#dickensian smut

[kimmberleeex]

Dickensian in Love

It was an especially wintry and dreary December day in London. The townsfolk were hustling and bustling, gearing up for the upcoming holiday. Elizabeth Dunesbury was a fair, young maiden with luscious golden curls. Her skin was ivory like a china doll that little girls played with and her eyes were blue pools like the ocean, the depth of them compared. She didn’t come from a wealthy family, but she wasn’t poor either. Her father was a respected man among town but people rarely noticed her.

When they did notice her, it was because she walking about without a man to escort her. She would notice the whispers and stares every time she strolled down the streets. However, she feared no one. Something her father taught her before he left the world was how to defend herself, which was very taboo for a woman to be able to do.

Every mid day when she was doing her daily walk, she would pass by Arthur Havisham. He was a handsome young gentleman with chestnut curls, a pouty lip, and chocolate doe eyes. His family was well respected and very well off. Arthur’s father was the owner of the local brewery and recently had passed away. Ever since then, Elizabeth began noticing how sorrowful his eyes were and a permanent scowl was painted on his face. It was something that she understood because it was the same thing she felt when she lost her father.

One day, she decided to walk up to Arthur on the street, wanting to show him some kindness during the difficult time he was having.

“Excuse me, Mr. Havisham?” She called as she approached him.

He turned to meet her gaze, looking at her like she was vermin for even uttering a word to him. With a sharp tongue he replies, “What is it?”

Elizabeth goes by seemingly unfazed by his harshness. Instead she offers a sweet smile to him which Arthur isn’t used to. “You don’t know me, sir. But my name is Elizabeth Dunesbury. I heard about your father and I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am. Words do no justice but I hope you find solace in knowing he’s no longer suffering.”

Arthur, clearly annoyed by the roll of his eyes and irritated tone. “My father was a greedy, bitter old man. Good riddance.” He tries to shrug Elizabeth off and stomp away.

She turns around to him and says, “Surely you don’t mean that.”

Without even looking at her, he mutters, “I do,” before disappearing into the local pub. Elizabeth sighs to herself as she walks away. She knows he’s just processing his grief with anger and tries not to take it personally.

Over the course of a fortnight, Elizabeth tried to show Arthur kindness and break down the walls he so clearly built around himself. She would wave with a smile, sometimes she would try to bring him freshly baked bread, and on occasion she would try to spark up a conversation with him. Each time, Arthur would be rude, harsh and shrug her off.

One day, as she was leaving her apartment, she saw Arthur leaving his own down the hallway. At this point, she had enough of his coldness towards her when all she did was try to show him compassion. She marched right up to him, her anger lit like a match.

“Mr. Havisham! What on earth did I ever do to you?” Arthur was taken aback by her sudden outburst. “All I’ve ever done was try to show you compassion and kindness. I understand grief can make you lash out, but you look at me like I’m utter rubbish. You treat me like vermin. Why?”

Elizabeth’s eyes were welling up with so much emotion that they threatened to spill onto her cheeks. Meanwhile, Arthur’s anger was boiling and you could see it all over his face. Without a word , Arthur quickly wraps his strong hand around Elizabeth’s throat and slams her up against the wall. His grip tightening slightly with an intensity burning in his eyes. A gasp leaves Elizabeth’s lips but she doesn’t feel afraid of him. Instead, there’s this extraordinary heat building deep within her core.

There’s an unspoken electricity between them and in this short moment it felt like an eternity. With a fervor, Arthur crashes his mouth against hers. It’s rough at first, but his demeanor begins to soften, his lips beginning to melt into hers. She softly whimpers into him as his tongue brushes against her bottom lip. His mouth tasted bitter like the brandy he drank. Arthur found her lips to be sweet and intoxicating. Slowly, he fumbles her into his apartment, locking the door behind them.

Their breath was heavy as they finally pulled away from each other. They had yet to say a word to one another, the air thick with this tension between them. Arthur’s eyes were heavy with lust and Elizabeth’s matched his. Arthur removed his waistcoat, tossing it onto a nearby chair. His gaze locked onto Elizabeth as she began to undress herself. Slowly peeling off the layers of her coat and dress.

He slowly removed his jabot collar and unclasped the buttons on his now loose fitting blouse that he untucked from his trousers. With a fluid motion he pulls off his blouse and reveals his bare torso. His trousers were hanging off his hips, he slowly unbuttons and begins peeling them off.

Elizabeth was down to her petticoat and corset, her heart racing with anticipation as she stared at Arthur’s beautiful body. She was in awe of his porcelain like skin and toned form. Closing the space between them, she marveled as her fingers delicately caressed his skin and the dips of his collar bone. He shivered at the sensation, Arthur had never been touched like this before.

Arthur had never found attraction to women, something that was illegal and could have you sentenced to death for in London. The very thing that his father discovered before his death and had him written out of his will for. However, there was something about Elizabeth that was different. Something sparked within him that he had never felt before. His long member was hardening against his thigh as she placed soft kisses along his neck and her hands ran across his chest.

Arthur’s nimble fingers helped Elizabeth out of her corset and petticoat, revealing her full figure and swollen breasts. Her skin was so soft as Arthur ran his fingers gently across it. Elizabeth was not used to such tenderness from Arthur as he was normally so cold and callous towards her. He kissed her again, his hand caressing her cheek as her body melded into his.

He picked her up and carried her bridal style to his bed where he laid her down. He murmured more to himself rather than to her, “Such a pretty pet…”

Her lips curled up into a smile, which was contagious as his own followed. He laid down next to her and kissed down her neck. Breathing in the floral scent of her perfume on her skin. It was deliciously intoxicating as his mouth found its way to her ample bosom. His pouty lips encompassed one of Elizabeth’s pink nipples, it hardened in his mouth and she let out a soft moan. Her hands found their way into his soft curls as her back arched up in response to his tongue flicking over her sensitive flesh.

Arthur breathes out a low moan as his hand slides up between Elizabeth’s delicate thighs. His fingers finding her wet heat, her hips buck up into his touch. He lifts his head and watches her face contort with pleasure as his finger swirls around her swollen bud. “Such a naughty little cockish wench,” he breathed out with a smirk.

Elizabeth sucks in her bottom lip, her teeth digging into her tender skin. Arthur spreads her legs and aligns himself at her entrance. His swollen head rubs against her slick folds before slowly sliding between them. They both grunt and moan as he slowly stretches her to fit his length. Before this, the both of them were pure and untouched. However, the way their bodies communicated with each other, you would never imagine that was the case.

Arthur slowly thrusted his hips into hers, their moans echoing off of the walls as he built up a steady rhythm. One of his hands intertwined with hers, the veins bulging as his grip tightened, pinning it above her head. His other hand, much more delicately this time, wrapped around her throat, his thumb brushing across Elizabeth’s jaw as he kissed her sensually.

He murmured into her lips, “Feel so f*cking good, poppet..,” followed by a low, guttural moan. The throb from his member deep inside of her was causing her to clench around him, making him whimper pathetically.

Elizabeth’s back arched as she felt an unfamiliar tightness in her belly forming. Her brain was in a fog of pleasure and couldn’t bring herself to form words, just moans and heavy breaths. Her hand gripping his tightly, her other getting tangled in his chestnut curls as he buried himself in her neck.

Arthur could feel a familiar pull in his own belly, impending his own release but he refused to give into his satisfaction until Elizabeth came undone for him. “C’mon, love…let go for me..,” he groaned into her ear.

“Oh, Arthur..,” Elizabeth whined as she felt a snap of a metaphorical cord deep within her core. Arthur could feel her delicate walls convulsing around his throbbing member and it was enough for him to come undone. His teeth sank into the sensitive flesh of her neck as a muffled wail left his lips. His seed pulsed out of him and filled her entirely, their bodies throbbing together as they came down from their high.

The both of them were coated in sweat, their hair clinging to their faces. Arthur’s now lobcock slowly slips out of her wet heat and coated with her slick. He rolls over onto his back beside her, both of their chests heaving as they try to catch their breath.

“Bloody hell…should have yelled at you ages ago.” Elizabeth teased.

With a soft chuckle, Arthur turned onto his side, propping his head up with his hand. A cheeky smile turning up the corners of his lips as he brushed the back of his fingers across Elizabeth’s rouged cheeks. His voice was soft, a change that she could certainly get used to. “I’m glad you did,” he murmured as he kissed her softly. A love blossoming between them that started, without their knowledge, the moment Elizabeth introduced herself to Arthur.

[foundtherightwords]

The Road Forgotten - Chapter 9

Pairing: Arthur Havisham (Dickensian) x OFC

A/N: I made Arthur bisexual and paired him with a female character in this. I know some writers have gotten flack for pairing Arthur with a female character (or reader), so if it's not your cup of tea, please walk away.

This is mostly based on the events of "Dickensian", but I've also incorporated some elements and characters from "Great Expectations". Most notably, Satis House is in Kent (as in the book) instead of in London.

Summary: A few years after his plan to swindle his sister ended in tragedy, Arthur Havisham is a shadow of a man, living in guilt and fear. When Elsie Bradford, a young woman also wronged by Compeyson, enlists Arthur's help to hunt down his former partner-in-crime, Arthur must face his demons and other strange, new feelings, to redeem himself.

Warnings: slow burn, angst, guilt, revenge, psychological trauma, mention of prostitution, mention of suicide/suicide ideations, some violence, a bit of smut (in this chapter)

Chapter word count: 2.9k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Elsie had come back to St. Giles almost immediately, but she'd only stopped in the room long enough to grab the pistol and make sure the powder was dry, before retreating to the street corner to wait. She wasn't sure what she would do if Cyclops and the Chimney had captured Arthur and forced the address out of him. She trusted Arthur, but she had also seen what the thugs could do, how they could break men much stronger than Arthur. Or they could have simply followed him. She could take them by surprise, but there were two of them and only one of her, and the pistol would take time to load.  

By the time Arthur returned, she had destroyed her mitts with her fidgeting. The moment she saw him limping up the stairs, it had taken all of her self-control not to run to him immediately. He was hurt, badly by the looks of it, and it was all her fault. Her heart was screaming for her to go after him, to check on him. Eventually, she could no longer take it. If the two thugs had followed Arthur, she would just have to risk it.

She had to choke back a cry of alarm at the sight of Arthur collapsed in bed. He looked dead, with his hair limp around his blood-covered face, his clothes torn, and his skin so pale she could almost see through it. She saw her knife dropped on the floor, splattered with blood. She hoped it wasn't his blood. Only when she drew closer and saw his chest rise and fall in a shallow breath that Elsie let out her own breath of relief. He wasn't dead. He wasn't even unconscious—he was writhing and moaning, a clear sign of his usual nightmare. Then, still asleep, he reached for her hand, trying to hold it against his cheek. She heard him mumble her name, and, as she turned him over to wake him, she saw exactly why he was squirming. And it wasn't because of a nightmare.

She pulled her hand from his grasp and jumped up from the bed, her entire torso scorched by a deep flush. She was no stranger to such a view, yet for some reason, the fact that it was Arthur, and that she might be the one causing it, flustered her a great deal. Suddenly Arthur's behavior in the last few days became clear—his refusal to share the bed with her, his hostility toward Markham, his drunken outburst, the way he tried to protect her. Even Lady Staverley had seen it. And, Elsie had to admit, if she had let herself, she would have seen it too. She didn't need his arousal to tell her that he wanted her. For it hadn't just started in the last few days. Looking back, she could remember other signs, lingering looks and brief touches that seemed to mean more than she'd thought at the time, a sense of comfort and closeness. And now, desire as well.

But she hadn't let herself see it, because intimacy was the last thing on her mind while she was on the trail of the man who destroyed her world. She had already allowed herself to become much closer to Arthur than she'd intended. She didn't need this. She didn't want this. And yet... and yet... she couldn't deny there was a fluttering in her heart whenever she thought of him. There was also something else, something stronger than companionship or mere lust. Perhaps it was hope. She had lived in the past for so long that she'd forgotten what it was like to hope, but now, for the first time, she could think of the future, and it didn't look as bleak as it used to.  

A whimper from Arthur reminded her that their present was quite bleak still. Hope would not get her closer to Compeyson, or free her from Mrs. Hill's pursuit. It was no time to act all maidenly. She waited until the flush had receded from her face, then turned back to wake him up.

***

Once the water was heated, Elsie poured it into a basin and put it on the table, along with the ointment, the alcohol, and some towels. She then knelt down in front of Arthur, who was sitting up in bed. Slowly, methodically, keeping her eyes only on his injuries, she cleaned the blood off him with the hot water, then dabbed some alcohol on the cut on his cheek. He sucked in a breath.

"You were lucky," she said. "I've seen Cyclops gut a man with that blade."

"Would they kill you, if they caught you?" he asked.

"Oh, no." She knew exactly what they would do, she'd seen it. "They would probably kill you. And Marianne, if they could find her. And make me watch." She returned Arthur's horrified stare with a calm look. "And once my spirit was completely broken, Mrs. Hill would put me back to work. She never kills a perfectly good whore. That would be a waste."

Arthur winced, but not from his wounds. "Don't say that word. You're not—"

"Not what, a whore? But I used to be one. And I'm not ashamed of it." 

He gazed at her, his lips parting, perhaps to apologize, or to say something that he couldn't quite articulate. Trying her best to ignore that beseeching look, she reached for his shirt.

"What are you doing?" he said, shrinking from her.

"Taking off your shirt to put some camphor ointment on those bruises," she said matter-of-factly. She had to stay practical. She couldn't afford the distraction.

"I can do it myself," he said. But it soon became clear that he could barely lift his arms above his head. Elsie tut-tutted impatiently and yanked the shirt off.

"Ow," Arthur mumbled in protest, his head buried in the linen folds.

"Sorry." She lifted the shirt up more gently. Bruises had already started to form all over his torso. She dipped her fingers into the ointment and carefully rubbed it on the angry purple splotches, still avoiding his eyes. If she looked into his eyes, she would break down, and that would be of no help to anyone. "Tell me if it hurts."

He nodded, but though he grimaced once or twice, he never made a sound. Silence fell while Elsie slowly worked her way from his shoulders to his collarbone and down to his ribs. If it wasn't for the sharp smell of camphor in the air, this could almost be one of their usual easy nights in. She could almost imagine the two of them in some cozy cottage like Wemmick's castle, just sitting together. There would be no Compeyson, no revenge, no painful past. They could simply enjoy each other's company without having to say or do anything. Well, perhaps not quite without doing anything...

"Can you turn around?" she asked, to stop herself from thinking the unthinkable.

Arthur complied. Elsie's hand, about to dip back into the jar of ointment, froze. Spreading across his back, underneath the bruises, was a crisscross of faded white scars.

"Where did these come from?" she asked.

"... It was Compeyson."

"What?!"

"I—I did something foolish to anger him, so he beat me," Arthur said, his voice muted with shame. "With a belt."

Elsie recognized the pattern now—she had seen similar scars on one of the girls at Mrs. Hill's, Lillian, who had been lashed by a former employer. Mrs. Hills, who had bought Lillian for her other qualities despite her scars, never beat her charges, not wanting to mark them up and reduce their value. She preferred to terrorize them by inflicting emotional fears instead.

The idea of Compeyson lashing Arthur sent chills up Elsie's spine. Cruel, black-hearted beast!

"The gallows are too good for him!" she hissed.

"Do they look very bad?" Arthur asked.

"No, no," she quickly said. "They're fine."

Without really knowing why, perhaps to show him that the scars did not revolt her one bit, she lightly brushed her fingers across one of them. His breath caught. Slowly, she moved down and across his back, kissing each and every one of the scars with her fingertips, wishing she could brush them all away.

Arthur's back trembled, and he buried his face in his hands. Elsie paused. At the sight of his pain, her determination to stay rational vanished. She leaned down and gingerly put her arms around his torso, avoiding the worst of his bruises, and held him until his breathing evened out again. They sat like that for what seemed like a long time, her chest curved against his back, her head fitted into the hollow between his neck and shoulder, his hands on hers, their hearts beating as one.

After a while, Arthur spoke. "Elsie?"

"Yes?"

"May I... kiss you?"

Her heart skipped a beat, then calmed again. "Yes," she said.

He took one of her hands from his chest. Elsie thought he was freeing himself from her embrace so he could turn to face her, but he only lifted the hand to his lips and kissed her palm. The cheeky tease... But his lips were soft on her old calluses, calluses that had formed during the year she'd worked as a maid and never really went away, and his touch was sending warm tingles all through her body, so she couldn't complain.

Which was why she was taken completely by surprise when he spun around and clasped his mouth to hers.

So she hadn't imagined it. He had kissed her, and he was kissing her now, with a hand in her hair and the other on the small of her back, drinking her in, clinging to her as if afraid that she might slip from his grasp at any moment. And she was kissing him too, luxuriating in the soft caress of his mouth, the grip of his hand, and the scent of beeswax and lemon verbena from his hair... Was that hers? Or had they spent so much time together that her scent was rubbing off on him?

Soon, too soon, Arthur broke off the kiss. He buried his face in her neck, whispering, "I'm sorry."

"Why?" she asked, running her hands up his back, his neck, pressing him to her.

"I... I want you to feel safe with me."

"Why do you think I wouldn't?"

Arthur looked at her, his eyes wide and pleading. "Because—because I... I'm not who you think..."

"Because I thought you preferred the company of men?" Before he could answer, she cupped his cheeks, lifted his face, and put her forehead to his. "Arthur, I don't judge people by their private proclivity. And I do feel safe with you. Besides," she looked down at his lap and couldn't stop a naughty grin, "you like my company now, do you?"

He blushed crimson. "I do."

Their lips met again. Then his mouth left hers to travel down her neck, her shoulder, to the soft swells of her breasts, while his hands tugged impatiently at the hooks of her bodice. She reached down to help him. Once the gown was in a heap on the floor, they worked at her corset, her petticoats, her stockings, their hands frantic, fumbling, in a frenzy to get all of those layers off, until only her chemise was left. Then Arthur suddenly stood still, staring at her. He'd had the same look when he first saw her in the evening gown, a look Elsie knew now was of awe, wonder, and desire. She was struck by unexpected shyness. She had comfortably shared the bed with him many times wearing little more than this, yet now, faced with something new and exciting and unknown, she couldn't bring herself to undress in front of him. She had received plenty of looks of lust before, but never one mixed with such adoration, and it made her want to cry.

But she didn't cry. She peeled the chemise off her arms, first one, then another. Arthur tugged it off her shoulders, and the chemise dropped to the floor next to the gown. Her shyness forgotten now, Elsie stepped forward to help him out of his trousers. He took her into his arms and stumbled on to the bed, pinning her underneath him. There was a moment's confusion as they tried to arrange themselves amidst much creaking of the bedframe and tangling of bedclothes and nervous giggling, then Elsie took Arthur's hand to guide him to her, and all was quiet again.

The silence was broken as he slid inside her. Both let out a gasp, but it wasn't a gasp of pleasure as Elsie had anticipated. She winced a little and saw her reaction mirrored on Arthur's face.

"What is it?" he asked. "Does it hurt?"

"No, no exactly," she said. "Just... it's been some time. You?"

"It's this bruise, here."

He gestured to a darkening bloom under his skin, just above his right hip. She'd missed that. It probably hurt like the devil. She brushed her hand across the bruise, and he trembled slightly, from pleasure or pain she wasn't sure. She moved her hand lower. His trembles were definitely from pleasure now. "Perhaps you'd prefer...?"

But he shook his head slightly. "No," he said. "I mean, if you want to—but—but I wish to see you." He removed the ivy wreath that Elsie forgot she was still wearing and tugged a stray curl behind her ear. "To be with you. Not just take something from you."

Nobody had ever said that to her before. Elsie could feel affection and gratitude welling up in her chest. Slowly, she eased him onto his back, while still keeping their bodies connected, until they switched places. "Better?"

He nodded with a shaky breath. "You?"

She didn't answer, only rolled her hips a little, gently, trying it out, careful to avoid his bruises. A sound escaped him, somewhere between a moan and a sob. She paused, afraid she was hurting him, but he held on to her and said, in a desperate whisper, "Don't stop."

So she didn't. She kept moving, her body matching him naturally, perfectly, as he arched up to meet her, his head buried between her breasts, his hands kneading her back. There was no need to ask what he wanted, for somehow she knew, her body knew, and moved accordingly. She had never felt this way. She did cry then, not aloud, only with silent tears streaming down her face and heaving in her chest. Sensing rather than seeing her tears, Arthur lifted his head to look at her. "What's wrong?" he asked, grazing his fingers across her wet cheek.

"Nothing," she said and tried to smile.

How could she explain? In all the years at Mrs. Hill's, she had learned to give pleasure, but never to take it in return. It was just a mechanical, physical act, something outside of herself. She didn't realize how different it would be with someone she wanted. Someone she loved. Did she love him? She didn't know. All she knew was that when he looked at her like this, with so much tenderness and longing in those big brown eyes, her heart constricted with a pleasant ache that was almost physical, an ache that spread all through her in widening circles before gathering at her center, their center, giving strength to their touches, their kisses, their embrace. His thumb came to rest at the corner of her mouth and she parted her lips for him, tasting her tears on his skin. He moaned her name, and then that ache between them exploded, like a star shattering, blinding them with light and heat, leaving them shuddering and pulsing in its wake. 

The next thing she knew was that Arthur was lowering her on top of him, their hearts and their breaths slowing together. She shifted her weight a little so she wouldn't put too much pressure on his bruises. He tightened his arms around her. "Where are you going?"

"I'm not going anywhere," she reassured him. "I just don't want to hurt you."

"You're not hurting me," he said. "Please stay. Stay like this. Keep me down."

It was the same words he'd spoken in the midst of his night terror, and she looked at him to make sure he wasn't in the grip of another attack. He wasn't, but his eyes, shining in the candlelight, pierced her heart with that ache again, more painful than pleasant now. Why did he look like that, when they had just had this? Did he realize that they were on borrowed time? Had he just remembered that there was a dark shadow between them, pulling them apart even as it drew them together? But for once she didn't want to think about any of it, not now, not when they were still glowing in each other's arms. She laid her head on his chest, let her body melt into his, and felt him relax under her. "All right, Arthur," she whispered, as she had on their first night together. "I'll keep you down."

Chapter 10

Tagging @quinnypixie!

[tenderlywicked]

I'm watching Crime and Punishment with John Simm—and you know what? *banging my head against the keyboard* Of course, of course I got another Doctor Who plot bunny: a Dostoevsky/Dickensian setting, two fobwatched Time Lords struggling in a big filthy city, and there's a dollop of Victorian smut, obviously, along with the usual angst.

Harry Saxon is angry and bitter and disgusted with humanity in general. John, his friend and roommate, tries to inspire the good in him, but when they're both in dire need of money and Harry suddenly obtains it to pay the rent and get them food, John's afraid Harry has become a criminal. He tries to have a talk with him and preach and persuade him not to go down that path because he could be so much more, but he's not accusing Harry of anything outright in hope he will make a confession himself. And Harry confirms John's worst suspicions indeed as he swears not to do this again... except they're speaking of different things. Harry had nothing to sell but himself, and now John, his only friend and his only comfort, finds him sickening and damned, doesn't he?

[mayalaen]

20 questions for fic writers

Thanks to @hullosweetpea for tagging me!

First, my AO3

How many works do you have on AO3?

186

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

2,072,229 words (don't ask the count for fics NOT posted 😱)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Supernatural, Stranger Things, Fargo, Stargate 'verse, Hannibal, The Blacklist, Dickensian, Angel+Buffyverse and more

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Alpha House 'Verse, Resonance, Best Brother Ever, CONventional Psychopathy Part 1: Primary Deviance, and Try on for Size - all SPN fics

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do, but I get into weird moods where it's hard to do it, so I'll go for a while without responding and then do a bunch to catch up.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably Inside (SPN). It's short but gory and really not a happy ending.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I tend to leave things on a good feeling but I think the one that has the most whiplash type of oh shit this is bad to oh wow we're all good is Rewritten in the Stars.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

In comments and in anon messages sent on Tumblr, but I delete immediately because I refuse to feed trolls. For the most part readers are SUPER awesome and I really appreciate them!

9. Do you write smut?

Tons!

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Open Sesame Street Walker is by far the wackiest one. It's a choose your own adventure but every choice leads to insanity 😂

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yup. I wouldn't have minded any other fic being stolen because it's all fanfic, but this person managed to grab the ONE fic I'm also writing as original fic and it's a world that's been living in my head since I was like 9 years old. It means a lot to me, so to have someone take it and make money off it with the possibility of fucking up a future book deal sucks. Every time I get it taken down, she puts it back up a few weeks later.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I think there's at least one, possibly two fics translated.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I wrote one crackfic, but I'd love to write more with somebody. I think it would be fun.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

I can't say I have a favorite. I'm too much of a multishipper to pin down one in any fandom. The closest I can get is the OT3 of Leverage, Eliot/Hardison/Parker.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I really think I'm gonna finish all my WIPs. Might be delusional, but oh well.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialog. It's harder for me to put in a lot of description on surroundings because I always think it's going to be boring to the reader, which is silly.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Keeping it short and to the point. The only short fics I've written were crackfic.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

The closest I came to this is Castiel's noises in Resonance 'Verse. It's just animal noises. I don't think I'll ever attempt to actually write in another language. The most I would do is italics so it tells the reader it's spoken in another language.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Stargate SG1

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

It changes depending on mood, but right now it's Caging the Mongoose. It's not popular at all, but it's a Blacklist/SPN crossover and it's got all the things I love plus Dean is schizophrenic in it.

tagging (with no pressure or obligation): @actualalligator @unforth @ltleflrt @whataboutthefish @wheels-of-despair @peachonified @kallisto-k @lochnesswriter and anybody else who wants to play! Please tag me so I can see your stuff 💜

[warmaidensrevenge]

Request by @salenorona23​

Bill Skarsgard x plus!size reader

Joseph Quinn x plus!size reader

If you want to read my other work you can find it HERE

One of my request coming to life. Let me know if you catch my reference. It's pretty obvious I think.

Warnings: 18+ smut, smut, smuuuuhhhhtttt, language, angst, alcohol use and not proof read and no word count.

Summary: Being in love with Joseph Quinn is hard. But being his best friend is even harder.

🥺💍🍼💔🤍🤍🖤🤍🤍

The stars never seemed to align for you and Quinn. There was never a perfect time for you two to be together. See both of you were in love with each other. But neither one of you knew how the other felt. You fell in love with each other at the 2016 World Cup. That was almost 6 years ago.

You were gifted the tickets from your boss. You worked organizing Met Galas and award shows. You had vacation coming up and your boss thought it would be nice for you to go somewhere. But the thing was, the game was in South Africa. You had never left America. You barely left your house. You lived in a small subdivision in Reseda hills. It wasn't all fancy or anything. But it was yours and you were proud of your little home.

You didn't know how good your seats were until you were led to a damn skybox. You were shocked that this was what Shelly gave you. (Your boss) There was a hand full of people there you had never met or saw before. You gave a thin lip smile to those who nodded in your direction. You felt so out of place there. Everyone was either wearing a fancy suit or a very expensive dress. While here you are with holes in the knees of your faded blue jeans that always fit just a little too tight and just some random Star Wars shirt. It was a graphic tee that said save the forests with Ewoks just under it. You wore a pair of all black vans and had your hair up. You came as comfortable as you could be. You wanted to stuff your face with nachos and beer. Because well, it was your vacation. And you'll be damned if you didn't have fun.

You went to the buffet table and grabbed wings and nachos with a large glass of Stout. You hadn't noticed the guy staring at you from across the table. You went to your seat doing a silly dance while you munched on some nachos looking down at the game. Why anyone would sit this high was just stupid. You couldn't see shit. They looked like ants. So you opted to watch the screen that was filming the game live. You were so into it. Booing every time the team you didn't like scored.

You heard a laugh coming from somewhere but you didn't look. You hated people and you were sure whoever it was, was laughing at you. But he wasn't.

" Hello. I just wanted to tell you I love your shirt."

You looked up and saw the most beautiful man you have ever seen. You couldn't even say anything because your mouth was full with wings and chips. His eyes bore a hole in your heart.

" I'm Joe Quinn and you are?"

You covered your mouth and chewed vigorously to try and get the pieces small enough to go down. You knew exactly who he was. He was your favorite character in Dickensian. He wasn't crazy famous or anything or had a huge part in the show. But you recognize him. It was those damn chocolate button eyes. You would know them anywhere

" Hi. Umm I'm Y/N. It's nice to meet you." You said nervously holding out your sweaty ass had to shake his. But to your surprise his hand was just as sweaty as yours if not more.

"Mind if I sit with you?"

" Umm no not at all. Be my guest." You said gesturing to the seat next to you.

You offered him some nachos and he accepted with a grin that had you the moment he put it on. But, that feeling you had that day and everyday since was kept all to yourself. Your relationship with Quinn was entirely platonic. There were times when he would have a girlfriend and it would always break your heart. So in order to try and not to be so sad you would date too. But then you would break up with them as soon as you found out that Quinn was single again.

The friendship was hard to say the least. He lived in London while you lived in LA. Every time he got a role that brought him close to you. He would stay with you. See he was in love with you too. But he never said anything because he was worried that he wouldn't be good enough for you. Some C list actor who only got very small roles. So he tried to move on as well. But just like you. When he found out that you were single he would be single. But for some reason there was a disconnect.

You guys had moments where there might be something more than just friendship. But you or him played it off. Thinking it was just a joke. It wasn't until after Quinn filmed Stranger Things when he got serious with someone. Of course he would be with some stupid beautiful supermodel. Together they could have stupid beautiful sex, and stupid beautiful kids and live in a stupid beautiful big house.

The relationship didn't seem all that serious since he never really talked about her. But one phone call in the middle of October changed everything.

" Hello love. Where have you been? I've been trying to reach you about your cars extended warranty."

You laughed. " Hey Quinn."

" Hey. So I have news."

" Oh? And I have ears. Let's hear it."

" So, I have decided. I'm going to propose to Clara."

" What!"

" Yeah. I think it's time for me to settle down. I'm almost 30. And I would like to start my family soon."

You could feel the color drain from your face as your heart sank to the floor. His words felt like a punch in the nose. Your eyes watered. And he continued to ramble on about it.

" Y/n hello...are you there?"

" Y-yeah. S-sorry. Just wow! I can't believe it. I-I'm-I'm so happy for you."

" What's wrong love?"

" Uh nothing..it's just umm ... It's late Quinn."

" Right. I'm sorry. I keep forgetting we are in different time zones. Get some sleep love. I'll see you at the masquerade ball."

" Right."

" Goodnight love."

" Night."

As soon as you hung up you ran to the bathroom and threw up. " Now you've done it. Stupid. Stupid."

You sat on the ground next to the toilet crying until you fell asleep

...

You hadn't slept well since the conversation. It's been 2 weeks since, and tonight was the party. And surprise surprise. Quinn didn't show up to yet another party you hosted. You understood his schedule changed a lot ever since Eddie Munson. But not this much. No one would ever understand how much it hurts getting that apology text from him. How your heart broke every fucking night knowing he would never be yours.

But tonight you actually had fun. Someone actually took your mind off of Quinn for a brief moment in time.

You were standing near the refreshment table making sure everything was full when something got in your eye. You weren't sure if it was dust or an eyelash. Whatever it was it hurt like a bitch. You stood off to the side taking off your mask rubbing your eye.

" Jesus...owww."

" Here let me help."

Someone grabbed your face and held your eye open blowing into it.

But ok like what the fuck?

As soon as he let go you felt so much better. You blinked a few times just for good measure.

" Uhh thanks."

" No problem....hey I know you."

You looked at the tall slender guy. You didn't know him on account of the mask.

" Oh?"

" Yeah you're the one who sewed on my button a few months ago at the Met Gala."

" Hmm I sowed a lot of buttons that night."

He took off his mask and smiled. Yup you remembered him.

" Oh yes. I remember now. Bill Skarsgard. You were wearing Louis Vuitton suit with the silk red lining."

" Yes!...so what's your name?"

" Oh I'm sorry. It's y/n. Y/n l/n."

" Very nice to meet you. Say uhh you look like you wanna duck out. I do too. I just come to these things for the mini sandwiches."

"is it that obvious?"

" yeah kinda."

" I would love to. But I'm hosting tonights event. I can't just leave."

" Hmm what if I take you somewhere where you could still keep an eye on things. But be far from everyone else."

" Doubt it. I know this place like the back of my hand."

He laughed." Alright if I'm wrong then you have to let me buy you dinner."

" And if you're right?"

" Then you have to buy me dinner."

" Ha. Alright."

You watched him grab 2 bottles of wine.

" Uhh can you grab that tray of sandwiches?"

You laughed. " sure"

To your surprise Bill did have a spot that you never found before. Since you were afraid of heights you never thought of hiding up in the rafters above the stage. Being with Bill made you feel safe though. The conversation you two had kept your mind from wondering. 

After that night you had many “Dates” with Bill. His natural charm was all too enticing. He was also incredibly hot. You didn’t think he was actually into you. See you were a “Big” girl and though it never really bothered you, it was hard to find someone who wanted to be with you and not just a one nightstand. But one night 2 months after hanging out, Bill and you went to a bar with live music. He had grabbed your thigh in his big hand send chills down your spine. At the end of the night Bill drove you home. You were sexually frustrated by now. It had been almost a year since the last time you got some. So tonight Bill just looked too damn good to resist. You had kissed a few times but you would never spend the night at his place or invite him in. But tonight, it was going to happen.

The moment you stepped into your house you pounced. You stripped off his clothes as you kissed. He tore off the buttons of your shirt and took off your bra and dropped down to his knees, unbuttoning your pants taking them and your panties in one go. He kissed your tummy and around to your hips. You leaned back against the door as he lifted your leg over his shoulder. 

“ohhh” you moaned as he slipped his fingers between your folds tracing circles around your aching clit.

“mmm baby you’re so wet for me.” he cooed before giving you a long strip lick from your throbbing cunt up to the bundle of nerves. “Fuck! You taste so good.”

“ Shh. Be quiet and lick...Please.”

Bill laughed as he continued to eat you out. 

“OHH FUCK!!!” you mewled throwing your head back as he stuck his fingers deep into your sopping cunt.

In the matter of seconds he had you cumming. He finger fucked you through your climax giving you kisses on your inner thigh. “ Yes baby. Cum on my fingers....Oh yeah. Just like that.”

Once you caught your breath you took your leg off his shoulder. You saw him put his soaked fingers into his mouth licking them clean of your juices. This only made you want him again. You pushed him down to his back and got on top of him. He sat up to kiss you. He was being so gentle with you. As if you were some porcelain doll. He lifted you up just a bit to guide his tip to your entrance. You slowly sank down into his lap moaning into his mouth. He was big. The biggest you’ve ever had. You had to stop to get used to him at the halfway point. He looked up at you worried.

“Are you ok? We can stop. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You stared into his big green eyes. He really did mean it. Whatever was going on with you two it was definitely more than just what was going on right now. You kissed him gently and started to rock and roll your hips. Your lips never leaving his. Well not until he turned you around to lay you on your back. He lifted your leg resting the back of your knee in the crook of his arm. 

His desperate groans mixed with your gasps filled the air as he went deeper and deeper into you. Your eyes rolled back as he hit your sweet spot. The sad part in all of this, was that this was the first time anyone has touched that spot deep inside of you. The more he pressed up into you the louder you got. Tears fell from your eyes from pure pleasure. You got closer and closer to your release with every thrust of his hips.

 The sound of his balls smacking your ass was the sweetest sound he has ever heard. Bill wanted you from the very moment he blew in your eye. He had dreamed of the beautiful girl who sowed his button for him months ago. And when he saw you at the event he absolutely had to talk to you. Now he was 10 inches deep in your tight pussy and he was in heaven. You were his dream girl. Beautiful and smart, and so fucking sexy. He fell in love with you way before this night. But tonight confirmed it for him. He wanted you forever and he planned on it.

You felt yourself clenched as he slowed his thrust but kept pounding into you. You let the wave of your climax wash over you while you felt his hot cum buried deep inside you. Your legs shook as he pumped the last of his load. He let go of your thigh slowly putting it down so that he wouldn’t overwhelm your senses. He laid down on top of you staring into your eyes stroking your hair. He smiled at you and you returned it.

...

Many weeks were just like that. Bill made bittersweet love to you night after night. You hadn't expected to fall for him. But, fell you did. Falling hard. The relationship became more and you could not have been happier. Quinn was still part of your life but very minimally. He was so busy with planning the wedding that he only sent you morning and goodnight texts.

But it wasn't until 7 months later did he try to call. He had just called off the wedding. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't marry Clara, because he loved you. He knew you were getting serious with Bill but not to the extent like he was with Clara. That night he called and called. But when you didn't respond he booked the first flight out to LA.

You always answered Quinn's calls. But on this particular night you didn't. That was because while Quinn was calling, Bill was on one knee asking you to be his wife. You had expected it since you found the ring in his loft one night 3 months ago. You happily said yes. That night he took you home and led you to your room that was decorated with flowers and twinkle lights.

Bill sat on your bed staring at you getting undressed. He grinned at the sight of love bites he left all over your chest. He was madly in love with you. He couldn't believe such a goddess agreed to marry him.

You walked to him giving him kiss after kiss while you undressed him. Once both were bare you laid down as he kissed down your neck and on your collar bone. His hand dipped down to your sex. He groaned against your skin because of how wet you still got for him. He wanted to lick you clean but tonight he wasn't going to take you like before. He was going to take it nice and slow. Your heavy sighs and the sound of your wetness were music to his ears.

He moved his hand away to line himself up to your entrance.

"You want this baby?"

"Mmm yes please."

" Anything for the future Mrs Skarsgard."

He entered you slowly.

" I love the sound of that." You said letting yourself adjust to his size. " Mrs. Y/n Skarsgard."

" You know what I love the sound of?"

" hmmmm?"

" This" he whispered while hitting his favorite spot in you.

You made a deafening gasp as he hit your sweet spot. The spot that makes your toes curl and arches your back. He was just too good at this.

He pulled out completely, then rammed in hard. Sending shooting pains of pleasure throughout your body. He sent you to heaven with every delicious thrust. You did your best to kiss him and keep your hands accountable but you were so blinded by the ecstasy Bill was providing. The knot building deep down made its way to the surface. You came long and hard. Bill kept going until you came again. It was then and only then he finally let himself cum deep inside you.

He went so deep, he put your ass to sleep. You were out like a light after. He held you while he drifted off.

"I love you y/n."

...

You guys slept late into the afternoon. When you finally got up, you and Bill took a bath together. He washed your hair making one long spike with shampoo. You made him a beard with all the bubbles. You laid in his arms until the water got cold.

"I have to go and promote Barbarian tonight. I won't be back too late. If you want you can come."

" I can't. I have a lot of work to do for fashion week." You said while drying your hair.

"Okay baby. I'm gonna make you coffee before I leave."

" Yessss. The nectar of the gods. I'll be there in a minute."

Bill came to kiss you. " We're getting married."

"Yes we are." You lifted up to kiss him back.

Joe was walking up your driveway and saw a Mercedes where your car normally parked. He got to the front door and knocked. He was met with a shirtless Bill.

"Joe! What a nice surprise? Does y/n know you were coming?"

"Uh no mate. Umm I should have called. I'll come back later."

"Nah man. Come in. She should be out any second. I made some coffee. Come in and have a cup."

" Uhh no that's fine I'll-"

" Hey babe. What do you think of an October wedding? I'm obsessed with a spooky themed wedding."

Joe saw you coming out of your room with just a red and black flannel and panties with a shirt in your hand. The moment you saw him you tugged the hem of your shirt to cover your thighs. He wanted to tell you to stop. That he loved your thighs. That he has always loved them. He remembered that time you guys were wrestling and somehow you had his head locked between your thighs. He could have swore he died and went to heaven.

"Quinn! Dude what the hell?"

" Hello love. I'm sorry I tried calling yesterday."

"No no please come in."

" Alright baby I gotta go."

" Uhh yeah. Here." You said handing Bill the shirt.

" Thanks baby. Love you. Joe, good to see you bud."

You cupped Bill's face and kissed him goodbye. Joe looked away but then immediately looked back. He saw a gigantic diamond on your ring finger. He wasn't even paying attention to what you said earlier. He saw Bill get in his car and leave.

" Hey I'm gonna put on some pants. I'll be right back."

Joe nodded and watched as you walked away. He closed the door and went to sit down. You came back and he stood up.

" Oh Quinn I've missed you."

You went to hug him. He held you so tight breathing you in.

" I've missed you too."

After a super long conversation he didn't tell you how he felt. You were so happy that he didn't want to ruin that for you. He had told you about Clara and you hugged him for so long. He thought maybe just maybe you felt the same. But when you pulled away you looked at your ring and had the most beautiful smile he has ever seen. It broke his heart. After a week in LA he went home. He was so lost that he really couldn't get out of bed. It was a month later when he received a save the date. He honestly didn't want to got. But he had to. You were his best friend and he couldn't do that to you. He hoped something would come up so that he could have an excuse to not go. He prayed for it.

...

2 and a half months later you were sitting in a party bus with Bill. He was holding you as you snuggled up against him. You guys had decided to have a bachelor party together. Bill really didn't want to celebrate the night without you. So he and his buddies and some of your close coworkers and sisters all went out for drinks and food.

Your sisters kept trying to give you drinks but you were content with just soda. You were actually so nervous. You had a secret that you had planned on tell Bill tonight. Your friends had rented a private room at some fancy strip club. The guys said they hired a stripper just for you tonight. You looked over to Bill and shook your head.

" I don't want one."

" Don't worry baby. It will be fine. If you want I will stay with you."

"Please. I don't want him to get too handies. I really don't know how I feel if some random guy thrusting his junk in my face."

" Don't worry. I'll handle it when it comes to that."

You gave him a thin lip smile. Everyone but you and Bill left the room. You sat there nervously while Bill poured you and himself a drink. Music randomly came on and Bill handed you the glass. You set it down on the table to the side of you. That's when he spread your legs apart with his knee. He got between your thighs and started dancing.

" Uhhh what?"

" Shh. I heard you were getting married soon." He said rolling his body to the beat.

" Umm yeah."

He dipped down to kiss you and continued to take off his shirt. You sat there and instantly felt hot and bothered.

" Mmm you look so good tonight. I might just have to take you here and now. I hope your fiance won't mind."

" I'm sure he won't." You said softly as you touched his body.

You could see how hard he was already. Your mouth water. You pulled him into the seat next to you and straddled him grinding your core against his huge bulge. He held onto your waist with one hand and the other was massaging your breast. You were kissing him with such need you could feel your undies becoming soaked.

It was when you had your shirt and bra off when you pull away a bit.

" Baby I have something to tell you."

He hummed in your neck while kissing you and biting you there.

" Baby. I'm pregnant."

He pulled away slowly and cupped your face meeting your gaze with his big green eyes that you love so much.

"Are you serious? Are you having my baby?"

You nodded and gave him a sweet smile.

"My baby is having a baby! Wow! How much luckier can I get? I get a wife and a baby."

You giggled and he smothered you with kisses. He helped you to lay down on the couch you were on. He unbutton his pants pulling them down to his thighs. His penis smacked against his stomach. You could have came at the sight of it. He lifted your skirt a little and ripped your panties off tossing them somewhere. He didn't even give you time to adjust when he rammed himself into you. Hit that spot. Your gasps rang out as he fucked you harder and harder. His mouth moving from nipple to nipple. He put his arm under your arched back to lift you a bit so he could have a better grip on you. Your tits bouncing in his face with every deep thrust.

" Oh fuck that's my girl. Shit baby. God I want to cum so bad."

" Bill please. I'm so close." You whimpered

" Fuck!" He growled as your warm slick walls hugged him so tight.

Your cum drenched him as his filled you. You rolled your hips a little to get every last drop of his love out. As you both came down from you high he laid on top of you. Kissing the sore parts of your chest.

" Baby. Do you think we can move up the wedding before I start to show?"

He lifted his head and smirk. " Let's do it tonight."

You giggled. "No. How about 2 weeks? I need to call my parents to see if they can get here. Just a small wedding yeah?"

" Anything my babies want." He said moving to kiss your tummy.

You smiled. " We want ice cream."

He quickly got up pulling up his pants. " Let's go. Can't keep my boy waiting."

...

"Quinn. What are you doing next week Friday?"

" Hello to you too love."

" Oh shit. I'm sorry. Hi"

He chuckled watching you get flustered on facetime.

" I don't know what I'm doing. I think I'll just visit my mum."

" Perfect! Do you think you can come here?"

" Uhh why?"

"Bill and I moved up the wedding and I need you to walk me down the aisle."

His heart sank. He couldn't keep his face from losing it's smile that you put there.

" Why-why so soon? What about your parents?"

" They are on a cruise and they won't be back in time. Common Quinn please. I need you."

He forced a smile. " i-i"

Your pleading eyes did it for him. He had to go. He had to stop this. You were suppose to be with him.

" Okay love. I'll be there."

" Promise?"

He gave you a halfhearted smile. " I promise."

" Please don't flake on me."

" Why would I?"

" Because you always do. You don't know how sad I get when you send me the 'Im sorry I can't make it' texts."

" I'm sorry love."

" It's okay. I mean if you came to the masquerade ball I would probably be marrying you instead. " You laughed.

He laughed nervously. Was that true? Did he lose you that night?

" Please Joe. Please don't flake on me."

He knew when you called him that it was dire for him to listen.

" I will be there."

...

Joe was waiting for you in the dressing room. You were finished the last touches to your hair in the bathroom. You had found a small chapel that could perform the ceremony in such a short notice. He was pacing trying to find the right words to say to get you to call it off. That's when you came out.

" How do I look?"

Joe was weak at the sight of you in a flowing white gown. You had never looked so beautiful.

" Heavenly."

You gave him a sweet smile. " Thank you....okay I'm ready."

You started to walk towards the door when Joe stopped you.

" Y/n I need to say something and please let me finish before you say anything."

You turned to face him.

"My love. Please don't do this. I know this is not the best time to do this...but I need you to know how much I love you. I have loved you since I met you. And I know you must love me too. Please don't marry him. Please be with me. I can't live without you anymore. Please my love. Don't do this."

He could see tears forming in your eyes and your breath starting to hitch.

"Quinn....I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. We could just leave right now."

" No Joe. I'm sorry but it's too late. You're right I do love you. And I always will. But I'm in love with Bill and I want to be his wife... I need you to understand that."

" No please y/n. Don't say it's too late. It's never too late for us."

" Joe....it is....I'm pregnant...that's why we moved up the wedding."

He couldn't believe his heart could hurt anymore than it did right now. How could he have been so stupid? He should have told you a long time ago. If he had, you would be carrying his child right now.

" Love it's okay. If you allow me. I will raise the baby as my own."

" Quinn please stop." You moved forward to hug him. " You know we can't do that. Please be happy for me. I need my best friend. Just be my best friend."

His tears came as he held you. He knew it was over. He knew he couldn't have you.

" I'm sorry love. I'm so sorry I didn't get to you sooner."

You leaned back and kissed him gently on his mouth.

" I'm sorry too."

He sighed and wiped his tears. "Do you think that one day we will both be in the same place and we could be together?"

You looked into his eyes and smiled. " I don't know. And I don't want to think about that right now. I just want to get married."

He nodded and pulled away from your arms.

"Alright my love. Let's get you to Bill." He sniffled

You went to him giving him a kiss on the cheek.

" Thank you."

...

Joe stood there listening to you and Bill exchange vows. All he could do was be happy for you. He would always hate himself for not telling you he loved you sooner. He watched with everyone as you and Bill drove away. He cried watching his soul mate leave him. He hoped that one day. You would come back to him. He promised he would always wait for you. That he would always love you.

[rocknrollbabe14]

I just want to take a moment and thank everyone for the love and support.

I have received a few requests and am actively working on them. I do have a full time job so I do this as a hobby and a form of stress release.

I am taking requests for:

-Joseph

-Eddie (Stranger Things)

-Tom (Make-Up)

-Paul (Catherine the Great)

-Leonard (Howard’s End)

-Ralph (Timewasters)

-Arthur (Dickensian)

-Billy (C.B Strike)

I will write smut I’m not shy 🤣

Inbox me requests!!!

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

Hi I just wanted to comment and tell you I am absolutely DEVOURING your Jane Murdstone fic on ao3! I feel like you nailed the characterization spot on and it doesn’t just feel like a Lucifer repeat (Violet soul was also so so good; I think I just have a soft spot for Victorian lesbians though) so yeah cheers! 🌸

hi hello lovely anon!!!!!!!!

akdsjfhb thank you so much for your kind comment it really makes my day to hear something like this!!! <3 i am really glad it doesn't read that way, i would hate to repeat myself (plus i find writing a similar thing twice very boring lol) hahah -- i really try to make each thing i write feel as unique as i can with my current writing abilities (plus english is NOT my 1st language haha, and i am always afraid i will not be able to provide quite enough variety in my phrasing, vocabulary etc. -- i try extra hard to venture out of my comfort zone on that front). i got reaaally invested in researching 1860s england for this fic, as well as poetry from the time lol, but that's how i like to write my smut -- get invested in and agonise over the Plot(TM) and Literary Themes And Motifs(TM) and then i also make them fuck you know hahahaha. i try to have fun with it -- i also love me some victorian lesbians!!!! i am currently in the process of writing chapter 4 and it's a bizarre thing to basically write smut about a dickensian villain -- i have to make it at least a little bit weird, as a treat, am i right?? :) plus victorians were kinda unhinged as a general rule lady jane says snip snip give me your hairrrr

anygay, thank you once again for leaving me such a lovely message <3 it was a treat to wake up to that!!! <3 take care :*

[lex-drinks-blood]

Hey if requests are still open can I request a bottom!arthur smut. I'm not picky just something soft with praises. I just want him to feel loved 😭😭

I will try my best but I will letchu know that I have not written smut before and i did not originally intent to ever do so. However, I will make an attempt because arthur just needs some sweet and gentle love. So this is my best attempt, I hope you still like it!!

Arthur Havisham X Male Reader: smut, praise kink, submissive bottom!arthur, teasing

Warning(s): I mean its smut so yknow... the sexy stuff

"Ah- m-my god," Arthur panted through stifled moans, "pl-please just t-touch me. I- ah- need you so b-ah-bad."

You chuckled darkly as you continued to place sloppy kisses to his, now bare, upper thighs. His now spit covered thighs were sure to be littered with shades of reds and purples tomorrow, but that didn't matter right now. What mattered right now was that Arthur Havisham, heir to the Havisham estate and brewery, town pretty boy, had his fingers buried in your hair as he begged you to touch him in the most sinful ways imaginable.

"Tell me what you want, my love," soft kisses and gentle touches to his thighs and hips separated your statements to him, "just use your words for me."

Arthur could barely stand to look at you. Having you kneeled between his legs with dark eyes staring up at him as you placed gentle touches and sinful kisses on his exposed lower half everywhere except where he wanted you was driving him absolutely mad as he sat on your shared mattress. The sight alone was enough to make the butterflies in his stomach flutter, threatening him with erotic release before you had even began to touch him.

"Please," he paused to stifle another, softer, moan, "I need you so bad."

The boy was almost tearing up as you removed yourself from his thighs and looked up at him, and he looked so perfect. You swore you had never seen a sight more beautiful than the Havisham heir as he sat on your bed, shirt already half-unbuttoned, pants lost somewhere to the left of you, as he fought himself to find the words to beg you to put your hands on him.

"Are you sure that's what you want, Havisham?" you asked playfully, "People will surely talk, yknow," a gentle sarcasm coated your words.

"I don't care what they say," he spoke as he took your hand in his, "I just want you. Now. More than anything I have ever wanted in my entire life."

This time you responded with sincerity as you took your place on your knees, "And you're sure about this, right?" your eyes locked in unwavering eye contact with him, awaiting his response.

"Absolutely bloody positive."

That was all the convincing you needed to finally proceed with the act you two had performed together so many times before.

The second your hands met his aching erection he was already involuntarily bucking his hips into your hand as he became a moaning and whimpering mess.

"My needy boy," you cooed affectionately, stroking his cock oh-so gently, "Always so pretty for me," this time you quickened your pace as you spoke.

"Just for- ah- for y-you," he cried, attempting to lessen the subtle movements of his hips into your hand.

"You promise?" you looked up at him for a moment, strokes slowly losing speed as you stared expectantly, awaiting a verbal reply.

"Ah- yes, a-always," he cried, fighting to stifle the other unholy noises that threatened to leave his body

You were sure Arthur wasn't going to last much longer at this rate. He was already shiny with sweat, making his blonde curls stick to his forehead as he leant his head back in pleasure.

"Arthur, baby, can you look at me for a minute?" you strokes almost stopped for an agonizing moment, "Let me see those pretty eyes of yours, hm?"

He looked down at you, biting his lip so hard a small amount of blood began to pool around his left canine.

"Do you think you can handle if I do something different?" your hand was still moving at a slow pace around him as your thumb collected the precum leaking from his tip before dragging the sticky substance down the rest of him.

"L-like what?" he said, his hands gripping the sheets at eithier side of him in tight fists.

You slowly released your grip from him and dragged your hand gently down his thigh before speaking again.

"My mouth."

Arthur looked like he was ready to bust right then and there as he frantically nodded his head, still biting his now bloodstained lip.

You spoke softly for a moment, hand still trailing stripes up and down his thighs, "Can I make a request first?"

"Darling, I will do anything for you. Always," he looked at you with so much love in his eyes that it almost made you dizzy.

"Keep making those pretty noises for me."

Again, you were met with frantic nods and with that, your lips were wrapped around the tip of Arthur's cock almost instantaneously, tongue swirling the remaining precum you had left behind earlier down the length of his erection.

If you hadn't noticed your own hard-on earlier, you were surely aware of it now. The guttural noises that leaked from the Havisham's mouth as he entangled his fingers in your hair were absolutely intoxicating. You found yourself rutting into nothing as you bobbed your head up and down the younger man's cock, absolutely basking in his and your own pleasure.

"So- ah- so good. Please don't-" he was cutoff by his own moans again, "don't stop. I'm so- ah- oh my god, I'm so close."

You could feel Arthur bucking into your mouth as he started to fall apart under your touch. The way his tip slammed into the back of your throat brought tears to your eyes, but there was no way you were taking your mouth off of him. Not yet. Not while he was practically screaming your name. Not while he was shoving himself deeper and deeper into your mouth. Not while his fingers tangled themselves in your hair, almost as if trying to push his cock even further into you. Not while he was making the most beautiful noises you had ever heard. No, you weren't stopping now. Not until Arthur begged you to.

And just as you had requested, Arthur had given up on silencing himself as he came close to his release. His moans and whimpers and cries filled the room as tears threatened to spill from his eyes at the overwhelming pleasure he was experiencing. No one made him feel the way you did. No one would ever get on their knees for him like this. Take him into their mouth like this. Use their tounge the way you did. No one would gag around his cock and still keep going. No one would ever make him cum like this.

When the time finally came for Arthur's long awaited release, he was practically melting in your hands like putty. His head leaned back as his hips spasmed under him. As his white, hot cum expelled from his body, you caught as much as you could possibly handle on your expert tounge. You licked off all of the cum that seemed to have dribbled out of your mouth and onto his cock and thighs, and without breaking eye contact, you swallowed every single drop.

You took a second to collect yourself before standing up to meet Arthur's eyes as you stood over him, "You were so perfect for me, Havisham," you pushed his hair back from his sweaty forehead, "Such a good boy for me today."

Arthur could barely breath as his chest heaved from the overstimulation, "What about," he paused for air, "What about you?"

You were so caught up in the taste of Arthur that you had already forgotten about your own erection.

In fact, you had yet to even realize that you had already came in your pants until Arthur eyes led you somewhere else, "Did you..." his voice trailed off as your eyes followed his to the wet patch left in your pants.

You chuckled lightly, "Look at what you've done to me, Havisham!"

"I can clean you up if you want! I can do the laundry tonight! I can-" you hushed him with a gentle finger over his lips.

"My sweet sweet boy, I will have no such thing," you sighed, your finger slowly leaving his mouth before your lips replaced it, "Now come here and let me get us both cleaned up."

This is definitely not my best work, as I am not nearly as experienced in writing smut as I am with writing general fiction, but I hope it was still ok!! If you have any advice I'd love to hear it honestly. But yes, ig that's really it, I hope you liked it! As always, my requests are open in my asks and in the comments, so feel free!

[shecagobaby]

Joseph and female co-star on costume running and playing on set and being scolded for making a lot of noise. So sweet 💓

Yes! I love this idea! We love a soft playful Joe!

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"Joseph, stop!" I giggled as he chased me to set. My heart was racing trying to out run him. I squealed as he caught me by the waist, lifting me up and placing sloppy kisses along my cheek. I desperately tried to pull down my dress as he spun me around, the frilly material riding up. "You're going to mess up my make up!"

He gave a toothy grin against my cheek, "don't care."

Joseph had been particularly rambunctious today, starting when we woke up. He awoke and immediately blew a raspberry on my cheek, startling me awake. I laughed loudly, "You don't care but Jen is going to kill me." He put me down on the ground, spinning me around in his arms. I was greeted by a goofy smiling Joe in his Eddie wig. I can't lie and say that Joseph in long dark hair and ripped jeans wasn't extremely sexy. I grabbed onto the side of his hellfire shirt and pulled him closer, "you're ridiculous, you know that?"

He placed a kiss to my nose before gently biting down on it, "you're adorable, ya know that?" he said mocking my accent.

I nudged him and rolled my eyes, "fuck you," I groaned.

His smile turned devilish, "wish ya would," he said before squeezing my waist. I squealed and ran from him again, "oh no you don't," he said running after me. I looked back at him and smiled, he looked drop dead gorgeous as his long locks flew around his face. I laughed before I saw him stop in his tracks, "shit!"

And just like that, I collided with Ross Duffer, almost knocking me to the ground, "God, will you two stop. Y'all have been terrorizing the set all morning," Ross spoke as Joe came and stood next to me. We gave each other an 'oh shit,' look. Ross rolled his eyes, "Y/N, go to make up for a touch up."

We both mumbled a sorry as Ross walked away. I elbowed Joseph hard in the ribs, I smiled when I heard him grunt. "You got me in trouble," I groaned.

"Sorry, love," he grabbed my cheeks and kissed my lips, feeling myself already forgiving him. He pulled away, "see ya on set," he said placing a hard slap on my ass.

I rolled my eyes as I walked away, "unbelievable," I mumbled as I headed to the make up trailer. I bit my lip trying not to smile, excited to joke around with Joseph as soon as I was done in make up.

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This was my first short blurb, so I hope you enjoy! Just wanted to keep it short and cute <3 also my inbox is wide open for any blurbs or one shots you'd like to read (both smutty and fluff) while I work on my 'Love of My life' series!

[decodedlvr]

everytime I see this scene; I’d imagine he’s squeezing his thighs together relieving the..pressure 🥴 just look..

Reblogs appreciated:>

[foundtherightwords]

The Road Forgotten - Chapter 8

Pairing: Arthur Havisham (Dickensian) x OFC

A/N: I made Arthur bisexual and paired him with a female character in this. I know some writers have gotten flack for pairing Arthur with a female character (or reader), so if it's not your cup of tea, please walk away.

This is mostly based on the events of "Dickensian", but I've also incorporated some elements and characters from "Great Expectations". Most notably, Satis House is in Kent (as in the book) instead of in London.

Summary: A few years after his plan to swindle his sister ended in tragedy, Arthur Havisham is a shadow of a man, living in guilt and fear. When Elsie Bradford, a young woman also wronged by Compeyson, enlists Arthur's help to hunt down his former partner-in-crime, Arthur must face his demons and other strange, new feelings, to redeem himself.

Warnings: slow burn, angst, guilt, revenge, psychological trauma, mention of prostitution, mention of suicide/suicide ideations, some violence (in this chapter), a bit of smut (implied smut toward the end of this chapter)

Chapter word count: 2.8k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Arthur saw Elsie duck back into the alley, her face deathly white, her whole body shaking like a leaf. "What is it?"

"They found me. I don't know how, but they found me."

He didn't need to ask who she meant. Taking her hand, he pulled her toward the other end of the alley, where it ended in a courtyard. He helped her over the short gate and into a series of labyrinthine lanes and pathways and yards that went behind and between houses. Through these they ran blindly, taking any turn they came upon, not caring where they were going as long as they put some distance between themselves and the two thugs, not stopping until they came upon a gate too tall to climb over. Here they paused to take a breather, straining their ears for any noise behind them. There were footsteps. Still far away, but definitely footsteps, coming closer, inevitably, inexorably. And they were trapped in a dead end.

"Who are these men?" Arthur asked. "Who do they work for? What did you do that made them hunt you so?"

"Does it matter?" Elsie said impatiently, rattling the bars of the gate in vain.

"Perhaps we could bribe them, or pay them off in some way..."

She snorted. "Not unless you have five thousand pounds lying around."

Arthur's heart sank when he remembered he'd once had twice that amount in his hands and had given it away to Compeyson, in a misguided attempt to pay for his sins. It hadn't worked. If only he still had it now. He could've saved Elsie. "What did you do?" he repeated.

Elsie turned to him. She seemed to have come to a decision.

"Do you remember what I told you about how I managed to leave Mrs. Hill's employment?" she said.

"The rich old gentleman?"

"There was no rich old gentleman," she said. "I ran away. I stole from her." She stopped and corrected herself. "No, I didn't steal. I only took what was owed me." And then the words came rushing out, in a cramped, urgent whisper, "It was the money I earned during my eight years there, one year as a maid and seven years as a whore. I made her piles and piles of gold and I never saw a sliver of it. So I took what was mine and I ran. I had to move Marianne three times before I found an asylum remote enough. But I had to come back to London to find Compeyson. And now she's sniffed me out." She took his hands. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I'm sorry I dragged you into this."

Arthur supposed he should have been angry that she kept this from him. But he only felt a sense of awed admiration, even more than what he'd already had for her, and utter shame at himself for sneering at her just a few days ago, for saying that she only knew how to charm men. She had forgiven him for his drunken rant, but he still wanted to make it up to her somehow. That night, he hadn't been able to bring himself to say what he wished he could do for her. He wished he could love her. He wished he could protect her. He wished he could make her feel safe and comfortable, so he never had to wake up to find her fidgeting in bed next to him again. But none of those things would make a difference now.

The footsteps were getting closer.

"Here," he said, kneeling down and clasping his hands together to form a step in front of her. "I can give you a boost."

"What about you?"

"I'll hold them off. You go."

"No!" She held on to his coat. "I told you, don't try to be a hero. They'll kill you."

He had to smile at that. If she only knew how much he'd longed for death before he met her. Back then, death would have been a release. Now he no longer craved it, but he would consider it a worthwhile prize to pay.

"Don't worry about me," he said.

Elsie looked at him, torn. Then she gathered up her skirts, stepped on his outstretched hands, and hoisted herself over the gate. But she didn't run off right away. She pulled a knife out of her reticule, the same knife she'd used on Bill Sikes the night they met, and pressed it into his hand. "Stay alive, all right?" she whispered. "I'll see you at home."

Home. Arthur wanted to tell her that his home was wherever she was, but before he could say a word, she reached through the gate, dropped a quick kiss on his cheek, and vanished into the night, leaving him standing there in shock.

Long after she was gone, he could still feel the heat of her lips on his skin. It gave him strength. He gripped the knife tightly in his palm and strode forward, in the direction of the approaching footsteps.

Soon enough, the two thugs emerged from the alley at a loping run. They drew to a halt upon seeing him. For the briefest moment, Arthur hoped they would ignore him and pass him by, but then he remembered he didn't just have to save himself; he had to stop them from going after Elsie. So he put on the boldest front he could muster up and stood in their way. "Good evening, gentlemen," he said with a pleasant smile. "May I help you?"

"Where's the girl?" the one known as Cyclops snarled.

"What girl?" Arthur asked, still smiling.

"Don't be smart with us, pretty boy," Cyclops said. "We saw you two getting cozy behind that gambling house. Where did she go?"

"Oh, that girl. How should I know? I paid her for her service, it is no concern of mine where she's gone," Arthur said. He hated the lie, but he told himself he was doing it to protect Elsie.

Cyclops's upper lip crooked up in a sneer. He bobbed his head to the tall one, the Chimney, who spat out the cheroot he'd been smoking, bent his shoulders, and ran straight at Arthur.

It was like being hit by a galloping horse. The man's shoulder caught Arthur under his sternum, causing him to crash to the ground with a force that knocked the breath clean out of him. Blackness smashed into his eyes, and pain exploded at the back of his head. He was hauled to his feet and slammed into a brick wall. More pain erupted between his shoulder blades, sending a sense of numbness down his spine and his limbs, paralyzing him.

Cyclops grunted, and the Chimney relaxed his arm, letting Arthur slide down the wall until he was at the same eye level as the little man. He could smell Cyclops's rancid breath on his face and see that single iron-gray eye with its pinprick of a pupil boring into him, even in the dim light of the alley. "Told you not to be smart with us," Cyclops said, holding a thin blade under Arthur's eye. "We've been watching you these past weeks. Joined at the hips, you are. You thought you were clever, you lost us for a while, but we found you again. So be good and tell us where she is. Don't make me mark up this sweet little face."

"I—don't—know—what—you're—talking about!" Arthur managed through the pain and the arm like a tree trunk on his chest, pinning him in place.

Cyclops sighed, as if he hated having to do this. Silently, he increased the pressure on the blade, and it bit into Arthur's cheek. The metal was icy cold, yet its touch on Arthur's skin was like a scorching fire. He could feel blood welling up from the cut and dripping down his face. A whimper escaped his lips.

"Scream, pretty boy," Cyclops said. "Maybe your girl will come to your rescue."

The pain reminded Arthur of the knife Elsie had given him. He was sure he had dropped it when the Chimney knocked him down, but to his surprise, he could still feel its handle in his palm. Putting all the strength he had left into his arm, Arthur swung out wildly. He felt the knife connect with something fleshy—a torso or an arm, he couldn't tell—and heard the Chimney bellow like a wounded beast. The arm holding him buckled, and Arthur crumpled to the ground like a rag doll. A kick landed on his ribcage, followed by a blow to his shoulder. Unable to get to his feet, Arthur could only curl up under the barrage of punching fists and kicking feet and everything and anything the Chimney could get his hands on. Arthur thought he was numb before, but he definitely wasn't so numb to not feel this vicious onslaught.

"Stop, stop, you brainless oaf!" Arthur heard Cyclops yell. "It's no use killing him! He's our only chance to find that thieving cunt!"

So they didn't know where Elsie was staying. That was some comfort.

"Bastard stuck me!" the Chimney roared.

"He barely nicked you. C'mon, get him up so I can—"

Arthur never found out what Cyclops had in store for him. There was a sharp, shrill blow of a police constable's whistle, a shout of "You there! What's going on?", and the sound of several pairs of boots running up.

"Fuck," Cyclops cursed. "Bobby's here. Let's go."

A clatter of the gate told Arthur that Cyclops had clambered over it. The Chimney turned and gave Arthur another kick for good measure, before following his comrade.

Arthur didn't know how long he lay there listening to the sound of receding footsteps and his own ragged breathing. The whistle kept blowing, at longer and longer intervals, but the police didn't show up. Perhaps they had followed the thugs from a different direction. He didn't care. He was only glad he was still alive.

Once his breathing had regained some of its normal speed, he planted his palms on the ground and pulled himself into a sitting position. His whole body was one mass of pain, every bit of skin, every muscle so bruised and tender that even the slightest scrape of the ground under his cheek sent shudders throughout his limbs. The pain was so great that it took over his mind, and he just sat there in a daze. There was something important he must do, somewhere he must go, but he could not remember. Then his eyes landed on the bloodied knife on the ground. He closed his fist around it, and his mind cleared. Home. He must go home. Home to Elsie.

It took every bit of willpower to drag himself to his feet and go back the way they came—there was no way he could climb that gate now, and even if he could, Cyclops and the Chimney might be lying in wait in that direction. So he stumbled through the alleys and back lanes once more, until he found himself on the more familiar thoroughfare of St. James. The street was quiet now, the raid over. Late-night revelers stared at Arthur as he staggered past, but he paid them no mind. It certainly wasn't the first time he walked the streets in such a state.

He had half hoped to run into Elsie on the way, but he knew it was unlikely. She had said she would see him at home. So he had to make it home.

By the time he arrived in St. Giles, he was gasping for breath. His ribs constricted painfully every time he inhaled, and he hoped they weren't broken. He forced himself up the stairs and into his room. It was dark and deserted, no sign of Elsie. His body was screaming, and the cut on his cheek throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the clamoring of his heart. Where was she? Had she gotten away, or had Cyclops and the Chimney found her? He knew he should've gone out to look for her, but he wouldn't know the first place to start, and he was in too much agony to move. He sank into bed and a black veil, half of pain and half of fatigue, descended over him.

***

There was a muffled wailing in his ears, and the white phantom was materializing in the corner of the room, lifting her shroud, getting closer, close enough that he could feel the shroud touching him, burning into his flesh with a dull, aching fire. He grasped for the familiar comfort of Elsie's hands, whimpering her name, but she wasn't there, those fiends might have taken her while he lay here, helpless, useless...

Then suddenly she was, with her sweet voice saying, "I'm here," and her soft hands on him, chasing the ghosts and the pain away. Almost weeping with relief, he wrapped himself around her as he had the first night they were together. She reached under his shirt, brushing against his bruises, but somehow it didn't hurt. He didn't dare exhale, afraid she might stop. Before long, he noticed her caress was changing, becoming more sensual, as she moved from his neck to his chest and lower and lower, her palms leaving scalding touches on his skin. "You were so brave, Arthur," she purred, her hot breath tickling his ear. "How could I ever thank you?" He wanted to say that he didn't do it for her gratitude, that her safety meant more to him than anything, but she silenced him by pressing her body against his, her skin warm and satiny smooth. He didn't remember when he had taken his shirt off, perhaps she had done it for him. He wanted to see her, but the room was dark, and he could only catch glimpses of her as she moved in and out of the yellow gaslight coming in through the window, tantalizing glimpses of her wet lips, her bare shoulders, her slender arms, her full breasts. He couldn't see her eyes.

He seized her wrists, pulled her to him, and sought her mouth with his. But those lips, which had parted so readily for him in the alley outside the gambling den, which had pressed to his cheek with such warmth, remained infuriatingly out of reach, while her hands continued to tease and torment him. "God, Elsie," he gasped, "let me..." Let him what? He couldn't find the words. He was close, so close, if he could only touch her, really touch her, feel himself inside her...

"Arthur," she panted. Her voice changed, becoming more urgent. "Arthur! Arthur, wake up!"

Then her fingers scraped across his cheek, which stung, and her hands were no longer on his erection, but on his shoulder, shaking him awake. He opened his eyes, and it took him a moment to realize that Elsie, the real Elsie, still in her evening gown, was leaning over him, her hands cool on his burning skin, her eyes wide with worry. The arousal he'd felt in the dream remained, a knot of frustration in his trousers. Fumbling, Arthur pulled the sheet across his lap to cover himself, just as Elsie lifted him up to check for injuries.

She drew a sharp breath upon seeing the cut on his cheek. "My God."

"Looks worse than it is," he croaked. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." She went to rekindle the fire. "I've been waiting at the corner of the street."

"What? For how long?" The idea that she had been on the street, shivering and frightened, while he was up here, fantasizing about her, made Arthur want to die of mortification.

"Only an hour or so. I'm sorry I didn't come back sooner," she said. "I had to make sure they didn't follow you here."

"No, there is no need to apologize," he said quickly, taking her hand. "I'm just glad that you are safe."

She smiled, gave his hand a reassuring little pat, and moved to put the kettle on. She then opened her bag and pulled out a jar of some sort of ointment and a bottle of brandy. Arthur raised an eyebrow upon seeing it.

"Have you had that the whole time?" he asked.

"Don't even think about it," she chided. "It's for your wound."

Arthur watched her bustling about and felt the scorching flames of desire quieting down to warm embers. This was Elsie, the Elsie he knew, solid and practical and indomitable and kind, not the uncanny seductress of his dream. And she wasn't any less alluring. Perhaps even more so, because she was real.

Chapter 9

[rae-gar-targaryen]

amor fati [druig x fem!eternals reader]

A/N: Ya girl is back and officially posting writing again. I know it's been a while, but thank you for sticking with me. I didn't think I'd write for Marvel again, but, well, like all of you, I was just taken by Barry's performance as Druig, who (along with Makkari) quickly stole the whole movie for me. Keep an eye out for an upcoming TASM!Spidey and/or Matt Murdock fic, as well. Might as well go full-tilt Marvel now… 

This piece is probably a cliché, but oh well. I hope you like! Please tell me what you liked, what you didn't, and what, if anything, I should do for Druig in the future. There is a playlist for this, as well. 

Reblogs are always appreciated! 

Pairing: Druig x fem eternal!reader (Reader’s legend is that of Artemis, the hunter goddess. No Y/N); some Drukkari x reader, if you're looking. 

Word Count: 16.1k of eternal love, the stuff that poems are made of, and my usual abuse of simile and metaphor. Cotton candy sweetness -- but careful, lest it dissolve between your fingertips. Who said romance wasn’t a little tragic? All’s well that ends well.

Warnings: my writing is its own warning, angst, eternals-style heartbreak (y'all have either seen the movie or read enough fic to know that our boy leaves), canon-typical violence, misuse of power. Also? Smut, so 18+ ONLY -- touching, biting, outdoor naughtiness, mutual masturbation, and other things that occur more than once in here, okay? 

Summary: A love for the ages, yours and Druig's feelings for one another have persisted throughout time and distance. Stoic as Druig is, winter snow melts in the light of spring, and a little hunter has held his heart in her hands for millennia. Gently traipses through the plot of the movie.

---

By starlight, everything was serene. A luminous, crescent crown.

Your awakening was like the warp and the weft, weaving the threads that comprised your personhood through a grandiose loom. It was simultaneously soft and scraping – A yarn-like itch behind your eyelids compelled you to open them, only to be met with a room full of strangers. 

You saw him then -- eyes of twinkling, galactic starlight. Serene. 

You tilted the corner of your lips in a soft smile, hoping to convey similar softness. Welcoming. And his face? His face remained stoic. Passive.

As you would come to learn, as history unfolded, it all was positively Austenian. Dickensian. Shakespearean, maybe?

Here he was: The crystalline-eyed boy with raven hair and blooming-lily skin, so superior in his indifference. Who carried himself with a power that transcended time. A cool, quiet tempest. Burning insight and demand into the deepest corners of a mind, like the golden, fiery sun.   

There you were: The doe-eyed girl. Quick in wit (and to anger), the sharpness of your tongue second only to that of your arrows. Fearsome, to be sure, but soft for him. (As he would be for you). Graceful and generous. A flower known to bloom by the silvery light of the pale moon. 

There was no way to know it when you awoke. But the two of you would be wrapped in one another throughout eternity, as threads pulled tightly around a finger, woven through a loom. But perhaps you had been before then, if man could comprehend a “prior-to” eternity. If you could remember a time before now.

But forever is made of little nows...

Perhaps this is where Austen, Dickens, Shakespeare, and the like would come to draw their inspiration. From the legends of godlike warriors who would cross the universe, if it meant even a moment together. Who guarded and tended the fragile sapling that was the human race. Who stole clandestine moments to bask in one another, exchanging endearments and creating traditions that would become symbols of love throughout time. Everything starts somewhere. 

For the very moment you opened your eyes in the cool, eerie light of the Domo, you were invigorated with purpose. You had awoken with Arishem’s booming voice in your ears, permeating your mind. Dictating to you. To protect the human race of Earth. To defeat the Deviants. 

You padded softly across the chamber, smiling and nodding at your fellow Eternals, introducing yourself as you went, until you stood before him. Rugged, roguish, and still somehow boyish, he stood with his arms clasped behind his back, appraising you. His black armor replete with details of curving, curling red, his eyebrows quirked as he looked down at you, awaiting your word.

You gave him your name, holding out your hand for him to take.

“Druig,” he responded, the lilt of his accent strange and soothing to your ears as he clasped your hand gently in greeting.

You nodded, a warm smile gracing your features as you looped his hand through your arm and made to cross to the nearest window together. 

“Are you excited?” You asked him; the feel of his arm was warm against yours as you took in the marble-like appearance of the planet you were assigned to. Comforting. “This is my first assignment since leaving Olympia … ‘Earth,’ you sighed. “I wonder what it will be like.”

Druig chuckled softly at your eagerness, taking you in as you observed the blue-green planet of Earth through the glass of the Domo. 

Your armor was rosy, copper-like in appearance with striking details of silvery-blue twining its way across your body, as the red did with his. 

Fitting, he thought. That your very warmth should be reflected in the very nature of your kit. Not just anyone would immediately approach Druig and hold his hand. He wasn’t exactly known for his sunny disposition on Olympia. 

Was he? 

Yet, here you stood fearlessly by his side as though you belonged, your eyes shining by the light of space, ethereal. By starlight, everything was serene. 

Not for the first time since he had met you did Druig find himself quirking his brow in assessment of you. Intrigued. For what could someone so seemingly gracious, gentle, do in battle against Deviants, of all things?

“Ta. Well, we’ll know soon enough, won’t we?” Druig answered both your question and his own musings before another voice snapped the moment. 

“It is time,” your leader – Ajak, your mind supplied – spoke. Summoning you all to prepare yourself for the journey to Earth. 

As you took your place alongside the others, you couldn’t help but feel the elation coursing through you. The determination. You would protect this planet with everything you had. Whatever time you had to learn the beings of Earth, and your fellow Eternals, was like a book waiting to be pored over.  Your lives stitched together, piecemeal, made by some unseen, Celestial force. Woven. Throughout eternity, woven. 

How could you have known just how much, little hunter?

— 

In some ways, fighting was as easy as breathing, as weaving. It’s what you were made for, wasn’t it? 

As you and your fellow Eternals progressively cleared each corner of the globe from the Deviant infestation, you learned to operate together. To move as one to defeat the beings that threatened the development of this planet. 

Somewhere along the way, between the immeasurable conjuring of your golden arrows to fire through the bow you could weave at will, it became, well, fun. Centuries spent side by side with the universe's finest warriors had taught you a thing or two. And as humanity had developed, thanks in part to Sersi's gentle patience and Phastos's ingenuity, so had you.

As Thena and Gilgamesh cut through their enemies like tissue paper, you and Kingo would offer coordinated support through the benefit of distance attacks and hawkish aim. Determined and quick, you never missed. Kingo made for an excellent partner, releasing the beaming power of the sun from his fingertips as though it was nothing. Shooting down Deviants, the two of you covering the backs of your fellow Eternals, and working seamlessly in tandem. 

Kingo would offer you a smirk when he connected with his mark, and hollered a “nice shot,” when you aimed true. Whether the two of you had a running competition as to who could strike the most targets from the greatest distance was for the two of you to know, and for no one else to find out. The tally marks surreptitiously etched into the corner of the Domo were for the two of you alone. 

And Ajak -- a mother in some ways and the commander of a battalion in others -- saw fit that when you weren't fighting the deviants, you spent ample time training to fight deviants. 

It was this training time where you would partner with those Eternals whose skills were the most unlike your own – trying to prod the blur that you knew to be Makkari with a plinking, blunted arrow. Or seeking to best the taciturn Druig in hand-to-hand before he could bewitch you with eyes of molten gold. 

Truth be told, Druig was no slouch at close-quarters combat. But against an opponent with the coordination and entrenched anticipation of an archer? Besting you was no small feat. If he could best you, that is.

The two of you traded blows as easily as you traded quips. Druig, so usually reserved, flourished. He was agile as he jumped and spun to avoid your strikes, twirling around you to make his move.  You dodged his attempted strike to your face, using the momentum to lean back and swing your leg to knock Druig’s from under him. As Druig’s shoulders met the floor, you rolled, fluidly conjuring a small dagger, which you brought to his bare throat. Meeting him with the weight of your forearms against his shoulders to keep him fixed to the floor. 

You beamed down at your quarry, batting your lashes. An innocent smile – for no being with a smile so bright could have done what you just did, right? You? Topple someone so fearsome? Never. 

“Don’t toy with your food,” Kingo called to you teasingly, unable to contain his chuckle at your position over Druig. “Leave the poor boy with some pride, archer.” 

“Pride?” You quirked a brow down at the man below you, shifting your weight to stand above him and offering a hand. “Do you feel proud?” You teased. 

Druig clasped his warm hand into yours, panting lightly with the exertion of sparring, and allowed you to hoist him to his feet. Using the momentum of your pull, he leveraged himself into crowding your personal space, swarming your senses with nothing but Druig as he smirked back at you. 

“Of you? Immensely, hunter,” Druig breathed so that Kingo couldn't hear, the cadence of his accent a pleasant hum against your ears. 

He released your hands, circling you as though preparing to spar once more. As a panther would, replete with inky hair and coiling muscle. 

“You’ve felled your prey bravely. What deviant could stand against you?” 

You snorted, pleased with Druig’s teasing demeanor, a warm little thrum coursing through you. He could be quite charming when he wanted to be. Time and gentle patience had taught you that he wasn’t always as dour as he could be with the others – given the right circumstances. 

Or perhaps the right company?  He was never quite so cross with you or Makkari. 

“Perhaps you think too highly of the threat you pose, dear Druig. For what are men compared to deviants?” you asked, your eyes tracking his progress around you. 

Druig’s pacing ceased at your words, his eyes a brewing storm as he swept a glance up and down your form. Stepping to close the gap between the two of you once more and deliberately brushing his shoulder into yours, he paused to look down at your profile before he passed you by. 

“Be on your guard. I am no mere man, little hunter,” he murmured, leaving your side with a parting wink. 

Your gaze never left Druig as he departed, making his way down the verdant-lit halls of the Domo. Leaving your body buzzing pleasantly with something as you recalled the way his lips had ever-so-slightly grazed the shell of your ear as he taunted you. 

Just one of many threads serving to weave you both together, twining colors of dawn, of star-crested trees, and a crown of holy branches. Of breaking tides and moonlit swaths. You couldn’t choose the threads within the loom, obsequious at the facile hands of fate – or something else. 

— 

Clearing corners of the globe did allow you to take in the many splendors of this planet, as you had so hoped all those years ago on the Domo before coming to Earth. To allow you to get to know the people of Earth, your fascination with them and their development as endless as their apparent fascination with the Eternals. 

But it wasn’t just the people of Earth that held your attention. 

Nature had offered an escape, a reprieve from the endless conflict with the Deviants. You did not seek the next battle, as Thena did. Nor were you as entrenched in development as Phastos.

No, you preferred to spend your days exploring the countryside, climbing rocks, swimming in the ocean. Tending to the deer in the forest.

One such day found you enjoying the lake near where you had settled. It was an atypically quiet day, and cool babbling was soothing to you as you observed the clear water, taking in the colorful rocks like a rainbow embedded beneath its surface. The fish paid you no mind as you waded in, unable to help yourself. 

“Not t’ cold, is it?” You turned at the smooth, accented voice of Druig as he made his way through the treeline, coming to stop along the shore near where you had waded in, hands folded as he observed you in the sunlight. 

“I don’t mind a bit of cold, demeanor or otherwise,” you acknowledged. “Besides, the humans bathe and wash their linens here. If they don’t mind it, I don’t see any reason why I should.” 

Druig snorted at that, wading his way into the water not far from where you stood, the current gently rippling around your bodies.

“I've heard them talking about you, you know. Sprite's been spinning her web of tales in every city we dock,” Druig said offhandedly as he tossed a stone atop the clear lake, rippling the water’s previously-unblemished surface with the skips of the smooth rock. 

“Oh?” You plucked a unique-looking grey-blue rock from the shallows, your dress bunching in the water and flowing about your knees. “And what do they say?”

You turned over the rock you had chosen in your hands, noting, pleased, how its shade was so similar to the eyes of the man who stood beside you, plucking and skipping stones of his own.

“They call you Artemis. Some call you Diana. Others Selene. Different names for the same, stunning entity. Goddess of the forest, the hunter, the protector of young women throughout their land." 

You laughed. 

“That’s a kind and gentle way to describe conjuring arrows to destroy Deviants in bloody battle. Are you sure they aren’t referring to Sersi instead?” you chirped, leaning down to trail your fingers through the cool, clear water, admiring the way the blue of the rock looked so striking when held beneath the surface. 

“And what of your legends?” You queried. “So powerful that Sprite has invented an entire mystical order to explain away the one man who can grasp a million minds. The druids. Does that not tickle your pride somewhat?”

“An attempt to make me sound useful and utilitarian, perhaps?” Druig tossed another stone, ignoring its skipping progress across the water’s surface in favor of wading gently closer to where you stood. 

“Even so. Solitary folk they are, eh? The druids. So Sprite says. Any truth to that, then?” Your eyes tracked his progress as he disrupted the cool river’s surface to stand by your side.

Druig shrugged, coolly, but still affable. Willing to banter with you a bit more. The stretch of patience he would extend to you, to your conversations, after centuries still never ceased to amaze you. You often wondered what it is that had separated you from the others. Why he would extend these courtesies to you, to Makkari, and offer you glimpses of himself. 

“You know I prefer solitude if I am gifted it. Too many minds around and it gets a bit … crowded … up here.” Druig made a motion with his hands, circling around his head. “Like the buzzing of so many busy little bees,” he sighed. “But you know my power. You know me.”

You shuddered a bit at the heat that had laced Druig’s voice. “Do I?” You looked across the water, teasingly refusing to meet Druig’s gaze. “And what do you suppose my estimation is?” 

“Other than finding me roguishly handsome, you mean?” Druig teased. 

Your eyes widened at Druig’s jest. Although, in every joke, a kernel of truth. Had he been reading your thoughts? 

“Bah!” You huffed, “Don’t be a scoundrel. Especially not with someone who can best you in a fight.” 

“You still think you can best me, then?” Druig challenged, his voice light and bantering. 

“Oh, I know I can,” you bent your knees ever-so-slightly below the water, ready to spring should Druig challenged you. “You think I would expel all of my energy when we spar? Please.”  

“I could always just compel you to lose,” Druig said, tapping his chin as though deep in thought. 

“You would have to be faster than Artemis to do that,” and with that, you pounced, lurching forward and giving Druig’s shoulder a purposeful shove, causing him to slip on the stones beneath his feet topple into the water with a resounding splash, the sound cracking against the trees. 

You laughed as you backed away toward the shore, out of Druig’s reach as he broke the surface of the water, spluttering.

If you had thought he resembled a large cat before when you were training, the comparison was certainly apt now. He fixed you with a glare as he shook the water from his hands, and then his hair, now wet and matted to his head, his clothes stuck to his form, dripping. 

“Cheeky, hunter,” Druig breezed, his voice taking on a low timbre, but with no hint of malice, as he waded toward the shoreline, giving way to the chase you were leading him on as you darted from his grasp. 

He bent at the shoreline, dragging his hand through the water and attempting to splash you as you ran down the shore. 

Druig certainly could be fast when he wanted to be, you thought, too little too late as he closed the gap between you, catching you with an arm around your waist and causing you both to topple onto the pebbled shore. 

 You laughed together, Druig taking the moment to stroke a stray hair at your crown back into place.

“How could we have never met on Olympia?” you asked him, softly, “I feel as though I should have known you my entire life. And yet … we have only met now. It hardly feels fair. Years without the discovery of one another.” 

“We know one another now,” he shrugged, knocking an affable shoulder into yours as you sat beside one another, taking in the lake once more. 

Druig’s company was easy. Summer rain, the soft tapping on glass, warm, sweet and refreshing. 

You reached for the canvas bag you had brought with you that rested near where you had stopped together on the shore, pulling a fiery-hued orange from the depths of your bag. 

“Is this where Makkari keeps getting these then,” Druig asked as he watched you peel the orange. “She’s always snacking on them.” 

You nodded, offering Druig a wedge, its skin visibly thin and membranous by the light of the sun, ready to burst with zinging, crisp flavor on your tongue when you bite into it. 

Druig held up his hand to you, making to refuse. But you gently took his wrist, opening his palm to you and placing the wedge in his hand. You had opened the rind as you were slowly opening yourself to him, splitting the orange down its center and offering to share. To share its brightness, its sweetness, as you would endeavor to share yours. 

"You need to enjoy yourself more. The world is full of small treasures waiting to be discovered. Take a page from Makkari’s book,” you bit your own wedge, Druig taking in the little slip of juice that made its way from the corner of your mouth. 

He shrugged, following suit and biting into his own wedge. 

"Do you like them?" You asked through a mouthful of sweet, zipping orange. 

He nodded softly, savoring the sweet, syrupy flavor. “And Makkari?”

"She likes sharing with me," you shrugged.

Druig’s brows quirked at that. He knew you knew that he was also close with Makkari. How he would anchor the quicksilver woman in tender moments. And she, him. He had hoped it wouldn’t be a point of contention as you and he developed into … whatever you were that felt dangerously like affection. 

It seems he was mistaken; for you and Makkari were clearly also … affectionate.

To you, Makkari was milk and honey. Sweetness, nourishment, home.  Druig was oil. Rich and incendiary. He was the sagebrush you smelled in the desert before a storm – A cautionary comfort you could never quite quantify. 

And as the traipsing trail of time slipped past, thick like honey, you were eager for this to unfold. The path before you now lay, heavy and unblemished, like freshly packed and fallen snow. Tread lightly, little one, lest you sink too far. Or mar the surface of yours and Druig's tenuous friendship. 

And the  humans, it seemed, had grown to adore their protectors. 

And your friendship -- no, that seemed too soft a word … partnership?? -- had blossomed. Sharing your observations on humanity, sparring, your cheeky little intrigues with Makkari, helping her "obtain" treasures she sought. Your sniper's eye was good for more than just combat, after all...

And, at the celebration the humans had held for you within the stronghold of Babylon’s walls, you basked in the warmth of the evening from your chosen perch. 

Watching Sersi dance with the humans. Watched as Sprite weaved her tales with the accompaniment of shimmering, golden illusions. Watched as Makkari haggled with the townsfolk. You had turned down Kingo and Gilgamesh's offer of a drinking contest in favor of observation. Perhaps you were waiting for the offer to dance, instead?

“You know,” Druig pushed himself off of the wall at the periphery of your vision, his lilting voice breaking your thoughts, “I asked Makkari where she got some of those artifacts to trade. She started to mention something about them being won in a ‘shooting contest,’ before becoming suspiciously forgetful. You wouldn’t know anything about that would you, dear hunter of mine?” 

Druig ambled his way over to where you held court, your gaze fixed solely on him now. 

“Now, Dru, you know I respect Ajak’s rules far too much to aid in any kind of scheme where thievery is involved. Besides, were they really thieved if I won them fair and square?” You smiled at him then, a quick flash of tilted lips and teeth, like a fox might bare its teeth at its prey. 

The flicker of ferocity behind your grin was a direct juxtaposition to your usually-calm demeanor, and the softness of the dress that adorned your body. So different from your usual stiff, copperish armor. 

A heady combination, Druig thought, your contradictions continuing to surprise him. 

“And what did Makkari promise you in return for your assistance?” Druig stood before you, arms clasped behind his back in apparent repose. But you knew better. Lightning roiled beneath his skin, in the contrasting gold-and-blue of his stormy eyes. He merely awaited his moment. 

“Alleged assistance, my love,” you teased. “And Makkari’s and my arrangements are our own. No business of yours …  not unless you ask nicely for it to be your business.” 

At the heated lilt of your teasing voice, Druig’s mind was awash with the possibility and entendre of what you had said. 

“You’ve compelled me to ask, but for my own self–preservation, perhaps I’ll save that for later,” Druig replied, circling you slowly. “That’s a lovely dress, by the way.”

You smiled at his compliment, your desire to tease gone as you felt flush at his compliment. Almost shy. You shifted on your feet. 

“I almost feel more comfortable in my armor, but Kingo insisted. He’s got more of a flair for this sort of thing than I do, anyway,” you offered, glancing at your Apollo from across the room as he laughed with Gilgamesh at Sprite’s illusions. "And some of the women in the village made it for me." 

The upswing of a new song caught your attention, and you turned to the man beside you, who was likewise observing the others. Ever-watchful, your Druig. 

The two of you had shared tender moments. Conversations far too personal to be purely platonic. Hell, the two of you had even shared a few kisses over the years. Embraced. Held one another in private moments just for the two of you. Or three of you. But the urgency to progress something wasn't really a factor when you lived forever. 

Nevertheless, yours and Druig's… whatever you might call it… had not really progressed past a certain point. Call it respect for the being you knew to be reserved in his affection, but you didn't feel the need to be overly-physical it it wasn't something he had instituted.

That doesn't mean the desire wasn't there. At least on your part. The burning thrum of something just shy of need. The hope to hold onto Druig as more than just your friend. To press the planes of your skin along his in quiet moments. To feel his hands caress parts of yourself that no one else would. His hands were quite maddeningly beautiful, weren't that? Craving the resplendent mutualism of shared ardor.

Had centuries not been long enough? So, while you didn’t know what came over you, you felt compelled to ask nonetheless – 

“Would you care to dance?” You piped up suddenly, your own voice (or perhaps the suddenness of your own courage) causing you to jump a bit, like a startled fawn. 

Had you really just done that? No sense in playing coy now.

You gestured at the circling crowd. 

Ah. So, perhaps it was a foolish request.

Druig quirked a brow at you, tilting the corner of his mouth into a barely-there half smile. For his part, he seemed to hesitate a tad before taking in the magnitude of the crowd and responding,

“I’m not much of a dancer, I’m afraid, love,” he replied. “Besides, can’t have anyone knowing I have two left feet.” 

You tried to quell the rush of icy disappointment and proverbial cold water his response had shot through you.

“I’ve seen you fight, Dru, your feet are precisely as they should be,” you teased gently, masking the mild sting of rejection you felt with a joke. “Ah, well.” 

With that, you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, and patted his arm softly before making your way from the room, and outside of the city walls. 

A blurring rush came to a stop beside Druig as he watched you go. He turned to find Makkari at his side, a stern look fixed to her usually-gentle features, prominent chin jutted in Druig’s direction and eyes awash in a frown. 

“Why would you do that?” She prodded at Druig, her hands flying. 

“I’m not much of a joiner,” he responded, signing back his dissent to your invitation. 

“She just wanted to spend time with you. Even you aren't that dense. Go on, go find her. You can thank me later,” Makkari was insistent, shoving him in the direction of the door you had left from. 

“Nosy,” Druig chuckled, rolling his eyes over-dramatically to ensure Makkari would see, before smiling at her in thanks and following your path.

Your invitation to dance had taken him a bit by surprise. It's not as though the two of you weren't … affectionate with one another, by any stretch. And it's not as though he didn't want to be. 

The thought of the two of you sharing everything together had crossed his mind. Of course it had. The idea that you would feel even an ounce of the ardorous devotion he felt for you was a heady one.

And there it was -- devotion. 

Druig was no fool, far from it. He simply wouldn't allow himself to be flung into anything without first understanding the parameters involved. It's not as though his reserved demeanor was a secret amongst his fellow Eternals.

Moments spent with you… by the lake, in his chambers on the Domo, gentle teasing and the tug-and-pull of something more in the heartstrings between you. While the long life Druig had been gifted was full of many moments, those with you, those with Makkari, these were his favorites. 

That he could have all of you was a thought he only desired to entertain if it could come to fruition. And now, the possibility was so very tangible, he could feel it beneath his fingertips. It felt like the brush of your lips, the gentle promise of something more.

Druig made his way to find you, determined. 

You had sat yourself outside of the city walls, staring at the moon as it hung over the city. It was luminous, as though it, too, wanted to join in, to celebrate the Eternals’ victory. 

The cool, quiet air was necessary after being exposed to the heat of the party. And … something potentially more embarrassing. But for the second time that night, a familiar brogue interrupted your thoughts.

“And what are you doing out here?” Druig called, coming to sit beside you, legs propped up to allow an arm to sling over his knees, reaching for your hand. “Were you not enjoying the festivities?” 

The gentle nature of Druig's rolling accent put your mind at ease. His tone implying repentance, an olive branch.

"Oh, I was. But someone wouldn't dance with me," you pouted, rising to your feet and brushing off your dress to twirl away from Druig's grasp playfully. And perhaps to mask the small bit of hurt that you had felt. 

But, now that the two of you were a respectable distance from the crowd, not to mention the prying eyes of your fellow Eternals, you felt perhaps Druig might be willing to engage. That the two of you could have a moment just for you, as you had so many times over the years. Something to cherish. You loved the others, but they could be so nosy.

Druig chuckled in spite of himself, a low, clear sound, like breaking thunder in the middle-distance of a cloudy day, his eyes never leaving your form.

"I've never been much of a joiner. You know very well I prefer to watch you," he said with a shrug, his voice taking on a heat that you would follow, directly into the burning sun if you must. 

You wouldn't back down now. He had sought you out, after all, hadn't he? 

No more tenuous dancing of an anxious doe. You were a fearsome hunter, after all. And if he could toy with you … well, turnabout was fair play.

"You would rather watch me than move with me?" 

You were coy, your lips pouting in a teasing smirk. You reached for Druig, lacing your fine-boned fingers through his firm, warm ones, pulling him up to sway with you and guiding his hands toward your hips. 

Your grin faltered slightly as you looked up at Druig through your lashes, his icy eyes melting with the warmth of his gaze upon you. His fingers were still laced with yours, which you used to your advantage as you continued to guide his touch over your hips, a gentle graze over soft curves, with only the stars in the heavens to watch over you, twinkling and winking their approval of your loving flirtation, your steady adoration. 

Druig dropped his forehead to touch yours, his eyes never leaving yours as his towering frame leaned into your swaying figure. 

Breaking one hand free to trail up your side, Druig grazed your chin with molten, idolatrous fingertips, letting them come to rest on the side of your jaw, as though it were the most natural resting point for him. And perhaps it was.

"You know I would move however you asked, goddess of mine," he rumbled. "You need only to ask."

"You would?" You murmured, bringing your free hand to read on Druig's chest, where you could feel the low, steady beat of his heart. "And that's enough for you, is it?"

"I would. The eternity we've been given is not enough," Druig's thumb that was resting along your jaw is now pressed into the plush of your lower lip, which he drags lightly down, his eyes following the movement. "For I could never have enough time with you."

You had lived for thousands of years; knew you would live for thousands more yet. But this was what you had been waiting for. This must be your purpose, Arishem be damned, to be loved by the man before you. 

For In all of that time, nothing compared to the feeling of Druig's lips on yours, nor the feeling of his touch to your skin. Nothing compared to what rushed through you, heated lightning and a rush of euphoria, of honey, as he held you outside of the city’s formidable walls. 

In Druig’s arms, you had found your own stronghold. 

You had once thought this type of love was for humans. For stories. Or just for Ikaris and Sersi. You did not think you would feel its keen sting, its quavering devotion, its promises and it's aches. 

But he had pressed his lips to yours. And As Druig’s mouth moved, slightly fumbling before becoming insistent when met with the soft petals of your lips, your resolve crumbled. 

“And I’m sorry about earlier,” Druig murmured his apology into your lips. “I would dance with you from here to eternity, and I lo–” his voice broke, “I love you.” 

You smiled at him then, beaming and radiant as one of your golden arrows. As the sunlight peeking through the forest trees. As only the goddess Artemis could. 

“Well then,” you murmured, your lips brushing along Druig’s… brushing, but never pressing, “I suppose you’ll just have to show me?” 

He had smirked then; his face, so normally smooth and impassive, quirked into a manner so self-assured. 

The moon and the whispering wind were the only witnesses to your moment alone. To the way Druig’s hands had slid beneath your skirt to brush along your thighs and through your folds as he held you tighter, tighter, impossibly tighter. To the honey-dipped slip of his tongue into your mouth, the warmth of his firm arms around yours, guiding you to the earth in the shadows of the great wall behind the both of you.

To the way he cradled your head as though you were the most precious gift. 

And would you be the goddess of the hunt if you did not seek out your quarry in kind? 

You had caught Druig’s wrist as he strummed and stroked his way to and through your glistening folds. You were nothing if not disciplined, the urge to seek out your prey its own kind of gratification to you. 

You flipped the two of you then, resting atop Druig’s hips, and caging him into the orbit that was your sheer power, leaning over him to tease, to stroke, to lick your way into his mouth. To press your own marks into the beautiful pallor of his throat. To roll your hips over his and feel all of him beneath you. 

As you divested him of each layer of cloth, you had left no part of him untouched, unwanted, your warmth surrounding him as you sank onto him. 

Truly, only nature would witness to what you and Druig had shared. To your gasps and moans into the others’ mouths. To the way you had dug your nails, crescents mirroring the moon above into his shoulders, his back. As you surged your hips into the rhythm between the two of you, poetry for yourselves alone, with a crest and a declaration shared only in this moment. To the way he had shattered alongside you, sharing this moment with only you. 

Weaving your way. Its own kind of dance. And you would twirl about one another until you couldn’t any longer.

And you had told him you loved him too. The genuine smile you were rewarded with would be something you would savor in your dreams for years to come. 

— 

But time has a way of twisting your ambitions. And the breaking point comes in Tenochtitlan. Amidst the fires, chaos, the fall of another Empire.

As the smoke and the popping of flames and guns alike rose around the Eternals, Druig’s mind was similarly aflame – burning with churning thoughts of war, the feeling of sticky blood beneath human hands as the people in the city below fought on. He tried to push it from his mind – tried to render himself immune to their conflict as Ajak had so frequently bid. But how could he? When he could hear their thoughts of unrest. Feel their blistering, itchy hatred for their so-called enemy?

When Thena broke beneath her Mahd Wy’ry, Druig felt himself splintering, too. Not in the same exact manner, but … beneath the crushing weight of waves of blood, historical conflict magnified throughout the millennia. One could only take so many human lives lost – the lives his Selene held so dearly – before it all became too much. 

“Do you have any idea what that does to someone after centuries?” Druig bellowed, refusing to meet his beloved’s eyes. Compelling the mortal men below to drop their weapons, Druig turned his rage on the others. On whomever would challenge him. On Ajak. On Ikaris. 

But, oh, you did. You had some idea. For to feel the heart of your beloved in so much pain was splintering you, too. If the weight that broke you did not come at the cruel, gnarled hands of Mahd Wy’ry, it would surely come with the fracturing of your family. If Druig were to leave now … well, even Eternals felt pain. 

The tears stung at your eyes as you watched Ajak plead with Druig to embrace Arishem’s purpose. A fool’s errand, you knew. Once Druig had set his mind to something, he would be loath to change it. Each word hurled between the two split your heart a fraction more. You could bear it no longer.

You stepped forward, opening your mouth to speak – but not before Kingo could sweep his arm before you, gently catching your waist. Turning to him, the pleading question in your eyes was met with morose understanding, with a bidding invocation from his heart to yours to please, don’t make this worse. 

You shook your head softly, gently removing his arm from you as you made toward Druig, but not before your beloved could strike the final nail into this coffin – 

“If you wanna stop me, you’re gonna have to kill me,” Druig hissed, turning on his heel and sparing an unreadable glance at you as he descended the stone steps of the temple, the men he had compelled making to follow him into the woods. 

You were so beautiful in that dress he earlier said he had admired. So soft and beautiful, a stark contrast to the smoke and violence that was drowning his senses. To the foggy commands he had implanted in the men’s minds, bidding them to stop fighting.  

Druig knew you would follow him – had dared to hope that perhaps you would come with him. Surely, he thought, you would see things his way. As the others had not. 

You padded down the steps behind him, Ajak’s sorrowful glance following your form as you trailed after your beloved. Knowing she would either lose two children this day, or that you would return with less of your heart than you had left with. An untenable situation, the outcome outweighed by the cost to the both of you.

“Druig,” you cried, “Druig! Wait, please!” 

The way your voice had broken over the word “please” caused Druig to stop, turning on his heel to watch you make your way toward him. The smoky, red fury smothering his heart dissipating slightly as he took in the desperation in your expression. 

“I won’t go back, hunter, please don’t ask,” Druig spoke before you could meet him. “She’s wrong, and you know it!” 

You faltered in your steps, approaching your beloved cautiously, as you would a skittish, newborn fawn in the golden wood. 

“My love, you know Ajak means well,” you spoke softly, tenuously, so as not to stoke the flames you could see licking their way behind Druig’s eyes, feeding his fury. “You know she loves you. We all do.” 

“Whether they do or not, I won’t be a pawn in Arishem’s game,” Druig clipped. “Not while people suffer needlessly. Look at them, my love. You love them. How can you let them … do this?” Druig gestured at the destruction around you.

“Because I have to trust that this … thirst for war, like all thirst, will eventually be quenched,” You knotted your hands into your skirt, the anxiety wheedling it’s way through your bones. “I don’t know if the humans will ever achieve harmony, but isn’t it up to them to try? Isn’t it an expression of our love to let them try? To trust, to hope?”

Druig scoffed, a harsh noise to your ears in its derision. 

“Up to them? Beneath the weight of their greed? Their jealousy? Their violence? They are buried,” Druig pleaded, eyes wild. “I can unburden them. You know I can.” 

"By controlling them! You think you know more than them?" you pressed, unable to believe just what you were hearing from the person you thought you knew so well.

"Please, love,” Druig scoffed, “I know I do. I can see into their minds. I know their limits. I know their weaknesses.” 

You could not believe what you were hearing -- as the remnants of the battle raged in the distance beyond you, you felt the rising bile of scourge and the heat of conflict rising within yourself. The man before you prided himself on being collected. A little derisive at times, sure, but never cruel. Never so casual in disinterested supremacy.

"We're meant to protect them, Dru,” you urged softly, firmly. “To help them. Not to rule them. It is not our place."

"But it can be mine,” he stepped toward you, fingers outstretched as if to take your hand. 

You stepped back, shaking your head and withdrawing from him, pulling your hand away so that his fingers could not meet your own. You tried not to notice the subtle flinch, nor the flash of pain behind your beloved’s eyes as he saw you retreat from him. Drawing away as you would draw your shortsword from a defeated Deviant, detached in your victory.

But you felt no pride in this. This was not victory. 

You tried again. 

"Your place was to be beside me, and mine beside you. Is that not what you want?" The wind blew the smoke from the warring fires around the both of you, swirling your skirts and stinging your eyes. Yes, that was what the prickling behind your eyes was. It had to be. Druig would never make you cry. 

"That can still be, my Selene, my Diana,” Druig implored, the usually cool lilt of his brogueish accent was now tinged with what you might mistake for panic. If you did not know him any better. Druig did not panic. “Come with me. We'll watch over them together." He reached for you again. 

You shook your head, trying to shake the smoke from your scratching throat and the tears from your eyes. 

Couldn’t he see this was tearing you in two? Splitting you to the bone? 

"That -- that's not our purpose, Dru. It's -- it's perversion. Our duty is sacrosanct, our gifts from Arishem himself, and you mean to use yours to corrupt that duty. To corrupt your purpose. Corrupt them. Corrupt us."

Druig's eyes flashed, a licking, complex damasque of anger, heat and betrayal.

"Is that what you would think of me, my love?" He spat the last word, carefully avoiding meeting your eyeline where he could see the glimmer of tears forming along your lashes. Better to look above you, to look down upon you. Through haughty eyes and the slope of angular cheekbones. “So powerful as to destroy even us? Can you not see that the purpose you speak so highly of is flawed? That perhaps we can do more?”  

"I don't know what to think, Dru," you whispered, stepping forward and reaching for him this time, for his palm, yours outstretched. “I -- I’m so confused.” 

As your fingers grazed his hand, he yanked it away, perhaps more violently than you had done moments before. As though your touch were as cutting as one of your arrows, laden with weighted, creeping poison.

"But,” you implored again, ignoring the rush of hurt his actions had wrought, “I know you're not right all of the time. None of us are. We're not perfect -- how can you say you're fit to do this? That you know what's best?”

"We know more than they do. They’re feeble, flawed – but I can keep them safe! We can keep them safe,” he pressed, noting the way your hand was still seeking his.  

You gazed upon Druig’s features, twisted now with the heated passion of his speech, awash in the darkness of the night sky and the shadows war rumbling around him; his eyes flashing a blue-grey, a troubled sea roiling in a storm. A painfully unfamiliar mask comprised of features you once recognized. Intimately. 

How unlike the usually cool, impassive face of the man you had come to love. 

“We can’t,” you murmured, your eyes meeting Druig’s once more. “I can’t. We should stick with the others – we cannot walk this world alone.”

Druig scoffed, but before he could berate the others whom you would choose to stay with over him – Ikaris, with his bullheaded, proud devotion to Arishem; Ajak with her secrets, her unyielding sense of purpose; Kingo, the Apollo to your Artemis, whose sunny disposition you would never wish to be parted from -- and how he would follow Ajak and Iakris both to the end; Sersi, too delicate to stand up to anyone  – you broke him with your words, again.

“With or without the others, with or without you, I will guard these people, love them. But I won’t control them. We are not gods.”

“You’ve been talking to Kingo –” 

“No, Dru. They deserve their freedom -- freedom to choose, freedom to love ...” you trailed, finally capturing Druig’s fingers in your own, stepping into his space and bringing your hand to delicately graze the peak of his cheekbone. His hand atop yours, destined to follow yours in its journey, mapping the familiar landscape of his own face through the beauty of your hands.  

Druig tilted his head down toward yours, his lips mere centimeters from meeting yours, foreheads not-quite brushing -- a gesture still so tender, even in absence of actual touch. Your affection had always had an atmosphere, an orbit. 

“Even the freedom to hurt? When I could prevent it?” He murmured to you, eyes downcast to your lips, your gaze upon the fan of his lashes. 

“Yes, love, even that," you sighed, shaking your head softly. 

“And what of your freedom? Do you not choose to love me?” Druig lifted his hand away from its place atop yours, a cool breeze caressing the backs of your fingers in the absence of his touch. 

He trailed his fingers to you now, mirroring the path your touch had taken, this time upon your own face. Cupping your jaw gently. The two of you now locked in a crescent moon’s embrace, arced and amorous, but not quite complete. Not quite whole. 

“I have no choice but to love you,” you whispered into his lips, “for I fear I wouldn’t recognize myself without the pieces that belong to you. You are everything to me. Of the gifts this eternal life has given me, I could thank Arishem for you each day, and still not have enough time to express my gratitude. For you, for Makkari, for the pearls of love this life has bestowed,” you paused to catch your breath. Were you really about to deny him once more? “But, Dru, this is wrong. We cannot leave the others, cannot abandon our purpose to protect, as we have been asked. You cannot leave us.” 

You tore your gaze from your beloved’s, the tears you had fought so hard to cage now slipping freely down your cheeks, gliding coolly over the corners of your downturned mouth. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Druig’s face fall, as his shoulders set. A pillar of resolute sadness. You could feel his tension; the climbing heat within him at your stubbornness. 

Your mind was moving a mile a minute. The world fell into a wash of white-noised nothingness, the army of those men Druig had bewitched stood, unnaturally silently around you. 

Everything around you was fading, as your thoughts flitted from scenario to scenario, through doubt and distrust, before finally – a previously-unfelt rosy calm washed its way into your mind, settling and easing, soothing you --

Was this plan really so bad? Could it really be so bad? When had Druig ever steered you wrong? It was reasonable, wasn’t it? There was so much you didn’t know, and Druig would be there to guide you, as he had promised he would be. Together in all things, with Druig, Druig, Druig … 

The pleasant haze of your thoughts was rudely interrupted by a sharp, puncturing arrow of doubt within yourself, an uncomfortable prodding and wriggling sensation through your brain, deflating the rosy cloud as you met Druig’s eyes -- 

– Only to discover they were unfocused, far-seeing, golden. 

Suddenly, you were awash in white heat, blue flames tearing their way through your body as you realized what he was doing. Rage.

“How dare you?” You bellowed, stepping forward and shoving Druig by the shoulders. “You think you can control me, as you control them? You really think so little of me, that you can alter my ‘feeble’ mind? I won't be what you say because you say it!” 

You gripped his wrist, squeezing, so that he might feel the weight of your words. You had never truly raised a hand against him before; even when the two of you were training together, you had always pulled your punches. But this? You were livid with him now. And you knew that Druig would be defensive, in turn.

His mind was racing, full of memory, of that night outside of the city – your keystone moment of passion. A core memory.

Remember this love, for surely you would never feel anything like it again.

Of the night when perpetually-young lovers wrapped themselves in one another, awash in the heat of one another and the haze of summer. Druig’s lily skin burned alongside yours, bright and entirely incandescent, awash with the glow your attentions had wrought upon him. 

You had pulled Druig ever-closer, closer, closer to you, breathing his name into his ear as you moved together beneath gleaming heavens. A reverent whisper of your voice that made him feel entirely godlike. The rest of the world may as well have been made of tissue paper – transparent and prone to crumbling beneath the strength your love had imbued. 

To look at you, Druig knew the starshine clarity of your honest eyes would be the last thing he desired to see on this planet should he be forced to leave it.

But, but, but … he could not bring himself to meet them now, for the fear that yours would reflect only derision, revulsion at what he was about to do. He truly had savored that night. And other nights like it. And every moment of affection between then and now. Of shared orange slices and stolen moments in quiet corners. Spoiling, curdling in his mind through this disquiet. Through his cruel words. The quickest way to kill you was to poison your heart – the heart that loved him so. 

"So much for your love, then," Druig spat, his touch abandoning your face to peel your fingers from his, flinging your hand away from its rightful place along his skin. 

He would be finished with it all. Even if it meant being finished with you.

Druig turned on his heel, retreating into the forest with the people he had compelled at his back, their unnaturally-uniform steps marching in unison, in time with the heavy thudding of your heart. 

You watched him go, his form fading into the darkness, stealing your heart away and carrying it with him, ripping it from your chest and into the depths of the forest, forever with him --  though he didn't know it. Or if he did, it was not enough to make him turn around. To come back to you. You would forgive him already if he would just turn around. 

With every step Druig took away from you, you could feel your heart cracking. You opened your mouth to wail, release some of this pain that had suddenly washed over you at the reality that the other half of your soul was marching out of your life. But no sound escaped your lips. 

Instead, you fell to your knees, your intricately-woven dress that Druig had complimented mere hours before now dirtied, as you looked to the heavens, more tears soundlessly escaping down your cheeks.

Praying for Arishem to guide you. For no Eternal had died before, but this pain? Worse than pain of battle. This must be what death is, you thought. It wasn't a quick, clean end after which your soul would know peace. No. It was a serrated knife that sawed slowly, uncaringly through you with the cadence of departing footsteps, leaving you to bleed alone until nothing was left.  This was not something even Ajak could heal.

Makkari had found you then, stock-still on your knees, staring at the spot where Druig had vanished into the treeline. She had rested her head against your cheek, silent through your sobs.

Remember this pain; its burn unique. For surely, you would never burn so wholly from within again.

Promises, promises.

—

Now, your family had found you at your homestead in Guadalajara. On the outskirts of the city. 

Sersi, ever the gentle diplomat. Ikaris, the man intent on becoming king. And Kingo, the sunshine through the trees of your forest. And … Kingo’s delightfully human friend. 

Never they mind that you had built a life for yourself. That after Makkari had found you five hundred years ago and told you of Ajak’s parting words – “When we meet again, tell me what you’ve found…” that you had found a corner of the world with sunshine. With greenery. With bursting flavor and color. With the life you had always imagined you could have had if you had been born mortal on this planet. 

But without a partner.

Sersi and Ikaris had broken the news to you. Kingo there to soften the blow. Of Ajak. Of Gilgamesh. Of the Emergence. Of the true purpose of the Eternals on Earth. 

“So,” you mused, as they sat around your table, steaming mugs of freshly-brewed Mexican coffee before them. “Druig was right, after all. The design was flawed.” 

You looked up to meet Kingo’s eyes – his chocolate orbs melting into yours with soft, serene understanding. That you would mourn Ajak. That you would mourn the lives you had led, tainted by deceit. 

“No wonder we never remembered one another from Olympia,” you intoned, taking a sip. 

Your family urged you to pick up your bow. Whether the plan was to delay the Emergence, or to merely stave off the Deviants, you were needed, they had said. 

So, here you were, trudging behind your family, to where the others stood. Phastos, with hands ringed in gold, ready to create something to once more save humanity. Sprite, with her sharp wit and illusions. Thena, ever the stoic warrior, though never the same since she and Gilgamesh had left as she crumbled beneath the weight of her Mahd Wy’ry. And … him. 

"My beautiful, beautiful hunter," Druig purred when he met you, trailing a finger from one of your shoulders, over your collarbone, to the other, walking in a semi-circle around you to rest his chin on your shoulder, tilting his chin slightly so as to whisper to you, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Did you miss me?" The low, even hum reverberated from his mouth, straight through you.

The easy breeze of Druig’s lilting accent surrounded you, tickling your ears and pricking them with familiarity and warmth. 

And here, you hadn’t decided whether you had forgiven him, yet. 

You closed your eyes, letting the feelings the familiarity of his voice brought forth wash over you. 

"You are … you are -- insolent" you spluttered, “¡Atrevido!” 

Presumptuous. 

“So that’s a yes, then,” Druig smirked. “I missed you, mo shíorghrá.” 

You conjured an arrow that slipped between your index and middle finger, flipping him a rather rude gesture with the weapon of your own making as you stalked off, Kingo chuckling at your back. 

They had mentioned unearthing the Domo, of finding Makkari. And the sooner you had all started, the sooner it could end. 

One way or the other. 

Still, you couldn’t deny what it had made you feel – to see Druig again. And you’d had a feeling he had known it, too. If the flickering grin of his full lips had been any indication. The sunglasses were of no obstacle to you. For your hunter’s eyes knew his too well. That they danced behind the dark glass, ever teasing you.  

The return to the Domo had brought memories long-buried. Of days spent with the object of your affection (and current object of your avarice).

Of one memory in particular: 

You had smiled bashfully, wanly, eyes diverted downward as you lightly shove Druig's shoulder.

"Don't tease me, Dru," you chuckle. "It's unbecoming of a man of your particular ability."

Druig was silent as he brought his hand up to cup your chin, trailing his fingers along your jaw, light as the tickling of leaves that dance upon the wind as he traces his way down your neck and along the peaks of your collarbones, feeling the evenness of your breath beneath his fingertips.

"I do not tease, darling." His eyes locked with yours.

"What a shame," you countered, "sometimes unbecoming can be fun."

Druig pressed his fingers into their resting place along your collar, pressing his ardor firmly. How sobering his gaze could be -- as clear, cool and shocking as the river, wild in wintertime. 

"You can tell me what you feel, can't you, little one?" Druig broke his gaze from yours  to whisper in your ear, nuzzling the curve of his nose along the shell of your ear as he did so, feeling of warmth. 

"I…," you trailed, "you know what I feel for you. I won't stroke your ego."

"Perhaps I just like to hear you say it."

You sighed, relishing in the feel of Druig's lips near your ear, over your cheek, and pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

"Who invented this as an expression of devotion, I wonder," you murmured, drawing back from Druig, your lips separating, noses still brushing.

"The kiss? Who knows. Maybe we did?"

"You cannot think us so important as to take ownership of every human development. That's … generous."

"Maybe it's innate, then," Druig pondered, his eyes gazing upon you as he propped his head in his hand. He did not need to render his eyes gold in order to determine that the gears in your mind were turning. He'd rather wait until you chose to share a fully-formed thought. How wondrous the conclusions of your mind could be.

"Is it innate to us because it is innate to humans? Or is it the other way around?" You wondered aloud. "Are we awakened knowing how we choose to express our love? Do we all recognize love once we've felt it, and are all drawn toward the same compulsion to express it?"

Druig barked a laugh.

"If you were human, perhaps you would have been a philosopher," he mused, reaching across to his night table to pour himself water from the pitcher that rested there.

You wrinkled your nose at the thought.

"I don't think so," you said. "I'm not suggesting you can't think properly out of doors, but I quite think I would prefer to contribute through the use of my hands."

"You don't give your mind nearly enough credit," he said, taking a drink, his eyes never leaving you over the rim of his cup. 

Sensing your protest, he continued, "I think I could be considered an expert on the subject." 

He had wrapped his arms around you then. 

Now, now that you had been reunited, and the plan unfolded (though you were still wary of Ikaris), Druig had stopped you on your way out of Phastos’ lab. Pleading you for a word. 

Ever unable to resist him, you acquiesced. Standing next to him beneath the cool light that emanated from the halls of the Domo. As it had all started. You hadn’t traded words with him in over five hundred years. And now you stood before him, the man you had given yourself to, bidding him to speak. To say anything that would ease the lashing pain that you had felt amidst the fires of war as he had marched his army of compelled men into the forest of the Amazon, and beyond your keen archer’s sight. 

“You know why I chose the forest, don’t you?” Druig asked.

You shrugged, cool and indifferent. 

“The convenience of proximity? Where they found you … Those were the same woods where we were all those years ago?” You queried, voice level. The “when you left” remained unspoken, removed from the end of your sentence; though, Druig didn’t need to be a mind reader to know it was there, hanging between the two of you. 

“Because, love, in all of Sprite’s stories, you were the goddess of the wood. The hunter. I know it’s where you would feel most at home,” Druig turned his head from you. “If you had ever decided to find me, to choose me, I wanted you to find a home. Someplace you would love, as you once loved me.”

You remained silent, mulling over Druig’s words. It was austere. Foreign, this silence between the two of you. And Druig’s revelation was an olive branch, of sorts, as well as a surprise to you. You had thought Druig would not want  to see you again after you had stayed behind. 

“Would you have let me?” You asked, “After everything? Choose you, I mean. Would you have welcomed me with open arms after we left one another alone in the fires of war?” 

Old habits die hard, and resentment is left to fester, filling your gut with rot. Corrosive. And the storms within his Druig’s beget flashing lightning when he looked at you, splitting you to your core and burning you from the inside out. 

Druig shuffled his feet, weighing his words before answering. 

“I think of that day by the lake often,” Druig admitted. “When our friendship was young. How much time has passed since. And now, here we are, at the end of all things on this planet. Before it was too late to say anything, I would tell you how I regretted leaving you that day. How I longed to reach for you. To tell you I was wrong. But only if you would hear it?” 

“I would hear it,” you murmured. “But, Dru, you weren’t wrong. You were right. I was wrong. About Arishem. About our purpose. I shouldn’t have said what I did.” Tears welled in your eyes, your voice breaking over the admission you had weighed in your mind for centuries. 

“Thena would have a field day,” you sniffled. “Look at me, crying before a man.” 

Druig shushed you, turning to touch you at last, to cup your face in his warm palms, thumbs skating over the apex of your cheeks to wipe away the silent tears as they fell. You thought the world would end and you would waste away after millenia before feeling the tenderness of his trailing touch smoothing over your skin one last time. It was a revelation. A gift from whatever Celestial force was listening. 

“Sweetheart, I wouldn’t have you cry over this. I shouldn’t have asked you to choose. Between me and them, our family, the humans,” Druig softly brushed his lips to yours for a fleeting moment, as if to brush the surface anew. To wipe away the tears and leave the surface of your mouth with something pure. “You were right – we never were better than them. Look at us now. Can’t we both have been a tad right, and somewhat wrong?” 

You chuckled weakly through the breaking remnants of your emotion. 

“That would make us so remarkably normal wouldn’t it?”

They say lightning never strikes twice. Never to meet the same corner of earth, leaving it with an eruption of destruction and then bereft of feeling. But you knew that to be untrue, for the same feeling bloomed and burned within you every time Druig turned his gaze to you, flashing quickly through the gale. His eyes stormy, his affections quick and ferocious. Not for the first time, nor the last, would you say your beloved was so like lightning. 

And you found yourself awash in the amorous wave of feelings you had always felt with him. No matter how much time had passed. 

“I missed you, my hunter,” you folded your way into Druig’s arms, burying your head into his chest and allowing his arms to wrap around you. To hold you for a moment before the end of all things. “Now what do you say we save the world?” 

You pressed your hands to Druig’s chest, palms flat, pushing yourself from his embrace and tilting your chin up to look into his eyes, the wave of relief you had felt at Druig’s forgiveness replaced with mirth and the promise of a challenge, to do battle together again once more. 

“Think you can keep up with me, then?” You trailed a finger along his jaw to tweak his chin, spinning a conjured arrow at your side in the other hand. “We’ll see, amor.” 

Druig watched you walk away from him, ready to do battle. It was a welcome of some comfort, knowing that as he watched you walk away it was nothing like the way he had walked away from you 500 years ago. That you would be by his side as they combatted the Emergence.

You donned your armor once more, prepared to become the hunter once again.

Thread can be used to patch. Even your prior hurts. To right wrongs and make your picture whole again. If only you nudge them along a little, with willing fingers and strength of mind. 

— 

Ikaris’s betrayal was nothing less than heartbreak of the cruelest kind. As you prepared to merge to lend your power to Druig, the pain of Ikaris and Sprite’s defection were additional wounds on top of your already heavy heart. You had lost so much in such a short amount of time. 

And while you understood Kingo’s decision to leave rather than fight, you wouldn’t like and say it didn’t make you question which side of this debate that you were on. 

“You know you’re my favorite, dear Selene,” Kingo had smirked, bending down from his considerable height to press a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. “And I’m glad you’re okay, after all this time. And that we’ve found each other again. But I can’t do this. Please don’t hate me.” 

And when Ikaris had shown up to disrupt the uni-mind and to stop Druig and Sersi? When he had flown down from on-high and tossed Druig away like he was nothing, you saw red. 

You had never conjured your arrows to fire at another Eternal before. Not with the intent to harm. But you refused to pull your punches now, as you took aim at Ikaris in the sky. Covering Makkari as she struck her blows. 

Ikaris flew over you, attempting to shoot your bow from your hands with the beams from his eyes. 

You worked quickly, wishing for Makkari’s power as you dodged, rolled and leapt away from the surges he fired at you. 

"Stop this Ikaris,” you shouted at him as you shot an arrow in the direction he was flying, grazing his shoulder as he zipped past. “This won't work!. A true leader is unselfish. You can’t do this," you pleaded.

"And what would you know of it?” Ikaris called back to you, “What would you know of how to lead?” He landed before you, squaring his shoulders. “You choose to spend all of your time with a man whose ability is telling others what to do and think. Hardly an unselfish leader."

Heated rage flooded your body at his mention, his insult, of Druig. Quickly, you drew, taking aim for Ikaris’ heart. 

“Hardly the same thing, and you know it. Stop this or I’ll stop you.” You anchored the string of your bow to your chin, ready to fire. “You may be able to fly, but I’ve always been faster.” 

Your distraction had worked, long enough for Makkari flit by you and to knock Ikaris from his feet, the two of you continuing to hold him at bay. 

As the battle waged on between Ikaris, the Deviant, the Eternals, Phastos’ uni-mind had worked once more to allow Sersi to freeze Tiamut. It was a victory that didn’t feel like a victory, for now you had lost Ikaris, as well. The weight of battle, of the endless conflict that you learned was responsible for advancing the universe, felt heavy on your shoulders, abridging your feelings of relief at having stopped Tiamut. Was this what Ajak felt during the entire millenia of her burdened leadership? 

The appearance of Druig making his way across the sand, had eased this bleak weight somewhat. As he embraced Makkari, embraced you, you felt the faint glimmer of what you might call hope. For if you were together, maybe you could use what you had learned to help other planets.  

To do something actually good. Together. 

—

Time heals all wounds. Who knew that better than beings who had been alive for millennia? Losing Ajak, Gilgamesh … even Ikaris … and now the others who had gone when you had only just met again. 

Perhaps this was your curse, to feel everything too deeply. Perhaps it was penance for having a power capable of taking lives. Ever trapped in your own head.

The ache that had taken residence in your chest since learning of Ajak's death rattled dully behind your heart. Not even the success of abating the Emergence, of once more helping humanity, could ease it. You had, after all, only recently come to terms with five hundred years of loneliness. 

But sitting wedged on a couch with the two who had become other parts of your soul would certainly help.

You munched on your pizza, seated on one end of the Ajak's couch with your thigh pressed into Makkari’s, Druig on her other side. Phastos's son, Jack, had presented you with a half of the orange he had absconded from the kitchen with, with Thena’s aid, as Phastos scolded Thena for conjuring her weapons near his child. 

“But dad!” Jack whined, “Artemis was showing me her bow-n-arrows earlier, and she and A-thena are so cool.” 

You shrugged from your place on the couch at Phastos’ swift, accusatory look, arching a brow. 

“Makkari made a good point, you know. He’s ten, P. I’ve been shooting arrows since the dawn of time. He could pick up a bow at ten," you called to him, not eager to leave your perch on the couch with your beloveds. Not when you had only just  been reunited.

At Jack’s eager look, Phastos sighed, weary, rubbing his temples. You all seemed determined to drive him to an early grave. 

“Oooh-kay. No babysitting with Auntie Thena or Auntie Artemis.” 

You rolled your eyes, a smile nevertheless making its way across your lips as you split the orange half Jack had given you into its preordained wedges and passing them to your partners. Your fingertips first brushing Makkari’s, as the sticky orange sweetness passed from your hand into hers, and then to Druig. You pressed the remaining wedge to your lips, winking at them and settling back into your seat, keen to relax before you all were to depart. 

And when that time had arrived, you and Druig traipsed through the tall grass to the Domo, his hand in yours, Makkari on your other side, pressing her warmth into your waist. 

Before your group had departed, you had pressed a kiss to Phastos’ cheek, bidding Ben and Jack goodbye. Giving Jack a hug, you surreptitiously passed him one of your golden arrows with a wink – the arrow was blunted of course. By the time Phastos noticed it and had his subsequent heart attack, you would be long gone. Far from Phastos’ delicate, spinning rings and anxious-parent wrath. 

You settled once more into the space of the Domo, Makkari breaking off from the two of you to make her way to Phastos’ lab and her collection of treasures – some of which you had definitely, legally, helped her obtain. Never anyone mind. 

As you made your way down the hall, you brushed your fingertips over the corner with the tallied etchings of yours and Kingo's not-competition, a mild pang of sadness accompanying the ache in your chest.

You had wished Kingo was there to tell you goodbye. The Apollo to your Artemis, bidding you on your way with a sunshine smile and a wish for luck.

You and Druig made your way to his chamber, the room where you had spent so much time together, debating and discussing humanity, spirituality. Where you had discovered more about yourselves and one another. Where Druig had expressed his love for you time and again. 

You made to cross the room and settle yourself amongst Druig’s collection of pillows, as you had done countless times over the course of your years together. Never missing a beat at making yourself at home, no matter how much time had passed. 

“Wait,” Druig caught your wrist. “I have something for you.” 

“Oh?” You turned into his arms. “Was it this?” Fluidly shifting to the tips of your toes, you pressed a kiss to Druig’s lips, capturing his lower lip between your full ones and sucking lightly. Druig sighed softly into the kiss, his grip on your wrist tightening. 

Druig broke from you, looking down his prominent cheekbones at your countenance, his eyes flitting between yours and your sinful mouth. 

“Temptress,” he purred. The washing waves of his cerulean eyes reflecting his internal debate – to give you your gift, or to kiss you again? Five hundred years was so long a time to make up for.

The latter won out as he struck like a snake, decisive and agile, fastening his lips to the base of your jaw and trailing them down the elegant plane of your neck, tilting your head back as you groaned at his attention. The vibration from your throat a pleasant hum against his full lips. 

"Druig,” you sighed, “We've been alive for thousands of years … Helped nearly every conceivable language develop, and yet …” 

At the feeling of Druig's warm lips pressing firmly into the column of your throat, trailing down to kiss along your collarbones peeking through the soft collar of your shirt. The feeling of your voice reverberating beneath his attention as you graced him with your affectations, drowning one another in your mutual ardor, you found the will to speak.

"... Yet I'm not sure words still yet exist that would adequately convey the depth of my emotion, my feeling for you. But I can show you." You wound your fingers through Druig's soft hair, tugging lightly to break him away from your neck and bringing his eyeline back to yours. 

You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love.

Druig's crystalline eyes sparkled, a dizzying oceanic effect that made you feel as though the world had turned upside down -- for, surely, stars did not shine during the blue-skyed daytime. Or perhaps they did, as evidenced by the mischievous, adoring, cerulean gaze of the man before you.

"Show me?” At your nod, Druig understood. “So you would surrender control to me, my little hunter?" Druig murmured, his voice suggestive, a warm and pleasing bolt of silk against your skin.

The idea was a heady one, leaving you feeling drunker with power as the moments passed. Ironic, really. Everything was a bantering game between you and Druig, a display of companionable, bursting power met in equity. You, a marksman of singular focus; he, a man with a mind that was able to bend others to his will. 

The thought that you, the most powerful being he knew, would surrender yourself, the most secret corners of your mind, to him was enough to make him weak in the knees. And he was supposed to be the one with unsurpassed will. 

A promise to give him the thing he had tried to take before your separation all those years ago – the thing that tore you apart, to willingly allow him to use his power on you. The magnitude of your assent was not lost on him. 

Druig’s fingers skated along your arms, down your sides, to rest at your waist, his eyes never leaving your form as your eyes fluttered closed at his touch. 

You disentangled your fingers from Druig’s hair to bring a hand to grip his chin between your thumb and forefinger, nuzzling his nose with your own before trailing down to brush his lips with yours once more. The petal-like trace of your lips along Druig’s jaw whispered the long-held truth of your devotions into his skin. 

“You don't need your tricks for me to bend to your will,” you murmured, your lips brushing the skin of Druig’s cheek, “I'll bend however you like.”

A rumble emanated from your love at your proclamation. A subtle purring from Druig’s chest at your promise. 

“You don’t trust me, little hunter?” Druig murmured. “Trust that I know your mind … your body? Hm?” Druig’s hands slid from your waist, down your curves.

Druig guided you down to lie back on the pillows you had been heading for before, shedding his leather jacket as he went and allowing it to drop to the floor with an unceremonious, soft thump. 

Druig turned his attention to you. The stylishly torn jeans and simple, soft tee you had tucked into them were nothing but a nuisance to Druig now. Though you were delightfully beautiful in your modern garb, it was an obstacle to be absconded with as he became a man of singular focus. At the promise of what was to come; of what you would allow.

You reached for your beloved, allowing him to fold his body over yours as your lips met once more. Druig trailed his hands to your waist, where you swore you could feel his fingertips burning through the soft material of your shirt. 

You thanked whatever deity was listening for allowing you to feel this way again. 

Memories of your night together outside of the walls of Babylon flashed in your mind as Druig tugged your shirt from your waist and up, over your head, cradling the back of your neck as he did so. Always tender, courteous. 

The winking promise of mischief danced behind your hooded eyes as you looked up at your beloved from his place above you, a soft smile gracing your lips. His cheeky little hunter. Fox-like in disposition, quick and intuitive. True to your nature, you struck, shedding Druig’s shirt with quick, lithe fingers, and baring the pale canvas of his skin to you. 

As you made for the button of his jeans next, Druig caught your wrists. His grip firm, but not punishing, he leveled you with a glare you could only describe as warning. Guiding you back once more, Druig hovered over you, like waves returning at the turn of the tide, rushing and momentous. 

Druig squeezed your wrists before releasing them, allowing his hands to map the skin of your arms, your torso, reveling in the feel of you beneath his fingertips, every plane and prickling goosebump that awoke at his touch. 

The rasp of his skin along yours was something both you and he had thought you may never hear again, never feel again; and now that you had, you wouldn’t relinquish them so easily. And nor, it seemed, would he. 

He leaned forward, kissing his way down your neck, your chest, unclasping your bra and trailing his lips and hands down your torso before you knew what had happened. Your eyes fluttered closed at Druig’s affections, his touch ever-present and bordering on overwhelming as the honey-heat burning between your two bodies climbed, washing through the rest of the room. Druig’s attentions trailed golden lines of heat along your skin, sending sparks of starry champagne bubbling their way through you. 

You pulled Druig closer to you, winding your arms around him and bringing your legs up around either side of his waist, lacing your fingers along the back of his neck and threading your way through his hair, tugging lightly to bring him back to your eye-level.

You captured his lips with yours once more, nipping a teasing bite into his plush lower lip, delighting in the flush of the blood beneath the skin of his lips as a result of your attention. That his body still reacted to yours. You tugged again at his hair, causing him to groan into your mouth before breaking yours away. 

“I trust you, my love,” you hummed. Druig’s fingers teasing their way ever-closer to your center as you tugged his hair, the two of you panting into one another’s mouths. “You have my body. You can have my mind.”

At your declaration, Druig pressed his lips once more to yours, grinning wolfishly into his kiss. With no more preamble, the sky blue of his eyes bled gold, your beloved now nestling himself in the warmth of your mind, not unlike how he had in your body time and again throughout your centuries together. 

This was nothing like the time before in Tenochtitlan when he had tried to encourage you to leave with him. Then, your mind had been battered with conflict. Tormented with your inability to mend the fractures in your family, to soothe the ache wrought by their warring beliefs. A stormy sea frothing and roiling. Trying to appease him.

Now, your mind was balm. It was smooth, drifting snow. Crisp and even, as you gave yourself over to your beloved. It was the shining sky during a winter’s night – clear and bright, despite the surrounding dark. Every star alive, and all was shimmering lavender.

Another night in the sway of the flower moon.

Druig was awash in the warmth, the romance of your mind. The gold of his eyes was reflective of the rosy gold of your amorous thoughts, of your suit, of you. He could die happy amidst the loving, blushed hue that surrounded you every time you looked at him, thought of him, of your past, of your reunion, of your future. 

Every bit of the impulsive, pure love of Romeo and Juliet, none of the tragedy. Not anymore. You were besotted with him, amorous in the deepest sense, sure as the moon hangs in the night sky. 

Druig’s kisses were pure, like lake water. Blue-green and brisk, drowning you in its depths. A stark contrast to the heat of the room, yet, ironically, the cause and the symptom of said heat. His aura -- strength and subtle amusement, so like derision -- a tinge of cockiness… you supposed these things came from the ability to know the depths of a mind, to control it if he so saw fit. 

He would do anything you asked, because you asked it. And so, it seemed, would you … but only for him.

"Lie still, my love," Druig bid, your legs dropping from their place around his waist as he pulled back to kick off his boots and the remaining articles of his clothing.

You watched your beloved bare himself to you from behind the honey haze of Druig's influence that clouded your eyes. He leaned over you again, hooking his fingers in the belt loops of your jeans to tug you down the mass of blankets and pillows to meet his body, slotting yourselves gently together.

Reverent was the only way to describe the way he was looking at you now, trailing his fingers along your torso to pop the buttons of your jeans.

"Will you undress for me, Selene?" Druig's voice was everywhere. Inside your mind, in your ears, echoing in your mouth like the taste of copper.

You did as Druig bid, your hands following the familiar lines of your body through the strange filter of your love's mind. Rendering your own touch foreign to you, get familiar all at once. 

What a strange dichotomy, your mind whispered to you from somewhere far away. 

"Isn't it nice like this?" Druig breathed, "So … compliant."

Your head was buzzing, full of warm pleasant thoughts that hadn't been there before, thoughts of touching yourself, of trailing your fingertips along your breasts, across the plains and valleys of your body. Of sliding them through your now-damp folds. 

You could distantly hear yourself, sighing in pleased gasps at the touch that was yours, but also not-yours.

Druig felt himself harden as he knelt before you, over you. He had dreamt of you nearly every night for centuries. He wouldn't let slip the opportunity to touch you, to make his dreams a reality. 

That he could make yourself touch you in all the ways he had dreamt … that you wanted him to. He could feel, hear your assent, pleasant in your thoughts.

He watched and dictated as you slid a finger inside of yourself, swearing he could feel the warmth of your core as it registered in your own mind at your touch, as you teased your own body. First one finger, then another, slick building. Swearing that he could register the heat climbing through you, as though it was his own, as you fucked yourself on your own fingers, hips rolling to meet your touch.

“Feel your way,” Druig coaxed, his hands sliding along your thighs. 

A keening moan tore it's way through you at his words. When had your other hand cupped your breast? The rolling of your nipple by your teasing, plucking fingertips was like kindling to the fire building within you.

Was it your own idea, or was it Druig's, that had you withdrawing your fingers from your center, sliding the wetness gathered there along Druig's length, and pumping him slowly as he leaned over you. Overwhelming your senses. 

Your touch on his body. The taste of his kisses in your mouth. The sound of his groans in your ears. His thoughts melding with yours in a pleasant, burgundy haze that tasted vaguely warm and metallic.

Druig's touch replaced yours along your own body as he allowed you to continue toying with his. Willing you to touch him as he liked best, while he made to kiss you again, his fingers slipping down to glide through your soaked, heated folds before swirling over your clit. 

The heat in the room continued to climb as Druig played and plucked at your body. His grip on your mind began to slip as your collective pleasure climbed. You were coming back into your own mind, your own body as you were simultaneously inching closer to unraveling.

Even in his lovemaking, Druig couldn't resist cleverness and irony, it seemed.

You used your newfound faculties to release Druig from your grip, to pull him over you, his body dwarfing yours. To tug him closer, closed, closer to where you wanted him. Druig's fingers continued to toy with you, fingers curling inside of you as his thumb delicately traced and pressed against your clit. You wiggled your hips, desperate for more, wrapping your legs once more around Druig's tapered waist. 

"Please," you gasped, eyes locked with his molten ones, swirling like melting ice in the heat of your passion.

You gripped Druig's arms, scratching at his shoulders, his biceps, his back, everything you could reach as you felt yourself inching ever-closer to your peak.

Druig could feel that you were getting closer at his hands. Could feel the way you clenched. The way you throbbed around his fingers. Could feel the ache in your body as he toyed with it, and with your mind. The way you bucked your hips into his hands.

"Will you tell me what you want, my little hunter?" Druig teased from his position stop you, leaning into your space to whisper hotly into your ear. "I'll do what you ask," he parroted your words from earlier.

"Please, Dru, w-want this -- w-want you," you whimpered, a broken moan cracking it's way through the end of your plea at a particularly, deliciously cruel curl of Druig's fingers inside of you.

"Of course, love," his tone would have been cruel, would have been mocking, if you hadn't known that was all part of his little game. You rolled your hips again at his tone, willing him to do something now.

Even if he wasn't capable of reading your thoughts, the intention would have been enough.

Druig slid his fingers from your core, causing you to emit another broken whine, this time at the loss.

Quick as a flash, he lightly swatted your thigh.

You yelped, meeting his haughty eyes with a glare of your own. 

"Don't be insolent, hunter," Druig rumbled, inclining to press his front to yours more fully, bringing a hand to your throat and pressing lightly along it's column as he hissed into your ear, "Little girls who whine don't get what they want. I won’t help the ache you feel if you aren’t nice."

"Please, my love," you urged again, sweetly, sweetly. 

Druig chuckled darkly, nodding as he lined himself up with your center, hand still wrapped loosely around your throat as he surged into you. 

And oh. The throbbing emptiness you had felt without him was almost worth it if it meant you could feel so full, so whole, now.

You gasped into Druig's mouth, pleased with the groan he emitted in turn at being once more inside of you. Ever-haughty.

He met your lips with a nipping bite as he began to thrust into you, your hips rocking to meet him in kind. At this rate you were certain your lips and throat would feel the sting of his teeth, of his grip, for days. A blooming feeling rushed through you at the thought, the flickers blending into your pleasure.

Everything was swirling. White, fogged glass like looking out at a winter snowstorm.  Blinding, stark pleasure building within you both.

"Missed you, Selene," Druig whimpered, his moans becoming slurred as he rocked harder, rougher into you. His needs outweighing the control he prided himself on.

Druig relinquished his grip on your throat to rub once more at your clit. 

You knew Druig wouldn't last much longer if the cadence of his thrusts, his gasps, was any indication. You had wanted to take more time to mark him, to make him yours. A swath of purpling blooms growing along the expanse of Druig’s pale skin beneath your lips, blossoming beneath your attentions in equal parts pleasure and pain as you toyed with him in perpetuity.

The thought was enough to spur you forward, ever-closer to your peak. You settled for gripping, scratching at Druig's back, causing him to groan. Your touch on his body, your hands -- so very wanted.

Your orgasm washed over you at a particularly clever thrum of Druig's fingers, rolling your hips against him to ride out your high, clenching and releasing as Druig followed after you with a drawn-out groan.

You took in the sight of your beloved, delightfully open and so removed from his usually stoic demeanor in moments like this. Just as you remembered. He was panting lightly, skin flushed and lightly glistening with the sweat from your encounter, eyes starry and far-seeing.

He was beautiful. Like this, yes. But ever-so. And he was yours.

You pressed a lingering kiss to the corner of Druig's mouth as he withdrew from you, the two of you in no hurry to disentangle, but gently righting yourselves.

"I missed you too, my love," you said softly, trailing your fingers over the peak of his cheekbone. "I don't wish to be parted from you."

You don't know how long the two of you lay together, enjoying the feeling of the other's body pressed into them, of even and serene breathing. Perhaps the two of you had even drifted off, dreaming of the promise of a true eternity together.

When you were ready to emerge, the two of you had dressed, orienting yourselves before going to find the others. Druig had arranged his jacket once more over his shoulders. He crossed the room to you, standing over you and pressing his forehead to yours, closing his eyes and once more allowing himself to feel your presence alongside his. 

You leaned into his touch. Allowing yourself to greedily bask in this moment. No matter how many moments your long life had graced you with, few had carried this magnitude. Few had made you feel as safe, as wanted, as you did with the man before you know. 

"I love you, Druig," you speak plainly, firmly. No quaver of doubt in your voice.

At that, Druig broke from you softly. Digging into the pocket of his leather jacket for the gift from before, shoulders flexing beneath the fabric as he withdrew his hand from the pocket.

His palm upturned, revealing the gift he had been keeping for you for centuries. In the hopes that he might see you again to give it to you. 

“You mean more to me than their silver and gold. But if this is how I can show my love on this planet, I'll do it." 

With that, Druig slid a delicate rose gold band onto your finger, causing you to smile warmly at him, at the symbol of his eternal bond to you. 

“I wonder who invented this as a gesture of devotion,” you had mused. 

The memory, which had taken place in this very room, clearly prominent between the two of you. The symbol, reminiscent. 

“It is beautiful, Dru. But you know I don’t need objects to reflect or accept your love,” you affirmed. “It is enough to be with you. By your side. To receive your warmth.”

With that, you slid your arms across Druig’s shoulders, divesting him of the leather jacket so quickly he would have thought he had imagined it had it not been for the cool air biting the now-bare skin of his arms. 

“So much for not needing an object,” Druig chuckled, bumping his shoulder into yours. 

You slipped Druig’s jacket over your shoulders, Druig’s body heat soaking into your skin like the radiance of the sun through the silky lining of the jacket, the zippers at the cuffs clinking as you adjusted the garment to your form. 

“What?” You shrugged at Druig’s look of mild surprise. “I said I’d like your warmth. What are you going to do? Fight me for it?” You challenged, arching your brow at him as a golden arrow weaved its way between your fingers, tapping it against Druig’s thigh in playful, mock-warning.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, mo shíorghrá,” Druig chuckled. “Keep it. ‘T looks better on you anyway.” He slid a companionable arm over your shoulders as the two of you made to leave the room and find the others. 

“We can agree to disagree on that, but I’ll hang onto the jacket until a quorum is reached,” you teased, bumping your hip against Druig’s as you walked in tandem down the hall of the Domo toward Phastos’ lab where you could hear Makkari sorting through a pile of what sounded like books.

“Benevolent of you, really,” Druig pressed a kiss into your cheek, brushing his nose across the prominent bone there. “Suppose we have time to decide.”

As you made your way into the cool light of the lab, Makkari greeted you, placing her warm hands in yours. You wrapped your arms around her, delighted in your reunion now that you all could breathe and enjoy one another’s company again, departing on another adventure. Together.

The next thread warping its way through the loom of your lives. To and fro, to and fro. Together you remain, body and soul. 

–--

Tagging: @aphrogeneias @luxurybeskar @youhavemysaber @thematthewmurdock @inklore @joannasteez @blessedboo @cinewhore @superhoeva @themarcusmoreno @vaxxildan @justanotherblonde23 @spoopyredacted @ifimayhaveaword @phoenixhalliwell @forever-rogue @cryptidcody @noturjacky @flightlessangelwings @bendro-pascarnes @pettyprocrastination @agirllovespaghetti @jenrebloggingfics @steeeeeeeviebb-deactivated20220 @imogenswitchbolt @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @artsymaddie @wvndasmaximoff @moonlight-prose @cryinginsanity @miss-me-jack @xthenewgurlintown @calsjack @raegansthings @acciosiriusblack @druigsgold​ 

[mayalaen]

20 questions for fic writers

@whataboutthefish tagged me - thanks Fishie!!

First, my AO3

How many works do you have on AO3?

191

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

2,150,989

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Supernatural, Stranger Things, Fargo, Stargate, Dickensian, The Blacklist, The X-Files, Angel the Series & Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and I'm probably gonna pick up a few more soon.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

CONventional Psychopathy 'Verse - SPN AU Tumblr Ask Box Requests - SPN 40 ficlet challenge Alpha House 'Verse - SPN AU Resonance 'Verse - SPN canon verse with angel sounds Best Brother Ever - SPN with a technique that has gotten me the most questions from readers saying "does that really work?" Yes it does.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do, but sometimes it takes me a while to respond because I get weird and shy about it at times. I love comments and read them over again when I need a boost!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't usually have angsty endings, but with CH challenge fics I go ahead and do shit I don't normally do - so Inside (SPN) would be the angstiest ending.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Probably Splintered - ST fic where I throw a lot of shit at the guys but they all get a happy ending.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Yup. I delete comments and asks immediately though so readers and followers hopefully never see any of it. I don't play that game.

9. Do you write smut?

SO MUCH. SOOOOO much.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Open Sesame Street Walker has to be the wildest one I've done. It was a challenge fic. A choose your own adventure style thing, and I wanted to make every outcome disturbing. I did it, but at the cost of ruining Sesame Street for myself and others 😂

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yup. CON 'verse is still being sold on a bunch of sites and the "author" is continuing to add more books to the series. I've tried a few times to get them taken down but only succeeded in getting things taken down for a few months. Out of all the fics that could've been stolen, that's the one that's the WORST because I'm also writing it as original fic and have been for years. I've got proof of that, but if retailers fight me on it when I try to publish, it's gonna suck.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes. A few.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I wrote a few years ago but haven't in a while. I'd like to do it again!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

No way I can answer that. I'm definitely a multshipper at heart, and I can't even decide on favorite characters, let alone a favorite ship!

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Rewritten in the Stars is something I'd love to finish, but I don't know if I'll ever be able to get in the headspace again. It's complicated and rewrites aspects of the characters while sticking closely to canon with a lot of moving parts over a 30-year time frame. The first part of the series feels complete if you read it, but I have 30k written of part 2 and a full outline for part 3.

16. What are your writing strengths?

The thing I get complimented on the most is my worldbuilding. I also think I'm good at natural dialogue - making it sound like actual speech instead of written word.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I have trouble condensing things and it gets wordy 😭

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've kinda sorta done it with alien language and angel language, a few words here and there of other languages - most of it just English in italics to show that it's not being said in English. I don't think I'd ever try and use an actual language I didn't know for more than a word or two.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Stargate SG1

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

CON 'verse is and probably always will be my favorite. 💜

Tagging from my activity list with no obligation to do it: @actualalligator @medusapelagia @wheels-of-despair @kallisto-k @ltleflrt @peachonified @underwater-ninja-13

If anybody else wants to play, please tag me so I can see your stuff!

[gaywizardracoon]

Hello, my name is Elliot and I'm new to tumblr! I'm a transmasc boy and I like to write, read and draw :)

Things I will write about:

Fluff ☁️❤

Angst💔

Ships 💭(depending on the people)

Things I will NOT write about:

Smut (I'm a minor)

Pa3d0philia

Toxic ships (unhealthy relationships)

R3pe (non-con)

Minor shipping (all these characters are teens or over but not to old)

I might add some more if I think of any lol

Here are the fandoms/people I will write for :)

Stranger things

-Steve Harrington

-Eddie Munson

-Nancy Wheeler

-Robin Buckley (x fem reader cuz she's lesbian)

-Jonathan Byers

-Argyle

-Chrissy Cunningham

-Eleven/Jane

-Mike Wheeler

-Will Byers

-Dustin Henderson

-Lucas Sinclair

-Max Mayfield

-(i don't wrote for Billy hargrove so don't ask)

Dickensian

-Arthur Havisham

Spree

-Kurt Kunkle

The Outsiders

-Darry Curtis

-Sodapop Curtis

-Ponyboy Curtis

-Johnny Cade

-Dallas Winston

-Two-Bit Mathews

-Steve Randle

Umbrella academy

-Klaus Hargreeves

-Diego Hargreeves

-Viktor Har

The Owl House

-Hunter

-Willow

Fnaf

-William Afton

-Michael Afton

-Jeremy Fitzgerald

Helluva Boss

-Blitzø

-Stolas

-Luna

-Moxxie

-Millie

Hazbin Hotel

-Angel Dust

-Alastor?

-Charlie

-Husker

Mha

-Present Mic

-Aizawa

-All Might

-Izuku Midoryia

-Katsuki Bakugou

-Shoto Todoroki

-Ejiro Kirishima

-Denki Kaminari

-Sero

-Mina Ashido

-Ochako

-Shinsou

-Himiko Toga

-Dabi

-Shigaraki

-Twice

Encanto

-Dolores Madrigal

-Camilo Madrigal

-Luisa Madrigal

-Isebella Madrigal

-Mirabel Madrigal

Sally face

-Sal Fisher

-Larry Johnson

-Ashley Campbell

-Todd Morrison

-Travis Phelps

-Niel

These arent all of them but they are the ones I could think of rn. You can request other characters as long as it doesn't have the things I will not write in it but don't be upset if I decline and/or it takes long for me to write it remember I am human :) Love you all be safe <33

[ladyfogg]

My dinner was delivered an hour ago but now it's cold because I was too busy writing Arthur/Male Reader smut.

On the plus side, my Dickensian oneshot is drafted.

[dingusfreakhxrrington]

dickensian masterlist

key: 

📖 - chaptered story | 📄 - oneshot | 📎 - headcanons pg - minor friendly | mature - contains mature themes (never any smut)

xreader

arthur havisham

- cheering him up after a bad day 📎 (fluff, f!reader, pg, platonic relationship)

- please don’t go, part 2 📄 (angst, m!reader, mature, multiple parts)

- something to live for 📄 (fluff, m!reader, pg, drabble)

head back to the navi

note: i’m mostly just here to write for arthur but i am open to writing for other characters so feel free to send me requests about other characters if you’d like