and cold to everyone and it made it hard for him to get close to others

He isn’t too sure about when or how he ended up noticing you. Maybe it was your laughter, both soft and gentle, yet also unrestrained and bright. Or perhaps it was the way you’d be friendly and polite to those that deserve it, yet was ready to sass anyone that didn’t. He wasn’t sure what it was, but for some reason, when he wasn’t studying or whenever you were within eyesight, he couldn’t help but glance over to you.

The one time while he was daydreaming and subtly staring at you, you happened to make eye contact. It was nothing more than a simple wave of the hand and a small smile, but he’s never experienced the sweat and palpitations of his heart from just that small gesture. He barely manages to nod his head at you in acknowledgement, but he had to hide his face for the rest of the day in an attempt to maintain his cool

He doesn’t really talk to you, and honestly, he doesn’t know how to. He’s worked with you on projects, but even when he’s trying to be nice, he ends up snapping or using harsher words even though he doesn’t mean to. But whenever you talk to him alone or thank him for all his help, he can’t help but find himself tongue tied and unable to respond properly. He ends up getting closer to you by helping you study, but he’s not too sure if he’s capable of confessing when he’s far too comfortable being able to call you a friend.

Masamune

The ace athlete of the school, and also captain of the kendo club. Masamune is loved and adored by all, but has his heart set on one person. But it was hard for him to be sincere about his feelings. As much as he hates to admit it, he’s too flirtatious, far too friendly with everyone and anyone that it makes it hard for him to get close to you.

But he’s definitely friends with you. He can easily tease you, talk to you, ask you for help on homework, but he doesn’t know how to make it apparent that you’re special to him. He hides it behind a bright smile, musses your hair and makes it hard for others to notice.

Whenever he asks you to help him study for exams though, he actually spends most of the time studying you. He loves the way you nibble at your lower lip when you’re deep in focus, or how you scrunch your face in irritation when you get stuck on a problem. He loves the way your eyes light up when you finally understand a problem, and he loves the tone of your voice when you’re teaching him topics that he doesn’t understand. So even though he spends most of his time daydreaming about you and your smile, he does end up getting a lot of information in for the tests.

Though unlike Ieyasu who struggles to even spend time with you without giving you harsh words, Masamune showers you with affectionate compliments, all under the guise of friendship. He may not be able to confess, but at least he knows that you’ll be his friend until the right time comes for him to sweep you off your feet.

[majesticpeonies]

Week 13: THE FUTURE HOLDS... - Change the Cis-tem

By now, it’s established that American media only caters to cisgender gay men & lesbian women audiences to maximize their appeal to the masses.

Appealing to the masses = maximizing profit. (You’ll get more information on this in next week’s journal submission)

The biggest issue appealing to the masses is that queer characters have to be watered down. In turn of queer characters being watered down, they’re denied the authentic complex arcs that cisgender, heterosexual characters are usually afforded.

The queer representation we do get is something like this meme:

Source (Sidenote: Poe Dameron IS gay, regardless of what Disney/Lucasfilm says. You don’t look at Finn seductively & bite your lip if you aren’t gay. This is a hill I’m willing to die on.)

Queer representations tend to play up gay stereotypes. It’s seldom that they are the main character, but when they’re not, they’re usually the “sassy sidekick”.

This isn’t to say that sassy queers don’t exist. After all, I am absolutely one of them. However, I don’t think MY sass is because I’m queer. Just as I was lucky to be born queer, I am also lucky to have been born with a sharp, witty tongue. To expect a “sassy queer sidekick” character to be relatable to ALL LGBT+ members is reductive & borderline, if not completely, homophobic.

The solution to this is simple: it’s time to have characters that both identify with  & non-cisgender LGBT+ members in our media.

We have to represent bisexual, transgender, intersex, asexual, pansexual, non-binary, & the rest of the + in the LGBT+ community. Just as they exist in real life, they should also exist in the content we watch.

Representation is another roadblock in getting actually relatable queer characters, because studios will only sell the idea of a gay character in their content. This doesn’t necessarily mean that that character will be of substance. They’re likely to be one stereotype in the above meme.

Once the media stops trying to appeal to just a cisgender audience, the sooner they can substantialize representation.

I’m hopeful to see films, series, miniseries, webcasts, etc. that are led by & not just representing people like these:

Alok Vaid-Menon, a non-gender conforming, non-binary activist, author, & actor.

Source

Asia Kate Dillon, a non-binary activist & actor. Source

Rain Dove, a genderfluid model. Source

Cisgenderism doesn’t just affect the gay community. Some heterosexuals do not necessarily conform to their ~designated~ gender. Some examples would be:

Dennis Rodman, a famous basketball player. Source

Another excellent example:

Mark Bryan has caught the attention of the internet. He’s stated in an interview that he’s heterosexual, happily married to a woman, & has three children. He wears high heels & skirts to work as a robotic engineer, as it helps his confidence & makes him feel more comfortable. Source

Then there’s pop artist Harry Styles, who hasn’t put a label on his sexuality, but defies the gender binary through his style:

He recently graced the cover of Vogue magazine, where he earned criticism from conservatives & praise from progressive public figures. Source

I’m hopeful to see in the future of queer representation in media is:

Source

I want gender to be unrestrained by the binary.

Down with the cis-tem.

[aelin-and-feyre]

Circumstance (Part 12)

This chapter is equal parts sad and devastating. Good luck.

Tagging: @aelinxfeyre @vilya1 @a-courtof-fangirls-and-fanfics @autumn03 @rhysandpurred @crazybookladythings @readinggiraffe @devilsadvocate15 @marimarac @carolineherr15 @musiccbeach @illyrian-wingspans @illyrianinterrasen @meowsekai @iwishitwasrocketscience @gavrielthelionn @2-bookmaster-2 @bluephoenix222 @daughterxofxnight @highladyofthedark @sugarcoated44 @fandoms-things-stuff @helloprinceling @wolffrising @the-court-of-terrasen @gcarroll @throne--of-sass @rowanismybae (let me know if you want to be tagged in future parts!)

Also, HAPPY BIRTHDAY @tiny1hallie !!!! I hope this chapter doesn’t make you cry too much... oops. 

Rowaelin Daughter x Feysand Son au

Fic Masterlist

Eventually, Ember flew home. She’d done a couple laps around the mountains that surrounded Orynth, savoring the feeling of the wind beneath her wings once more after two weeks of being without them. It didn’t feel the same as it had with Cade though. Flying with her mate - even without him knowing that he’s her mate - made Ember feel complete in the sky. The way they had danced in the air had made her feel giddy and free for the first time in a long while. Without him, Ember found herself drifting, losing the air current, ultimately unenthusiastic about her flight. Her phoenix could still fly just fine, as well as she always could, but now that she knew the possibility of more, it felt... boring.

She can still feel those black claws hooked onto her mind, Ember thinks that there will never be a time when she won’t be able to feel it. The princess also feels a thread on her heart, which had been slack and almost unnoticeable, but is now tightly straining, pulling her in an unknown direction. She decides to add it to the list of things connecting her to her mate - to Cade.

She goes back to the castle reluctantly, because she knows that Gusty can only cover for her for so long, and because she knows that her parents will have questions. Ember flies down into the courtyard, where Elide, Lorcan, and Wren are resting peacefully in the grass. When they see her phoenix, Lorcan immediately hands the baby to his wife, and stands to greet her. With a flash, she shifts back into her fae form and nods to him stiffly.

“Where were you?” He asks. Ember can hear the slight worry in his tone and briefly feels guilty for making even stoic Lorcan nervous.

The princess shrugs. “I needed to blow off some steam,” she mutters, “today did not go as planned.”

“We heard,” Elide comments, using Lorcan’s hand to stand, Wren still bundled in her arms. Ember has a strong urge to go over and take the boy to hold for a bit, if just to use as an anchor to the ground. Only a couple weeks away and the baby has grown so much, no doubt benefitting from the fae blood running through his veins. She holds out her arms and Elide complies, resting her child gingerly in the crook of Ember’s elbow. He immediately latches on to a strand of her golden hair, tugging slightly. “What happened, Ember?”

The princess sighs, trying to concentrate on the baby in her care, the people in front of her, and also the sharp but gentle talon latched onto her brain. Her immediate instincts tell her to shove out the intrusion, close it off from her mind, but her sensibilities know that it’s Cade, and that he would never do anything to hurt her - he is unable to. “Many things happened, Aunt Elide,” she finally responds. “My parents?”

“The war room,” Lorcan explains, then gestures to the west entrance of the courtyard, indicating that he will escort her there. Of course, Ember doesn’t need an escort, but she figures that this is their way of making sure she doesn’t fly off again, just like Wren is her own tether to the ground. The familiar weight of a baby in her arms helps calm her nerves, but thousands of different scenarios are running through her mind at what will happen when she enters that war room.

The entire time she had been flying, Ember had been trying to work through the bizarre conversations between the leaders. Her parents were usually pretty level-headed people, and from what she had observed of the High Lord and Lady over the past couple weeks was that they were generally calm and caring as well. When she and Brex had formulated the plan, he had said that if they were caught, Rhys and Feyre shouldn’t be too mad at them, so why had that changed? It had almost seemed as if their anger had been fueled by... fear. She had seen the look in Feyre’s eyes when she had flown through the window with Cade back in Velaris. The High Lady had quickly covered it with disappointment and frustration, but Ember had seen the brief expression of worry. She had looked scared.

Rhysand, who is much better at hiding his emotions than his wife, had a hardened facade which had cracked just a bit when he had begun to fight with the King. Ember couldn’t be sure, having been all the way up in the tree, but she was pretty certain that he, too, had been afraid. Of what, she didn’t know.

The King and Queen, on the other hand, almost never blew up. They both had a tight reign on both their magic and their tempers, but something had happened that had made them lose control. Why would two people wanting to meet each other cause such an uproar? What were they not understanding?

Also what had occurred to Ember while up in the tree, was that her parents and Cade’s parents may know that they were mates. If that was the case, why keep them apart? Why not expose them to each other themselves so that they can control the situation? All these questions are circling Ember’s mind as she steps up to the war room. Contrary to it’s name, the room is mostly used as a thinking place for the King and Queen, where they can talk privately without fear of being overheard. Almost no one comes to this side of the castle anyway.

Ember reluctantly relinquishes Wren to his father before she enters. She places a kiss on his forehead and promises herself that even though he will no longer be in her arms, she will not run away. Not again. Lorcan nods to her in farewell, and retreats back to the courtyard. Ember turns to the big oak door and takes a deep breath. Her pointed ears pick up the slight sound of muttering through the thick wood. Finally equipped with the needed courage, the princess pushes open the door.

Instantly, all talking inside ceases. The Queen has her hands braced against the table, staring at the map sprawled on top of it. There are small flames floating above certain territories, marking places Ember cannot see. The General stands next to her, fingers tracing a country to the east. A graying snow leopard stalks the space in front of the door. The King leans against the wall, his arms folded, his eyes hard. A young princess sits in the corner, ankles crossed and head slightly bowed. All five of them look up while Ember saunters in.

Lysandra lets her pass, wise eyes watching her with unrestrained worry. Gusty has a reassuring smile on her face, though its weak. Ember attempts to smile back as she resists the urge to go over and take her sister away from Terrasen, even just for a little while, just so that they can think. She promises herself that she will order some chocolate cake for them tonight.

Moving her gaze from the girl, Ember locks eyes with her mother. Aelin pushes off the table, the flames extinguishing and the map rolling shut with the absense of pressure. The powerful woman, in her Fae form, marches directly over to her daughter and for a moment, Ember is fearful. Her mother can bring down entire cities with her magic, but she has never done anything to hurt her children. Before the Queen can reach her, however, Ember is engulfed into a hug.

Immediately, the young woman melts into her father’s embrace. His strong arms tighten around her frame as he tucks her head under his chin and strokes her hair. Rowan has always been an incredibly protective father, and Ember is sure that her being away for so long has driven him insane. She wraps her arms around his torso and squeezes him tight. “I missed you,” she whispers, any facade she had been upholding when she walked in now utterly slips away.

A light kiss is placed on the crown of her head. “I missed you too, my little glowing ember,” he murmurs against her hair before releasing her. Aelin had stopped just a couple steps away, and her eyes have softened.

Ember steps around her father and stands with her head slightly bowed in front of her mother. “I’m sorry for the ruse. It was childish and I wasn’t thinking.”

Aelin doesn’t say anything for many moments and Ember does not raise her gaze to meet the Queen’s. “Leave us.” Her command is followed immediately, Aedion, Lysandra, and Gusty quickly filing out of the war room. It remains silent a couple seconds more after the heavy door closes behind them. “You will not be going back to Velaris. You will not be able to see Cadewyn again.”

At that, Ember’s head snaps up. A spike of fear, indignation, and refusal shoots through her. Aelin can’t be serious. “No,” the princess breathes. She is unable to accept that as the final answer. “You can’t do that.”

“Yes I can, young lady. I can’t have you gallivanting with some spoiled miscreant when you should be focusing on your future, on leading this country. Cadewyn will bring nothing but ruin to Terrasen.” Aelin’s voice is restrained, almost raw.

“Aelin -” Rowan interjects reproachfully. The Queen silences him with a look.

Ember finds her eyes pricking as her mother’s words register in her brain. “You don’t know that. You can’t know that.” Is all she is able to say.

Her mother once again meets her eyes. Her gaze is sympathetic. “Ember, I know this will be difficult but it’s for the best and -”

“He’s my mate.” The princess suddenly blurts. She does not miss the glance Aelin shares with her husband. It is not surprised, but rather that same fear that Feyre’s expression had held now shines in her mother’s eyes. “You knew,” Ember accuses, her brows furrowing. “Both of you knew that he was my mate.”

For a moment, Aelin looks like she might deny it, perhaps come up with a surprised expression or false phrase, but when that moment ends, the Queen crosses her arms defiantly. “Yes. We knew.”

“Why?” Ember chokes out. She wants to say so much more. She wants to ask how long they’ve known, how they found out, what they planned to do about it, who told them, and why they didn't tell her. She hopes that the one word - the only word that’s able to force it’s way passed her lips - will convey all those questions.

Aelin’s mouth hardens into a line. “That doesn’t matter now. You have to forget him.”

This time, a tear slips down her cheeks. That string on her heart tugs a little, and the claws begin to caress her mind soothingly. Just the thought of Cadewyn serves to calm Ember enough that she is able to respond. Her nails create crescent scars in her palms as she clenches her fists. “Mom,” she whispers, her voice containing the pain her heart is feeling. “You know I can’t do that.”

The Queen’s eye twitches, part of her mask falls away to reveal the woman Ember knows. She can tell that the words are making her mother hurt as well, but Ember cannot then understand why she would be saying them. “You must.”

“Fireheart,” Rowan’s voice is gentle but insistent as he comes up from behind Ember and grasps his wife’s hand in his own. “She deserves to know why.” Her parents stare at each other for a moment, having one of their silent conversations. The princess holds her breath while her mother deliberates, trying to keep in any more tears that threaten to fall. She is stronger than this. She can survive this. This is not the end of the world.

Except it might be. Ember is not sure what the impact would be on her life if her mate was pulled away from her. She’s never known anyone who found their mate and then had to forcibly give them up, knowing that they were still out there but unable to be with them. Except her father, when Aelin had been taken by Queen Maeve and he had gone and rescued her. She’d heard the story dozens of times. Her parents were the only people who knew how this would feel, and they were the ones forcing it to happen.

The Crown Princess of Terrasen’s voice is hoarse when she whispers again, “Why?”

Aelin looks at her daughter, tears shining in her own eyes. “Because if you don’t, Terrasen will go to war.”

...

“I-I don’t understand,” Cadewyn stutters, his hands shaking slightly on the armrests of the chair. He is panicked, every inch of his mind rubbed raw as he tries to comprehend what his parents mean. His body is itching to go to Ember. He felt her fear and distress down the bond and all he wants to do is winnow to Terrasen and pull her into his embrace and never let her go.

He’d all but screamed at his parents when they’d returned, frazzled and angry. They’d made him sit down at the table, had sent away all but Amren, and had tried to tell him that he would not be able to see Ember ever again. It is blasphemous to even consider for a moment. He almost storms out of the room, almost flies straight out the window with the destination Orynth. Amren clamping her hand down on his wrist is the only thing keeping him from doing just that.

“Boy, listen,” she commands, then jerks her head to her parents. His mother looks regretful, his father incredibly pained. He realizes that what they are asking of him is not because they want to, but because they are being forced to. “This is not their fault,” Amren continues. “You don’t have the full story, so before you go off and ruin everything once again, try hearing them out. You are the ultimate decider, but you need all the facts.”

Rhysand fidgets a little at the last part, and Cade isn’t sure if it truly will be his decision at the end. And if it is, there is absolutely no way that he is leaving his mate. “Fine. Explain.” He says stiffly, readjusting in his seat and slipping his wings back under their glamour.

Feyre takes an unsteady breath as she begins. “When you were five, we hosted a Leaders Meeting. It was the first time in two centuries when all the world leaders were gathered. Dozens of humans, fae, witches, and beasts alike came to the Hewn City to talk of peace and trade. You were a little boy, and so we invited that any other leaders with children could bring them along to play and explore. We wanted you to form good relationships with other future leaders, a way to ensure peace in the coming generations.

“Aelin and Rowan excepted our offer, along with a couple others, and the Meeting was going just fine before we heard a small girl bouncing down the stairs. Most of us rushed out to find you cradling her in your arms, crying profusely and trying to explain that the two of you were playing tag, that you hadn’t meant to hurt your mate.” Cade sucks in a breath at the mention. He had remembered this a few days ago, but hadn’t let himself divulge too deep into the memory of harming something that was - is - so precious to him. Feyre’s breath also hitches and she has to look away. Rhysand grasps her hand in his own and continues the story himself.

“Everyone was shocked when they heard you say that she was your mate. There were varying reactions, and most were bad. Turns out that some of the leaders had brought their children, hoping for them to become engaged to you, to form an alliance with one of the most powerful countries. Some had also come knowing that Emberlei would be there, that they might hope for the same thing with Terrasen. The two most powerful territories led by four of the most powerful Fae in the world, and their heirs turned out to be mates,” Rhys let out a humorless chuckle.” They were enraged. While Rowan had healed the cut on Ember’s head, everyone saw for themselves just a small sliver of the magic he possessed, and they all knew of Aelin’s legendary wildfire, had all witnessed as she and her court brought down Maeve and Erawan. They could only imagine what a descendant of that kind of power would be capable of.”

Even as fear grips him, Cade can’t help the burst of pride that surges forth. That is his mate. His Ember. Possibly the most powerful Fae female in the world. His.

But his father is not done. “Your mother and I attempted to calm the leaders, to inform them that they had nothing to worry about, but they refused to listen. They had heard the rumors running around Hewn City of the two of us and our ruthlessness. They were scared of you and what you may grow up to become. Matched with Emberlei, the two of you would be unstoppable. So, many territories decided to cut it off at the source. They were going to kill you, son. You and Ember.”

Cade clenches his fists in rage. How dare they? To kill two innocent children, heirs to the throne of their lands, just to prohibit a possible future. It is barbaric in the simplest sense.

“Luckily,” Rhys continues, “Elain sensed their plans, and instead, we developed a Treaty. We agreed to raise the two of you away from each other, without any contact as you matured. They wanted both of you apart until you Settled, in the hope that without the influence of your mate, the two of you may fall in love with someone else, grow apart, learn to rule without relying on the other. They never wanted you and Ember to be the team they feared you might become. Just until you were Settled. Then, and only then, would they be okay with you and her meeting.”

Cade’s brows furrow. “Then why did you have us trade places?”

Feyre sighs. “You’re just a year or so away from Settling. We thought that beginning to introduce both of you to the thought of each other might make the eventual meeting easier. She hadn’t felt the mating bond that one time, it had only been you, and as you grew, it seemed that you refused to forget about her. Or so we’d hoped. The three months was just a trial, but you moved too quickly, she was too enamored with you and you with her for your own good.”

Cade slightly dug a bit farther into her mind, so far away, at the thought of her here, falling for him just like he had for her. “And Aelin? Why did she let me come here if she knew that Ember would be here as well?”

His mother scowls at that. “Aelin has hated the Treaty ever since it was signed. She has always been trying to wiggle her way around it, find some loophole. She was the one that suggested the switch in the first place. She also is horrible at communication, didn’t even tell us that you were coming, just assumed that we knew.”

Rhys squeezes her hand placatingly. “We are all at fault here, darling. It is now our turn to fix it.”

Cade’s expression hardens. “Meaning that Ember and I can never see each other again, because we broke the Treaty rules.”

His father nods sadly. “Unfortunately, some other powerful leaders have wormed their spies into Velaris undetected. They saw you and Ember together in the Rainbow. That was how we knew you were here in the first place. They contacted us accusing of purposely breaking the law.”

“What if we just wait until we both have Settled to see each other again? Thus satisfying the Treaty. I’d be able to survive a year or so without her.” Even as he says it, Cade’s heart clenches at the thought.

Rhys glances at Amren, silently asking her to explain. “Unfortunately, boy, that’s not the way it works. The Treaty is bound by blood, and because you broke it, the clause is now enacted. We tried to explain to them that it was an accident, just two kids who didn’t know, and they decided to compromise.” Her silver gaze is unwavering as she tells him sadly, “Either you and Ember separate for good, or a dozen powerful territories are prepared to declare war.”

Masterlist

[arisefairsun]

What books and/or other works of Shakespeare do you recommend for someone who is undeniably obsessed with Romeo and Juliet and fascinated with Macbeth?

Ah, these are my two favorite plays! Let’s see now. 

You might enjoy the following Shakespearean plays if you are undeniably obsessed with Romeo and Juliet (it’s a beautiful feeling that, isn’t it?):

Antony and Cleopatra. It is no coincidence that Juliet’s mother is dressed up as Cleopatra in Luhrmann’s movie. The play is filled with unrestrained sensuality, with a very strong-minded woman as one of its leading roles. (Cleopatra is also the female character with most lines in all of Shakespeare’s plays.) It also offers an interesting insight into gender roles, which are to an extent subverted again. Moreover, the deaths of the protagonists resemble those of Romeo and Juliet in that they die partly as a consequence of misleading circumstances: Romeo and Antony believe their lovers to be dead, so they lamentably commit suicide. Coleridge himself thought that Antony and Cleopatra should be ‘perused in mental contrast with Romeo and Juliet’, so do give it a try!

Othello. It is similar to Romeo and Juliet in that Desdemona and Juliet both defy the conventions of their world in marrying a man who is not socially acceptable for them. Though their love stories evolve differently, both couples are very affectionate, inherently good to each other—but they are lamentably destroyed by social oppression. Othello is one of the most sorrowful and sublime stories I have ever read, so I truly recommend it!

A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I’m not that into the comedies, but I believe it would also be a good read. Both were written around the same time and share numerous themes. For instance, the story of Pyramus and Thisbe is considerably relevant in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, something that clearly echoes the love of Romeo and Juliet. The play presents, again, patriarchs refusing to acknowledge their daughters’s liberty; but it’s a comedy, so nobody dies for once! ;)

Richard II. Yet another play that’s especially preoccupied with language.

The sonnets. They are a must read if you wish to read more about love.

“The Phoenix and the Turtle”. It is a beautiful poem about ideal, perennial love, capable of merging the lovers so profoundly that they become a single entity. It is quite obscure, though, but you will find a lot of analyses on the Internet.

As for non-Shakespearean stories, it can be interesting to have a look at the various versions of the Romeo and Juliet story through the centuries:

La Divina Commedia (Purgatorio VI, vv.106-108) by Dante. He mentions the feud between the Montagues (Montecchi) and the Capulets (Cappelletti).

Novellino (33rd story) by Masuccio Salernitano.

Hystoria novellamente ritrovata di due nobili amanti by Luigi da Porto.

La sfortunata morte di dui infelicissimi amanti by Matteo Bandello.

Histoire troisième de deux Amants by Pierre Boaistuau (translated from Bandello).

The Tragical History of Romeus and Juliet by Arthur Brooke. This one is particularly interesting, given that Shakespeare’s play is mainly based on it. Knowing which aspects of Brooke’s poem Shakespeare decided to keep and which he decided to alter can enrich your reading of Romeo and Juliet. It is available as a PDF here.

The Palace of Pleasure by William Painter. Shakespeare is also thought to have consulted this version.

If you are interested in reading the Italian sources, I suggest that you buy Romeo and Juliet: Original Text of Masuccio, da Porto, Bandello and Shakespeare (all the texts are translated into English).

Here are some interesting rewritings which were very influential over the centuries and are therefore worth considering:

Castelvines y Monteses (so Capulets and Montagues) by Spanish playwright Lope de Vega. Written a few decades after the Bard’s play, his ending might not be so tragic ;)

The History and Fall of Caius Marius by Restoration writer Thomas Otway. Combining Shakespeare’s plot and characters with one of Plutarch’s stories, it is extremely similar to Romeo and Juliet (to the point that it keeps many of the Bard’s words, namely the ‘wherefore art thou’ line). Set in ancient Rome and especially preoccupied with politics, it displaced Shakespeare’s version from the stage from 1680 to 1735. Although Otway’s play is rather unknown nowadays, our perception of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet is still influenced by it. He is the reason we still believe there is a balcony scene in the play even if it is undeniably a window in Shakespeare. Such was the success of his retelling that its influence still lives nowadays. It’s interesting to consider that Romeo and Juliet was constantly subject to rewritings and revisions over the centuries, so its current status as one of the most iconic stories of Western culture partly comes from these adapted texts as well as Shakespeare’s original play. While it is indeed fascinating to read these rewritings and discover how the story was perceived by each generation, they are not particularly interesting from a feminist point of view. Otway’s version, among many others that followed, manages to contain Juliet’s boldness and also deprive Romeo of his ‘unmanly’ behavior, which I think is an important ingredient of his character. Their relationship is far less subversive and they do not transcend the social conventions of their world as intensely as Shakespeare’s lovers. But this conception of Romeo and Juliet is still present nowadays to some extent. In paintings and other portrayals of the scene, why is Juliet usually represented as a timid, still woman up on the balcony, with an ardent Romeo wooing her underneath? That reminds me of Otway’s characters rather than those of the Bard. In Shakespeare, Juliet takes control of the scene: not only is she equally passionate, but she is also far more straightforward than Romeo, encouraging him to express himself earnestly and actively making wedding plans on her own. Food for thought.

David Garrick’s rewriting of Romeo and Juliet. Adjusting the play to the preferences of his time, he revised Shakespeare’s text, adding new dialogue and altering that which did not please him. For instance, he made Juliet wake in time to share one last dialogue with Romeo (something that can be found in Otway’s play as well as in some of the Italian sources). This was the preferred ending in performances of the play until the 19th century, and is still quite recurrent nowadays, perhaps most famously in Luhrmann’s movie.

Other stories similar to Romeo and Juliet which come to my mind are the following:

“Pyramus and Thisbe” by Ovid. These star-crossed lovers attempt to escape together when their parents oppose to their love. Pyramus, believing Thisbe to be dead, takes his own life; after finding his lifeless body, she takes his sword and joins him in death. The tragic deaths of the lovers as a consequence of mischance inspired Italian writers to frame the deaths of Romeo and Juliet in a similar fashion. Perhaps you will also enjoy other stories from Ovid’s Metamorphoses. These may not be straightforwardly reminiscent of Shakespeare’s lovers, but they are all splendid and therefore worth a read. My favorites are Orpheus and Eurydice, Pygmalion and Galatea, Psyche and Cupid, and Echo and Narcissus—Juliet actually mentions Echo in the orchard scene, so it can enrich your understanding of Romeo and Juliet. (Other classical characters mentioned in the play are Cupid, Aurora, Phaeton, Venus, Diana, Jove, Danae, Dido, Hero, Helen of Troy… I hope I don’t forget any.) I truly recommend that you get your hands on a copy of the Metamorphoses, not only because it is a magnificent book but because Shakespeare’s plays are all replete with references to Ovid. Other classical lovers worth mentioning are Dido and Aeneas, and Hero and Leander. (Kit Marlowe wrote a poem about the latter.)

The Ephesian Tale of Anthia and Habrocomes by Xenophon. This is where the idea of Juliet’s faked death comes from.

Have With You To Saffron-Walden by Thomas Nashe. Many of Mercutio’s and the Nurse’s lines, among others, might have been inspired by this pamphlet—including the allusion to Tybalt as the Prince of Cats.

‘Tis Pity She’s a Whore by John Ford. This is one of the wildest plays I’ve read and also one of my favorites. It is full of trigger warnings, though, so proceed with caution. The plot follows the love affair between two siblings, and it is similar to Romeo and Juliet in that there is a friar who functions as the counselor of the male lead, while the female protagonist has a nurse as her confidant.

“To a Lady Who Presented to the Author a Lock of Hair Braded With His Own, and Appointed a Night in December to Meet Him in the Garden” by Lord Byron. This is probably the most hilarious poem I know. Byron basically declines the lady’s proposal arguing that if Shakespeare had written Romeo and Juliet at Christmas, or if he had set the story in England, surely he wouldn’t have chosen a garden for the passionate scene between Romeo and Juliet. It’s. Just. Pure. Sass.

Tristan and Iseult by Béroul. Although there are various versions of this tale, that of Béroul is most likely the most famous one. This is a story about star-crossed, tragic love, its force capable of transcending the confines of death itself. Interestingly, Wagner’s Liebestod, originally composed for Isolde’s bereavement after Tristan’s death and a tribute to the consummation of love in death, starts playing after Juliet’s suicide in Luhrmann’s movie. What a beautiful and symbolic choice by Luhrmann!

Il canzioniere by Petrarch, of course. Romeo is an ardent diehard fan of that book and probably has a poster of Petrarch in his room. Shakespeare’s play is full of Petrarchan motifs, so it’s worth a try! Romeo will be offended if you don’t read it (but Mercutio will give you a high five).

La Celestina by Fernando de Rojas. This Spanish tragicomedy has been compared to Romeo and Juliet, not only because both plays tell the story of ill-starred lovers, but because the protagonist of La Celestina is similar to Juliet’s Nurse. Do read it if you are interested in this archetype and tragic love, combined with comic undertones.

Galician-Portuguese poetry. For me, the poems written in Galicia and Portugal in the Middle Ages are some of the most beautiful expressions of love ever created. The soul of these poems is very close to that of Romeo and Juliet; you’ll find that many of the themes appear also in the dialogues between Shakespeare’s famous lovers. For instance, there are many examples of an aubade in Galician-Portuguese literature, so if you enjoy Romeo and Juliet’s morning song, you should give it a try. I especially recommend the compositions known as cantigas de amigo because they are generally spoken by a woman. (Amigo means ‘friend’ in modern Galician and Portuguese, but back then it could also be used to refer to a lover—much like Juliet’s use of the word when she says: ‘Love, lord, ay husband, friend.’) Those known as cantigas de amor usually express a man’s grief over his unrequited love for a woman who is either married, sworn to chastity, or simply uninterested—much like Romeo in the first act of the play. If you enjoy the silly jokes of Romeo and Juliet, i.e. Mercutio’s constant use of double entendres, then do read some cantigas de escarnio e maldicir, which are basically satirical and witty compositions written to insult someone.

As for Macbeth, some Shakespearean plays worth reading are his other major tragedies:

Hamlet.

Othello.

King Lear.

Do read Richard III and Julius Caesar for more exploration of tyranny and the destructiveness of power.

As for other writings relevant to Shakespeare’s play, I should mention Holinshed’s Chronicles, which supplied the Bard with the main plot of the Scottish play. (He also might have consulted George Buchanan’s Rerum Scoticarum Historia and John Leslie’s De Origine, Moribus, te Rebus Gesties Scotorum.)

These are other stories that you may enjoy, some of which could have also inspired Shakespeare while writing Macbeth:

Medea. She is the true queen of my heart: an indomitable and unstoppable woman whose insatiable need for vengeance incites her to cruelty. She is a wonderful character, her course of thought and action forming one the most compelling fictional masterpieces I have ever read. There are several writings dealing with this character, namely Euripides’s tragedy Medea, or Ovid’s narration of her deeds in Book 7 of his Metamorphoses. However, perhaps the most relevant version here is Seneca’s play, also titled Medea: his heroine and Lady Macbeth share, among other things, their rejection of female nature in order to achieve the boldness necessary for their sinister plans. Lady Macbeth’s speech at 1.5 may echo that of Medea in Act 4.

Seneca’s work. Apart from his Medea, other plays reminiscent of Shakespeare’s play are Hercules Furens and Agamemnon. Other classical references in Macbeth include Hecate, Neptune, Bellona, Tarquin (also present in Shakespeare’s wonderful poem The Rape of Lucrece) and one of my favorite characters of all time, Medusa. (I hope I don’t forget any again?)

Montaigne’s Essays. Macbeth’s destructive need to control the future and the baleful force of imagination can be found in some of Montaigne’s writings, especially ‘Of the force of imagination’ and ‘Our affections are transported beyond our selves’.

As for witchcraft, I’m sure there are multiple writings about this matter in the early modern period, but these are the ones that I either have read or look forward to doing so eventually:

Newes from Scotland.

Daemonologie by James VI and I. Quite a few themes present in this work are echoed in Macbeth.

The Witch by Thomas Middleton.

The Late Lancashire Witches by Thomas Heywood and Richard Brome. It is based on the real-life events of some women who were accused of witchcraft.

Enjoy!

[grimoireweavers]

( repost, do not reblog. )

Tell us your favorite quotes from your character. give us an idea of who they are from five things they’ve said. Then tag your friends!

tagged by: reposted from my old Tony blog tagging: whoever wants to do this!

TONY QUOTES

I. “WE ARE NOT SOLDIERS!” ( The Avengers )

REASON: Honestly? I kind of feel like this one doesn’t even need an explanation, but I guess it sort of does because Tony gets a lot of shit for this line. I’ve seen people claim this was Tony showing weakness or Tony being too afraid to do what needed to be done, but that’s not what I see in this scenario at all.

In this scene, Steve and Tony are arguing (as they tend to do), but Steve’s argument is coming from a place of understanding what it means to be a soldier, of what it means to purposefully put your life on the line, and what you sign up for when you are part of a larger operation that is supposed to be for the greater good. Tony, on the other hand, looks at this from a civilian’s point of view.

Steve is the soldier. Tony is the civilian. Steve fights for freedom and for justice no matter the cost. Tony fights for peace and for safety no matter the cost.

His ideology is completely different from Steve’s and, in that moment, it seems like Steve is almost looking down on him for it. He keeps insisting that Tony’s just a guy in a suit of armor, who won’t make the sacrificial play when he needs to, when Tony’s whole point is that they aren’t soldiers and they shouldn’t be treating themselves as such, that they shouldn’t even be looking at the situation from a soldier’s point of view because the scenario they’re in is so vastly different from the war Steve’s used to.

I just think that entire scene really emphasizes the differences between them. Neither are wrong in their beliefs or their outlooks, but they are very different and, ultimately, they are fighting for different things.

Steve, a soldier, willing to sacrifice it all = justice and freedom Tony, a civilian, terrified of losing his life but willing to fight anyway = peace and safety.

II. “DUDE. YOU’RE EMBARRASSING ME IN FRONT OF THE WIZARDS.” ( Infinity War )

REASON: Honestly, I think this just highlights Tony’s personality so well. Not only is this line extremely funny (seriously, one of my favorite parts of IW in its entirety), but it also highlights that ever classic Stark snark right in the midst of a high stakes moment where Tony could literally die and the fate of the world depends on him and his dumb friends.

III. “IRON MAN. THAT’S KIND OF CATCHY. IT’S GOT A NICE RING TO IT. I MEAN IT’S NOT TECHNICALLY ACCURATE. THE SUIT’S A GOLD TITANIUM ALLOY, BUT IT’S KIND OF PROVOCATIVE, THE IMAGERY ANYWAY.” ( Iron Man )

REASON: This is that defining moment for Tony, you know? He’s gone through his hero’s journey, he’s finally winding down from his first real stint of truly being Iron Man, and this is sort of the moment where he’s not only acknowledged what he’s done, but accepted it as something good and something necessary, not only for him, but for the world. This is his acceptance that he’s no long Tony Stark, CEO of Stark Industries, weapons manufacturer, but a real hero who has the power to do so much good.

And, of course, he has to do it in true Tony Stark fashion by branding himself while simultaneously pointing out the technicalities that are wrong.

IV. [WHEN DID YOU BECOME AN EXPERT IN THERMONUCLEAR ASTROPHYSICS?] “LAST NIGHT.” ( The Avengers )

REASON: I know most people chalk this up to Tony’s sass shining through and play it off as a one-liner that’s just meant to be funny to the audience, but…

Can we talk about how actually legit this is? Because he’s not exactly exaggerating here. He’s literally spent one night studying a topic and knows more about it than most people could ever learn in a lifetime. Because he’s an absolute genius. And people really need to give him credit for learning and mastering thermonuclear astrophysics in one day.

V. “IF WE CAN’T ACCEPT LIMITATIONS, THEN WE’RE NO BETTER THAN THE BAD GUYS.” ( Civil War )

REASON: While I  h a t e  this movie with a burning passion, it does have some really great moments just like this one. Of course, people just wanted to pit Tony against Steve and a lot of people didn’t really care about the either of their actual reasoning behind why they were for or against the Accords, but in my opinion? Tony’s reasoning is extremely solid.

I’m not going to get into a Cap vs Iron Man debate over who was right, okay. Civil War was a terrible movie and to be quite honest, they were both kind of acting like children. A simple discussion could have probably fixed most of their problems, but I do agree with Tony in this case, because without limitations and without accepting responsibility for one’s actions, there is literally no line between being a hero and a villain.

How long before an unsupervised and unrestrained hero turns towards the dark? Before they get tired of helping people and decide they just want to help themselves? Or hide behind the excuse that they were saving people, so they shouldn’t be held responsible?

Tony’s the one who gets blamed whenever anything with the Avengers goes wrong, whenever they make mistakes and look bad to the public. He’s the one feeling the full force of it, all of the heat of the backlash, and shoulders all the responsibility of picking up after the entire group as a whole. Is it any wonder that he would want more order and structure and limits? So he’s not constantly under fire?

It’s personal, but it’s also a good ideology to look to because if you can’t draw lines in the sand of how you’re different from your enemies, then you are your own enemy.

[jeremystrele]

Sea Views And Stone Walls Shape A Luxury Modern Home In Brazil

The monolithic Pedra da Gávea mountain serves as a mystical backdrop for this TV show host’s home in São Conrado, Rio de Janeiro. Mr Alex Lerner had the oceanside home built so that he could relive the vacation feeling he enjoys when on holiday in St. Barts. Architects Studio Arthur Casas began working on the design the moment the plot was chosen. Optimising sea views was paramount of course, so the main living space of the home had to be elevated, freed from the high walls that surrounded the triangular lot. The landscape was made a living, breathing part of the home design by destabilizing perceptions of indoors and out.

The 5,200 square foot Brazililan home cost around $213 per square foot to build, but the sweeping ocean and mountain views are priceless.

Owner Alex Lerner stood firm that the only material he saw his house being realised in was the same peachy greige stone that he had laid eyes on at the Western Wall in Jerusalem.

Stone walls and natural timber come together in harmonious marriage. The blue water of an infinity pool shimmers beneath clear blue skies.

White outdoor chaise lounge chairs from Restoration Hardware, costing a cool $1,095 each, are kept pristine with washable covers. “I like things very, very clean,” Lerner admitted, and on this it seems the client and architect were perfectly matched. The house that Casas created showcases his own affinity for clean lines, and satisfies Lerner’s request for a place that would not require too much maintenance. Casas created the ambiance of a pristine vacation home, so much so that Lerner quipped: “Someday, will I have to give it back?”

Lerner confessed to owning four vacuum cleaners, and that he would have no qualms about putting one of them to use outside if any stray leaves should lay fault on his pristine new landscape.

The living room opens up fully to the sky and seascape, urging toward the veranda. The continuous floor level and ceilings achieve an unrestrained flow between the outdoors and in. The natural landscape becomes glorious decor for the home, colouring its dissolved wall.

Extensive terraces around the modern house exterior create an exciting social space.

Ambient lighting highlights every nook.

The garden is home to plants native to the Atlantic Forest.

The house is designed to merge with its green landscape, to frame and be framed by surrounding nature. The aim is that over time the home will become more and more integrated into its location, until it almost vanishes.

An intimate wooden volume forms the top floor of the house, in a much smaller footprint than the entertaining space below.

The wooden cuboid holds the master bedroom suite, which includes a large closet, spa bathroom, and a home office.

There is a hot tub submerged in the floor of the wood-clad volume, where a tall door measuring almost 12 feet tall leads directly into the master bedroom.

When the tall door is closed, it just about disappears within the wood grain. Great wooden beams build the frame of an outdoor room around the hot tub and deck.

Raised high off the ground, the infinity pool pushes out into space. At night, Lerner is able to skinny dip in relative seclusion. “I wanted to find a place for privacy,” he said. “I live alone, and here I can be naked.”

The wooden bedroom suite overhangs the main entryway to the house. A massive stone wall shields the home from the public eye. Architect Arthur Casas raised the foundation so the house below is hidden from view.

The front door opens into the living room on the mid floor.

Maid and gardener’s apartments, plus a number of guest bedrooms, are spread out across ground level.

Natural surroundings are both embraced and reflected by the rugged house design.

Notions of inside and outside become blurred and irrelevant.

Even the front door design is straddled between ideas of barricade and invitation.

Huge sliding glass panels and a stretched glass balustrade pull ocean panorama into the living area. “I spend my whole time here,” says Lerner.

A large floating staircase zigzags up the home.

Glass panels on the other side of the living room open onto a courtyard.

A comfortable lounge chair and footstool are placed by the window to enjoy the scene and ventilation.

The interior of the home is decorated predominantly in white and light wood tone to achieve the desired clean aesthetic.

Brazilian designers, Rodrigo Calixto and Guilherme Sass, made the Catamarã chairs seated at the kitchen dining island. Each chair carries a $1,100 price tag.

At the dining table, PK9 chairs by Poul Kjaerholm from Fritz Hansen ring up at $6,439 each. Diesel Fork Grande Suspension Lamps from Foscarini top the dining table, priced at $1,055 per pendant.

An open sided staircase design leads to the master suite. Wooden treads push out from their stone wall mount, where a recessed handrail hides.

Perimeter lighting keeps the scheme soft and simple, and does not encroach on the wondrous view.

Hardwood cumaru flooring floods the home, a durable choice to withstand the elements.

White ceilings keep the stone build feeling light and free inside.

Outside the master bedroom, Sérgio Machado’s artistic interpretation of a procession of ants marches across the wall.

The white bedroom is cool and calm, with crisp linens from Restoration Hardware. A 19th-century French chest rests by the bed.

A bench at the foot of the bed also comes from Restoration Hardware. The chair is by São Paulo designer, Aristeu Pires.

The luxury bathroom seems to stretch for miles thanks to the clever positioning of a custom cut frameless mirror.

Ground floor plan.

First floor plan.

Second floor plan (Master suite).

Section drawing.

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