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360iris · 4 years

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The Invitation (Young!Lucius Malfoy x Reader)

Warnings: Smut, smut, smut! Alcohol comsumption. Finger fucking, overstimulation. Vaginal penatration. Daddy kink, subspace mention. Oral giving and receiving. Pure filth.

Word count: 3,469

Summary: Gryffindor!Reader gets invited to the Slytherin party of the year by her nemesis, Lucius Malfoy. Fun times follow.

A/N: @thotbutpurple mentioned my first piece not having enough smut. I hope I delivered! Quite proud of this one, worked on it for nearly a week.

Admittedly, Lucius had caught you under the perfect circumstances. Equal parts tipsy, horny and momentarily separated from your friends.

Slytherin house had decided to throw another one of their infamous party’s brimming with free booze and food catered by the school’s house elves.

Over the years, you, like countless other students, had heard the tales of their untamed nights. Admittance being through invite only; of which were handed out secretly and strategically.

Up until yesterday’s events, you had resigned yourself to the fate of never experiencing the grandeur of the self-proclaimed Slytherin Elite.

Friday, February 10th, 1978

Cutting off poor Frank Longbottom who was usually your lab partner in Potions, Lucius Malfoy, slips into the seat to your left with a low and harsh, “Find another station, you gormless Muppet.”

At this point, it was your natural reaction from hearing his voice, to let out a disgruntled sigh paired with an annoyed eye roll.

“What do I owe the displeasure of being in your cologne drenched presence today, Malfoy?” You jabbed, in a soft but clearly inconvenienced tone.

His gray irises narrowed as his thin lips quirked up to the side in a laidback smirk.

He enjoyed your pointed jabs. So much so that he would go out of his way, on the daily, to verbally prod you until you couldn’t take being in the same vicinity as him anymore. Your unpleasant interactions with the older boy usually ended with you storming off enraged to go rant to your friends about how much of an absolute cunt he was.

“I come bearing gifts, Y/N. One of which I firmly believe you won’t be able to resist accepting.” He drawled.

Inwardly, you had to admit, this piqued your curiosity however, you decided to mask it by turning away from his irritatingly, attractive visage and towards a piece of parchment Professor Slughorn distributes to the class.

“And this so-called gift is what exactly?” You questioned, careful to keep your eyes trained off of him. A task that was quickly shoved aside when a pale hand slid a single, silver metallic stamp into view. It was no bigger than a galleon. Finely embellished with the words: Salazar Slytherin’s Spectacular Soirée.

Your eyes bulged and mouth gaped as you couldn’t help but snap your head to look at his face once more. “Lucius!” You whispered in absolute surprise.

“That can’t be what I think it is.” You continue after a sharp inhale.

He tilts his head as he takes in your clearly enthralled reaction, not replying to your statement.

You take a moment to compose yourself. Drawing your hands into small fists on the desk and letting out a silent but deep exhale.

You didn’t need to ask why he would gift this to you of all people. Lucius’ verbal prodding had been getting progressively more consistent once you’d entered your seventh year this semester.

Like most girls turning 18, your inherently childish ways had vanished; awkward appearances for the most part altered and morphed during the summer spent away from Hogwarts. Hips slowly filling out and breasts becoming distinguished. Meanwhile, your library of insults to throw at him became more deadly and varied.

You could play his game better than he expected you to now.

You crossed your legs underneath your skirt, steeling your expression. You leaned forward to lay your chin against your right palm and turned your gaze towards him. Making a show of looking him up and down before quietly whispering:

“All this just to fuck me huh, Malfoy?” His face stills and demeanor changes. Tongue-tied by your change of tone.

You proceed with a nonchalant, “Your mind must be plagued with questions of just how pretty and pink my pussy is. I’m right aren’t I, sweetheart?”

You observe his jaw lock in place.

“Do you want to brag to your spineless lackeys about how you were the first one to fuck that cocky, Gryffindor halfblood? I bet you wouldn’t wait to boost over how all you had to do was touch her once, call her a filthy, little mudblood and she’d come like a bitch without a pedigree.”

His eyes darken and fists clench so tightly that they turn whiter than you thought possible for him; as you inwardly muse over if he was becoming horny or infuriated. Maybe it was both, but you wouldn’t stick around to see the outcome. He was a deadly bomb waiting to go off.

Pursing your lips, looking him over once more, you decide to leave him with, “Nice chat. I’ll see you around then, Lucius.”

Agilely, you gather your things. Sauntering over to Professor Slughorn and quietly feeding him a contrived lie about how it’s that time of the month and you didn’t think you’ll be able to sit through today’s lecture; effectively earning yourself leave from the classroom.

As Lucius sits, daftly staring at your back as you make your escape. If he wasn’t previously furious from listening to your small beratement, he most definitely is when he glances down to see the silver stamp invite missing from where he had placed it on the table.

“That bloody minx.” He seethes under his breath.

Having made your speedy getaway and in the clear for the moment, you decide to make a beeline to the Gryffindor common room where you know your friends are spending their free period.

Remus, who is the first to notice you entering the warm lounging area, stands up at your arrival and walks to meet you halfway.

“Y/n, aren’t you supposed to be in Potions right now? Did something happen?” He questions, his brows beginning to furrow. Sirius and James who are seated next one another mid-laugh immediately turn their heads in your direction.

Not stopping your power walk, you reach out and grasp one of his hands and pull him with you towards the boy’s dormitory entrance. “Padfoot, Prongs! Up, up!” You urgently whisper in their vicinity.

Once the door is securely locked behind the four of you, Sirius questions you, “Alright, spit it out. What’s got your panties in a twist this time, Y/L/N?”

You ignore him, haphazardly tossing your book-bag on the floor next to James’ bed; of which you proceed to throw yourself onto the edge of, letting out a cheerful giggle.

“Boys. I’ve just been bestowed one the greatest gifts a Hogwarts senior could ask for. One of which, you lot would have never been able to get your hands on. So you must now bask in my glory!” You jokingly proclaim, yanking off your school shoes before pulling your legs into criss cross-applesauce. Incapable of caring that your underwear is now in the boy’s lines of sight.

“And what is this gift exactly, oh great benefactor?” James questions, sitting on the floor in front you, folding his arms atop your lap and leaning his head forward on them with a fond smile.

Your fingers absentmindedly glide and fiddle through his chaotic curls. “I don’t know, you might not be able to handle the excitement. I fear you might faint from the shock of the reveal!” You continue to jest.

“I best take a seat before you continue then.” Remus grins, plopping down next you on the bed, giving you his undivided attention. This of which, causes Sirius to scoff.

“Dish it already, woman. At the pace you’re going, I’ll be a skeleton by time you finally tell us what the big deal is.” He sarcastically jabs folding his arms briskly. Instead of moving away from the door, he leans his back against it and crosses one leg over the other. His gaze lazily quizzical as you roll your eyes at his apprehension.

“Sirius, you’re no fun sometimes, but if you’re in such a hurry to cum your pants then here it is.” You reply, reaching the hand that’s not currently tangled in James’ hair, to triumphantly pull out a small, silver stamp from the inside of your bra and present it for the group to see.

There are mixed reactions to the reveal.

James scrunches his nose up in mock disgust, Sirius freezes and Remus placing one hand on your shoulder, leaning forward to get a better look. And then the questions begin.

“What is it?”

“Oh, it just happens to be a pass into one of Slytherin house’s craziest parties of the year, James dear.”

“How’d you even manage to get your hands on one of these?”

“Like I said, it was a gift, Remus.”

“Be honest, Y/n. What poor sod did you steal it from?”

“For your information I didn’t have to steal it. Lucius Malfoy just handed it to me for nothing.” You say matter-of-factly at which he first gapes before proceeding to fume.

The conversation that continued from then on took a tiny bit of convincing on your end, but all three boys agreed in the end to come with you. No one in their right mind would let a chance like this go by.

Saturday, February 11th, 1978

“If you think you could pull the stunt you did yesterday and waltz in here today without having to answer to me, you’re gravely mistaken, lionet.” Lucius whispers into your ear and you just happen to be in the mood to challenge him further.

“I don’t think I’ve made even one mistake though, Daddy.” You coo back to him. Batting your eyelashes up at him and with a quick smirk you bring your cup of fire whiskey back to your lips for a sip.

With one hand he grabs your hips and pushes your back flush with the wall behind you. The other reaching under the skirt you’re wearing and pausing right at the hem.

“Prod me one more time, doll. I guarantee I’ll have you crying your pretty little eyes out.” He growls into your neck and this time you openly giggle up at him.

“I thought you knew that’s what I wanted, baby?” was the last thing you drawled out before the next thing you know, he’s dragging you further away from the main party, into a small reading room.

Closing the door behind you two, he leads you to sit down on one of the ottomans in the middle of the room.

“I’ll let you in on a secret, Y/N. A small part of your observation from yesterday was correct.” He says undoing the tie around his neck and bunching it up. Before you could question him further, he gingerly stuffs it in-between your mouth.

“Can't risk having anyone hearing the cute little moans you'll be letting out for me. I want all the time I can get from you tonight, lionet.” Is all he offers as an explanation.

Rubbing your thighs together to aid in soothing your gradually aching cunt, you watch as he gets on his knees in front of you.

“I’ve spent countless months thinking of this stupid, fucking pussy of yours and tonight I’m determined to have it creaming all over my cock.” He's gazing at you intensely while his hands are reaching to pull off your undies.

Not being able to actually respond around your makeshift gag, you settle for lifting your hips so he can get to pleasing you quicker.

As the minutes pass, the soberer you become but Lucius’ arousing words continue to sway you into a pliant and silent submission.

Never in a million years did you think you would willing want Lucius Malfoy to fuck you senseless but the closer you get to having him, the more sure you are of it. You pray to Morgana that he leaves your cunt an absolute mess.

Once you’re free from your undergarment, he pulls you by your thighs until your ass is flush against the edge of the couch.

He pushes your knees back against your chest to get full access to your core, “Daddy wants you to keep your thighs nice and wide for him so he can wreck your little pussy, okay?” He questions and you let out a muffled sob of your confirmed understanding.

“Good girl” is all he replies before he gets to work. Spreading the lips with two fingers, he examines just how pink you are down there, seemingly pleased because immediately after, he springs into action.

His mouth cups around your clit, starting off slow and light to ease you into the pleasure before increasing the intensity.

He begins alternating between sucking and lapping at your bud while a single finger makes its way to your slit. Leisurely dragging the pad in your wetness before sliding it inside you, centimeter by centimeter, until it’s gone as far it can go.

Thrusting the one finger in and out until he feels your insides are soaked and loose enough for the next.

By the time you’re comfortablely taking four fingers fucking into you, your arousal is dripping down his wrist and you’re nearing your first orgasm.

“Lu- Lucius!” You manage to drool out through the thickness of his tie, catching his attention.

“Luci- I’m close!” You try to sob out and he responds by sucking and lapping at your clitorus intenser than before. His tongue rubbing just the right angle and you can’t help but let out a small squeal as your body is raked over with a white flash of euphoria.

He eases you through it with softer and softer laps as you squeeze your thighs to your chest with a vice grip. He licks up the remainder of your cum before coming up to remove the tie from your mouth and pull you into an enticing kiss.

As your breathing relaxes, he pulls his lips away. “How was that, sweetheart? Did Daddy make your little cunt feel good like he promised?” He coos, caressing your shoulders to soothe you further.

Fighting to get your words back you mewl, “Mmhmm, thank you Daddy. Felt really good, just like you promised. Do you think I’ve been good enough to have your cock though?” you ask looking up at him through wet lashes. His immediate response is a moan.

How is it that you know just what to say to rile him up? He wonders.

Picking you up, he takes your place on the couch. Pulling off his trousers and underwear, finally freeing his cock, it swings upright against his tummy. Scooting to leisurely lean back, he places you in his lap as you take a minute to admire his member. It’s thick and hard with a raging reddish-pink tip, leaking a small amount pre-cum.

Your core throbs and there’s no way you’re not gonna suck him off before getting him inside of you. Before you can scuttle off his lap however, his hands are gripping your hips. “Where are you going, love? I thought you wanted my cock?” He questions with a smirk.

Of course Lucius would make you beg to suck him off, you think, responding with a desperate moan. You try to lean in for a kiss but a hand flies up to hold your jaw in place. Squishing your cheeks and mouth together.

“Ah ah.” He tuts. “You know what to do, baby.”

You let out a defiant whine and the hand around your cheeks grip tightens.

“Daddy just told you to beg, you fucking whore.” He growled, giving your head a slight jerk back and you melt against him.

Grasping at his shoulders and trying to keep yourself from swooning, you respond with, “Wanna suck your cock, Daddy. Can I make you feel good please? You can even fuck my throat. Let me be a good girl for you.” you whimper through his grip and he just smiles at you before pulling you in for the kiss you wanted.

“That’s all you had to say, little lionet. Come on, let Daddy slide down your throat.” He grins and you practically fly down from his lap to get his penis in your mouth.

Moaning when his pre-cum hits your tongue, you immediately lick up and down his length. Getting as much spit around him as possible before beginning to use your hands to jerk him off. Lapping at his tip all the way to sucking his balls between your lips.

All he can do is whisper softly “Fuck fuck fuck, yes- ah that’s a good girl. My little girl is such a good slut for me.” before you come up to start deepthroating him and then his head is lolled back against the couch, gently holding both sides of your face as his tip hits the back of your throat.

Pulling you off of him by the hair at the nape of your neck, he has to take deep inhales and exhales “I wanna come in you, sweetheart.” He groans, caressing your hair.

Once he’s recovered enough, he lifts you to sit back on his lap, this time facing away from him.

You lean forward grasping his knees while he fingers you to make sure you’re ready to take him. “Alright, Angel.” He groans, licking his newly wet fingers to taste your arousal once more before reaching around to rub slow circles against your clit.

As you slide onto him, leaning your back against his chest, the room fills with your collective sighs and moans of pleasure.

He begins to set the pace, starting with slow pulls out of your heat before using your weight to pull you back down onto him firmly. Experiencing such euphoria that coherent speech begins to elude you. The both of you too lost in the pleasure to say anything other than “Yes, yes, yes! Right there, fuck me!” mixed with slurred moans and sighs.

His fingers rubbing your clit in circles, fastens in pace and soon your second orgasm knocks into you so hard that all you can do is grip his wrist and thigh, convulsing helplessly around him.

As you’re climaxing, Lucius fuzzily notices that you’re squirting. All that can be heard from your lips is a fucked out wail and he’s sure he’s in love.

He’s fucked you through your orgasm and the pleasure is gradually escalating into overstimulation. Your body locking in place as he maintains the same pace, rocking into you.

“Luci- fuck! Lucius!” You’re crying now, thrown deep into subspace.

“Come on Angel, let me give you one more. Think you can manage one more orgasm, hm?” He asks desperately fucking into you like he’s starved of pleasure.

“Can you handle it, babygirl?”

“O- Okay!” Literally sobbing now from the buildup. He’s fucking you like you’ve never experienced before.

“It hurts so good, Luci- you’re fucking me so good!” You cry out, both of you racing towards the end.

One last thrust does it and he grabs you by the waist to bring you down on him. You let a blissed out scream and he’s resting his forehead against your back breathing heavily. Warmth spreading in your stomach as he releases into you. He gives a few thrusts before pulling out.

You’re feeling fuzzy as he cleans your inner thighs and face off. He sprinkles kisses from your legs to your lips, praises peppering your ego.

“You were such a good girl for me.”

“Look at you baby. So pretty.”

“Good job, love.”

“You were wonderful, little lionet.”

Pulling your panties back on for you, he’s pleased knowing his come is still inside you. “Something to remember me by.” He says before pulling you into one last kiss for the night. It’s slow and soft and as your coherent mind is making its way back into your body, you register how tender he’s being.

Pulling back from his lips, you stare into his eyes. “I hope you’re aware that you can’t fuck me that good and expect it to be a one time fling.” You state smiling, fingers grasping at his sides and he laughs.

“I was never planning for it to be, doll.” He replies, slipping a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now run along back to your miscreant friends. I’ll finish cleaning up here.” He pats your butt, pushing you towards the door and with a roll of your eyes, you head out.

After turning a few corners you immediately bump into Sirius who looks over you with a raised brow.

“What?” You ask, pulling back.

“Nothing, you just look like you got fucked into next year though.” He barks out. Laughing his head off, pointing out your makeup that’s missing in action and hair completely unstyled. You elbow him in the stomach feeling suddenly sheepish.

“Shut up and help me find the others. I’m in desperate need of a shower.” And you can’t help but chuckle with him, his laugh being undeniably contagious.

“Whatever you say. I think I saw James challenging some random sod to an arm wrestling match.”

#lucius malfoy #lucius malfoy x reader #harry potter imagine #lucius malfoy smut #lucius malfoy fluff #young lucius malfoy #marauders #marauders era #marauders x reader #sirius black fluff #sirius black x reader #harry pottr imagines #fluff #smut

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jinxxedwammys · 3 years

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Ok hear me out. I’ve listened to “Sway with me (slowed)” by Cytus II and I have this whole imagine of the reader at a masquerade ball as an undercover agent, and as The Wammy Bois (preferably L or Near) S/O or crush. Well the situation turns for the worst and L (or near) rushes out into the party (he was originally watching on cams) to get a hold of the situation to either like confront the Bad Guy or just protect the reader. Idk I think about it when I listen to the song. Love your writing btw

Aww thanks anon, I'm glad you like my writing! And damn, I like this one a lot! This calls for a fic. Thanks for requesting! (Not me accidentally making this somewhat like that ball scene in Black Butler.. oof)

For this I chose L and decided not to do Near, I hope that's okay.

Warnings: Mentions of human trafficking, Main antagonist being a creep, daggers.

(Image from some wallpaper site and very lightly and badly edited with befunky)

The night was young, the sun had only just set below the horizon plunging the city into darkness. At 8PM this night there was a masquerade ball at a very wealthy businessman's mansion. As all the high society guests exited their limousines and luxury cars escorted by servants you stood staring at the lavish mansion.

"I feel so out of place here... Do I really blend in enough?" You quietly asked Watari who stood beside you as your "servant". You shifted uncomfortably and looked to him for an answer.

"Yes, of course you do. You fit in very well. Please do not worry, I'm sure you will be alright in there." He bowed before reentering the drivers seat of the vehicle you'd arrived in. You took a deep breath before carefully ascending the marble stairs leading to he door. Before you could be noticed by anyone in particular, you placed the earpiece you had been provided in your ear disguising it with your hair.

Unlike the other guests, tonight wasn't about enjoyment or entertainment for you. You were assisting with an investigation into one of the high class men attending this party known as Daniel Grant. He had been suspected of human trafficking, though it seems he had been doing more than just that. A recent investigation by the private investigator known only to the public as L suggested that he may potentially be behind multiple murders in the area. As it happens, you were the lynchpin in solving this case and getting the evidence needed to put Daniel Grant and all involved behind bars.

He seemed to target young people between the ages of 18 and 25. As it happens, you were perfect for that role. You were also a police officer. So only two weeks ago, you had been asked to assist the one and only L. Of course, when he contacted you, you were overjoyed. Finally, something more interesting than petty crime! But now, as you entered the lavish mansion you were far less confident than you were when you initially joined.

You knew L was watching the camera feeds from the CCTV system, but it still didn't calm your nerves. You nervously approached the table where the guest sign in book was placed, carefully signing your alias. Then you made your way to the ballroom where the party was held. You took a deep breath and adjusted your mask before entering into the room.

Inside, everyone was chatting amongst themselves every single person dressed very formally, women in beautiful ballgowns, men in fancy suits. Every single one wore a masquerade mask, some plain and simple, some adorned with gemstones, lace and other ornate designs. Everyone went silent when one man tapped his glass with a fork.

"Hello everyone, I'd like to thank you for attending tonight. Thank you all for celebrating my niece's 20th birthday with us" He motioned to a young girl blonde girl wearing a dark pink dress with a black lace mask. Everyone gave a short applause in response. "Please enjoy yourselves" He bowed slightly. You hadn't known this was a birthday party beforehand. You wondered what Daniel Grant had to do with this girl. About 20 minutes into the party, you decided to check in with L as you hadn't heard a thing from him since you arrived. You excused yourself to the bathroom.

"L are you listening?" You asked quietly and waited for a response.

"Yes, I am, is anything wrong?" He asked. You shook your head before you realized he couldn't see you right now, there were no cameras in the bathroom.

"N..No, I haven't seen Daniel yet either... I was just making sure you were there." you hurriedly replied.

"Mmh, I'll guide you to him if you would like, I can see him on the cameras." He replied clearly eating something.

"Okay, please do!" You left the bathroom and reentered the ballroom doing your best to hide the fact that you were scanning the room for the suspect. L's voice came over the earpiece again, this time instructing you to look for a woman in an emerald green dress near the center of the room. You entered the crowd of guests. Your eyes widened slightly when you saw the woman L had been talking about. She was in fact talking to Daniel Grant. They seemed to know each other. You stayed back, waiting for L to say something.

"Seems like you found them, stay back for a little while, I'll tell you when to approach" He said. You of course didn't respond since you were surrounded by others in earshot. You casually checked your pockets and approached another guest making small talk to kill time. You had taken your eyes off of him for a second, and the moment you looked back, the niece was talking to him. L seemed to notice as well.

"Daniel is currently talking to an important innocent. Please intervene now." You looked around the room before casually approaching the two.

"Hello, I came to wish you a happy birthday!" You said, sort of putting yourself between them. She nodded, thanking you and went back to talking with Daniel. You sighed in annoyance, but persisted.

"Hey, could you by any chance show me to the washroom? I've been looking for it and I just can't find it" You asked. She looked at Daniel, excusing herself from their conversation before leading you to said washroom.

"I'm sorry for inconveniencing you... Oh.. and I think it would be best if you stayed away from that man." She gave you a quizzical look.

"Why is that? He's one of my mother's friends." She asked. You were kind of shocked. Another detail L had left out. You questioned if he trusted you before ultimately banishing the thought. Of course he trusted you. You wouldn't be the one confronting the guy if he didn't.

"Just trust me, he's no good" You warned. It was clear that she didn't take your words seriously whatsoever. She scoffed and left. Now what? You wondered. And just like that, L's voice came through again.

"I want you to talk to him, try your best to get him away from her." Immediately you left the bathroom and made your way back to the ballroom again. By now, there were a few people dancing. Unfortunately Daniel seemed to be one of them, but you had a plan. Dance your way to him! You started off with a tall man with a purple tie, then to an average height lady in a light blue dress, then a lady with a fuchsia pink dress, and so on until finally, you were dancing with Daniel.

"You're the person who rudely interrupted my lovely conversation with the guest of honor" He observed. His voice was cold, though there was a tinge of intrigue.

"And what of it?" You sort of snapped. He smirked, it sent chills up your spine. You backed away slightly, but he closed the distance.

"Oooh, I like them feisty" He growled into your ear. You couldn't help your face twisting in disgust at that.

"Why don't we go... somewhere more private" He suggested. It was then that L's voice came on through your earpiece.

"Go with him, I want to see what he'll do" You gulped. You really didn't want to go anywhere with that creep. But L's orders... You nodded and Daniel led you upstairs. You both stood in front of a bedroom door. He opened it, directing you to go inside. As you did, his eyes seemed to undress you. It was then that he took out a dagger holding it to your neck.

Meanwhile, L sat in his temporary investigation headquarters observing your actions. He had just stuck a piece of cake in his mouth when you had been attacked. He had not expected Daniel to be armed. You were in grave danger and he knew it. He immediately stood up, the fork clattered to the ground and the plate the cake had been on shattered as it hit the floor. He didn't care.

"Y/N, hang in there, I'll be there soon" he quickly said to you before rushing to get Watari and speed off to the party. The car ride seemed to take forever. Every second of it, he watched and listened. Daniel seemed to be just threatening you for the time being, but at any second, he might just kill you. The very second they arrived, L clumsily jumped out of the car and rushed up the stairs to the manor, past the guards outside and up another flight of stairs to where you were.

L had for the first time in his life, brought a gun in case things got even more ugly, but he doubted he'd need it. Daniel didn't seem like the type to be bold enough to kill in front of another person. Even so, he gripped the gun before entering.

"Let them go!" L commanded. Daniel's head snapped in his direction.

"Get out, this is none of your business" Daniel said, turning back to you.

"It is my business, that happens to by my significant other you have there." You blinked. Significant other? Is he acting? You thought before mentally reprimanding yourself for thinking that now. L moved a little closer.

"Oh.... She is... I'm sorry" Daniel backed away. It was kind of comical how he looked like a scolded dog. You stood up and walked towards L, glancing back a few times at Daniel to ensure he wasn't going to get violent again. And without another word, L led you out of the manor to safety. Though there was one question burning in your chest. When you were safely in the car you decided to voice it.

"L... Do you actually like me?" L turned to you, his expression was completely unreadable.

"Yes" He said almost monotonously. But that was good enough for you.

#death note #death note x reader #l lawliet #l lawliet x reader #short story

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morkleemelon · 4 years

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Jet Lag✈️

1) you and Mark are both idols and you're on video call from different countries and you miss each other. You surprise Mark secretly visiting Korea and you then surprise him in his room and you guys cuddle and stuff ^~^

@smolninja thank you for your request! I hope it’s everything you wanted! I’m sorry for the delay, I had so many issues with Tumblr and accidentally deleted it when I was like 70% done it was so sad. Nonetheless, I really liked writing it! Enjoy :)

Warnings: mild swearing

Word Count: 3k

Genre: Fluff, slight angst

Fem Idol!reader x Mark Lee

The set up: you’re in a 7 member kpop group called Girl Trouble and you’ve just finished the first concert of your Japanese tour. We’re pretending corona doesn’t exist :) The general public does not know that you are dating Mark Lee

-----

You feel the van come to a stop as flashing lights bloom from outside the tinted windows, waking you from your much needed sleep.

“We’re at the hotel y/n,” your bandmate, Yeeun, informs, fixing her hair in her phone camera to make sure she was ready to be photographed.

The excited cheers coming from the street bring you out of your sleepy stupor and you stretch your arms above you in a big yawn.

“How do I look?” you ask Nayoo, your best friend in the group who’s sitting next to you, touching up her concealer.

“Perfect as always y/n, duh,” she replied, playfully winking as she put her stuff away.

“Ok I’m opening the door!” you warn as you grab the handle and take a deep breath, putting on your best smile.

Swinging the door open, you’re met with an uproar of fans calling out your name and a storm of camera flashes eager to capture your latest look. It was your group’s first time in Japan so the fans were especially excited to finally have the chance to see you.

*Click click click click*

You stepped out of the car as gracefully as you could, smile never faltering as you showed off your pearly white teeth and prize-winning dimples. Brushing your hair back slightly as you walk, you tease your new gold earrings as a subtle endorsement to the brand. Your members following suit, you wave to the crowd and make your way to the entrance, nodding at a few fansites you recognized.

- - -

Throwing yourself onto the bed, your freshly showered hair promptly soaks through the comforter but you couldn’t care less.

“Ugh...,” you sighed, melting into the plush goodness of the hotel mattress, “I’m so goddamn tired.”

If only he were here with you...

“Oh!” you gasp, head shooting up from your now wet pillow, “I promised I’d call!”. You rolled off the bed and scrambled to find your phone in your bag, suddenly wide awake.

“You’re calling loverrr boyyyy?” Nayoo teased, dragging out the letters because she knew how much you hated it.

“Stopppp!” you whined, throwing your soggy pillow at her and trying to hide the growing blush on your cheeks.

Frantically unlocking your phone, you scroll through your contacts to find your boyfriend, heart racing with anticipation. It’s been a few weeks since you’ve seen Mark and you know it’ll be a few more until you have the chance. You promised each other to call whenever you could, but with NCT dream having a new comeback and Girl Trouble was starting to be really popular, there was only so much you could do. On top of that, it was stressful trying to keep your relationship a secret with all of the prying eyes around you and Mark’s intense fan base. Nevertheless, you’ve been going strong for about 8 months now you know that everything, every struggle, is worth it because of how much you truly love him.

Calling: Baby💕💋🦁...

You don’t bother to fix your makeup-less face and frizzy hair because you know that he’ll say you’re beautiful.

You smile at the thought of him as the FaceTime chimes ring.

*whoom*

“Marky!” you whisper cry, heart racing with excitement as you see his face for the first time in days.

“Baby!” Mark squeals back in the same tone, losing himself to giggles as you both giddily recover from the excitement of getting to see each other. You can hear the sound of voices mocking him in the background and Chenle’s piercing scream cuts through the audio.

“How have you been, baby?” you ask adoringly, ignoring the dreamies and look longingly at the boy in round glasses and his favorite grey hoodie.

“Shut up guys! I’m trying to talk to y/n!” he yells back at them, met with only more mocking and screaming. Sighing and giving up, he turns back to the camera, “Ah you know, I’ve been alright. We’ve been pretty busy with practice. I’m actually at practice right now if you can’t tell”. He pans the camera to the other members of dream who are clearly only taking a break because Mark made them stop for this phone call.

Guilt grips at you as you realize how you were probably inconveniencing them. After all, it was getting late and they all have to stay even later now because of you.

“Oh... if now’s not a good time we can always try tomorrow,” you offer, smiling slightly but not enough to hide your disappointment and guilt.

“Aw baby I’m sorry,” Mark soothes, “don’t worry about us I didn’t mean it like that. I missed you so much and these guys can spare a few minutes it’s fine”.

“I wish you were here, Mark. Or I was there,” you whisper, lying down on your bed once again. Placing your phone in front of you, it’s almost, almost, as if he were there lying with you.

Mark wears a pensive expression as he looks down, using his free hand to fiddle with his hoodie strings.

“Yeah. Me too”.

His voice is strained as he thinks about the nights you’ve snuck out together and the secret dates you shared. He misses the way you feel in his arms and the way your soft hair felt when it tickled him awake in the morning. He misses your terrible dad jokes and your night cooking. It was really frustrating how you were both so young and so in love, but everything else in life had to get in the way. Mark really missed you.

You reach out instinctively to stroke his hair but instead of comforting the boy you loved, your hands are met with only the cold surface of your screen.

The two of you talked for a few more minutes, trying to make the most of the time before he had to go. You could tell by the way his voice strained that he was really exhausted.

When he finally hung up, you couldn’t shake the empty feeling off; not being next to him, being able to touch him, to comfort him, to be with him was the worst feeling in the world.

And before you could stop yourself, warm tears began to fall as your shoulders shook with your heartbroken sobs. Video calls were supposed to make you miss each other less, not more. You loved him so much that you’d miss him even if he was right there with you. Being apart was devastating.

“Oh, honey…,” Nayoo coos, crawling into your bed to give you a much needed hug, “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Let it out”.

Wrapping your arms around your best friend, you let the tears fall onto your already soaked pillow and spilling out the feelings you’ve kept buried inside for so long.

“I just miss him so much,” you gasp, squeezing your fists around the fabric of Nayoo’s sweatshirt.

“Oh I know y/n, I know,” she comforted, “remember back when we were trainees and you just started dating Mark? And I was always there to distract Manager Kim when you snuck out to meet him?”.

You let out a small laugh at her attempt to lighten the mood. Nayoo was truly a good friend and she always had your back. You were really lucky to have her in your life.

“I do, Nayoo. I never thanked you enough for that”

“You know I love you. I’d do it again now if you wanted to sneak out and meet him. Actually I bet you could pull it off since our next show isn’t for another 4 days”

“Wait…”

Both of you sat up at the same time, looking at each other with wide eyes.

------

“I can’t believe we’re doing this”

“Shush! We already bought the tickets there’s no backing out now”

“What if someone notices me?”

“They won’t. Look at you”

You looked in the mirror of the lobby bathroom you were hiding in. You were dressed in plain, unbranded clothes, your hair tucked in a low, messy bun. The majority of your face was covered by a mask and a baseball hat, making you look nearly unidentifiable to anyone looking.

“I guess,” you sighed, still nervous, “let’s just go over the plan again”.

“Alright sheesh,” Nayoo groaned, “as if I am not a wizard of distracting our manager. You’ll get into the Uber we just called and go to Japan Airport. Your flight is at 2:30am and you’ll arrive in Korea at about 4:00am. Then you’ll go to Mark’s dorm and make out with him yadda yadda-”.

You punched her in the arm.

“Okay! Did I lie though? Anyways, you’ll be on your return flight the next day at the same time so you better savor your time. MY job is to tell Manager Kim that you are having lady problems and you can’t make it to practice today. He hates when we talk about periods so this is fool proof seriously. Plus we know that you will do fine on stage without one day of practice”.

“Okay…,” you chewed your lip nervously, half dreading the thought of being caught and half thrilled at the thought of being in Mark’s arms in a few hours. Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you looked at the notification.

*your Uber driver Ayako is here! Look for license plate A29&Q on a black Honda Pilot*

Hugging Nayoo goodbye, you rush out of the hotel and into the cab, adjusting your cap and mask to make sure it covers your face.

Each second that passed, you became more excited about seeing your boyfriend and less nervous about the consequences.

Mark, I’m here for you. I’m coming, just wait a little bit longer.

Your hands itched to call him and tell him what you were doing but you knew that he was catching up on some much needed sleep by now.

When you arrived at the Japan Airport, you thanked the driver and walked briskly through the airport. You had nothing except a small backpack and your plane ticket so getting through security was quick. Thankfully, there weren’t too many people there at 2 in the morning so you began to relax.

Successfully making it through security, you finally board the plane and claim your seat at the very back.

Looking out the window to the dark, starry skies, the lights of the airplane wings illuminate the drops of rain that began to fall.

-----

You jolt awake as the plane lands at the South Korea Airport with a rumbling thud. Your hands dart to your face to make sure your mask and hat are still there, sighing in relief when they remain unmoved.

Grabbing your bag, you walk down the aisle of the half-empty plane, each step bringing you closer to Mark.

Rushing out of the airport, your steps gain traction as you feel your heart racing in excitement at the thought of seeing your boyfriend so soon. The cold night air greets you familiarly as you call the nearest cab over. Telling the driver the address of Mark’s dorm building, you watch as the streetlights pass by and you near the boy you’ve been dying to see for weeks.

At last, you arrive at the steps of the apartment complex. Thanking the driver, you rush into the building and attack the elevator button going up. Your breathing is shallow with excitement knowing that he’s there right now. He’s there and you’re going to be with him.

Every second in the elevator feels like hours and you kick yourself for not taking the stairs. The floors seem like they’re all a mile away from the last and you tap your foot impatiently on the carpeted floor.

8...9...10

*Ding*

You speed out of the elevator and find your way expertly to the infamous 10th floor dorm room. Feeling around the crevices of the carpet floor for the spare key, you feel a slight twinge of nerves because you’re technically breaking into their home. But, as soon as you enter the familiar room, any guilt you have washes away and the only thing you can feel is the rapid beating of your heart filled with love and anticipation.

Making your way silently through the dark common room, you stop at the oh-so-familiar door. When your hand touches the cold metal of the doorknob, you swear that the beating of your heart was loud enough to wake the entire building.

Taking a deep breath, you open the door and you see him. Your breath hitches at your throat and you fight back the urge to cry right then and there. Mark was lying on his bed, snuggled under the covers with his arms and legs wrapped around a pillow like he always does when he sleeps. His soft breathing was rhythmic and calming, the warm scent of his room inviting you in.

Without wasting another second away from him, you drop your bag on the messy floor and walk up to his bed. Carefully, you pull at the pillow in his embrace and replace it with your own body. Mark shifts slightly and you freeze, not wanting to wake him up from his rare sleep. His eyes remain closed and his arms instinctively tighten around you. You can see through the darkness that his eyebrows furrow slightly and his lips part, and you wonder if he knew you were there.

��Finally,” you thought to yourself, reaching up slowly to caress his hair, “we’re finally together”. It didn’t feel real. You couldn’t believe that you were finally here in his arms. His body was so warm and felt like home to you.

You can feel Mark’s fingers autonomously rub circles into your back. As if his body realized what was happening, Mark’s eyes opened slowly and he peered into your face, blinking slowly to process this new information.

“I’m here, Mark,” you whisper as softly as you can.

Without any hesitation, Mark leans forward and presses a deep kiss onto your lips, conveying ten thousand words with his actions that could only be interpreted as “I missed you so much”.

You kiss him back, fingers gripping onto his shirt with raw emotion in an “I missed you too”. You breathe in deeply, not wanting to forsake any aspect of him, taking in all of his scent and drinking it all like a flower with no water.

He pulls away with a sigh and presses his forehead against yours. Mumbling incoherent words, you notice that he seems to have fallen back asleep.

Your own eyelids feel heavy and they flutter closed as you succumb to the warm welcome of sleep, your heart whole with love.

-----

Dull beams of sun fell slanted through the curtains as you drifted awake the next morning. You felt a hand playing with your hair and you opened your eyes slowly, temporarily forgetting what you had done the night before. Memories flooded back and your attention narrowed in at the smiling boy in front of you.

“You’re really here,” Mark whispered, “how are you here?”.

“It’s a long story,” you whispered back, voice still hoarse from sleep.

He pulled you in closer to his chest and you gladly snuggled into his warm body, nuzzling at his favorite hoodie, the one you got him for Christmas.

“I thought it was all a dream when I saw you last night,” he admitted.

“Stay with me today?,” you ask, worried that your time together would be short. If he had to go to practice, you could hardly see him at all and you’d go back to missing him a thousand miles away.

“I’m not going anywhere today,” Mark replies, kissing the top of your head, “my wishes have finally come true and you magically appeared in my bed. I’d be an idiot to leave”.

You giggled at his words, working your fingers to draw shapes into his back.

You start to tell him what happened after you called him the night before and how devastated you were when you weren’t with him. Mark’s arms tightened around you as you told him you cried when you saw how tired he was and you weren’t there to cheer him up. You told him about how you put on a disguise and snuck around Manager Kim who thought you were dying right now. His body shook with laughter at the crazy night you had and you both agreed that this was the wildest thing you had ever done.

“How long are you gonna stay here?”

“My flight back to Japan is at 2:30am tomorrow morning. What time is it now?”

Mark shifts to unlock his phone on the nightstand.

“It’s 10:49am”

You sighed and buried your face deeper into his chest, trying to get impossibly closer to the love of your life and make the most of your hard-earned time together.

“Let’s do everything today,” you heard him say.

“What do you mean?” you ask, tilting your chin up to look at him, pressing a small his to his jaw.

“Let’s just do everything we always wanted to do. Let’s get ramen from the convenience store together and then go on a walk at the park. Let’s get matching sweaters from the mall and then full sugar boba tea. You’ll drink half of mine and I’ll let you because I’m a good boyfriend”. Mark giggles at his imagination and peppers kisses across your face.

You laugh at the ticklish sensation and your heart swells with love for the Canadian boy.

Your whole body tingled, the feel of his body around yours and his lips on yours sending your head spinning. Rubbing your nose adoringly against his in an eskimo kiss, you vow that you would be strong for him from now on. You might be apart for work a lot, but the love you share is inseparable and undeniable. Nothing could ever come between you. You were his and he was yours.

“Let’s do it, Everything”

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gabrielbigbang · 4 years

Text

POSTING DATE: March 29th

AUTHOR: @senoritablack

ARTIST: @casslastheaven

STORY TITLE: Miscellaneous Drawer, Two Toothbrushes

BANG SIZE: Mega

RATING: Explicit

SHIPS: Sam/Gabriel, Dean/Castiel (Background), Sam/OC (Briefly)

TAGS: Humor, Fluff, Slow Burn, Obliviousness, Enemies to friends to lovers, Angst, Domesticity, Canon Typical Violence, Canon divergence, Continuity errors, TW for mention of depression, TW for mention of homophobia, Top!Sam, Oral, Handjobs

SUMMARY: When Sam finds out that Gabriel's been resurrected and lying low in the bunker for months, he goes through the all stages of grief. There's denial, some anger, a brief stint in bargaining, but he skips depression and is forced into acceptance. Sam's so preoccupied with how Gabriel shouldn't fit into his life, that it takes him a year to realize that Gabriel's shown Sam that he does. Somewhere down the line all of Sam's routines change and it's all because Gabriel grossly overstays his welcome.

Excerpt below the cut...

EXCERPT: Sam expects old aches in new places. New grays are a non-issue. He accepts the latest latent hang up, re-emerging like a stalking piranha, biting him in the ass and holding on until he is so hurt and uncomfortable with himself, that he’s sighing curse words into the crook of his elbow before stubbornly hurling himself into the day. Sam will fix his bed, take a leak, then, and despite his aging body’s protest, there’s a quick warm-up before an hour sprint. Teeth brushing, showering, drying off and dressing is a short affair because his stomach will remind him that he’s fasted for 8 hours. He goes for something lean if he’s heading out for work. It's 3 eggs scrambled in an unforgivable amount of butter and the deli meat of the week between toast, if he’s to be at the bunker.

All to say, Sam's mornings come with little to no thought at all, pass with zero surprises and don't usually involve the reflection of a bare-ass archangel presumed to be dead. They don't include a seemingly not-dead archangel turning towards a shocked Sam at the counter to—without so much as a flush or hello—wash their hands and leave just as insouciant as they’d sauntered in. Matter of fact, Sam never stubs his toe trying to compose himself. He doesn’t, ever, make sounds like an angry chihuahua whose paw has been stepped on and doesn’t usually have reason to go for the gun strapped under the sink. So, he's never been prompted to limp after an assailant at ass o’clock in the morning, and in no instance beyond that, has his welcoming shot been responded to with an uninterested, “Oh, hey, Sam.”

The bullet falls to the polished concrete of the bunker with an almost comical ting and the sound reverberates in the silences that hangs between them.

“Who the hell are you?“ Sam asks after a beat.

Then he's not waisting anymore time, never lowering his gun as he toes towards his chest of drawers. He snatches the silver blade that lies there. The being wearing Gabriel's vessel has the audacity to look unimpressed.

“I get that I didn't replace the toilet roll the other night, but you didn't have to shoot." It says.

“I thought that Dean had—hold on—no, who are you?” Sam asks again.

“All archangel, kid, but sure, have at it.” The being says, extending a hand.

Sam pulls the being closer by the wrist and drives the sharp blade across the offered palm. There's blood but somehow the being looks more inconvenienced than in pain. Sam frowns. Then fixes his shoulders. He drags the being a few steps towards his bed, diving under his pillow for the holy water he stores there and washes over the already healing cut. But still, nothing. Not a demon either?

“What are you?” Sam demands this time.

“Already bored.”

“I won’t—” Sam says, backing the being into the closest wall with his forearm.

He presses deep into the being’s neck, waiting for it to choke, to splutter, to fight back. But it doesn't.

“Kinky.” It gurgles and goes slack against Sam’s increasing pressure.

“—ask again.”

The being frowns. Sam relents some.

“Company be damned, you come in any closer and I can’t be reliable for how my dick responds.” The being says.

Sam looks down and quickly back up again. His neck goes hot. When Sam rectifies the situation with some distance, he clears his throat.

“There's no way.”

“There was one way, obviously. Mean, I’m here aren’t I?”

“How? Was it another trick? How did you fool Lucifer? Were you in hiding all this time? What.”

“Does it really matter?" It asks.

“You're kidding right, yes! Yes, yeah, it matters, dude. If you're really who you say you are, how the hell are you here?”

“Well after saving your asses from being deity chow—you're welcome by the way—and having my own bro put me down for the long nap I sorta just… woke up.” It makes a a vague, sweeping gesture that does nothing to clarify what it's saying.

“You woke up—okay, sure, whatever. So was it Norse magic? Was it angelic? God himself? You’re not giving me a lot to go on.”

The being shrugs and with a snap, the room around them turns. The beings in a heavily pillowed wicker loveseat and Sam’s lying on a fold-out that’s a foot too short for him.

It's the snap that keeps Sam from protesting again, triggering a thunder of emotions, because he's momentarily thrusted into a reel of memory. Lewd suggestions and apparitions, and ludicrous just desserts. Cartoonish deaths, strawberry syrup, a steak, a plea, and finally, a Wednesday. Playing an angsty doctor, arrogant cop, game show contestant, playing their roles and winning. Thinking it’d been Loki, figuring out different. Figuring out what that meant. Sam remembers Gabriel. Gabriel the archangel, who’s mask they had confiscated all those years ago when they had trapped him in that holy oil, a mask they held in their hands well until they met again at the hour of his last jest. Before his more cunning brother saw through the trick and took his life. He gave Dean, Cas, and humanity a chance. He gave Sam a damn chance. And Sam felt like there was finally an x in the map, and all he had to do was stick to the trail. He felt hopeful. And Sam’s finding the rings again, thanks to Gabriel. He's saving the world. But then he’s falling. Burning. Despondent. Waking, remembering and not caring what he was. Waking, forgetting, uncovering and hating what he was.

When Sam’s brought back from the memories, he’s sure they’re the same being. Sam didn't expect to grieve Gabriel's death. But he did. He wasn’t a friend. He was barely an ally. He simplified it to empathy, in the end, knowing what it meant to acknowledge every mistake but not live long enough to correct them and stoped being confused by the feelings. Eventually, he stopped wondering about Gabriel's what-ifs all together. Still, it's been years. Sam swallows down the mixture of new and old hurt, keeps in everything he wants to ask, to argue. He bolts upright, stares at the being, after Gabriel, because even as experience gives reason enough to deny all this, his instincts won't let him. It’s totally Gabriel. Gabriel with all his five foot eight of inexhaustible condescension, looking at Sam with familiar honey-colored haughtiness, lips curling as if he knows all of the embarrassing thoughts and misgivings that Sam wakes up to. Gabriel, using humor as his sword, aflame and so bright, that it wards off anyone who can’t be bother to wait long enough. But Sam had waited for the fire to die down before. He could wait again.

#Gabriel Big Bang #Supernatural #Gabriel #Sam Winchester #Sabriel

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cursewoodrecap · 3 years

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Session 22: Five-Dimensional Man-Go

This is a session I’ve been looking forward to for quite some time. I get to introduce three of my favorite characters in the entire campaign.

In the real world it’s been a while, but this was the session we officially welcomed a new chaos goblin player to the table. And damn, am I glad we did.

Valeria goes to Hoeska’s armor smiths for some upgrades, and accidentally kicks off a goth fashion montage. Her new armor has gorgeous black detailing with purple rose accents, accessorized with a brand-new Shusva-skin bag with matching claw clasp. Gral picks up a fancy Shusva-leather cloak and belt. Shoshana, realizing that a vampire’s castle is basically a Hot Topic, gets some fishnet arm warmers to accompany her fang necklace. We also get some healing potions and hope they aren’t made from lost souls or anything.

Valeria resummons Aethis, who pops back into existence in a burst of glitter that’s entirely incongruous with the local grim aesthetic. Apparently celestial gators are only mildly inconvenienced by fatalities.

As we hitch up the horses to get back on the road, we find out Ser Boris is also preparing to head out. “Woods full of many nasty creatures. Must keep hunting! Maybe I find way down to Barroch, I have heard monsters are attacking workers there.”

Gral perks up at the name of his people’s capitol. “I’m sure the orcs will treat you well. What kind of monsters are they dealing with?”

“Wolves, bears, maybe werewolf? I will find out when I get there! Cursebreakers do not have much of working relationship with orcs, so info is scattered. That is why I must investigate!”

While he heads south into orc territory, we’re gonna go north toward Sturmhearst to look into all the Key nonsense Professor Bjork told us is goin’ down. It’ll be a long trip; it’s on the coast, and we’re well into the heartland of the wood. As we get closer, we’re gonna have to look for new maps, too – the patchwork of safe zones and Curse disasters changes rapidly, and the roads that were passable a month ago might be deathtraps today.

We trek for several blessedly uneventful days. One night, in a region where a sizable number of halflings have settled, we have the fortune of seeing an inn on the horizon as night starts to fall. A sign proclaims the Fusilier’s Rest, a combination winery and inn located on a lush vineyard. Valeria’s kind of suspicious of anything too plant-based right now, but the rest of us totally want a winery tour.

We hitch up our wagon next to a post labeled Valet Parking. Aethis parks themself in the stables. Looking at the place, with its rather low doorframe and quaintly painted décor, we suspect Demish wine snootery instead of weird plant cults.

We duck through the door and take in the scene. It’s on the upscale end of totally normal, with locals sitting around eating and a huge pot of Demish onion soup bubbling on the hearth. The old halfling bartender is wearing pieces of a worn but well-cared-for blue-and-gold uniform. Two polished old pistols hang within reach on the wall, along with a pristine old Fusille musket in a place of honor behind the bar. Shiny medals in a handmade case are proudly displayed atop the bar.

As is D&D protocol, we look around for any notably wacky characters. We find them in the corner: an old man with unkempt white hair and multi-lensed, colorful glasses, engrossed in a game of Man-go against a young human doctor. We know he’s a doctor, because he’s got a stubby-beaked Sturmhearst mask pushed up to expose a tired but friendly face. His coat might once have been a lab coat, but it’s since been patched and sutured together so many times that it’s probably done a full ship-of-Theseus. His right arm is in a makeshift sling, and he’s nursing a small glass of Kevan vodka; probably the closest thing they have to rotgut moonshine in a wine-snob place like this.

We’re like, neat. Let’s eat soup.

Valeria orders a local vineyard wine and chats with the bartender about it. “The man who runs it is a madman; he thinks he can grow good wine grapes in Valdia. But he pays my sister well, she does her best.”

“Oh, don’t listen to René, his sister does marvelous work! No halfling will admit that wine grown outside Demionde will be more than spoiled grape juice,” teases one of the local barflies.

Gral asks Valeria who’s winning the Man-go game. The old man is rambling pleasantly, barely paying attention, and he is absolutely crushing the young doctor. The doctor looks like he’s totally aware he’s being taken to the cleaners, but he’s gonna let the old guy have his fun. As the game draws to a close, the younger man smiles ruefully and hands over a few coins. Meanwhile, the old fella, his eyes magnified to mismatched sizes by his funky glasses, spots our most conspicuous party member.

“Kyr! How’s the wine?” he calls, beckoning her over.

“Quite good actually!” Valeria chirps. “Was that the Kiloni maneuver?”

“Yes, or a variant I picked up somewhere! The Killam maneuver…kilometer…kilowatt? Something of the sort.”

Valeria very much wants to play him, and the old guy’s defeated opponent is happy to trade her his spot. The young man’s propped up leg hits the ground with a suspiciously loud clunk as he vacates his chair for her.

The old man peers up at her, bright-eyed even behind multiple layers of glass. “So what brings a Knight of the Rose here?”

“We’re headed to Sturmhearst, actually!”

“I see! I’ve heard the roads between here and there are pretty tricky to travel, you know.”

“No kidding. Do you have an updated map?”

He snaps his fingers. “No, but I just came from there! I’ve got an old map and I can easily update it for you kids. René is on night watch, I’ll leave it with him so you don’t have to stay up waiting for me to finish it. I know a route that’ll get you there lickety-split and safe as trousers! Now let me guess, you played at the clubs in Aurentium? You have the look about you.”

“Not the clubs, precisely…”

“Ah! Street rules, then!”

Valeria, who played Man-go against literally everyone who would have her, shrugs. “Maybe?”

“René, we’ll need some cups and a dumb hat!” the old man calls.

The young doctor wanders over to the bar and gets a refill, settling down next to Shoshana. “Hey, wanna bet on their game? The old guy’s pretty sharp.”

Shoshana laughs. “Oh, my friend is definitely gonna lose. I’ll put a silver on her, though, out of loyalty.”

It’s an odd game to spectate. Valeria falls behind early on; an insight check shows he’s not cheating, he’s just VERY good. Oh, and also Valeria’s assuming an entirely different set of house rules than this guy, and it’s tripping her up. Wait, are we doing street style, or dock style? Anyway, Valeria’s wearing the dumb hat now. At one point they both spit on the board.

“Y’know, I’ve never seen anyone from Sturmhearst take the mask off,” Shoshana says to her new drinking buddy, watching the game with confusion.

“On the clock, it’d be a safety hazard! But off the clock, eh, it’s fine. Some people get more elitist than me about it, I’m a hometown Valdian through and through.”

(You’re from Joisey, I’m from Joisey! What exit?)

“I haven’t actually been to the university since the Curse started, but I’m heading back to research some stuff I found out up in the Grammelsmarsh swamps. Some real disconcerting stuff regarding undead, and the like. The locals refer to it as the Wailing Wight.”

Shoshana gives him a once-over, rolling a decent Perception. He’s scruffy, though that could mostly be from hard travel, and definitely looks like he’s had a rough time of it. His arm’s in a sling and the little exposed skin Shoshana can see has more than its share of nicks and scars. His gait when he walked over was slightly uneven, one leg making a suspiciously heavy thunk against the wooden floor. Over his shoulder, he’s carrying a long, heavy case sealed with tar for waterproofing.

Hold up. She points to the case. “Do you have an alive guy in there?”

“…Uh.”

“You hesitated, and that’s not great.”

“Uh…no. No, I do not have an alive guy in here,” he says awkwardly.

“Okay, because the last time there was a weird bag, there was a whole-ass dude in there, and it turned into a whole thing.”

“N-no, no no no, there’s no person in the case,” he protests, not quite meeting Shoshana’s judgy cat eyes. He definitely doesn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea, even though the case has started gently twitching.

Meanwhile, old Man-Go man has proved himself quite fluent in Draco-Aquilian, though with an unmistakable mammalian accent. Gral butts into the lively conversation when it winds back to Valdian. “It seems like you’re rather well traveled. What is your profession?”

“Oh, y’know, I go here and there. I’ve been around. There’s so much to see out there!”

Valeria smiles. “I can’t fault you there. Anything in particular you’re looking for?

“I go wherever the winds take me, mostly,” he says, as if Cursewood travel isn’t the most dangerous hobby since they invented pyromancer cookoffs.

Valeria, impressively, only loses the game by a little. The old man jovially shakes her hand and promises to go get started on that map to Sturmhearst for us, springing to his feet with surprising deftness for his age and bustling up toward his room.

Gral and Shoshana, meanwhile, are busy makin’ friends with the doctor guy. “What swamp were you fighting undead in?”

“The Grammelsmarsh? It’s downriver of Mornheim.”

“Ohhh! We heard some, uh, adventurers did a purifying ritual on the river. It might help your situation?”

“That’s great, but…I dunno. Once you mix in swamp gas, things get a lot more interesting.”

“The explosions kind of interesting?”

“…Sometimes.”

The players have noticed that our doctor friend here is, like…not an NPC, there’s another guy at the table (the same player as Isadora! :D), so we start sizing each other up as travel companions.

“You seem like a pretty decent guy,” Gral says, immediately insight checking.

“I mean, you guys seem on the up-and-up too?”

Shoshana winks at him. “Well, I’m not that up-and-up but these two are very diplomatic and important.”

“If you’re also headed up to Sturmhearst, it might make sense for us to travel together? I’m not very quiet,” he admits, knocking on his knee with a clang, “but if you-“

“Hello!” Valeria, hearing clanking, has clanked over loudly to join. “Kyr Valeria Argent, at your service!”

“Uh, hi! I’m Vigdor. I’m a doctor! I mean, you knew that, with the, uh-“ He points to his bird mask. “If you need any balms or salves – I mean, I’m mostly a surgeon, but I know some herbology.”

Is that so! We chat about Dr. Ulmus and Dr. Kjeller. Everyone loves Dr Kjeller!

“I’ve heard of Dr. Kjeller! I haven’t met the guy, but he’s the leading expert on troll physiology. Getting him to come lecture hasn’t worked out so far.”

We ask René the innkeeper about any local threats. Apparently this town’s gotten lucky; the biggest threats recently have just been bandits and one overaggressive badger.

“Oh yeah, one of my cats fought one of those, it went badly,” Shoshana remembers. “For the badger, I mean. I have weird cats.”

(The inn also has cat. His name is Jean Clawed.)

Eventually we all head upstairs. As the night bears on, the girls fall asleep, presumably after painting each other’s toe claws and gossiping. Gral’s still awake, practicing his lute in the rare luxury of a single room, when he pauses. Something doesn’t sound right.

Putting his lute aside, he listens cautiously at the window and feels a deep dread grow in his stomach. The faint scent of ozone drifts in the air. The crickets and night birds have gone dead silent, and in the unsettling quiet he can hear the terrible growling, piping sound he’s heard twice before: once in a house in a hole, and once as Bullbreaker’s expedition faced its destruction.

With great urgency and no volume control, Gral sends a Message to a sleeping Shoshana: “RED ALERT, KEY SHIT’S HERE.” Shoshana wakes up and kicks Valeria.

Gral then sends a Message to our new friend Vigdor, more calmly. “If you have weapons, get them now. Something is happening, it’s going to be dangerous.”

The early warning lets Vigdor and Valeria armor up, Shoshana helping Valeria buckle on the heavy pieces in a hurry. Meanwhile, Gral sprints downstairs, casting Mirror Image as he goes.

René the innkeeper is cleaning his fusille with practiced precision, humming an old marching song. Gral can hear something moving in the kitchen behind the old halfling, so he pops another stealthy Message cantrip. “This is the orc from earlier. I think something bad is in the kitchen – I’ve heard that noise before. Hold on tight to that musket, I’m going in.”

“The back door is locked, I would have heard someone come in,” the old soldier whispers back.

“These things don’t use doors,” Gral hisses.

A 17 Persuasion convinces René, who loads a bullet into his musket. “Where are those friends of yours?”

A heavy clank from upstairs answers that question, as Vigdor and Valeria thud toward the stairs. Gral scopes out the room and sees, on the bar, a big leather map case. The map from the Man-Go guy! Then he peers into the kitchen and, yup, that’s a fleshhound, all right.

Everyone else upstairs bursts into the hall just as a second fleshhound emerges into existence next to them. Shoshana, without hesitation, hits it with a gout of flame. Its strange ethereal flesh solidifies for a moment, but then it shakes itself and charges forward, its displacement energy restored.

Meanwhile, the one downstairs doesn’t aim for Gral or René, trying to run past them. Gral plays a discordant note on his lute, using his Minor Key at the opposite frequency to its vibration and preventing it from displacing, before he strikes. A spectral, scarred orc swings a warhammer down on the creature, Thrice-Burned’s ghost getting some payback as Gral’s blade strikes true.

René takes a shot with his musket and crit-fails, understandably freaked out by the writhing mass of teleporting tentacles, the wild shot careening directly into Gral. Luckily, it only pops a Mirror Image, but everyone upstairs hears a frustrated yell of “NO. FRIEND! ME FRIEND!”

Vigdor dashes past Valeria to the stairs, his previously-motionless arm reaching out of its sling to slap her on the armor with a resounding clash of metal. A silver Jotunn rune glows through the cloth of his sleeve, and she feels Protection from Good and Evil snap into place over her. She takes the cue and stabs the hound, rose vines bursting from her trident and stabbing their long thorns into its oddly flickering flesh.

The pupils on the Eyegis snap to the space behind the beast. Our normal eyes see nothing, but the Key-aligned shield’s eyes see a magical gate, faintly connected to the hound.

As a member of the Order of the Rose, Valeria’s trained to deal with fiendish incursions. This isn’t a portal to the Hells, but she thinks it might get closed similarly. As she charges forward to deal with it, everything seems to move twice as fast as it should: the Key’s spatial distortion has made certain areas the opposite of difficult terrain, where you can move double your speed. Nyoom!

Shoshana zaps it with lightning and heads downstairs to help Gral, who’s being slapped by tentacles. The zapped one flees toward the portal, but Valeria Sentinels and stabs it to death. The downstairs hound gets its tentacles into the real Gral.

Vigdor moves to Gral’s aid, ripping away the last of his sling and clamping a large circular blade to his forearm. With the pull of a ripcord, it loudly whirs into motion. As the Buzzing Butcher slams into the displacer hound with a gory squelch, he asks about sneak attack, like a rogue!

A very, very loud rogue.

Gral breaks away from the hound’s tentacles and looks around. Through the windows, more fleshhounds have appeared outside. The space outside is warped – leaving this inn is going to be very difficult while all this nonsense is going on. The lights of the vineyard seem miles away.

However, Gral realizes, the hound responded to the sound of his lute. And when he used his Minor Key he caught a glimpse of the portal it came through. He begins to play again, using the Minor Key to try to take control of it. The GM allows him to burn a 3rd level spell slot for a colossal roll of 33. He moves the portal inside a wall, to temporarily block anything coming through.

René takes a shot at the remaining hound and misses.

Valeria, upstairs, draws her chained sword and spends a 1st level slot to try to close the portal, the same way paladins close Infernal gateways. The chains of Rack extend from the sword and stitch the portal shut.

(Gral and Valeria each gain inspiration for using Portal Trixx!)

A Thing Occurs at initiative 0, and we hear strange piping coming from the stables. We’re kind of occupied, so we trust Aethis to bite anything that bothers the horses.

Shoshana sprints down the stairs and to the bar. Aw, there’s another flesh hound coming in from the kitchen. Her Chill Touch misses, and the new monster slaps Gral.

Vigdor nyooms through a Zoom, which makes some Really Weird doppler effects happen with his clanky leg and his buzzy arm. He slides across the bar like an action hero and slams his saw down, missing the hound and showering the room in a hail of splinters.

Valeria is still upstairs, and it is LOUD downstairs. She’s gonna dash to get the heck down there and rejoin the festivities.

Gral Phantasmal Forces the new fleshhound, and in its mind, horrible liquid tendrils emerge from the soup pot and constrict around it. The soup rises to the defense of the Fusilier’s Rest!

René gets his wits about him and takes a pistol shot at the nearer fleshhound, tagging it with a bullet and keeping it in place. “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE. OUR POLICY IS NO PETS! I will not make an exception for you, you do NOT seem particularly polite!”

The fleshhound grabs the map case off the bar and starts to run for it. René hits it with the butt of his rifle. The second hound can’t attack Vigdor since it’s too busy convincing itself soup isn’t dangerous, so Vigdor’s free to draw his pistol and unload a Sneak Attack bullet into the fleeing hound’s back.

René reloads his musket. It’s been a long time since he’s done it under fire, but the Royal Fusilier Corps of Demionde does not half-ass their training.

The portal the hound’s heading for bisects a wall now, so it might be hard for the hound to get through. Before it can worry about that, though, it comes face to face with Valeria, who’s ready to rumble. She kills it, dropping the map to the ground, and skitters through the Zoomy Zone to try to trident the second hound. It displaces out of the way.

Gral seizes control of another portal, and this time decides to use it to see what’s going on. He tries to hop out to the stables, where that weird noise is coming from. He enters a weird nether space full of the flickering bodies of fleshhounds, writhing and blinking, which the DM calls the Threshold. Gral accepts psychic damage to see what’s going on, and the patterns become clearer as the Key takes hold temporarily in his brain. These portals all connect to each other and the Threshold at the same time. Whatever’s out in the stables, making that eerie piping noise, is tied to the portals – it can’t fully exist in our realm. So if you close all the portals, it’ll force that thing to leave; if you drive it away, the portals will close. Either way, the Key’s influence on this place will fade.

Oh, and that thing out in the stables? It’s the Lurke r again.

Gral’s old enemy wrests control of the portal back from Gral, who stumbles back out into the inn, reeling from the sudden whammy of Key taint.

Shosha shoots lightning at the nearest hound, which retaliates by leaping through her, disrupting her matter with its own. It’s a highly unpleasant experience. A new hound jumps out of the portal next to Valeria. As Vigdor, Shoshana, and René all attack, Gral shuts another portal with his lute’s magic. “Guys, there’s something horrible in the stables!” he shouts. “If we bust enough portals it’ll go away!”

The Lurker continues to make mysterious dice rolls, but apparently it’s rolling poorly, so we don’t quite find out what it’s up to. It peers through one of the last few portals, only visible to Gral and the Eyegis. It’s hard to get a good look at, fifth-dimensional as it is, but it’s weirdly humanoid, actually? It’s surrounded by floating lanterns and holding some sort of pipe or flute.

(The DM notes that Jean Clawed is awake and doesn’t see why any of this is his business. He’s capable of using the portals; he’s not Key tainted, that’s just how cats are.)

We exchange blows with the remaining hounds, Chromatic Orbs flying and chainsaws buzzing. René bayonets a hound to death, for the honor of all NPCs.

Gral powerslides on his knees across the Zoomy Zone, playing a complicated riff, woobling himself right through the fireplace into the kitchen. He spends another level 3 spell slot to get the portal to dance itself shut. “And that was Through the Fire and Flames!”

René reloads his gun. Shoshana blasts the hound with fire, so Vigdor’s action goes off and he chainsaws it to death, the body and spine getting caught in the spinning chain. FATALITY.

The searing light of Shoshana’s fire casts sharp shadows on the walls of the inn, which begin to writhe and re-form, swirling together into a lithe, snarling feline shape that springs toward the Lurker. It pounces with an odd, broken yowl that’s incredibly familiar – although Valeria and Gral have only ever heard it once, from underneath an overturned laundry basket.

Vigdor, who’s never met a flesh-hound OR a cursecat before, makes an arcana check to figure out what in the seven hells is going on. It seems some sort of entity is thinning the barriers between realities? Its very essence seems to be intermingled with portal; it cannot fully leave the portal or exist in this realm. Like a malevolent, sentient pair of curtains.

He’s like okay, curtains sound like something I can chainsaw. It’s curtains for you, see? (Fun fact: if he rolls 21 or higher on attack roll with chainsaw, he gets sneak attack regardless of other circumstances. Because it’s a goddamn CHAINSAW.)

The Lurker turns its attention directly on us, or at least to the enormous hissing cat hellbent on ruining its day. Gral, still strumming furiously, realizes the Lurker’s only got a couple of portals left. He’s closed a portal already; he’s gonna try to close all of them for good. The DM imposes disadvantage and a brutal pile of psychic damage, but Gral is unphased, hitting a power chord that shakes the entire inn.

The Lurker screeches and reaches for him, the space around Gral beginning to warp, but it’s too late, the portal slamming shut against it. The Zoomy Zones vanish; the portals close, the strange atmosphere fades. The road looks to be the size it was before instead of an endless stretch of packed earth; the vineyard is once again an easy ten-minute walk away.

His big solo complete, Gral sways and collapses unconscious. Valeria runs over and Lays On Hands so he doesn’t die, while Vigdor starts casting Mending on the destroyed bar furniture. Shoshana, meanwhile, just stares dumbstruck at the place where a huge spectral cat is dissipating into shadowy smoke.

“…Schmendrick?”

René is holding himself together, but he’s an old man and it’s been a while since he fought this much. He took a bit of damage; Valeria pat pats him some HP. “Thank you, Kyr. I…I need to check on my other guests. The old man with the Man-Go game, we must find out if he lives.”

Valeria accompanies him upstairs. Rack’s glowing rose vines are still visible, stitching the portal shut; it’s healing more quickly than Valeria’s used to seeing. The door to the old man’s room swings open under Valeria’s cautious knock. The bed is unmade but empty, and the old man’s luggage is gone. The only things left are a generous tip on the counter and his odd multicolored glasses.

As Vigdor steps outside to clean viscera off his chainsaw, Gral scopes out the stables. There’s evidence of disturbed earth around the grounds, but nothing conclusive. Aethis seems to be unbothered.

We reconvene without much to show for our investigation. But we have one last clue: Why were the hounds so interested in the old man’s map? We spread it out on one of the bar tables and crowd around. It’s a map of Valdia, but the path it shows us to take to Sturmhearst makes No Sense. It’s not even contiguous! It tells us to start here and wander north, and then the line cuts off next to some scribbled equations, the route picking up again elsewhere, where he’s drawn a symbol we don’t recognize – and so on, in strange and nonsensical disconnected paths.

Shoshana, on a hunch, puts on the multicolored glasses the old man left behind. Like 3D glasses, they reveal the hidden image. Through the kaleidoscopic lenses, she can see remnants of the Key’s influence all around the inn; the fading Zoomy Zones and closing portals light up in ultraviolet. The map, meanwhile, has gained an entirely new dimension, like a layer of holographs. NOW the shortcuts make sense – they route through other dimensions along the z-axis, with additional symbols and labels giving helpful hints.

To be honest, it does look like a much faster route. And one of the notes says it leads to the “Drowned City” – hey, isn’t that where Bullbreaker ended up? But we’re all rightfully wary of hopping right back into another flesh-hound portal disaster.

We now have the Extradimensional Map and the Stranger’s Glasses.

Oh! The map has a note for us: “Happy Journeys to a fellow master of the game. Your friend, T.T.”

We immediately rifle through our notes and realize he may have been Professor Trevor Twombly, Headmaster of Sturmhearst. Vigdor, did you know that guy?!

Vigdor didn’t recognize him. Maybe the guy looked like Twombly, if you squint? There were a lot of old men at Sturmhearst, and they wear masks most of the time? Also he had distracting glasses? So, like…maybe?

As we bicker, Vigdor snags the glasses off the table and heads to his room, opening up his case and taking a look. The lenses don’t reveal anything new about the object inside.

Unfortunately, the poor rogue didn’t bother to stealth. “Whatcha doin’ in here?” says Valeria, who followed shortly behind.

“Um, just looking at my leg, seeing if anything is weird-“

Valeria immediately checks Vigdor’s lower limbs for wounds. “I can help! An extra pair of hands can always-”

“No, no! I think I’m okay! Really!” he protests. He glances into the case again, clearly torn, and sighs. “Let me explain.”

He lifts a whole human leg out of the case, kicking and twitching.

“This is my leg, and I’m taking it to Sturmhearst. I’m not sure if it’s wholly mine anymore.”

Through his torn pants, Valeria can see a clunky clockwork leg to match his buzz-saw arm.

One player immediately yells “FULL METAL ALCHEMIST.” Another player says it again, in a slightly different voice.

Dr. Vigdor Gavril has joined the party!

#the cursewood #session recap #the key #valeria argent #gral omokk'duu #shoshana bat chaya #vigdor gavril #schmendrick #trevor twombly

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queer-naruto · 4 years

Video

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So I’m not sure if I’m alone in this thought, but I am just about obsessed with the Naruto Shippuden openings. So I thought it could be fun to tell y’all what I love about them and which ones are my favorites! Feel free to add your own thoughts and opinions too! (this might be long but I have lots of thoughts that need to be excised from my head)

#1 First opening for the new show. It’s dramatic and the song is fun and upbeat, i love the shot of the Akatsuki because they’re always a fun time.

#2 Again great song. Bonus points for being the first opening to have my boy Sai in it. Angst is always fun between Sasuke and Naruto

#3 I know I know blue bird is overrated, but whatever its still a good song. I really like the shadows that are being cast across the characters when they’re standing in what looks like a bunch of alleyways. Love watching Asuma fight, especially when I know it isn’t during his death arc. Always get points from me when the Akatsuki is envolved.

#4 Love when all Konoha 12 are in the opening, love them all because they’re adorable and precious. The rotating scene of Hidan and Kakazu is one of my favorite things of all time tbh, points taken off though because I know they’re going to kill Asuma and that isn’t very sexy of them ngl.

#5 I quite enjoy the final valley because the statues of Madara and Hashirama are really cool and a nice touch. The drama of Tsunade looking longingly out the hokage building’s window with her hand on the glass kills me.

#6 Love this ones song, kind of moody but also gets me pumped later on. makes me a little sad because I think this opening is during Itachi’s death. Huge points and i mean huge for the toad summon, they’re possibly my all time favorite summons in the show, so much so that it made my love for toads grow and I’m getting a toad tattoo next month.

#7 Again the song is great. Pain arc always lots of fun. There’s a lot of really cool battle shots that i enjoy, love when they all kick ass and get their asses kicked. Also: Gamabunta, need I say more? He could be my favorite non human character, I actually wanted to know how many episodes he was in and that’s how I spoiled Jiraiya’s death for myself. I adore Mt. Myōboku, and my fave outfit of Naruto’s is toad sage.

#8 I like how all of the people who care for Naruto are keeping him from sinking, and then at the end it looks like Sasuke is sinking and Naruto is like “oh shit I have to save my boyfriend, everyone else hates him rn”.

#9 Great song. Love all the Kage’s except interim Hokage Danzo, fuck that guy forever.

#10 Very fun song! Love how Killer B’s dancing is like inconveniencing Yamato. The dancing is extremely funny to me, and they all look so cute. Sai, Sakura, and Naruto all do this like really cool triple hand sign together while they all hold onto each other and I can’t tell you how sad I am that it never happened outside of the opening.

#11 Another song that gets me pumped and makes me want to punch someone for some reason, in a fun way. Allied Shinobi Forces always fun. The mask Obito has on is prob my favorite of the ones he wears, love the orange but idk this one is great.

#12 This one is mostly sad gotta say, but I LOVE Kushina!!!! Fighting is cool.

#13 First opening with Madara, we love a murderous old brought back to life motherfucker, and I think hes hot. Very funny to me that Naruto just fucking headbutts Obito in the mask, seeing as though it proves quite hard to just scrape. big points for the Kurama and Naruto fist bump.

#14 I think this opening is my all time favorite, my header even comes from this one. The song is one my favorites too. My favorite part might be Obito phasing through a rock, and the red freeze framing of him, Gai, and Kakashi looking like they’ll kill you without a second thought. Please don’t ask me how I know Obito’s mask has the same expression because it just does.

#15 Good song. All the moon and sun pairings are nice, cool fighting as always. Love any reference to the tailed beasts, if you ask me they weren’t in the show nearly enough.

#16 Great references to growing up and coming of age, also its nostalgic in a way. Cool that Naruto and Sasuke are being cute together and working as team. love the song

#17 I forgot this one existed for a minute, but I do quite enjoy the sage of six paths. Also Gai fighting Madara will always be gold to me.

#18 THIS ONE!!!! SO FUCKING SAD!! I love it dearly don’t get me wrong, but this shit made me cry and I will never forgive it. Really good song too, might be my third favorite opening

#19 This song is maybe my favorite, Fourth favorite. Fighting all these clay or dirt or maybe its zetsus idk copies of all their friends is funny to me, imagine you’ve always wanted to sock Kiba or something and nows your chance lmao.

#20 Second favorite, makes me feel a lot of things. The war is over, they’re all a little older, living their lives together. This one also made me cry but for happier reasons. Veryyy good song. It’s the domesticity for me. I love the new vests way more than the old ones. Also the like future picture of Naruto wearing the Hokage cape has him with short hair? Was that character design Kishimoto’s? And they kept it for Boruto? (it’s still not too late to grow his hair out some)

#Naruto #Sorry this is so long #please forgive me

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lu-undy · 4 years

Text

Chapter 37 - SBT

Here it is!

"If it isn't the Sun King of singing, Lulu!"

Lucien raised his eyes to Mundy before turning to the man who called him.

"I am glad you and your friend came."

Through the vampire costume and make-up, there was no doubt possible. It was Arthur Duchemin.

"Ah, good evening, Monsieur Duchemin." Lucien extended his hand. "Please meet my dear friend…"

"Mike." Mundy answered. "Name's Mike."

"Ooh, a local at that, hm? I see you haven't lost your time, Lulu! But it is to be expected from such a successful singer as you are…" Duchemin chuckled. "Come on, you can call me Arthur." He shook hands with Lucien and Mundy. The Aussie gagged behind his mask. Thank God he was wearing the white gloves… "Oh and I see your glasses are empty. What would you prefer, champagne? Wine?" Duchemin went on.

"Wine, please." Lucien answered.

"For Mike too?"

Mundy was gobsmacked. Here he was. That brute, that bastard, that heartless piece of filth, and dressed as a vampire at that! Well, we'll see who will bleed dry at the end of all that, eh.

"Mike, what will you take, dear?" Lucien asked.

"Uh, y-yeah, yeah wine's fine."

Duchemin made a gesture and a waiter made haste.

"Please, pardon my friend." Lucien tried to cover it up despite knowing exactly what had gone through Mundy's head. "Him and I were just marvelling at this place, Arthur, really, this is a wonderful palace you have." Lucien looked up and around at the immensity of the venue.

"Oh, it isn't much. I used to have even better than that back in France." Duchemin answered, sipping on his champagne.

"Really? What made you leave?" Lucien continued the conversation as the waiter came back with two glasses of red wine.

"Ah, thanks." Mundy took one and handed it to Lucien.

"Well, I didn't like it there. And people started noticing me a bit too much. I prefer a much more reserved way of life." Duchemin answered.

"And yet you enjoy this kind of party?" Lucien asked, sipping on his wine. "Hm, not bad… Is this a Bordeaux by any chance?"

"It is!" Duchemin answered. "I didn't know you were quite the connaisseur, Lulu."

"Well, I do come from that region after all." The spy answered with a smile.

"Ah, oui, indeed, I remember you telling me so." Duchemin nodded. "By the way, you should go outside and have a stroll in the parks, you will see, they will remind you of your own Jardins de Versailles." The criminal raised his glass.

"Oh, will they? Then Mike and I will surely have a look. Many thanks, Arthur."

"My pleasure, and please, enjoy yourselves."

"We will." Lucien answered. "Although, I do have a question if you don't mind."

"Yes?"

"What are you celebrating with this party?" Lucien asked.

"Well I have sealed a very fruitful deal with some collaborators and wanted to celebrate this success with them and other friends."

"Ah, my congratulations, then." Lucien shook his hand again.

"Thank you. Now, I'm afraid I must go and greet other guests."

"But of course."

"I will see you later, no doubt." Duchemin said.

"Surely." Lucien said and the criminal left. "Meanwhile, Mike, dear, let us enjoy the parks, shall we?"

Mundy nodded and both left the ballroom to get some fresh air in the gardens. Indeed, they were very similar to those at the Palace of Versailles in their style. They were a vast French garden. Hedges and bushes geometrically cut to form shapes and motifs that looked like they were traced with a ruler and set square, if one could see it all from the sky. It was all very green and punctuated by the white of the jasmine, the red of the roses, and the multiple spectrum of colours of the tulips and other flowers.

A few people were scattered here and there on top of security agents in uniform. The sky was as dark as blue could get, sprinkled with stars, but the gardens were nonetheless well lit with lanterns, candles and the like.

Lucien and Mundy strolled along sufficiently to be quite isolated from the rest of the guests. The Frenchman went to a bush with flowers.

"Hm, roses." He smelt a flower and cut it from the branch to put it on his waistcoat.

"Roses? Roses?!" Mundy finally broke his long silence.

"Oui, those are roses. They are my favourite type of flowers. What is wrong with them?"

"Mate…!" Mundy walked a few metres away and Lucien stared at him.

"What?"

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Mundy burst out.

"With me?" Lucien repeated.

"Yeah, with you! One minute you're so mad about the bloke you could have broken your teeth cause you were clenching your jaw so hard; the next, you're havin' small bloody talk with him like you've been his friend forever?!"

"I told you, Bushman. Not everyone has it in them to be able to do what I do and I warned you. This will be a hard night for your nerves."

"What the hell are you?! How on Earth can you be like that?! Are you an actor or something?"

Lucien rolled his eyes.

"It doesn't matter what I am. What matters now is do you think you can pull this off with me or shall I call a taxi for you and you go back to your den of a van?" Lucien asked, irritated.

"And what will you tell Duchemin when he'll see that you're now alone?"

"I'll tell him that my dear Mike, because apparently that is your name, how unoriginal, was inconvenienced and would rather get a bit of rest!"

Mundy's hands flew faster than his thoughts and he grabbed Lucien by his collar.

"You shut your mouth about that name." He growled, furious, his fists pulling on the Frenchman's attire.

"Why? Ah yes, I understand it is the first and forever gift that your parents gave to you, but still - argh - Bushman, I am warning you, if you do not let go of me, I will have to call not a taxi, but an ambulance, and it won't be for me."

Mundy had Lucien's collar in his white gloved fists and was clenching hard around the Frenchman's neck.

"Mike isn't my name, you mongrel."

Lucien raised a curious eyebrow and Mundy let go of him. The spy dusted himself off.

"It was my dad's name. His name was Michael. Everyone called him Mike."

"Why give Duchemin your father's name?"

"I don't know. But when I heard that piece of filth say his name, I just…" Mundy lowered his head. "I don't know."

Lucien came closer to Mundy and looked up at him.

"I understand."

"How d'you do it? How d'you stay so calm?"

"This is my profession, M. I was trained and I excelled at it."

"What kind of job is that?" Mundy stared at the light blue eyes through the holes on the mask. He could see the lights of the candles dancing on the icy irises.

"A very delicate one." Lucien simply answered. "Anyway, are you alright? Do you think you will manage? There is no shame in thinking it is too hard. But please, if you do wish to stay, be extremely careful and don't let incidents like these happen again. It could cost us the success of this whole operation and more importantly, our lives." Lucien's voice had been soothing, calm.

Mundy nodded.

"Yeah, it won't happen again. I'm sorry."

"It is fine. He still doesn't suspect a thing." Lucien tapped his shoulder. "Come on now, I imagine you are getting hungry. Let us get something from the buffet back inside."

The Frenchman turned on his heels but felt a hand on his shoulder.

"What?" He turned to face Mundy again.

"Just… Thanks."

Lucien softened.

"What for? Avoiding us getting spotted? Consider it a professional courtesy, and a payback."

"Payback for what?"

"That day you saved me." Lucien smiled and Mundy couldn't see his lips purse up. Yet he did see his eyes shine brighter and grin too, in their own way, between the long dark eyelashes.

"Yeah…"

Both of them walked back through the park and reached the palace again. They walked up the marble white stairs and got inside.

"Ah, there's the food." Mundy pointed in front of them.

They went to the tables and helped themselves to a variety of what the Aussie would describe as fancy, overpriced and ridiculously tiny sandwiches and nibbles. They filled their white and golden cardboard plates and went to a small table with stools.

"Are you seriously gonna keep the mask on to eat?" Mundy asked.

"Oui." Lucien answered as he put his gloves in his pocket and started eating. "Hm, quite good."

Mundy rolled his eyes and smiled. He removed his mask and shook the locks of hair that fell in front of his face away before digging in.

"So, if your name is not Mike, does it at least start with an M at all?" Lucien asked.

"Yeah, it does."

"Marcel?"

"Ew, sounds posh."

"It is a French name."

"That's why then. But no, that's not my name."

"Hm. Mathieu?"

"You mean Matthew? Nah… Hm, those little sausages are good, go on, try them, Spook - uh -" Mundy looked left and right, in fear that someone heard him. "I mean… Luv'." Mundy blushed and lowered his head to his plate, hiding his face behind his hand.

He saw two fingers creep up to his plate and steal one of the sausages. He followed them up to Lucien's mask, under which they disappeared.

"Hm, you are right, they are quite tasty without being too salty. You have a good sense of taste, dear."

Mundy blushed. And he forgot he wasn't wearing the mask so Lucien saw it all.

"Have a go at those canapés. The salmon is exquisite." Lucien said.

"Alright… Thanks, eh."

The Frenchman chuckled as Mundy ate the little toast with smoked salmon.

"What? Hm, by the way, yeah, that's good. The sauce thingy under the salmon's very fresh."

"Seeing such a tall man as you blush is entertaining. And yes, the garlic paste gives it an extra punch."

"I'm not blushing. It's just hot under this bloody costume…"

"Of course." Lucien chuckled.

"It's true!"

"As true as Michael is your name, oui."

"Spoo- uh… Anyway…"

"I see you are not a fan of vegetables, hm?" Lucien asked, looking at Mundy's plate.

"Depends."

"Please try these carrots. They are fresh and the dressing sauce isn't too oily."

Mundy raised an eyebrow but did as he was told.

"Hm, yeah, the sauce is good, a bit on the acidic side, but good."

Lucien smiled.

"Quite the palate you have."

"Hm? Well, can't you feel it? And it's not vinegar. I think it's lemon juice, I prefer it."

"Such a gift for tasting and you did not become a sommelier…"

"A sum of what?"

"A sommelier, an expert with wines." Lucien explained.

"Yeah, well, I didn't really think it was an option. And being arrogant about food isn't the national sport here, Spoo- uh, luv'." Mundy got chills. He couldn't see it but behind the mask, Lucien had the sweetest of smiles.

"I understand. Tell me, you mentioned that your parents owned a farm. Was it their profession?"

"Yeah, they had chickens and geese, rabbits too when I was a kid. But as I grew up and they grew older, they just did chickens and geese. They had a bit of fruits and veggies too but the surplus wasn't enough to sell at the market, so they just gave it to Maurice and his people. Mum would make jams and all kinds of stuff with what we had in the garden."

"What kinds of jam?"

"Strawberry, pear, apricot. Apricot's my favourite but she was the only one who knew how to make it right."

Lucien smiled.

"And you, what about your parents?" Mundy asked.

"Ah, well. My father was a successful lawyer and my mother used to work as a dressmaker. One day my father took a suit to be adjusted and that's how they met. After they got married, my father was enrolled in the Great War and he died there, leaving my mother with a baby."

"Oh… I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thank you. I grew up and wanted to become a sin-... An artist. My mother wanted me to become a lawyer or a doctor. I refused. We fought endlessly about this even after my mother married another man. He tried to force me to choose one of those professions."

"What did you do?"

"I ran away." Lucien answered.

"Wow… I'm…" Mundy was taken aback. "So you weren't born rich?"

"Yes, I was. But when I disappeared, I started from scratch again, as you say in English. I had no money, no friends or acquaintances."

"D'you still have news about your mum?" Mundy asked.

"She died a long time ago now."

"Oh… Sorry."

"Hm."

Lucien's eyes had fallen on his plate. Mundy wanted to cheer him up and looked left and right to see what he could do. His eyes fell on his plate and saw the last sausages. In Lucien's plate, a few carrots remained.

"Oh?" Lucien got surprised when he saw Mundy swap their plates. He raised his eyes to the Aussie who started eating the carrots.

"What? Go on then, you liked the sausages."

Lucien smiled sweetly under the mask.

"Thank you but here, you liked them too." The Frenchman pushed the plate in the middle and they both finished the carrots and the sausages together.

"What did you do after that?" Mundy asked, as he put his mask on again. "D'you mind helpin' me again with this thing?"

"Of course…"

Mundy came off his stool and went to his friend. He gave his back to him and the Frenchman tied the mask behind his head, making sure it would be safely secured and wouldn't push the ponytail.

"Thanks, mate. So…?"

Lucien raised his eyes to the lagoon blue ones riveted on him. He did not want to answer that question. Non. Not only was he not proud of what he was, but it would put Mundy in danger. Non, he wouldn't tell him the truth on his job either.

"Lulu!"

Both men turned their heads to the vampire coming to their table. This time he was accompanied by half a dozen other people in costume.

"You see, my friends, this is the prodigy I have been talking about!" Duchemin said to his cohort, pointing at Lucien. He turned to him and Mundy. "I hope I am not disturbing your dinner."

"Not at all, we were just finished."

"Ah, may I have your expert opinion on something, Lulu?"

"But of course. How may I help?"

"It's the orchestra I hired. Follow me, I'll show you."

Lucien and Mundy followed the criminal through the busy crowd until they arrived close to the band playing some jazz tunes.

"You see, they were warmly recommended to me but I find that they're lacking something, you know…" Duchemin said, with his hands on his hips.

"I find that they are good for such an event." Lucien answered. "You have to consider that almost no one is paying attention to their music anyway. The point for them is to cover the noise of people's chatter, provide some background of their own. They are not to produce a concert that will be closely listened to."

"Ah, I guess you are right. But don't you think it lacks the emotion, the punch?" Duchemin asked.

"Oui, it certainly does, but it makes sense for the occasion." Lucien answered.

"You know what? Why don't you give me and my friends here a taste of what a real professional can do, hm?"

Mundy's blood froze. Duchemin was really convinced that L was Lulu and that he could sing. But there was no way on Earth that posh snob could!

"Oh," Lucien chuckled. "I am not warmed up at all and I haven't prepared anything I'm afraid."

"Who needs all that faff anyway when you're the great Lulu, hm? Come on, I guess you will need the piano, won't you? Hey, you there!" Duchemin hopped on stage and started to talk to the orchestra.

Lucien started to breathe heavily. Merde. He hadn't seen that one coming. He wasn't very anxious about singing or playing in itself. Non, something else, something much heavier and much more serious might happen…

"Hey."

Lucien got startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"I-I'll try and help." Mundy said, before raising his head to Duchemin. "Hey, Arthur?"

The vampire who was addressing the jazz band turned to him.

"Yes?"

"I can play the sax instead of Lulu singin'. See, the man's a perfectionist. He, uh, he doesn't like singing without proper warming up and all… He won't feel right if he doesn't ace it, see?"

Lucien's jaw dropped behind his mask. He knew Mundy was too shy to pull off something like that. The jazz band had stopped and all the eyes were turned to the stage now, where Duchemin, his friends and Mundy and Lucien were standing. Non, Lucien could even see Mundy's fingers shaking in apprehension. He would screw it up without a doubt.

"Leave it to me, Mike." He answered as he walked to the piano and put a hand on Mundy's shoulder. "Just pass me a microphone, we will adjust it in front of the keyboard and I will sing something."

"You sure?" Mundy's voice was all but confident.

"Absolutely." Lucien however, sounded as sure as he could ever be.

Mundy gulped down hard but obeyed. He took a microphone and helped Lucien while Duchemin took another one and started introducing him to the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I am delighted to introduce an immensely talented singer to you tonight. Please, a round of applause for the great Lulu!"

Mundy came close to Lucien's ear as they both fixed the microphone.

"Look, you gotta make your jaw loose, relax your cheeks and let the sound come out as best as you can, ok?" Mundy tried to reassure his friend.

"M?"

Mundy and Lucien's eyes locked as the microphone was now standing correctly.

"Yeah?"

"Please, forgive me." The Frenchman said.

"Forgive you for what? You'll be fine. I'm here and it's gonna pass, just do your best, mate, you got this." Mundy squeezed Lucien's shoulders one last time before leaving him.

"The floor is yours, Lulu! Take it away!" Duchemin said in the microphone.

Lucien's distraught eyes made a strong impression on the Aussie. He went in the crowd and stayed right in front of the now almost empty stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Lucien started. "Thank you very much for your warm welcome. I must say that I did not really prepare anything for the occasion, but I will do my best for you."

He cleared his throat and bit his lip behind his mask. That was it. It was time for his show to go.

Lucien took a deep breath and his fingers started gliding on the keyboard. Mundy opened wide eyes. The bastard knew how to play, eh? But did he only know how to sing?

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT

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clansayeed · 4 years

Text

Bound by Choice ― IV.ii. A Gilded Cage

PAIRING: OC x OC x OC (Valdas x Isseya x Cynbel) RATING: Mature (reader discretion advised)

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Choice ⥽

Before there were Clans and Councils, before the fate of the world rested in certain hands, before the rise and fall of a Shadow King ― there was the Trinity. Three souls intertwined in the early hands of the universe who came to define the concept of eternity together. Because that was how they began and how they hoped to end; together. For over 2,000 years Valdas, Cynbel, and Isseya have walked through histories both mortal and supernatural. But in the early years of the 20th century something happened―something terrible. Their story has a beginning, and this is the end.

Bound by Choice and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Choice is the only book in the series not based on an existing Choices story. It is set in the Bloodbound universe and features many canon characters.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Choice/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Though the Trinity would rather the death of Viscount Edwards fade into obscurity, an impassioned detective from Scotland Yard seems intent on opposing them. The favor of London’s elite is easily swayed and Cynbel has never been able to stand by while his beloveds suffer.

[READ IT ON AO3]

“The Lord Cynbel Montes for you, detective.”

It doesn’t bode well that Detective Moray stands to greet him. It means he sat while he waited; it means he was patient despite the late hour. It means even knowing he could have been waiting some time for Cynbel’s arrival he chose not to behold any of the artefacts on display across the shelves or peruse the various books in their various languages all around him. Symbols of their age, their journeys and adventures.

All of that and Detective Moray chose to sit and wait. The reason for his visit far more important to him.

“Your patience is admirable,” says Cynbel; and perhaps Valdas might have done the civilized thing and apologized to the man for even needing it — but he is not Valdas, “to what do I owe this utterly spontaneous visit, Detective…?”

“Detective Moray, my Lord.” He takes off his hat and offers Cynbel a hand that isn’t taken. “I hope you’ll forgive me for the hour — but I was told the evening would almost certainly find you home.”

“Indeed. If mildly inconvenienced.”

If he’s shocked at Cynbel’s abruptness he hides it well. “Again, my sincerest apologies.”

Again, Cynbel mutters an “indeed” of acceptance.

Moray looks as if to speak but his eyes fixate on something at Cynbel’s back — he turns to see Tobias lingering, uncertain about fully closing the door.

“It’s all right Tobias. Perhaps you could make sure the kitchen has tea set for the guests. They should be finished soon and you know of the Lady Isseya’s appetite after such entertainment.”

With a curt nod and bow Tobias takes his leave of them; closes the library doors and leaves Cynbel and the Detective very much alone.

Which seems to be all Moray was waiting for.

“It’s an unfortunate business, this. Certainly I would rather we meet under kindlier circumstances.” Though, and Cynbel is quite certain of this, he would rather they never met at all. “But I assume you are already aware of the reason for my calling.”

Moray remains still so Cynbel seeks to show him exactly why that is a terrible idea. He begins circling the man; steps almost lazily around the space he knows so well and that makes it all the more easier on him when he has to hide the recognition that slips through his mask.

“Let’s assume I am not. What would you say then?”

“I would ask you not to lie to me, Lord Montes, since lying now might imply you’ll lie to me when we stop these games.”

Had Tobias not mentioned the man’s unusual aura Cynbel might not have thought anything of it. But now the thought is there and against all of his better judgment it festers; digs talons growing by the second into his doubts. Does he know? Does he see?

His eyes fall on a particular trinket, one with a memory that eases the tension in the Golden Son’s shoulders. He strokes the very tip of his finger over the curved brow of Isseya’s masque. “You’re here regarding the death of Viscount James Edwards.”

“I’m here regarding the Viscount’s murder, yes.”

There’s a victory in correcting the enemy. Moray wears it with every word. “Care to explain how you came to know the Viscount was deceased?”

Cynbel snorts; throws back a simpering, pitying smirk. “When you accrue a certain amount of wealth, Detective, the only thing worth any value becomes information. That and England’s aristocracy are a bunch of horrid gossips.” When he laughs, he laughs alone.

“I don’t find the murder of a personal guest of Her Royal Highness Queen Victoria to be a laughing matter, Lord Montes.”

“You never had the displeasure of meeting the man, then.”

“What makes you think that?”

“If you had, you’d be laughing too.”

Moray’s nostrils flare. He’ll hand it to the mortal; he’s doing remarkably well at keeping his composure.

There’s a reason more often than not Valdas is the one handling any sort of negotiation or debate. Cynbel just prefers to insult.

“That seems to be the general opinion of the late Viscount, unfortunately. But this is the Queen’s Realm and even men such as he… those who seem to prefer status to moral character, that is to say, are deserving of a life. And when that can no longer abide, I am duty-bound to seek justice for him.”

Pretty speech — wasted though.

“That’s how you have spent the day — building a case on his lack of character?” he asks.

“Nothing so bureaucratic. What I’ve been doing is piecing together his last night seen alive.” And imagine the vampire’s surprise when he looks to glare at the back of Moray’s matted dusty hair and instead finds them face-to-face. “And judging by your reaction, my Lord, you have a good guess as to when that was.”

Without looking, as though his hand was seeking home, Cynbel feels the texture of a rusted hilt and allows himself to grasp it firm. Well within view of Detective Moray; who finds himself torn between looking at the intent in his eyes and the weapon that could seek it out.

The quickening of a heartbeat is music to his ears. “What are you?” He whispers soft, curious still and not yet demanding. “Really, what?”

The detective chooses incorrectly, as if he hopes to stare down every year that gazes upon him. “I don’t understand the question.”

“Now who’s lying?”

“Lor—”

“Once more; what. are. you? That you would vex a creature like Tobias so, that you would care so much about a man who was, truly, so very little.”

But even when Moray puffs out his chest and brings himself to his full height he still has to look up. “I still can’t quite grasp your meaning… but it is my duty to carry out the Queen’s laws.”

“And that would include…” He looks the mortal up and down, takes in every fragile piece of him and he’s hot, scalding, burning on the inside. Red-faced with his blood boiling and it makes Cynbel want to cut him open just to see if he can leech out some of that warmth for himself, for his beloveds. He could — it wouldn’t take but a twitch — just one muscle and he could… “apprehending his killer — no matter the cost.”

Moray exhales. Cynbel drinks in the vindication on his breath.

“Yes.”

Funny how the Queen’s laws were so contradictory to the laws of nature; of the hunt. About as funny as it is that the Queen’s laws were very much in place and yet there was still a murder and still a killer to be found.

Dress a monster up all you want… he will still be monstrous.

Cynbel releases his grip on the dagger slowly; tucks a few strands of golden-spun hair away from his temples and behind his ear. “You’ve pulled me from my guests long enough, Detective Moray. After a long days’ efforts you ought to rest your head. We all have to sleep some time.”

Is that a threat?

Why, of course. Was I not being clear?

“I’ve yet to even begin my questioning,” Moray protests. But there’s no reticence to it. The rabbit that dives into the fox hole and wants free.

And even if the man found the dark corner to where his confidence had scurried it didn’t matter. Cynbel already has the service bell ringing in hand. “Trust me when I say your life will be longer for it.” One of the numerous benefits of an elven butler — Tobias has the library doors opened before Moray can even open his mouth.

Cynbel nods him along. “Tobias the hours seem to have caught up with Detective Moray. Call up the driver to take him home, will you?” Tobias already has Moray’s coat on his arm. Delightfully efficient.

“Lord Montes I don’t really think that’s your —”

“On the contrary I would hate for a new detective to return seeking your justice. Though… perhaps he might surprise me. Perhaps he might send word before he comes to call.”

With natural fae charisma Tobias eases the detective into his coat; even takes the man’s hat from his hands and fixes it proper on his head. “If you’ll follow me sir,” not that Moray’s being given much of a choice — it doesn’t stop him from shuffling his feet as he departs.

And Cynbel is there up until the last step. He’s there when Moray turns around as if to catch one last glimpse of his own grave.

“Expect me tomorrow, Lord Montes.”

“Good night, Detective Moray.”

He closes the door in the man’s face.

“YY-You can’t do this!” Whittaker squeals not unlike swine; which is fitting. He looks around with spectacles askew desperate — hoping one of the constables patrolling the streets outside the building will hear him; save him.

They don’t. In fact — one even turns slightly from his post to catch glimpse of them. His eyes glint in the shadow from the lamppost overhead.

Whittaker waits for rescue on bated breath. It doesn’t come; the patrolman resumes his post as though it never happened.

And because Cynbel is, has been, and always will be a hunter he can’t help but take the opportunity to revel in his victory.

“See, worm? I can do what I want with you.” Unwilling to tempt fate, however, he quickly resumes shoving the stumbling man down the steps and out to the waiting carriage on the street.

“This is illegal! I h-have rights!”

The revenant’s struggle is fierce if in vain. Black-veined hands scrambling desperately at the flesh of Cynbel’s hands. He even manages to take a chunk of skin with him but it grows back before the sensation even registers. And Cynbel lets him; finds this side of the normally cowardly thing to be the only thing about him worth respecting.

“Have some fucking dignity man, and calm yourself,” the vampire grumbles as he gives Whittaker’s lowered head one final shove into the vehicle before he steps in himself, “you’re scaring the bloody horses.”

The ride back to the Estate has never felt longer but at least there’s entertainment in it. He leans back and watches every attempted spell, hex, and display of physical force that the mortician tries to open the cab doors but one by one they fail. Each new attempt is less fulfilling than the last, and eventually he sinks into his seat despondent; forced to do nothing but accept the uncertainty of the night’s events.

At least it makes for less of a struggle once they arrive.

“Welcome back my Lord,” Tobias greets them at the door; works quickly to take his coat but refuses to touch the foul black magic that keeps Whittaker bound to his withering skin. “I see your outing was a fruitful venture, despite your tardiness.”

“Come now — he’s a slippery creature.”

“I agree, however Lord Montes requested I mention it anyway.”

“This is kidnapping, sirs!”

The look Cynbel and the butler exchange is brief but telling. “Of course it’s kidnapping,” the vampire agrees, “I would have thought that obvious.”

“Detective Moray —”

“— can do nothing for you here.”

They may be running late but Cynbel pauses to take it in. That withering moment when Whittaker no longer just accepts his situation but understands it; the danger he is in.

Succulent, truly.

They’ve switched places in the library when Cynbel enters with their prisoner in tow. Valdas now occupies the couch, cuts an imposing figure with the hearth in full flame behind him. And surely there have been myths woven about the way the lights of the flickering flames catch on Isseya’s face where she sits opposite; the high-backed chair behind Valdas’ desk her throne bound in red leather.

“It’s been too long, Whittaker, welcome back to the Montes Estate.” Valdas closes his book — one of his personal journals Cynbel notes absently — and uncrosses his legs. Settling himself in comfortably. “We appreciate your agreeing to meet with us this night.”

The revenant snarls, makes the mistake of echoing the veil in his words; “I am being held here against my will! If you think this won’t go unpunished, you —”

Isseya cackles wildly and cuts him off. “And who will be doing the punishing, you? Didn’t you already attempt to sick your demonic master upon us once and fail miserably?”

While the mousy man stutters over his threat Cynbel seeks home at his God’s side. He drapes across the length of the couch and lets his head take respite in Valdas’ lap. The fingers that wind into his hair do so without thought and he hums content in gratitude.

The doors close with Tobias on the other side. Whittaker swallows; trapped among them.

“Why have you brought me here?” he asks.

Valdas instead offers a question of his own. “Why do you think we’ve brought you here?”

The revenant glares at Cynbel with resentment in his burning eyes.

“You either plan on threatening me until I cover up the Viscount’s death, or you seek to punish me because I have not already.”

Isseya looks impressed. “Good to know not all of your brain has rotted away in your death.”

“You know I am fully preserved.”

“So long as you provide flesh for your demon master, yes,” Valdas combs through his lover’s golden tresses absently, “I wonder how quickly such circumstances would change were that no longer the case.”

It makes Whittaker blanch. “You—You would, what, have me sacked?”

“Does the city police sack those who go missing?” Isseya asks. “That seems a tad unprofessional of them.”

Go missing. She says it so casually while the look on her face is anything but. Whittaker looks like he might faint.

Where his head rests Cynbel can feel his Divinity’s legs tense; the moment before the cobra strikes. “You have already burned your bridges with us, revenant. My only regret is that our arrangement wasn’t consummated by signature.”

It makes the Golden Son look up, drawing Valdas’ attention. “You have nothing to regret my Holy One. We held up our end of the bargain.”

“You’re right, Cynbel, we have,” to Whittaker; “haven’t we? Poor little Hamish Whittaker, the worm who falls in love with the bodies he penetrates, who fancied himself a necromancer only to run afoul of a soul devourer on an eldritch plane.

“You would happily caress the dead but taking a life was too much for your delicate constitution. Did we mock you for it—perhaps. But did we turn our back on you? Did we leave you to be consumed for all eternity by your demon master? Or did we offer you a mutual exchange of services in all our generosity?”

The worst of it—and this the whelp knows—is the Made-God speaks nothing but the truth.

“He asked you a question.” Isseya says — and will expect nothing less than an answer.

“I… did believe, at first, that our arrangement was equitable.”

“You accuse my Divinity of deception?”

“The balance has shifted. The Viscount — you were sloppy! I shouldn’t be punished because you were sloppy!”

That’ll do it. To no one’s surprise but Whittaker himself he ends up mewling on his back, the desk’s contents strewn across the floor and a vengeful vampiress crouching over him in determined bloodlust. There’s something extremely attractive about seeing her carnal side still in her evening gown with bustle and all, Cynbel thinks with a smirk.

“Isseya, darling mine, please,” comes Valdas exasperated voice over his head, “those books are irreplaceable originals… a little care never hurt anyone.”

“It’s hurting me!” Whittaker wails. A nasal, grating sound that has Isseya squeezing his throat for silence.

“You want sloppy? I’ll give you sloppy. I’ll paint the walls with your blood and stretch your skin into a new canvas. Pluck those strange little eyes of yours and wear them as baubles around my neck. That seems sloppy.”

But she paints a pretty picture.

Valdas clarifies for her; “The late Viscount is not among our dead, revenant.”

“Learn the difference between sloppy and careless, worm… quickly.” She backs off, though, and when he recovers Whittaker scrambles back onto his feet.

“You’re…” he’s dangerously close to losing his glasses to the momentum of his turning head as he tries to take in the Trinity as one, “You’re lying.”

“We have no reason to lie.”

“You have plenty reason! The—The investigation! The detective; the Queen! His killer has a noose at the Tower all ready and knotted.”

“Funny that he mentions the detective…” Cynbel’s words are broken off by exploratory fingers seeking his lips, his tongue; he gives all that and more and is rewarded with Valdas’ proud smile, “you know… he said something—Moray—that I can’t seem to get out of my head.”

“What was that, beloved?”

“He said that someone had suggested to him the hour best to find us here at the Estate.”

His next words Cynbel says only when Whittaker dares meet his eyes. “I wonder who told him that.”

If he held any final, limp shred of hope that he would be leaving the Montes Estate, Whittaker spends the silence that follows coming to terms with the futility of it.

The are the Trinity; the lovers known as Les Trois Amants, the Children of the Made-God Valdemaras, their reputation spread in languages no longer spoken.

And they show no mercy.

Whatever creature Detective Moray is—if any at all—he is not the kind that can smell Whittaker’s blood lingering on Isseya’s hand when he takes it politely.

Her lovers can.

“Rumors of your beauty have been greatly understated, Lady Montes,” he says. And they both play their roles expertly; he the polite and charming Englishman, she the lady he charmed.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she lies; and takes Valdas’ hand to bring him forward too, “may I present the Lord Valdas Montes.”

Moray is as quick to falter as he is to recover. Looks between Valdas and Cynbel with a growing confusion; a kind they are all too familiar with. “A pleasure, my Lord. I — forgive me — I was under the assumption…”

Valdas who cuts him off before he can say any more—as he always must. “You are forgiven. Shall we, detective? We have a rather pressing engagement tonight.”

“But we always have time for Scotland Yard,” Isseya adds, though whether or not he believes her is unclear.

While Detective Moray may never call it such it is an interrogation, plain and simple. He meets them in their home because he thinks it will bring them comfort; lull them into security among familiar possessions and company. It is a move as bold as it is tactical, and makes Cynbel’s suspicion of him grow all the more.

He asks them to recount the events of the last time they saw the Viscount. Clearly he would prefer they do so separately but he has none to blame but himself in that they do not.

“And when your guests left for the evening, what happened?”

Cynbel shifts; covers it up with a crossed leg. Isseya reaches and meets Valdas’ hand in the middle. Moray notices, but makes the smart choice and says nothing of it.

“It had been a… tiresome affair. We called it an early night.”

As vague as Valdas’ answer is… it’s enough. Enough for Moray to round on Cynbel—at a speed which he seems to have just been waiting to do—and asks him the same question.

They always assume. That Valdas speaks only for himself and his Lady. But she is not his. She is theirs.

“Would you believe me if I said I went to confession?” is Cynbel’s snide remark; one he will certainly pay for later if the look Isseya gives is anything to go by.

“Is that what happened?”

“Of course not.”

“Then —”

“If you could instead indulge me this,” comes Valdas to his rescue, “how exactly was the Viscount killed?”

At first Moray seems ready to decline answering. Makes sense, really, that he wouldn’t want to give those he suspects of committing the crime the answer. But the children of Valdemaras exchange soft, almost secret glances and know it isn’t so.

Valdas has always had a way with the world. A magnetic personality; they would call it these days. And indeed he is charming when he needs to charm, threatening when he needs to threaten. But it is certainly more — more than Cynbel and Isseya could even possibly understand. More than they could resist.

He has complete control of self. Something not even his lovers have achieved in their long lifetimes. And when one masters themself utterly it is but a matter of time before one can master others.

Their Lord and Light—shining fucking beacon of composure and predatory propriety that he is—eases his features into a smile. And Moray is lost.

“The late Viscount’s autopsy didn’t reveal any signs of a physical attack.”

“Yet you just told us he was murdered.”

“He was.”

“Then how?” Valdas asks again, “Unfortunate as it may be I would not be surprised if Edwards went for a swim on his own.”

The very implication of it seems to bring the detective back to himself, bring him back into the room and out of the will of the Made-God from sheer repulsion. “What you suggest is blasphemy, Lord Montes.”

Cynbel shrugs. “A little blaspheming is good for the soul.”

“Not at the risk of eternal damnation.”

“He was damned already.”

The library goes intimately still. With no fire in the hearth and no wind to make the lamp candles flutter it very well could have been — the four of them frozen. Titled A Woman’s Weapon.

But three sets of ears pick up on the quickening of Moray’s heart, how his blood pounds through the body. That he looks so vindicated, his eyes seemingly with a new hunger as he takes in Isseya, takes in her words… Cynbel readies himself to strike.

“What makes you say that, Lady Montes?”

“All men are.”

“You mean to say ‘all men who cross you’ are, do you not,” The look she gives him is sharp; seen before in the deaths of millions, “and would you extend that to your husband or your… companion?

“I should hate to think that the lives of a young and affluent couple — or anyone, truly — would be sent into disarray by an… impassioned mistake.”

Valdas holds her back. She loathes him for it to be sure but they all know it’s the right thing to do. He is always, of the three of them, able to remain calm at moments like these.

Until he doesn’t.

“Detective Moray I do believe your stay in my home has run its course.”

Moray’s mistake isn’t getting up and fleeing right then. “I would think that a member of the House would only want to aid me in my investigation.”

“So you would think.”

“Are you claiming you do not?” The men exchange cool looks — maybe Detective Moray is a skilled man of his practice; but that matters little now. He’s practically branding himself for murder.

“Detective.”

“Yes, Lord Montes?”

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

The growl of his voice is felt in their bones. Even when he threatens things like their tongues or their lives — both of which are his, have been his utterly from the moment they met — the Children of Valdemaras do not fear their Made-God. Not in the traditional way of fear. But there has always been an almost indiscernible difference between fear and holy reverence.

Tobias shows the detective out this time much in the same way as before. Clipped and curt, everything but shoving the mewling mortal creature out onto the steps and into the cold.

They hear his protests through the walls but do not leave the sanctuary of the library. They fold their Made-God between them and ease him in the ways only they know how. It works and it doesn’t. Valdas is eased and he is not. A tension straddling a dangerous edge all the way until Tobias comes to alert them of the approaching dawn.

“Come,” they ask of him, “rest.”

And the smile he gives is as forced as it is weary. They do not blame him for it. “I have much to contemplate. I’ll join you soon,” when he kisses their knuckles his beard tickles their skin, “I promise.”

Though they can do nothing but obey Cynbel and Isseya don’t find the luxury of sleep. Not without him.

Moray does not return the next night, or the night after that. The Trinity know they are not rid of him; they aren’t fools. But the idea of easing back into their lives is an appealing one. They’ve grown complacent.

But word of Viscount Edwards’ murder spreads. Times are prosperous, the Queen is well-liked; there is nothing else for the wealthy of England to do but speak of that which they do not know.

“He was always a kindly man.”

“I heard it was an unsavory affair — that he was caught bedding the help.”

“The poor Viscountess…”

And the irony of it is the Viscountess Edwards — a woman rather soft around the edges; no doubt built up from all of her years having to weather the harsher bits of her husband — is the only one who seems the least bit disgruntled at her husband’s passing.

“Where has she been hiding all this time?” asks Cynbel over the morning tea.

“No one knows for certain; the Viscount was a private man.”

“Unless he was in public.”

The look Valdas gives their darling girl is chiding but with no heat behind it. Not like she’s telling a lie. “All I know is she’s finally come to London under personal invitation of Her Royal Highness.”

“For what,” Isseya looks up from her careful notes, “a period of mourning? The poor woman has the rest of her life to feel the weight of that on her. She should be grateful.”

“But who towards?” His lovers frown at it but they know they can’t call him out for it; Cynbel is only speaking the mind they all share. “Whittaker is dead and his master has paid no retribution to us. In what little time I had to engage the corpse I found no bite marks or wounds.”

“Had bruising settled in?”

“None that I could tell. Who at your college took over his place at the Yard?”

“Some cockwipe of a man — the Viscount and he would’ve got on.”

And while keeping their revenant urchin alive would have been the most beneficial course for their current predicament of unknowns… some things they simply could not abide. The flagrant disobedience of a lesser creature among them.

Still… Cynbel finds himself regretting such retribution so swiftly the longer this goes on.

Because the longer it goes on the more Detective Moray proves himself an adequate tactician indeed.

He confronts Valdas in person — follows him out of the carriage and up the steps to the House and does not waver even when his questions go unanswered. It is enough for a detective of Scotland Yard to continue interrogating a man with business among the chief political minds of the nation. When they kindly (wavering voices hesitant and unsure but they have to, they have no choice in the matter) request that the Made-God sit idle until such a time that the investigation has ended, well, no one is surprised.

“Fools — obstinate cowardly fools!” Valdas calls them with a wrath that threatens to take the Montes house and half their block in London with it, “As though I did not sit with Cassius, with Brutus and Antony himself. They fear him more than they fear me? Their gravest mistake.”

And it keeps the Trinity on edge. It is meant to.

There’s a certain kind of anger that comes with always looking over ones shoulder; ready for the breath that comes down on the backs of their necks to turn into cold hands.

A fortnight following he comes for Isseya.

Lucky then that Cynbel has learned his lesson with her once and need not again; when she begins clawing through their boudoir of ancient belongings he knows to step far back.

“Beloved, what happened?”

“I want to fillet him. String him up on ugly fraying rope and make him watch my work!”

Valdas is at his back, Cynbel can’t help his relief at their Maker’s touch. “Your words, darling, your words.”

She rounds on them with red eyes and shining cheeks. Immediately they take her into their arms and she does not resist because this is where they are safe; this is where they cannot be hurt. And outside of them here the world has hurt her so gravely.

“He took the college from me! Issued some—some fucking order and they have suspended my lessons until they are certain my name has been cleared. I’ll hang them too. Ugly, rotted fruit hanging in the Queen’s fucking gardens!”

This is her cause — something she has been denied for far too long — and Moray didn’t even have the dignity to show his face as he stole it out from under her.

Whatever plans he had in store for Cynbel; Cynbel the lonely one, Cynbel the outlier, Cynbel the young bachelor whose place no one quite understands… he doesn’t get the chance to enact them.

Cynbel does not let him.

#bloodbound #bloodbound fanfiction #playchoices #choices bb #choices fanfiction #oc: isseya #oc: cynbel #oc: valdas #oblv: bound by choice #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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flowerslut · 6 years

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Hide and Seek

I did not ask permission to write this... so... I am hoping that writing this is okay. I asked for prompts. I received a prompt. I loved the prompt. I needed a scene for the prompt. I am... trying not to write angst so much. Humor is good! Humor is fun. Ruff Bois AU is fun. Ruff Bois honestly doesn’t even read as an AU; it’s likely canon at this point if we’re being real. Here’s a Ruff Bois story. Thank you @gayvampiretown for giving us the headcanons that we both need and deserve. A thousand apologies if I don’t do them justice.

Prompt: Emmett/Rose - “This is fun.” “Seriously, we’re trying to hide a body.”

(sent by @herokingrobbstark)

Rosalie has always lived with a keen understanding of the way relationships are supposed to work. There is give and take. There is patience. Communication. Love. Understanding. Sometimes there’s a compromise but oftentimes there’s collaboration.

As a human, with a heart that ardently craved affection, Rosalie saw very little of those things in the glimpses she observed between the couples in her life. Between her parents, rarely. Vera and her husband, often. But she remained stubborn as always, figuring that if anyone could have a pure, happy love, surely she could find it easily.

She found it ironic—and still does, honestly—that it wasn’t until her heart stopped beating when she found herself bearing witness to a true loving relationship.

First, in the serenity she witnessed between Carlisle and Esme. Their calm understanding of one another frustrated, then quickly baffled, and eventually soothed her.

Then, not long after, she found it reflected in herself and Emmett. A cool relief soothing the burn that had been eating away at her over the couple of years she’d been despising her own existence.

Over the decades she’s learned—well, they’ve learned together—what it takes to make things work. She’s learned that sometimes improper communication can start an argument, but a total lack of it will ensure one. She’s learned what it means to quiet her own heart and listen, and that truly opening up starts with acknowledging that there are things that need to be expressed and heard.

She especially acknowledges that although patience sometimes has a limit, it’s still vital in trying times.

And as she holds a camera in her hands, trying to hold her tongue, she doesn’t think it’s an overstatement at all to call this one of those ‘trying times’.

“Rose, baby. You have to at least aim the camera at us or we’re not going to be in the frame.”

Rosalie counts to three, inhales, and running her tongue across razor-sharp teeth, she exhales slowly. Then, she lifts the camera up a few inches.

“Would it kill you to look through the viewfinder?”

Someone smacks the second voice—the sound of stone hitting hardened flesh—and Rosalie closes her eyes.

Another slow inhale. Careful movements as she opens her eyes, opens the screen, flips it toward herself, and glances down. The camera doesn’t budge as she does this, her hand always steady, and when it focuses fully on the three people in front of her, she feels nothing but a resigned sort of reluctance, pushing down the contempt she feels for the shape-shifter carrying her adopted sister-in-law.

She makes eye contact with Bella, who smiles sympathetically, and slowly releases the breath.

When Emmett and Jacob had become friends, she’d... tolerated it. Sure, the dog was a constant bother (and a fucking asshole on top of it), and yeah, if Emmett wanted to be within five feet of her after they hung out she made him change and shower (sometimes twice), but hanging out with him made Emmett happy.

And she’d learned over the decades that sometimes she had to tolerate things for her husband’s happiness.

Her one rule when they started recording these mindless, inane videos: keep her out of it and she wouldn’t say anything negative about it, leaving them to their antics.

But then Emmett asked her to do his makeup on camera, and she couldn’t just say no to something that was admittedly so funny. Especially when he pouted as he asked. Damn his expressive, handsome face.

And then soon after he’d asked her to do Jacob’s makeup. And she couldn’t pass up the once-in-an-afterlife opportunity to make him look like a cheap, drunk clown.

Thankfully, Jasper takes up the reigns in following the pair around to document their nonsense, so the boys typically keep their shenanigans to themselves. Of course she does not understand how the blond got roped into helping them out with their ridiculous videos, but Rosalie feels nothing but disdain for Jasper currently.

Because no matter how much he claims to be annoyed by their antics, Jasper is a filthy, enabling traitor. One who owes her big time when he and Alice get back from their trip to New York.

“You know, Alice will kill you when she sees what you’re wearing for this bit.”

Bella looks up at Rosalie from where she is in Jacob’s arms and half-shrugs. The pant-suit fits her perfectly, tailored flawlessly thanks to Alice, but Bella has always hated being ‘styled’. “The sooner she stops spending money on me, the better.”

She had a point there. Alice had gotten better throughout the years with leaving Bella to her own devices, but could still be pretty insistent.

“Bella dressed up for the adoring masses,” Jacob grins, turning to wink at the camera.

Rosalie doesn’t bother holding back her exaggerated gag.

“I really didn’t.”

“Either way, ask for more Bella, and ye shall receive!” Emmett is almost waist-deep in a hole that he’s been digging up with his bare hands for the better part of five minutes now. He could move faster, but he claims to enjoy moving at more of a human-pace for their videos.

Makes it easy for the humans watching to keep up. And for the camera to keep up, too.

Since they’ve found their spot in the woods—an uninhabited Rocky Mountain valley along the New Mexico/Colorado border—Emmett has gotten straight to work, looking to dig a deep enough hole to stick Bella in, while still standing, but small enough that it wouldn’t look too obvious.

“Can’t help that she’s a fan favorite.” Jacob’s words are clearly supposed to be a dig at her, meant to rile her up. But she’s so beyond caring what the people who watch their dumb videos think that all she can do is roll her eyes.

“This is never going to work, you know.”

“Hey!” Emmett shoots her a mock-frown. “No negativity on set. Also, yes it will. Edward will lose his shit trying to find her.”

“No offense, Bella,” Rosalie glares at a pile of dirt that Emmett tosses a bit too close to her, “because we all know I’m in favor of irritating Edward, but how do you know he’ll even care enough to come looking for you?”

The couple had recently had one of their first real fights since their marriage over a decade ago—or at least the worst one the rest of the family had all witnessed. Which meant a lot of attitude from the bronze-haired vampire, a lot of stubbornness from their newest vampire, and a lot of annoyance all around.

Edward had accompanied Renesmee on a trip back to Washington for a bit, but according to Alice, before she and Jasper left on their own trip, he’d be back early and would leave the hybrid girl behind to visit for a few days before letting her fly back to Illinois on her own.

And with the knowledge that Edward wasn’t around to fish any ideas out of their head, Emmett and Jacob went straight to work. Bella, who was still very much sore from their heated argument, had agreed wholeheartedly to the plan.

Jasper had literally tossed the camera into her hands (she should’ve just let the damn thing drop to the floor) and wished her luck, using his unique influence to ensure she’d be a bit more agreeable to the idea of potentially ‘helping out’, before Alice had whisked him out the door and off on their vacation.

‘Support your husband’s hobby’, he’d said. ‘It makes him happy,’ he’d said. ‘It’s just one video, you just point and shoot,’ he said.

The second his influence wore off she started swearing. They were going to be on Rosalie’s shit list for a while now. Jasper and Alice. Traitors. The both of them. Leaving her to deal with this shit.

Bella shrugs again as she watches Emmett chuck handful after handful of dirt out of the pit and off to the side. Then, she pulls a plastic bag out of her blazer pocket. “Oh,” she grins, turning to make eye contact with the blonde, “he’ll come looking alright.”

In the tightly bound plastic are the keys to all of Edward’s cars. Spare ones included.

Rosalie feels the smile creep onto her face. “Have I ever told you how much I cherish you as a sister?”

Bella’s grin widens as Jacob laughs.

“And you’re not worried that this will make things worse?” Despite his joy in heavily inconveniencing Edward Cullen, there’s a bit of apprehension hidden behind Jacob’s brown eyes.

“He didn’t even say goodbye to me before he left,” Rosalie can hear how thoroughly pissed Bella still is, even despite her even facial expression and the three weeks that have passed since the initial argument. “If he wants to play petty, we can play petty.”

Emmett’s laugh echoes through the area and before they realize it he is shoulder-deep in the hole.

“You guys do know this isn’t going to work though, right?” Despite the pleasure she will undoubtedly get from watching this punishment-like prank fail, she feels the need to make sure that they know this.

They have to know this, right?

“What are you talking about?” Emmett pokes his head up out of the hole, a mildly hurt look on his face. “You don’t think we can pull this off?”

“I know you can’t. He’s going to trace our scents to this exact spot.”

“No,” Jacob stubbornly shakes his head, “he’s going to trace my scent. Mine masks yours.”

Rosalie blinks at him twice. “Yes. Exactly. He’s going to trace your scent and find Bella.”

“But he won’t know where Bella is because he can’t follow her scent. And since he can’t read her mind it’s not like he can just listen in to zero in on her location.” More dirt gets tossed dangerously close to her and she finds herself glaring at the back of her husband’s head as he works.

Rosalie steps back. “But he’s going to know Jacob had something to do with it. It doesn’t matter who ‘hides’ her. He’s going to still follow the trail and find her.”

“We’ll take a long route home. Back track a bunch. Muddle up the trail.” Jacob’s answers are spoken with the confidence of someone who has undying faith in their own idiocy. It’s confidence he has no business possessing, and it’s incomparably annoying.

“Bella, you have two brain cells to rub together. You know he’s going to be able to track you down.”

“Alice said a storm is blowing through tomorrow night,” the girl supplied. “I’m hoping it washes away everyone’s scent.”

Rosalie grimaces. “You know if you hate that outfit that much you don’t have to wear it while you get buried underground, during a rainstorm, for several days.” She pictures how ungodly Bella is going to look after she’s unearthed and has to suppress a shudder. Her eyes then wander to Emmett’s dirty mop of hair and her frown deepens.

He’s not going to be touching her again until he’s scrubbed clean, head to toe.

“And let it collect dust? That would be rude.”

Jacob laughs again, and when Bella tries to get down from his hold, he nearly shouts. “Not yet! The only place your toes are touching is the bottom of that hole.

“I thought you said your scent masked ours?” Rosalie deadpanned.

“We still can’t be too careful.”

“This is your dumbest idea to date.”

“Just keep the camera on my good side, alright?” Jacob grins again and Rosalie simply turns the camera, cutting him entirely out of the frame. “Hey!”

“So, let’s say the trail gets muddled up. Edward can’t track her down. What do you think he’ll do next?”

Bella shrugs, as if uncaring how long it may take for her to be found, and Emmett turns toward her, pointing a finger at the camera. “Nothing! He has to find her! We already left the list of instructions on the front door. He has to find Bella within two weeks or he loses the challenge. And if he does Bella leaves her spot, hides the keys in a new spot, and comes home. Edward loses and has to eat a food of Bella’s choosing.”

“Yogurt,” Bella nods with a grimace, already aware of which food disgusts her husband the most.

“And when has Edward ever, since you started this shit, played by the rules for your little games?”

Emmett and Jacob share a concerned look, as if they hadn’t considered Edward would not be willing to play along, and Rosalie nearly bursts with a mixture of frustration and laughter.

She zooms in on their looks of apprehension. “You’re right,” she laughs, “This is fun.”

“Seriously,” Emmett throws his hands in the air dramatically, dirt flying toward the sky, decidedly not enjoying his wife’s teasing. “We’re trying to hide a body.”

“You know he can just get new keys.”

“Just ignore her,” Jacob nods to Emmett, gesturing for him to continue. “It’s a good idea. It will be gold.”

“And what gold are you expecting to get out of this?”

“His reactions are going to be fire,” Emmett has a grin in his voice as he hops out of the hole.

“And I take if you two will be recording his journey to find his buried wife?”

“You bet.” Jacob lowers Bella slowly into the hole, Emmett holding his hand over his brow, saluting as she’s lowered onto her feet.

“Right. So when Edward fishes the information out of one of your minds, then he’ll know where she is and come and get her?”

“No, because Bella will just—”

“Shield your minds?” The two men are silent.

Rosalie laughs as the two men shoot each other looks, as if realizing maybe this plan won’t work the way they’re hoping.

“In my defense,” Bella pipes up from her hole, “I told Jake this yesterday and he definitely brushed that detail aside. Either way,” she reaches up and smacks at Emmett’s foot, “fill her up. Whether this prank is internet-worthy or not means little to me at this point. I need to piss off my husband.”

Rosalie laughs louder and keeps the camera trained on her own husband’s look of defeat.

Collaboration to make a relationship work better? Sure, she can do that.

Quality time is a love language, after all.

#twilight saga #gayvampiretown #emmett x rose #twilight fanfiction #ruff bois #feel free to send more prompts from that prompt list listen above tbh #emmett cullen #rosalie hale #jacob black #bella swan #edward cullen

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mollyraesly · 6 years

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Time with Wolves -- Chapter 16

“Jon!” Arya screeched from the back. “What are you doing here? Where’s Robb?” Jon turned to look at Arya. “He and I were hanging out, but he’d had a few beers when you texted, and you know I don’t—well, not since—” He swallowed strongly. “Anyway, I said I’d come pick you up. Robb lent me his car.”

“What happened to yours?” Sansa almost said, and might have, had she not been so overwhelmed with shock at seeing him beside her.

Jon moved his head back to face the steering wheel. “He only said Arya and Gendry. I didn’t know—“ he trailed off as his eyes flicked to Sansa. Or he wouldn’t have come, was the unspoken message. Sansa felt her heartbeat pick up with each second his eyes were on her. Although she was merrily dizzy with drunkenness only a couple of minutes earlier, she felt as though someone had doused her in water.

She didn’t like the feeling of being under his gaze and not knowing what he was thinking. Sometimes, late at night when she couldn’t sleep, she had imagined what it would be like to see Jon again – when he wasn’t in a hospital bed. But in all her imaginings, she had never been drinking so heavily or so sweaty from dancing.

She resisted the urge to pat down her hair or swipe at the eyeliner she was sure had smudged. There was no need to look nice for him anymore, she reminded herself. Keeping her eyes glued forward, she wrestled with her seatbelt until it finally clicked. “Seatbelts back there?” Gendry and Arya murmured and groaned, but a few moments later after some rustling and giggles Gendry grunted that they were good. Jon nodded. “Good. Safety first.” He sighed. “I’ll just, drive you home then.” For all the talk of fries and burgers, neither Arya nor Gendry mentioned anything about the Ice Shack, for which Sansa was grateful. She didn’t want to do anything to make this trip any longer than it had to be. She also could not stomach the thought of eating anything now, when her entire body felt like it had been taken over with nerves. But even though she was glad there was no talk of the Ice Shack, she was more anxious about the lack of talk altogether. From a quick peek into the back seat, she discovered that Arya was all but asleep as she rested against Gendry’s shoulder, and he was practically snoring. The traitors. Sleeping while she had to deal with Jon alone in the front. She wished she could feign sleep and join them, but her fidgeting hands would give her away. For a few minutes, Sansa sat stiffly, determined not to look at Jon or speak. It was terribly rude. But she couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t make her angry or tearful. And when should she be the one to speak? To make him feel less awkward? She desperately didn’t want to care what he felt. By the fidgeting of her hands, she knew she was going to break soon, but then Jon spoke first when they settled in behind a line of cars at a light. His voice was so soft she would have missed it, had not she been so tense and aware of his every movement. “Did you have a nice Thanksgiving?”

She couldn’t answer for a moment—surprised by how mundane the question was. But then, strangely, she thought about a networking event she had attended and the advice Cersei Lannister, one of the most formidable professors she had ever known, had given her about dealing with men you’d rather avoid: Never let them see your weakness. Be a pretty bird for them all to gaze upon and try to encage. Then, when it’s time, gauge out their eyes and fly away.

She’d thought it was rather pessimistic advice—from a woman who’d always struck her as embittered. But there was some truth to it, even if she didn’t like it. Sansa would never again be a little dove, the way Cersei would have liked, but she could be strong, and over the years, she had been getting better at masking her feelings and at wearing her courtesy like knights wore steel.

“Yes, it was very nice,” she said in a clipped, but courteous voice. Sansa smoothed out the hem of her skirt and wished that it covered more of her thighs. “How was yours?” Politeness forced her to ask. “Good,” replies Jon, tapping against the wheel and staring at the traffic in front of them. “Quiet,” he added. “With just me and Mom.” In the past, Sansa might have taken the initiative to invite Jon and his mom over, but the heavy silence between them seemed to suggest that they both knew that was no longer a real option. “It was good to see Robb tonight,” Jon continued. “We haven’t been the best at keeping in touch. He’s—he’s had a lot going on.” “A baby on the way,” Sansa almost wanted to stay, but instead she just hummed noncommittally. As the cars ahead of them began to move, they reached the intersection just as the light switched from yellow to red. “How—how are you? I’ve wondered—Arya, she tells me little bits and pieces, but never—“ He was looking at her, really looking at her now. And Sansa could not help but to turn and look back at him. The sight made her catch her breath, because even after all these years he was still Jon. Still wearing black and smelling too good. In the years since she had seen him, he had filled out. He’d never been that scrawny, but she could tell that there was more muscle to him, even underneath all his layers. He was wearing a coat she recognized as Robb’s, and she could not help but wonder—despite herself—what had happened to the jacket she’d gifted him so many years ago.

She looked to his face to chase the thought away.

His hair was tied back into a bun. Sansa had always been somewhat indifferent to that fashion trend on men, but, maddeningly, on Jon it not only worked—it was dead attractive. It drew attention to his cheekbones and his eyes, which were tired, but nevertheless soft and pleading. Sansa looked away. “I’m good,” she said finally. “I like school. I have nice friends.” “I’m glad.” She frowned. She hated that she still cared about his opinion. Her life at school was so separate from her life at home; it was something of her own that she’d fought for. Her time at Riverrun was proof that she was no longer the stupid, trusting girl she was. And yet, here she was sitting in a car with Jon.

She wished Gilly, Meera, or Brienne were here to bring her strength and wisdom and to remind her of the woman she’d become. She turned to study the traffic and wondered how there could still possibly be so many cars on the road this late. Perhaps many other people had gone out drinking; she’d read once that the holidays were horrible for bringing out alcoholic tendencies. Perhaps because they reminded people of things from their past they’d rather forget. They were stuck at another light. “What are you studying?” “Politics and, uh, Gender Studies. I’m hoping to go to law school actually.” “Really?” “Yes,” she said, a bit defensively, even though he sounded more surprised than dismissive. “That’s—that’s really great, Sansa. I’m happy you’re—“ Sansa stopped listening. In the backseat, both Arya and Gendry were still dozing, and it was just too much to be in the car with him, with the heat cranked up, and his voice so sweet. There was so much she wanted to ask him about the past—why he stopped talking to her, why he dated Ygritte, why he’d led her to believe her cared about her only to suddenly forget her. And, to her surprise, there were so many things she wanted to know about him now—questions that perhaps she’d been wondering but had never allowed herself to ask truly. Had he left the army for good? What was he planning to do next? Did he visit Ghost when she was gone? And more personal still—Had his wounds healed? Had he killed anyone when he was up North? What was it like to almost die? And then—Had he thought about her? Why did Sam know her name? Had Jon really written letters? But instead, she folded her hands nearly across her lap and thought of something Gilly once told her: Someone else’s bad past behavior doesn’t mean you can’t move forward. They pulled up the her house. Sansa turned to Jon and cut off whatever he was saying. “Thank you very much for the ride. I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you.” “It’s not a—“ But Sansa was already out of the car. She opened the door to the backseat. “Wake up,” she said, forcefully, but not unkindly, as she leaned over Gendry to prod Arya on the shoulder. Her little sister opened her eyes slowly and gave her a tired smile.

“You have to get up,” Sansa said, but Arya didn’t seem to have understood her. “Sansa, you’re so pretty. You could be a princess—or a queen—like Alysanne from A Dance wi—” “Thank you, but now isn’t the time. You’ve got to get up.” “I’ll help,” Jon said from behind. Sansa tried not to show how startled she’d been that he appeared so close to her and quickly moved out of his way. “Jon!” Arya chirped. “When did you get here? Don’t you think Sansa is pretty?” Sansa went to the other side of the car to avoid hearing his answer. She opened the passenger door and started grabbing Arya to get her out. “Ouch! Your fingers are so bony!” “That’s from all the knitting!” Sansa grumbled. “C’mon!” She yanked Arya out of the car at the same time Jon was hoisting out Gendry. It was slow moving up the driveway and around the path, but after a few minutes, Sansa had Arya propped against the front door and was only slightly sweating beneath her heavy winter coat. She fumbled with her keys, the sound of Jon behind her and grunting underneath Gendry’s weight making her lose her concentration. At last, she got the door unlocked and open. She pushed Arya through and made room for Jon to do the same for Gendry. Sansa would have very much liked to have closed the door as soon as they were all inside, but she couldn’t do something so rude after he’d come out in the cold to get them past three and the morning and had physically lugged Gendry out of the car. Sansa spent thirty minutes on the elliptical a few times a week, but she was not strong enough to have handled both Arya and Gendry in drunken stupors on her own. So instead she lingered at the threshold, one foot inside, one outside. “Thank you for your help,” she told him. Jon shoved his hands into his pockets. A lock of hair had escaped his bun and had fallen into his eyes. “It was no problem, Sansa. It—it was nice to see you.” He studied her face with an expression she couldn’t understand, and after a moment, gave a curt nod and turned to go. “Jon!” she took a step forward into the night air and called out to him without meaning to. He spun around. “I—I met a friend of yours at school. Samwell Tarly.” The words were out of her mouth before she could think to take them back. Jon blinked. “Samwell Tarly? How—he—but he’s with the Watch still.” “He got a few days leave.” Jon frowned, the lines of his forehead furrowed. He hadn’t had such deep lines there when they’d been in high school. “But why’d—“ “I’m dating Sam’s brother Dickon,” she said, trying to sound unaffected as she delivered the news; to her own ears, she just sounded squeaky. “Oh,” Jon replied. His face shifted from astonishment and confusion to something else. He opened his mouth, as if to ask a question, but then closed it again. “He—he said something about letters.” “Sam loves old letters and books. Just like you. He’s always going on about a collection or something from medieval history—“ “No—these were your letters. Letters that you—well, you’d written to me.” Jon frowned again, deeper this time. “He shouldn’t have said anything to you about that.” “Is it true? Did you—“ Jon cut her off with a look. “You should go inside, Sansa,” he said gruffly. She crossed her arms over her chest, showing no indication of leaving until he gave her answer.

Jon sighed, and when he spoke, he sounded tired. “When I first joined the Watch, I was feeling homesick. Reception is really bad that far up north, so I used to write letters.”

“To me?” Sansa pressed.

Jon’s shoulders sagged. “In a sense.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Sansa replied, voicing her thoughts aloud.

“I—I—” he sighed and gave her a look that made her heart drop. “It’s late,” Jon replied with more softness in his voice. “And you’re drunk.” “But, I—“ He gave her a little smile. “It really was nice to see you. Good night, Sansa.” And then he turned, walked back to Robb’s car, and drove into the night.

#jonsa #jonsa fan fic #jonsa fan fiction #jonsa fanfiction #jon snow #sansa stark #time with wolves #mollyraesly

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doramachikku · 6 years

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an uphill struggle, but maybe we can enjoy the journey

(Disclaimer: I’ve read the Four Noble Truths in high school in my Asian Literature class, not actually talked to a monk or joined a group.)

The First Noble Truth Buddha taught his followers is that “All existence is dukkha.” Dukkha is simply put, suffering. In short, the first Truth is that we have to accept that all life is suffering.

The Second Noble Truth tells us that the cause of dukkha, or suffering, is craving or attachment, tanha. There are 3 kind of tanha, but the general sense I get it is that it is the craving/attachment itself that is the problem, that we have to satisfy those cravings to be happy. And then there it is now - the “I”. There is an “I” that needs to be indulged, to be taken care of, to satisfy, and therefore we crave, and with craving comes all the dark impulses inside us that causes harm to ourselves and to others. We are the very source of the unhappiness we wanted to end, of the darkness we wanted to get rid of, of the emptiness we need to fill.

The Third Noble Truth states that to end suffering, we must also end our desires, and this process is known as nirodha. We have to stop feeding the “I” in order to achieve true happiness and contentment. We have to stop referencing everything to our own self; we have to detach ourselves from our own selves.

The Fourth Noble Truth, Buddha stated, is that to be able to end our craving, and thus end our suffering, is to follow the Noble Eightfold Path - eight principles of practice and discipline that strike a balance between severe indulgence and severe ascetism, and a practical guideline to life.

Life is a struggle. From birth to death, we are all plagued with suffering, and it would seem as if we were born to struggle and fight for all of our entirely short lives. Everything and everyone would be against us. We experience all sorts of problems in all aspects of our lives, varying from degree and kind. No one is born happy and content, and remain that way for their entire life.

And I always have mixed feelings to hear people who have decided to stop living, to seemingly give up the fight, for reasons we probably can never understand. I admit to not understanding why people do this. There are people who struggle with all of their might, who endure everything, in order to survive, and there are those who choose to escape. Some would say that the second is a defeatist attitude, that there are many problems with greater magntitude. I would find myself wondering, after hearing stories of people who chose to take their own lives, why did that happen, while there are people in the world who are oppressed by famine, war, violence and poverty, and yet choose to survive? How do you measure which suffering is greater? Should there be even a comparison?

I’ve listened and saw different points of view. Some would say that to take one’s life is an escape, a rest, and unless you were in that dark place yourself, you can never know. Some would say that people who took their own lives felt that the world would continue to exist even without them. But some would argue that that kind of thinking is dangerously narcissistic and selfish, because one tends to draw the negativity deeply towards the self. Some would say that it would be insulting to those who have lost everything to natural disasters, to accidents, to violent crimes, to wars, to poverty, to famine - the people who one would expect to simply give up - and yet have continued to struggle and live.

Maybe I would never understand. Maybe I don’t understand because I’ve never been to a dark place. But what is that “dark place”, anyway? Is that the void inside us that feels cold and indifferent, that made us feel that nothing can be done, that we should just give in to the nothingness so we can finally be free? Because if it is, I may have gone to that place many times. Not many people know that I thought of death many times, and I choose not to tell. I have experienced, as a young child, of the terror of bullying for what seemed to be a long time, and let me just say, though I may have seemed to have overcome it, there were times back then when I thought of simply just going away where no one can find me because I was so scared, and simply because my own family would never understand even if I tell them. How many times did I pray for God to take me away because anyway, who would care if I’m gone? Because of different instances of rejection, my insecurity has sunk to deeper levels, and the only way I can survive is to wear a mask of indifference and careless joviality. I always have to remind myself to never, ever, ever cry or break down in front of people because it would further diminish my worth as a person. A sense of breezy bravado and my fear of showing vulnerability were like sharp daggers constantly (and painfully) scratching me every hour and every single day as a reminder to never let the mask down, to never show weakness. I could never share this story to anyone, not even my family, because I know there will be judgment, and it is true! My fear of heights and my fear of deep water, which are manifestations of my fear of a loss of security, were laughed at by my own father recently, and I felt that even my siblings were impatient with me. Others also laughed or were dismissive. I cried in public because of those fears, and yet all I felt was that in the end, nobody understood. Nobody understood, and I was shamed for revealing that weakness. I was compared to other people, and those comparisons made me feel even more insignificant and worthless, and I felt even lesser of a person than I am. I could now drown in my own insecurities. So yes, maybe I have been into that dark place. Writing about those fears right now made me remember the shame and disappointment in myself, and I feel like I’m tying even more concrete bricks to my legs and further drowning in my fears, and that even that mask of uncaring and pretend strength and self-delusional pride was not even enough anymore to keep me afloat. The rejections I’ve received, and the many failures I experienced, and the verbal attacks which made me feel stupider and weaker, kept making things even more heavier. There’s also the insecurity about my physical appearance, which has also become a subject of insult and careless banter, even my own family does it to me. That’s why I always thought that maybe if I disappear one day, no one will come looking for me. So yes, maybe I have been to that dark place.

And I understand how life is a struggle. I understand when people say that they want to give up because they fail every time, because hey, they’re not the only ones. I understand that sense of relief that maybe if I go over and give in to that void, everything will end and I will be free.

But what brings me back to my senses, so to speak, despite those haunting thoughts and despite that want and desire to go to that “nothingness”, is strangely enough, my enemies who are also my friends - my own insecurity and the fear of vulnerability. “If I kill myself, what would people think about me?” “Would my family think worse of me than before?” “Would I get pity and sympathy?” “Would people understand?” And my own insecurity tells me that nothing will change, that I would be judged even by own family, that I would - wait for it - be seen as “weak”. And those fears, and the fear of not knowing what happens when you die, and the fear of inconveniencing others, all pull me back.

And then I remember that when I was bullied as a kid, I never told anyone, and I still went to school, facing my tormentors, and the shame of exposure to everyone, day after day after day, until I reached high school, when my tormentors were also my classmates, and until I reached college. I remember when, after I failed three major subjects in my first semester as a first year college student (a huge blow to my perceived pride) and deciding not to go home and maybe run into moving traffic, my mother ordered me to go home immediately and I obeyed her in shame. I remember reaching fifth year and not being able to graduate on time with my peers because of our stupid thesis. I remember crying in the bathroom during my first call as a technical support representative (my first job). I remember the constant haranguing of my students as I valiantly tried to teach them a foreign language. I remember how I was faulted for asking what I should have already known, and for not asking what I do not know (which they expect me to know already). I remember people being impatient and judgmental of my slow learning curve or of how I was not as smart as they expect me to be. I remember being kicked out of a prestigious law school, after taking the entrance exams twice, simply because of one subject. I remembered the humiliation of entering a somewhat dismissively second-rate law school, and how I still even fail subjects there. I remember how I was accused of “nepotism”, of getting a job everyone else wanted, of the resentment of why a stranger like me was chosen, when in fact that job was one of the most painful experiences of my adult life, and that I was offered that job (I didn’t ask for it, nor even the things that happened). I remembered the burning shame and humiliation, the resentment towards others, the crippling fear of disappointing others, and the pain of always being rejected for someone better. I remember those things, and I realized that I have endured so much and got this far for me to give in and give up. I remember the untimely death of a little girl who was sweet and smart, with whom I was distant when she was still alive, and the last thing I remember before she died was that I always, always got mad at her, and the guilt has been eating bits of my heart, that I wished I would never again experience that kind of loss which left a huge, irreparable hole in my heart, and therefore, I wish I would never have a child of my own who I fear I would lose someday in the most painful way possible.

(The kid that was bullied? Well, she’s already a adult with a boyfriend who, despite her still believing that he might find someone better (it’s the insecurity again at work), sincerely tells her he loves her and that he understands, because he too knew the pain of being bullied and being rejected.)

Every time I get to see that void again, inside my mind, I remember the pain and fear, and that someone really sees me and understands, and I step away, if only for that person who tells me that he loves me, and for the future that we are building together. Every time I come across to stepping over, I remember that I have gotten so far already, and that it’s annoying and tiring to give up. Every time I stumble and fall in the dark, I get up and then there’s light and the road is once again visible. Every time I want to be narcissistic and selfish and take my own life, I see in my own mind a little girl, and I find myself thinking of what might have been if she was still alive (she’s already a young lady, still smart and sweet, and she would have adored her little baby sister who’s a brat, and I would spoil her with eating out and shopping and even traveling, and I see myself teaching her more Japanese words than she learned before, until she’s fluent, and I see her with us during Christmas and huge family events).

I have to admit that I have a bad time empathizing with people who have regular thoughts of gloom and ending their own lives. I am terrible at showing affection and being tactile. I often make jokes and flighty comments to distract instead of being sympathetic and comforting, and except romantic physicality, I am very much uncomfortable with embracing or even touching other people. I come across as very aggressive and controlling, and even preachy. I sometimes am self-absorbed. But this is how I cope. I easily break down, and I fear that if I break down, everyone will judge my incompetence, and I have to continue building and rebuilding a spine and stomach and heart of steel, and to learn how to be deaf and hard and uncaring in the weakest of moments. I have to constantly remind myself that I still have things I want to do, like travel and see the world, maybe have kids, have my own house and car, and be financially independent and secure. I want to see the peaceful, natural end of a well-lived life, because a well-lived life is the greatest revenge. I admire the poorest of the poor because they struggle so hard to exist, not only for themselves and for their families. I admire people who have lost everything, and yet still wants to live. I honestly pity those who take their own lives, and at the same time, shake them and yell at them for giving up when they have all the opportunities to seek help, when they have people who can listen to them, and when they have the luxury to dive into that void and think that the world can still go on without them, when other people are struggling with everything they have just to survive every single day and to ensure that the people they love survive as well.

And then, I realize that love, and its manifestations, must always be outwards. One should never hoard affection until it transforms to something darker and painful because you selfishly kept them locked up inside. To be able to never step into the void, we have to stop looking inwards and start looking at outwards, and to step into the shoes of other people. As the Third Noble Truth states, we have to stop giving in to our own desires and stop the tendency to divide everything as “I”/”myself” and “the rest of the world”. And the Noble Eightfold Path, which teaches us how to live life and keep things in balance so that we can never suffer either from too much indulgence or too much detachment (which are both unhelpful), and because we keep the balance, we can avoid thinking of ourselves too much, and learn to think of other people as well. And this is how we share positive energy and happiness, and divide the burdens of sadness and negativity.

We then need to stop thinking of two things: 1) that the world revolves around us, and/or 2) that the world can continue even without us. I have to agree with the belief that both of these ideas are narcissistic, egoistic and greedy. Both show the opposite sides of putting ourselves above everything and everyone else, to the point that we sometimes magnify too much our own sadness and suffering that we forget everyone else is in the same struggle as we are. We need to stop referencing “I” and instead reference “we”. We have to realize that we are not the center of the world, nor are we detached from it, but we are part of the world, and who we are and what we do impacts another person. This is why we must be considerate of others and be responsible for others. I know this may sound already preachy, but we actually affect other people. We are a part of this huge ecosystem, and strangely enough, we are not dispensable that we do not make an impact in another person’s life, nor are we indispensable that the world stops revolving if we cease to exist. The balance between taking care of our own self and finding our own happiness and taking care of others and helping them find their happiness must always, always be maintained.

And maybe, this is how we survive, avoid giving in to the void, and maybe find true happiness - by accepting that life is one great struggle because of our inability to see beyond ourselves, and we need to see beyond ourselves to continue to fight, and to walk with other people and share the burdens and the blessings.

#personal

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polysugarchop7 · 7 years

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A Getaway Drive

The Fake Pine 7 boys escape after a heist

I really like the idea of Cib being relaxed and vaping while they’re in a dangerous situation, and also loving to do dangerous stunts. Expert stunt devil Cib and expert getaway driver Steven is my aesthetic.

–

It was a normal day for the boys. They were in stevens car on the highway going in the wrong direction against traffic, while James loaded guns in the back. Cib had a goofy grin on his face and his foot propped up on the dash sticking halfway out the window, as carefree as he usually is. Stevens spotify playlist playing through the speakers was a large contrast to the police sirens that were heard behind them. “You know, they could easily like…shoot your toe off or something” Steven mumbled trying to pay attention to the road, doing his best to avoid all the cars. This wasn’t anything new for him, he was the main getaway driver for a reason. Cib took a long hit from his vape, thinking about what to say to that. Or rather acting like it, he never thought before he spoke. “Think my little piggy could take the blow for me dude” His voice dropped an octave from the vape. He blew vapor in stevens face, but Suptic was use to driving with large vape clouds partially blocking his vision. “Sure dude, they’ll totally arrest a severed toe for bank robbery. They’ll stop their cars immediately in the middle of the highway and cuff your fucking toe.” Cib tuned out stevens stressed out rant as he watched the side-view mirror with an amused smile. The police were having a more difficult time driving against traffic than steven, and it was a fun sight to see. Bored of watching the police cars almost crash and the pink and orange of the sunset, cib stuck back his hand and made a motion to james. Without a word james stuck one of the bigger guns in his hand. Cib brought it back onto his lap and took another long hit from his vape. “Hold me steve, dude.” Cib climbed half-way out the open window and sat in it. Steven cursed under his breath, reaching one of his long arms over to tightly hold onto cibs ankles. “I hate this, i hate you, this is so dangerous” Aiming his gun, cib took a couple test shots at the police officers windshields. “Windows out, dicks out, dude.” Already aggravated steven pleaded “Please don’t take your dick out, dude.” Cib leaned back so his back was against the door as he hanged out the window upside-down, he could feel Stevens grip on his ankles tighten. Taking a deep breath and holding it to steady his movement, Cib took careful aim at the tires on a cop car behind them. He took the shot and the car immediately reeled out of control. He could hear steve yell “Bangarang!” from inside the car. Cib took out several other cop cars that were on their tail with James helping. Steve made sure to speak loud enough for Cib to hear “You know…I could just let go of you right now and i wouldn’t have someone vaping in my face 24/7 anymore.” Steve could hear a panicked “Oh no dude!” as he loosened his grip on cibs ankles slightly in a mock threat. Cib scrambled back into the car knowing he was only kidding, but also not wanting to get dropped accidentally. “How’s my little vape boy?” Steven asked playfully “The blood rushing to my head was not so good” Cib admitted, bringing his vape to his lips. “Well maybe that’ll fucking teach you to stop doing that, i don’t want you getting hurt” Steven saw Cibs grin and immediately followed his statement up with “That would be inconvenient for me. I hate being inconvenienced by my friends deaths and i hate how outnumbered we already are by Fake Chop. It’s embarrassing, they wear cow masks sometimes.” Cib only laughed “Aw bro” “I only care about your well-being for the sake of not being inconvenienced but…you’re also like my brother, yes.” James spoke up from the back “What about me, if either of you treat me like parker i’ll rat you out” Steven sighed “I also care about your wellbeing james, for the sake of you not choke slamming me or ratting me out. You’re also like my brother.” Cib went back to hiking his foot up after Steven did a quick U turn, putting them back in the right direction on the highway. “I actually love you guys.” “Hey wanna sing a song?” “I’m down to freestyle.”

#sugar pine 7 #sp7 #fake pine 7 #steven suptic #sugar pine 7 imagine

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moonfacecrybaby-blog · 7 years

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Self reminder (jus feel like ranting)

To never EVER go on vacation with someone who has little Earth in their chart. 😭I have never been so baffled at the lack of planning and inability to make a decision based on common sense, holy fuck. All of my female Scorpio friends are boy crazy as fuck and are willing to ditch their friends at the first sign of possibly hanging out with a guy but my Scorpio friends both have earth moons so they still get all of their ducks in a row before making a move but this bitch (who I met through my Taurus best friend who went too) is a Libra rising and Aquarius moon... let me tell you why that's the most annoying shit tho. The Libra rising makes her beautiful and charming and good at being fake as hell which is the PERFECT mask for a demon Scorpio lmao. She swore up and down during the planning of the trip that she's been wanting to hang out with us forever and misses us and couldn't wait to have a girls day- even going as far as to rent a car! What a friend right? Wrong the fucking Scorpio had been planning this all along because she has some Taurus boy toy down in that direction and she just didn't want to go alone. And then here's the kicker.. she took the car and left me, my 9 month old daughter, and the other female stranded at the beach for hours while she was like a 30 minute drive away at the guy's house, and didn't give one fuck because she's an Aquarius moon with her own agenda. 😒Then we finally met the loser and he looks EXACTLY like the husband of hers that she's currently divorcing... moral of the story is, sun and moon in the 8th people need to start listening to themselves because WE KNOW WHAT THE HELL WE FEEL WHEN WE MEET PEOPLE! I'm just also a Pisces moon so I try to blind myself so I won't see the bad in people. The first time we hung out I was scared as hell but didn't know why and then ever since that day she's brought so much drama to my life without so much as a twitch of sympathy for anyone smhhh. I find it so interesting though also because the Taurus female that went with us is also an Libra rising, Aquarius moon. Sun sign astrology is real bro because they have the same emotional responses internally and greet the world in the same way but they're differences in sun sign flavors it. The Taurus girl uses her Libra rising to nurture everybody honestly, it makes her less reserved as a Taurus and I guess the double Venus makes her hella selfless but almost everything she does is done for the good of the whole group. She pays attention to the needs of everybody around her and she always uses her Aquarius moon to come up with great ideas that benefit everyone, yeah her sun is in the 8th house so she lives on the edge so people judge her but I like that she still cares about the safety of others before her desires. The Scorpio on the other hand 😒😒😒 (lmao I know I sound like I'm hating on Scorpios but it's actually one of my favorite signs 😂) she uses her Libra rising to make people think she's nice and then acts like such trash secretly. Everybody has a fake side but hers is malicious and selfish and that's shit I just can't deal with. I wonder what house her sun is in? Whatever, it just kinda makes me mad because the Taurus girl gets judged for her openness with her fast life and sexuality but is an AMAZING person to friends and strangers but the Scorpio dresses modest, wears glasses, and has adorable little curls so nobody realizes that she's been orchestrating their Dmn demise the entire time! The same kinda thing literally happened last month when we went to hang out with some guy friends and ended up waiting in the car forever so she could fuck one of the guys, which would have been no big deal if we had planned this and it wasn't almost 4 in the morning. I guess I just hate when people have no problem inconveniencing others for their own desires. Also, another thing my female Scorpio friends have in common is that they have ZERO respect for Gemini males lmao (funny because my baby's father is a Gemini and he got his heart broken by a Scorpio earlier this year lmao). They literally hate them yet a lot of Gemini guys have big dicks (in our experience 😂) so they literally just use them for sex and talk behind their backs smh so it's even more annoying that the guy she left us in the car to fuck was a Gemini and she started talking shit as soon as she came back. 🙄😒saying how she'll never take a Gemini seriously and shit.. then why you was so hype about spending time with him??? Bruhhhhh see this rant about to be even longer cause I just have too many thoughts on this now. 😭😂 like also, back to the boy craziness! This bitch acts like she's sooo mature and above everybody but you should see her dumb ass when she's about to see a boy. 🙄🙄🙄 she literally starts vibrating and gets giddy as hell and starts talking soooo fucking much which is the worst icing on the cake to me. Don't keep rubbing your bullshit in my face after pissing me off. Ironically, she was talking about Taureans yesterday because her sister is one and was like "I don't get why you guys never say how you're feeling! Like I can't read your mind so why y'all never express when y'all mad?" And then her behavior yesterday literally answered her question. Taureans like fun but we don't like fucking drama but it seems like Scorpios BREATH drama so while we're trying to keep the trip stable, this bitch is flying around life not making and iota of sense! And what do taureans do when shit stops making sense? We sit our asses back, shut our mouths, and endure until the ground is stable again. That's why when she got back we were quiet the rest of the trip because like.. anymore surprises? We HATE surprises. I guess that's why Taureans get quiet during emotional upheavals? Me and the other Taurus were BOILING but we shut our fucking mouths when she came back around because opening our mouths to talk while in extreme emotion makes oUR VOICES COME OUT UNINTENTIONALLY LOUD AND FULL OF HATE BECAUSE YOU KEEP THROWING SHIT OUR WAY AND WE CAN NO LONGER BREATH THE EXTREME NEGATIVITY THROUGH OUR NOSES! WE DONT TALK WHEN YOU'RE UPSETTING US BECAUSE WE DONT WANNA BELIEVE THAT YOU'RE REALLY THIS TRASH SO WE SHUT UP AND GIVE YOU CHANCE AFTER CHANGE TO CORRECT YOURSELF THEN BLOW THE HELL UP WHEN YOU KEEP RUBBING IT IN! I know it sounds childish to not say what you're feeling but we just expect everyone to have common sense and KNOW as a fucking adult what's rude/stupid/nonsensical, so we sit our asses back and reevaluate our relationship with you. It's something air dominants don't really understand though because my sister is a Gemini sun, Aquarius moon (ugh I'm surrounded by Aquarius moons 🙄) and she didn't believe that I was actually having contractions and took forever to take me to the hospital when I had my daughter because I wasn't showing any emotion when I'd tell her I was in pain and wasn't saying much. My baby's father is a Gemini sun and Mercury and he literally rambled through our daughter's birth and has to talk while she's getting shots because he gets through high levels of any feeling through distracting his mind with random words. Ugh I actually love it because you know when you've made him nervous when his rambling Gemini twin starts coming out even though he's a Scorpio rising who likes to portray himself as all dark and mysterious 😂. Anyways! Taureans just prefer to lay low and endure.. until it gets real, then the rest of your chart comes out. Like when I was having contractions, I quietly endured them the whole time like a Taurus... until it was time for her to come and they got worse so the Pisces moon came out! I like the description of the moon sign being who you are when you need your mother." I literally started reaching for my mom, everyone else in the room faded away, and I kept whining to her and asking "is there any drug that can knock me out so I won't have to live through this pain?? I don't want to live though this. I don't want to experience this." While shaking my head, attempting to wake up from that nightmare 😂 I'm literally an escapist in the highest form! I find it interesting that my moon house also played a big part because I remember during the contractions that I was being a Pisces moon and trying to imagine myself in the place I'd rather be and I closed my eyes and imagine myself in a casket, and then I felt like that wasn't enough and I imagined myself burning I hell and was slightly satisfied lmao the 8th house moon is such a trip. *Sigggh* but leave it to an Aries MC person to be this annoying and off subject during a rant but whatever, I've accepted that I'm nothing but a Taurus sun version of Kanye West. 😂 But I only have "fun" friends I don't have "emotional outlet" friends so I have nobody to talk about my suppressed rage to. 🙃

#I have a love hate relationship with Scorpios #I'm currently in a hate phase #even though I'm currently infatuated with a Scorpio male #idek what to tag this as because I'm so off subject #astrology rant

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captainamerica77 · 4 years

Text

Rant about Work

Apologies if things are spelled wrong I’m upset and could care less about spelling or wording rn. If you read all this thanks.

So I got a new coworker this week, well technically last week but I wasn’t there. At first I thought he was just helping temporarily since we’re super short staffed(we have 3 people who can work even when its not a pandemic). But I worked with him Saturday and find out he’s now one of our new employees and he is a douche. I cannot stand him.

So backstory I’ve been at this job for 4 years, same store the whole time. I am the oldest employee at that store(time spent there not age wise). So I know how the store works, where everything goes, best practices, etc. So I get there Saturday and I’m already not a fan when he says “you know you dont have to wear a mask inside right?”. Well yes we actually do according to the state guidelines but I wasn’t arguing that since what am I going to do about it(I wore my mask except when taking a drink of my water). But then I start up the computer since he had stuff open on the other 2 and I knew it was stuff we sort of needed out. And he immediately is like “Oh there was a reason I had that closed.”. I said sorry and asked why, its just more work to close it later(its not its literally hitting like 3 buttons and waiting for it to close but go off i guess). I explain why I did it and said that one of the 2 he had open is the slowest one and he says “no its not, its faster than that one. This one is new” I explain that the day before(friday) i was there with our manager and it was still super slow and we both still preferred the other 2. Whatever he already seems like he’s a pain but I chalk it up to me opening the register.

But then I work on sending out some orders and normally our shipping stuff is in the back away from the computers. So I like to sort all the items once gathered by order so I can make as few trips to the back as possible. Well I start doing that and I say, more to myself, “Okay so let me sort these by orders first.”. “why?” he says like I’m doing something wrong. I say what and he says “well just go and do each order as you open the packing list since you’re already on the screen”. I explain that this is how i do it and it’s just easier for me like this(it helps with not accidentally packing the wrong things because I now have 2 chances to verify everything is right and since I have memory issues now i need that extra chance). Then he has the nerve to say “Well {insert manager name} and I both do it this way.” Whatever I do it his way because I didn’t want to fight. So now I’m packing the first box and instead of using the one tape holder(you know those packing ones) I use these other ones we have that have always worked better for me. My manager knows this and he doesnt really care that I prefer those since I don’t ruin anything because of them. Well then New-at-my-store asks why im using those. I once again explain to this random guy who has been nothing but condescending to me the whole time that the normal packing ones dont work too well and i prefer these. I should note both have the same position (he came from another store so that’s why we have the same position) so there is no need to be fucking trying to micromanage me. HE is all like “no i fixed that one, even {insert manager name} doesn’t like those red ones either.” Okay and? Like my manager doesn’t hate having them where none of us can use them and he doesn’t honestly care that I use them. Well the one I’m using runs out of tape so I start taking off the new roll and he says, all annoyed as if I’m inconveniencing him by just using the one he didn’t so graciously fix,”Just, ugh, just don’t take the one off the packing one.” I said I wasn’t going to, I’m grabbing one from the back(why would I even grab it from the other roll, that’s a dick move and just not necessary to do that?? Like excuse me?) Anyways I have some issues with packing the orders where I messed up putting one wrong thing and the packing slip in the wrong box, huh maybe letting me do it my way that doesn’t take anymore time than your way is good??

Okay so once that is done we don’t have anything else to do(we aren’t open to the public rn). So we’re just chilling and he’s going on about ‘oh I stream, and have to edit videos, and have this new computer I built’. okay I guess that’s cool but like everyone and their cousin streams so it’s not like a niche thing that is super impressive to me at this point( I should note I work at a certain g*ming oriented store but we won’t name it so I don’t get in trouble). Anyways he mentions he spent $1500 on the PC which isn’t cheap but its not like super expensive for building your own custom PC. I mention wow that’s a lot because even though its reasonable for the stuff it’s still a lot of money, like that isn’t pocket money for most people. I then say “Well to be fair I did spend that much on a new statue”. He asks what it is I guess to be fake polite since he’s only talked about himself by this point. Its probably 45 minutes into my 4 hours shift and like he literallly hadn’t asked me anything unless it was to low key criticize me. I say “Oh it’s a 3 foot tall Evangelion Statue, I’m really excited about it”. TO which he says “Oh only 3 ft?” I say yes, the 2 meter tall human sized one is $15,000 and i do’t have that kind of money. “I have a human sized one” I say oh that’s really cool but then he says its out in CA because he lives in a 1 bedroom with his fiancee. Lets say he does there is no need to put down my excitement about buying my largest and most expensive statue to date. Like my one friend who I met at that job also collects large statues(like Prime1, F4F, etc) and when I would talk about getting a new statue even though its cheaper and smaller than the ones he has he was always excited for me. And I was always excited for him because its exciting.

So we’re talking later,fun fact this guy did like barely anything once I was there but bragged about how amazing he was and how he did such an awesome job at his other store(he’s splitting his time between 2 stores for some fucking reason). He says he has the actual sword Elijah Wood used in Lord of the Rings. That’s right this guy “has” the real prop of Sting from the movies. But I did research today because there is no way he has that when splurging is $1500 because it’s not like you paid $40 for Sting itself. So the real prop is owned by someone out there but because they bought in an auction in 2013 for $161,000. Now lets say he could buy it then but his money situation changed. Here is the problem he said his friend who works at Universal in one of the mueseums there gave him the prop when they were done with it at the mueseum. That doesn’t happen! Why would Universal Studios just throw out a real prop used in one of the biggest movie triologies? That’s like just throwing out Luke Skywalker’s Lightsaber or Captain America’s shield. Like why would Universal say to their employees at their parks hey you can have sting just because we’re done with it???? Note: he also said he has the only flux capacitor from the Back to the Future movies and some Batman props. Like real props from the movie. The flux capacitors from the the movies were all destroyed but then they made onyl one to put in a mueseum, remember the one his friend works at, and now he has that one. The only one in existence because you know why wouldn’t he have that and Sting for free. Like all that is such horseshit. I can deal wit the lying though because I had a coworker earlier this year just like him who lied all the time even if we could tell it was fake.

Flash forward to talking about my store and how it’s got issues but I’m proud of what I did. I see him like do that silent trying to hide it scoff but I don’t say anything. Now he goes back to talking about how he is the best at his store and how amazing every thing he does it. He is going to be at our store to help us get it where our new district leader wants it. I’m like okay, I mean we’ve been closed most of the time we’ve had this new dm so we haven’t had anytime to work on this but okay fine he is that makes sense. Our DM is a dick and would totally do this. But then he starts insulting my work, not in the sense of outright saying it sucks but by trying to veil it by complimenting only his work. Back story we have to make little displays at work and I do that for my store because I’m good at these things. My customers love it and so do my coworkers. Well this guy talks about how amazing his shrines are and that he is going to be doing them here apparently my manager already said that was fine. I talk about how I do the shrines and have liked the past few I’ve done save for one because we had nothing. Well when cleaning my store he had to take one down and said “it was a pain”. I know why he said that stuff was taped down but only so people didn’t steal the marketing stuff. Then he points out stuff that could have been hung(little things maybe 8 inches tall) and weren’t rather we stuck them by the registers, I even made one a little animal crossing bag(which everyone loved btw, even my DM). The guy was insulting all my work the rest of my shift. I actually got out my DS and was playing it for the last hours because I just couldn’t keep talking to him.

The worst part is that rn he’s getting double the hours during this. Like I know I chose not to work for 2 weeks(one at the start of my state’s state of emergency and one right as they started lifting restrictions). But am I being punished? I’m going to talk to my manager when I work with him Friday and just be like these are my concerns and how I feel and see what he says. What also bothers me is this new fucker is acting like him and my manager(who is one of my boys, the term i had for my 3 coworkers since they are my boys). are buddy buddy. Like fuck you, you’re not. You know how I know because he’s sitting there saying he knows all this stuff about my manager and doesn’t even know anything about him. I really hope they don’t consider him for assistant manager since ours will probably be leaving soon. I don’t want the position but if he becomes assistant manager then I will definitely be quitting sooner rather than later. Like I’m trying to find a new job but not a ton of places are hiring where I can work( i don’t drive so I have to rely on uber and family and don’t want to make my family drive super far).

Last thing though, this guy being a dick the whole time said something that didn’t make sense to me. Apparently they wanted me as a store manager at another location but since I don’t drive they passed on me. This is weird because the highest anyone ever said they were considering me was assistant manager which is one step above my current one. Seems weird they would tell him they were considering me but not even mention it to me or even ask if i wanted to look into it. Like most places would offer it if they were that interested in someone for the position? Idk I think he’s lying about a ton of stuff and is going to be a pain to work with.

Fingers crossed he is only helping until we can get more staff at our location because I can’t deal with him.

#ranting #Ive actually been thinking of killing myself to escape all this stress and shit going on #I just cant deal with this on top of everything else #I mean I was already considering suicide like 2 weeks ago but now this is just enforcing maybe i should do it #tw suicide #personal post #thanks if you read it

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