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scuttling · 4 years ago

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Birthday

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina OFC Sophie Cortes Word Count: 2,648 Tags: SFW, Pre-relationship, Drinking, Pre-relationship minor Morgan/Garcia Summary: The team goes out for Sophie's 30th birthday. Collection: Sophie Cortes timeline, 7-12 Months at the BAU (See Masterlist for reading order) Link to AO3 or read below! “Time for another shot?” Prentiss asks, dropping two handfuls of glasses onto the table in front of them, and Sophie laughs, shaking her head indulgently.

“No more shots, Em. I’m already feeling the last two.” Her cheeks are slightly flushed, corroborating her comment, but she’s still standing steadily, so she can’t be too far gone.

“Come on, it’s your birthday!” The rest of the team joins in with a chorus of similar comments, but Hotch just smiles at their happiness and lets them battle it out amongst themselves.

“You only turn 30 once, you know,” Morgan reminds her, a hand casually thrown over her shoulder, and Reid frowns.

“You only turn every age once; what’s the significance of 30?”

“All he’s saying, Reid,” Garcia chimes in, taking a sip of her pink, fruity drink, “is that every year older is a chance to celebrate. Especially in this line of work.” Sophie sighs, clearly giving in to her friends’ methods, and she walks two fingers forward, to a full shot glass.

“Fine, fine: I will drink one more shot…” she begins, pausing as is for dramatic effect, “if someone gets me cheese fries.”

“I’ll buy the birthday girl some cheese fries,” Reid offers, and she pulls him down by the arm and gives him a kiss on the cheek, which earns howls from the team and a blush from Reid, and then she takes the shot.

“I’m hungry too, Spence, I’ll come with you,” JJ adds. “Anyone want anything?” Morgan, Garcia, and Prentiss rattle off orders, and Hotch takes a sip of his beer, doesn't notice that Sophie has made her way toward him until he gets a whiff of her perfume.

“Not hungry?” she asks, leaning against the table and facing him. She looks very beautiful in a short, silky orange dress, leather jacket thrown over her shoulders, and he lets his gaze linger for a moment.

“No, I think I’m going to call it a night.” He has reports that need to be reviewed, documents that need to be signed, and though he’s enjoying watching his team on a rare night out, he can’t help but feel old and out of place—especially as she celebrates her 30th birthday, for god’s sake. He can’t even remember his 30th birthday.

“Oh Hotch, you can’t.” She sets a hand on his arm, gently, looks up into his eyes with a clear gaze. “I know I don’t like to make a big deal of my birthday, but I’ll happily play that card with you if it will get you to stay.” Her eyes are sweet, and they look wide, almost pleading—it’s a puppy dog look by anyone’s standards, and it turns out he’s helpless against it.

“Okay, I’ll stay a little longer if it means that much to you,” he agrees, teasing a little, but her reply seems serious.

“It really does.” She smiles softly, then removes her hand from his arm, almost like she forgot that she put it there. “I’ll even share my cheese fries with you.”

She makes good on the promise, thanking Reid profusely for the gift and then running a knife through them so they make for smaller bites. She lifts her fork, takes two or three bites, and sets it down, handle pointing in his direction; he’s really not that hungry, but the way she shares with him is so effortless that it feels like an offering he shouldn’t refuse.

Later, Morgan and Garcia are dancing, Prentiss is talking to a woman she knows from the office, and Reid is making conversation with someone at table over, when Sophie takes her last bite of fries.

“They’re still not together, right?” she asks, pointing her fork at Morgan and Garcia, and Hotch shakes his head.

“As far as I know, no.”

“Same here,” JJ pipes up from across the table, nursing her drink. “And you know I’d know; I know everything.” Sophie laughs, sips her beer. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. It’s just a shame, I guess; two people who are so drawn together shouldn’t fight so hard to stay apart.” JJ gives Hotch a quick glance, which he can’t interpret, then looks back down at her half-eaten plate of fried pickles, picking at the crumbs.

“I don’t get it either. If the FBI doesn’t care, why do they?” Sophie sighs, looking back at the laughing, dancing couple, props her chin up with her hand.

“They don’t think they deserve it.” When he and JJ both look toward her—the sound of her voice is almost sad, unusual for a night like tonight—she straightens, downs the last of her drink. “I assume that’s why, I mean.” JJ gives him another brief look, and he doesn’t know what to say. It’s almost 2 AM when the party breaks up, much later than he intended to stay out, but he’s happy he did. Sophie isn’t drunk, he doesn’t think, but she’s much tipsier than she was hours ago, before the cheese fries—and she’s really adorable.

“I love you guys so much,” she tells them all as they put on their coats. “I love you, Spencer, for buying me cheese fries, thank you buddy.” She wraps her arms around him, almost dangling from his neck, and he laughs, squeezes her tight.

“I love you too, buddy, you’re welcome.” She moves to Garcia next, hugs her tight around the waist.

“I love you, Pen. I love my card and your smile and I love coming into your cave for candy when Morgan gets on my nerves.” They laugh and Morgan acts affronted, which only makes them laugh more.

“I love you too, birthday babe.”

“I love you Morgan,” she begins, pulling him into a one-armed embrace, “even though you annoy me sometimes, ‘cause we’re Chicago twins and we both like the Cubs and we both know the best pizza is from Tony’s on 4th Avenue.”

“You know it, girl. I love you too.”

“JJ,” Sophie calls, drawing out the last letter, and they hug each other equally tight. “I love you ‘cause you’re the coolest one of us; I don’t make the rules,” she tacks on when the rest of the group scoffs. “She’s super cool and you guys know it.”

“I love you, especially when you’re drunk,” JJ tells her with a laugh. “Should have made you eat more than half a plate of cheese fries.”

“It’s not your fault, I blame Emily Prentiss,” she says, accusatorily, turning to the woman in question and giving her a hug, which Prentiss returns with a pat. “I love you even though you kept handing me drinks all night. You’re a bad influence.”

“Then I guess I succeeded,” she says with an affectionate smile. “I love you, birthday girl. I’m glad you had a good time.” They separate, and when Sophie turns to Hotch, the last in line, her face changes. Her expression isn’t one of awkwardness or irritation, but… almost like resignation, and he can’t exactly tell what that means.

She smiles softly, quirking her lip as if asking if it’s okay to proceed, and he opens his arms, tries not to smile when she sags against him as if, of all the hugs she’s received tonight, this is the one she wanted most.

“I love you, Hotch,” she says so quietly he has to strain to hear, and he moves his hand carefully over her back.

“I love you too.” They stay like that for a good twenty seconds, and when she pulls back, she smiles sheepishly.

“Okay, you guys have stayed out long enough because of me. I’ve gotta order my Uber.” Morgan and Prentiss both insist they can drop her off, talking over each other, and he decides to spare them both, speaks in his unit chief voice for the only time that night.

“You guys focus on getting each other home; I’ll get her home.” Everyone agrees easily, Sophie included, and they are walking out to the parking lot before she speaks again—not exactly slurred, but a bit slower than normal.

“How are you still so... Hotch-y? You had as much to drink as I did.”

“I’ve probably got 75 pounds on you, so I metabolized it faster, I guess,” he answers with a chuckle, steering her to his SUV, and something about that makes her groan.

“Oh, I know... all about that.” He comes around to the passenger side to open the door for her, and for a moment she just looks up at him, slowly wets her lips. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She slips into the car, buckles up, and he closes the door with a sigh.

In a perfect world, this would be him taking her home from a date, maybe kissing her goodnight on her doorstep… But the world is as imperfect as she isn’t, and his little crush is both inappropriate and foolish, so he resigns himself to his role and vows to get her home safely, and nothing more.

They arrive outside of her apartment building after about fifteen minutes of softly murmured directions, and he puts the car into park, turns to look at her.

“Do you want me to come up with you?” he asks, and she smiles softly, tiredly.

“Yes, but no. I’ll be okay.” The look on her face is sweet, almost tender, and he keeps himself from reading too much into it. That way lies madness, he knows.

“It’s no trouble. It would make me feel better, to know you made it safely.” Her smile gets brighter, and she sits up, unbuckling her seatbelt.

“Okay, sure. Thanks. I could make you a cup of coffee for the road, if you’d like.” He nods, and they both climb out of the car, heading toward the front door of her apartment. He keeps his hands near her, ready to catch her if she wobbles, but she is steady on her feet even in the skinny heels she wears.

She unlocks the front door, then takes him up a couple of flights of stairs, stopping outside apartment number 12. Her keys turn easily in the locks, the door swinging open to display a very clean, very white apartment. “Thanks for coming up with me. You didn’t have to do that, but I appreciate it,” she tells him, hanging up her jacket on the hook behind the door.

“I wanted to,” he tells her, honestly, a little distracted by her bare shoulders, the slim straps that rest on them. She looks back, and if he’s caught staring, she doesn’t mention it. She leans her butt against the wall, reaching down to unclasp the buckle on her shoe, and for the first time, her balance isn’t perfect; she wobbles a little, and his hands catch her waist to steady her.

“Do you need help getting your shoes off?” he asks, looking down into her eyes, and hers are warm, liquid as she stares back. Her tongue sweeps over her bottom lip, and if it were any other woman, he would take that as an invitation to lean in and kiss her. Instead, he drops to one knee and unbuckles her shoe, slides it off carefully, repeats that with the other foot. He sets the shoes on the shoe rack by the door, stands back up to full height, touches her arm gently.

“Thanks, Hotch.” Her voice is soft, cautious, and it looks like she wants to say more, but the silence goes on too long, and she eventually clears her throat. “Do you want that cup of coffee?”

“Sure. Please.” She pads into the kitchen, which is, like the rest of the apartment, sparkling clean and gleaming white, switches on the coffee maker, and pulls a travel mug down from the cupboard overhead. “I like your apartment. It’s very… clean.” She turns, back against the counter, and smiles.

“I don’t like to leave a mess, since we never know where we’re going to be.”

“It’s a little bare,” he says gently, trying not to profile too much, and she looks down like she’s self-conscious.

“You know I’m private. I like to keep my photos and stuff in the bedroom.” She walks past him, down the hallway, looks over her shoulder and signals for him to follow.

Her bedroom is still very white—white comforter, white sheets, white pillows—but her dresser, headboard, and end tables are made of wood, and the dresser is littered with silver picture frames.

One is of Sophie and a young man who resembles her so much, it must be her brother. One is of the two of them with a pair of adults, their parents, probably. One is of Sophie with a young man and woman who look like they could be twins, another of Sophie and the man he knows is her previous partner back in Chicago.

There’s one of her SWAT squad, Sophie in the middle with a big smile and an even bigger gun. Then there’s one of the BAU team, from a get-together Garcia hosted; he remembers her apartment looking like a craft store threw up there, every bright color and pattern you could imagine, and he remembers Sophie’s face when she saw it, called it gorgeous and fitting and very Penelope.

Would he consider this apartment very Sophie? This room, maybe, but that’s about it.

“I love these. Especially this one,” he says, holding up the photo of the SWAT team. “We need to take you to an outdoor range one day, so you can blow Morgan’s mind.” She laughs, light and airy, moves closer so she’s looking at the photo with him.

“That’s a great idea. He’s seen my special tactics, now for my special weapons.” She touches the photo of her with her brother, picks it up to show him. “This is my brother, Leo—before he became a constantly high competitive surfer in San Diego.”

“Do you see him often?” Her face falls, and she sets the photo back down with a sigh.

“I haven’t seen him in about a year. He doesn’t agree with my lifestyle, calls me a government pawn.”

“He doesn’t agree with your lifestyle?” he asks, a little surprised, considering his habits, but she just nods.

“Yeah, he’s very ‘go with the flow’, finds me morally rigid. Thinks I’m not doing work that needs to be done, as if our job is less important than surfing.” He laughs, and she laughs with him, bumps playfully against his arm. “You should feel special, you know. No one else has seen my photos.”

“No one at all?” That can’t be right, she’s had people in her bedroom, certainly…

“Nope. I don’t date often, you know. And I one-night-stand even less than I date, so. No one has had the chance.” It makes him sad, generally, that she keeps her photos so guarded, that she doesn’t share them—he’s happy, though, to know she doesn’t have men in and out of her bedroom, as if that matters when he knows nothing will ever happen between them.

“You have to give someone the chance,” he says, pulling her in for an easy, one-armed hug and pressing his lips to the top of her head. He’s not sure why he does it, but it feels so right he doesn’t really question it.

“I know,” she says quietly, wrapping her arm around his waist, too, and leaning against his shoulder. “I just want it to be the right someone.” She looks up at him, so soft and beautiful in just her slip of a dress, feet bare, that his chest aches with the urge to kiss her.

He doesn’t, of course, and never will, and the moment eventually passes, their eye contact breaks. “I should make that coffee,” she murmurs, pulling away, and tries not to feel too bad about the loss.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner x original female character #criminal minds fanfic

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voiceless-terror · 5 years ago

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Smile and Nod (The Magnus Archives)

Whumptober 2020 Day Six: “Stop, please”

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Characters: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Sasha James, Tim Stoker, Elias Bouchard, Original Character

CW: Harassment, Unwanted Advances

Summary:

“He said to let go of him.” The voice startles them both and Jon turns to see Martin, a placid smile on his face. He is tall, so tall- was Martin always this tall?

Jon runs into trouble at the Institute’s annual donor party and has an unlikely rescuer.

The Institute hosted a party for its most illustrious donors every spring. Jon had never been expected to go to it until his promotion to Head Archivist and even then he tried to get it out of it, to no avail.

“I’m afraid it’s part of your duties now as Head Archivist,” Elias had said. “We need to have a face for every department and I’m sure quite a few of our donors are anxious to meet Gertrude’s replacement. You understand, of course.” Jon nodded. “I trust you’ll be on your best behavior.” He hadn’t forgotten his promise to ‘be more lovely’ after the incident with Naomi Herne.

“Yes, yes,” Jon sighed. He wasn’t looking forward to the event- sticking close to Elias’s side didn’t seem very appealing, but being left to the wolves was even worse. Elias seemed to notice his hesitation and paused, waiting for Jon to continue. Perhaps he didn’t have to go alone. It’s worth a try, isn’t it?

“W-Would it,” he began, cursing his stutter. “That is, I would like to- if you don’t mind, I think it would be valuable to have my assistants attend, as well?” He hated the uptick in his voice that made it sound more like a question. “I-I just think it would be a good experience for them to ah, meet the donors as well. Since they do a lot of the research.” Another reminder that he had no idea what he was doing; Elias hadn’t said anything about his methods in the Archives, so he only hoped that indicated a tacit agreement about the way things should be run.

Jon watched several emotions flit across the man’s face, irritation and disappointment giving way to resignation. He tried to ignore the first two and focus on the last. “Alright,” Elias agreed with a sigh. “Please stress the formality of this event, particularly to Mr. Blackwood. You’ll be representing the Institute, and as such you will be expected to interact with our donors. See that you don’t use your assistants as a social crutch.” Damn. There goes his plan. At least I’ll have some support.

So here he was, standing in the hallway with his assistants in an ill-fitting suit he last wore to the funeral of a distant cousin. It didn’t fit then, either. He hoped he didn’t look too much like a child in his father’s clothes, but the snickers from Tim and Sasha dashed any hope of that. They looked wonderful, of course, as they always did. Martin was in the same boat as Jon, fidgeting in a blazer and non-matching pants.

“Well boss, looks like it’s time to schmooze!” Tim clapped a hand on his shoulder and steered him through the door. Elias liked to have his parties in the main library- it was the most beautiful part of the Institute, aside from the entrance hall. The tables and desks that normally populated the center of the room had been cleared away to reveal a rather spacious area for guests to mingle and talk over the sound of a tasteful string quartet. The whole event was incredibly elegant and Jon felt like he very much did not belong.

“Ah, there he is!” He heard Elias call from the right-hand corner of the room, where he was surrounded by several well-to-do donors dressed to the nines. He gestured him over with a magnanimous hand and Jon instantly flushed. Tim squeezed his shoulder and pushed him in their general direction. “This is our new Head Archivist, Jonathan Sims. He’s been doing fine work thus far.”

After a moment Tim’s hand is replaced by Elias’s, firm and weighty on his shoulder. He’s exchanging pleasantries with people whose names he forgets almost instantly- their hands are cold and their voices distant, they talk over him as if he were a child they judged and found wanting. Elias’s hand did not move and he was anchored in place, even as they made no move to include him in their conversation.

He saw Martin give him a look of pity from the corner that he was currently occupying with Sasha and Tim. They had their hands full of hors d'oeuvres and drinks and Jon wished desperately for a glass of water, anything to keep his hands occupied. He turned to realize the conversation had stopped and his companions were staring at him expectantly. “I’m sorry?” he hazarded, wondering if he’d been addressed.

“Our son George,” the woman over-enunciated, her tone condescending. Jon remembered vaguely that she had some connection to the Fairchilds, though her name wasn’t familiar. “-is over by the bar. I think you’ll find his company a bit more interesting, hm?” The group tittered and Jon felt shame rise in his throat as his boss’s hand tightened on his shoulder.

“Yes Jon, why don’t you introduce yourself?” Elias said genially enough, though Jon can tell he had disappointed him once again. Jon nodded, excusing himself to go to the corner to get a much-needed drink and to embarrass himself further. There was a man roughly his age fiddling around on his phone with a bored expression. He was tall and handsome but in the soft way of the rich, cruel and cherubic in equal measure. It unnerved Jon and he summoned up a smile that felt more like a grimace.

“G-George?” he asked, willing his voice to steady. The man looked up, expression unchanged as his eyes bored into Jon’s. “I’m Jonathan Sims, the new Head Archivist-”

“Parents send you over?” he smirked and Jon felt the tension in his shoulders ease just a bit. “Sorry you had to deal with them. This your first time at one of these? Median age here is usually around seventy five, give or take.” He laughed and Jon smiled, the man’s candor a bit charming even to him.

“Y-Yes, I’m not really sure I should be here,” he admitted as George slid a drink into his hand. He took a grateful sip and closed his eyes at it’s smooth burn- this was expensive liquor and Jon was going to savor every last bit.

“That makes two of us,” the man nudged him with his elbow and Jon started to think the night might not be as bad as he thought. He glanced quickly over to the other side of the room- Tim winked and gave him a thumbs-up (which he ignored) and Martin’s face was carefully blank. Jon did not know what to make of that.

George, it seemed, was not all that bad. He listened patiently when Jon went off on a rant about book-binding, nodding and smiling at all the right parts. In return, Jon let him talk about finance for longer than was polite (and God was it boring). They’ve now had two drinks and Jon is feeling much, much looser. The smiles are genuine and unforced. He watches Elias nod in approval out of the corner of his eye and feels his chest warm with pride. Not a complete disappointment, am I?

But George is getting closer. It was fine when they were awkwardly perched on opposite ends of the bar and needed to hear one another, but this was getting too cozy for Jon’s tastes. He tries to take a casual step backwards but stumbles. George’s hand goes to his elbow to help steady him and stays there.

“I-I think I need to-” he starts to mumble an excuse but the man is not having it.

“What do you say we get out of here?” He whispers, coming in closer. Jon’s nerves reach a fever-pitch but he does not want to show it, doesn’t want to make a scene so he keeps the smile pasted on his face. “My apartment’s not that far-”

“O-Oh, I’m f-fine, thanks,” he says, trying to dislodge the man’s arm but it is no use- he is much stronger than he looks and has at least half a foot on him. “I actually have plans-”

“With who?” George asks pityingly as Jon tries desperately to meet anyone’s eyes, even Elias’s. He tries to convey his plea without making it obvious to any other bystanders but his boss’s eyes slide right over him. He knows he saw, he knows-

“That’s why they sent you over, right?” George continues, his mouth dangerously close to Jon’s neck as he leans into whisper in his ear. “Pretty thing like you, get me to open the cheque book-”

“Good Lord no, let me go-” at this Jon scoffs, horrified as he tries to yank his arm away.

“Don’t make a scene,” the man says in a low and calming voice, though the leer on his face is clear to see. Jon feels terribly small. “You don’t want to disappoint the boss, do you?”

“Please,” he begs, all out of words. “Stop, please-”

“He said to let go of him.” The voice startles them both and Jon turns to see Martin, a placid smile on his face. He is tall, so tall- was Martin always this tall?

“I’m sorry?” George replies with a sneer, his voice raising in both pitch and volume and Jon is sure if people weren’t looking before, they’re looking now. “I’ll thank you to stay out of this, we were just leaving-”

“No,” Martin replies in that preternaturally calm voice, still smiling. “You weren’t. Now let him go, and we can forget this all happened, hm?” He puts a hand on the arm that’s holding Jon and there’s real strength behind it. George tries to wrench his arm away but Martin’s got it in a solid grip and he barely manages a wiggle.

“Let go of me now, or I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Martin sounds bored. It is mystifying and Jon can do nothing but gape at the man. “You don’t want a scene, do you? Not in front of the family. Not again. So smile, and walk away.” There is a moment where Jon thinks they will come to blows but it passes. George manages to turn his scowl into a neutral expression, saving some dignity though he throws one last glare Jon’s way. “Not even worth it,” he mutters as he walks away. Jon leans against the bar, releasing a breath he did not realize he’d been holding.

“A-Are you alright, Jon?” Martin has a hand on his elbow but it’s okay now because it’s Martin and it feels right. His face has that same look he gets when he asks Jon whether he wants a cup of tea, or how he’s feeling or if he’s eaten that day. Worried, gentle.

“W-What was that?” is all Jon manages to get out, his voice in an embarrassingly high-pitch. Tim and Sasha are now making their way over with schooled expressions, though Jon can see the worry in their eyes. “Did you know that man? I-I mean, what the hell?” Jon realizes he’s sputtering and tries to get a handle on his swirling emotions. “N-Not that I’m not grateful, but good lord. ‘Not again?’”

Martin laughs, suddenly bashful. “I just guessed with that one, honestly. He looks like the type that’s thrown a fit or two, doesn’t he?” Tim and Sasha reach them and Martin is himself again, hunched over like he’s taking up too much space. This is the Martin that tiptoes around the archives, that’s always smiling and chattering about his day. Jon has never contemplated the man in much detail, but he is finding it hard to reconcile this new side of him. It’s not necessarily unwelcome.

“Alright there, boss?” Tim inquires, good-natured but anxious. “Was going to come over, pretend to be your boyfriend and all but Martin said that would be ‘demeaning’ or whatever.” Tim rolls his eyes at this.

“I don’t know, Martin seemed to diffuse the situation pretty well,” Sasha eyes him curiously. “What did you say?”

“N-Nothing, really-”

“He asked him to leave,” Jon says, finding his voice and unable to take his eyes off Martin. “And he left.”

“Damn, okay,” Tim gives an appreciative whistle before knocking back the rest of his drink. “Working that Mart-o magic, I guess. This party blows, let’s hit the bars. Night’s still young!”

Sasha cheers and Martin looks at him questioningly- he surprises himself by nodding in agreement. “Yeah, let’s go.” He studiously ignores Elias breaking off from his group of sycophants and heading their way. He watches as Martin straightens himself minutely, blocking Jon with his body as Tim ushers them out the door before they can get stopped by the man. Jon knows he will get a tongue-lashing out of this but he doesn’t care right now. He feels small in Martin’s shadow but it is a safe small, like a blanket wrapped around him on a chilly night.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Martin asks as Tim and Sasha chatter ahead of them, arguing over their destination. “We don’t have to go out if you don’t want to. I can take you home.”

I can take you home.

“I’m fine,” he says though he knows the situation hasn’t quite set in yet. “I’d rather not be alone, I-I think.” Martin nods and gives him a smile. It is almost charming, and Jon returns it. He doesn’t really want another drink but he needs a distraction, any distraction.

The night is cold and Martin is close, big and safe and warm. And if Jon leans into his side when they finally agree on a bar, that’s nobody’s business but his own.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26856373

#my writing #tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jon/martin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #timothy stoker #elias bouchard #sasha james #whumptober2020 #no.6 #stop please #fic #harassment cw #unwanted advances cw

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cuinnamonbun · 4 years ago

Note

I really love ur headcanon about Hijabi Mc with the brothers! I really love it cuz there is no one writing about us in any fandom =(

I was thinking would u do the (un)datebale characters with Hijabi Mc if u can ? =3

If u don’t want then u can ignore the ask 🖤

Hello there, angel! I assume you meant the chaotic Hijabi MC headcanon that I wrote, so I hope you enjoyed these xx

she/her pronouns!!

The (Un)Dateable Characters' + Luke’s Reactions to a Hijabi MC That Looks Extremely Pious and Quiet but is Actually a Chaotic Mess

Diavolo

As future king of the Devildom that wishes to strengthen the relations between the three realms, prejudice and discrimination against the human exchange students’ choice of religion is a HUGE no-no

Diavolo would not mind the fact that she is wearing a symbol of her devotion to God on her head, but he would be so intrigued by this human at first meeting

Not about her religion, of course, he is well aware of all the religions in the world; Abrahamic religion being the one he is most familiar with (obvi)

What excited him was the fact that this human was so. friggin. hilarious.

He’s not even sure if this human is doing it on purpose because something would happen that would catch her off guard and she would just say?? the most random shit???

Like say, she got jumped by Mammon and her response to that would be a monotone scream and a “sTOP i could’ve dropped my croissant!” but she was actually genuinely startled

He’d be so fascinated like wow! Go girl, give us nothing!!

He would invite her over for tea so many times just so she could explain slang to him

Diavolo: Tell me MC, what is the meaning of DILF?

Due to personal reasons, MC will now be passing away

He would abuse the usage of slang everywhere and he would be so excited to finally understand what Leviathan is talking about

Lucifer: Diavolo, we must talk about the student council budget

Diavolo: That wasn’t very cash money of you

Lucifer: ....excuse me?

Diavolo: Periodt okurrr slay queen

MC has to go hide to avoid being slaughtered like a sacrificial lamb by Lucifer

Diavolo would be also be curious and impressed at the intricate planning of each and every one of her pranks

Like sure, it may be annoying to be the one at the receiving end of it, but understanding the details behind it?? All the logic, physics and patience put into it just to ensure a flawless delivery??? Absolutely stunning

MC has him mesmerised

He would absolutely want to learn the art of pranking from her

Honestly, at this point it’s no longer the human exchange student and the Devil King, it’s now the mentor and the mentee

Lucifer has to demand MC to stop teaching him these things for the sake of his sanity because it’s taking him away from his royal duties that’s keeping the Devildom from falling apart

They still meet up in secret though screw you, Lucifer

Barbatos

This is another demon whom would not mind the fact that their chosen exchange student is a Muslim

Lord Diavolo’s reputation hangs on this exchange program going extremely well, he would not let simple prejudices put a smear on that

He has prepared himself well to receive people from different walks of life just so he can provide all students a comfortable stay during their term in the Devildom

But wait...what is that human doing?

Oh...this poor man

Not only does he have to keep that ginormous labyrinth of a castle spotless and immaculate at all times and ensure that every event being hosted by the castle is going perfectly without a hitch, but he also has to take care of an overgrown man-child that is also known as the future king of the Devildom

Now, he has to make sure this...mess of a human doesn’t go stir up trouble anywhere?

Barbatos is a calm and collected man, but he’s still a demon; virtues aren’t exactly something they practice

He would need to down three cups of melancholy coffee and squeeze a stress ball whenever he catches MC in her antics whether it is alone or with someone in tow

Somehow he’s the only one whom MC would find almost impossible to prank

Like she managed to catch Lucifer off guard once (that was her proudest achievement) but BARBATOS???? yeah, it’s like he has a pair of eyes on the back of his head or something

MC: *tries to sneak up on him*

Barbatos, not even turning back: Enough of that now, MC, come enjoy this tea I’ve made

Pranking Barbatos will become her number one mission during her entire term in the Devildom

Barbatos would be really amused and impressed at the lengths she would go through just to see that shocked look on his face

Why, it might even be—dare he say—endearing

Though MC will cause this man stress and grey hairs, Barbatos couldn’t help but appreciate her company every time she came around

When she’s not up to her daily shenanigans, she would simply opt to help Barbatos out with some of the chores or preparing the treats for a tea party with the student council members and the exchange program, even though he’s mentioned that she should do no such thing

But knowing that this girl is constantly energetic and restless, Barbs agreed to let her help since he would not want to deal with her breaking some priceless antiques or getting herself in trouble with Devildom law again

She helps to remind him that it’s okay to be laidback once in a while and that he doesn’t need to be so uptight all the time

These two have an unusual friendship but it’s only good vibes all around ^^

Before she leaves the Devildom though, he would pretend that she actually managed to startle him with her last grand prank and the look on her face was worth his reputation taking a slight hit

He totally has a soft spot for her

Solomon

OOOOH THESE TWO

THESE TWO ARE THE EMBODIMENT OF CHAOS ITSELF

Solomon and MC would be the best of friends man

The minute this shady sorcerer laid his eyes on her, he KNEW...this would be his new BFF

They would wreak so much havoc together that they give Lucifer a migraine the size of Lord Diavolo’s castle because they’re rUiNiNG tHe iNtEgRiTy oF tHE eXcHanGe pRoGrAm

Psh, as if that’d stop them

Honestly, it was like they each have one braincell that cancels each other out every time they get together

Lucifer: You two better have an explanation for this

MC: We have three actually.

Solomon: Pick your favourite

Lucifer hates it whenever they get together and he would always try to prevent them from meeting up

But his wits are no match for the power of their friendship!!

Solomon would defff try to persuade MC to get more pacts with other demons

Solomon: C’monnnn MC, we could be powerful! :c

MC: Bold of you to assume we’re not powerful now, bestie

So we have established that MC loves to pull pranks right?

She would have so many ideas on the top of her head that she would never use because 1) they either defy the laws of physics or 2) she would need magic to pull it off perfectly

So imagine her excitement when she found out Solomon is the greatest human sorcerer

She would 100% reel him in her plans and schemes and NO ONE (except the angels, they have immunity bc they’re babies :] ) would be safe from them

Despite all the fun they would have though, Solomon definitely treasures her as his greatest friend

I imagine life for Solomon would be quite lonely and he appreciates the constant joy and company that MC would provide him

He would definitely fuck a bitch up if someone dares to mess with his bestie 🙄

These two adore each other so much but they would be caught DEAD before they would admit that to each other 🤭

Simeon

When they first met, Simeon was so happy to find a person so devoted to God such as MC

He takes it upon himself to become MC’s guardian angel around the Devildom

He would helicopter them for a while and would (reluctantly) back off if MC finds it a bit suffocating

(don’t be mean MC, he just cares about u alot that’s all :( )

This man is capital P patient

I mean, that’s a given with him being an angel and all

But seriously,,, one has to be in awe at how calm and collected he is even when MC would pull pranks that would cause a normal person to wanna punch the living daylights out of her

Eventually she would feel bad and stop pulling these pranks on him though, he’s just too sweet and she can’t take advantage of that </3

They would be really close though (along with Luke) because he would frequently invite her to pray the 5 essential prayers together with Luke or read the Qur’an together and it’s just wholesome vibes all around man 🥺

As angels, him and Luke would have such beautiful recitations of the Qur’an and I can picture MC frequently dropping by Purgatory Hall just to listen to him recite the kalimahs with the perfect tajweed (Non-Muslims if you’d like to hear an example, check out Sheikh Mishary reciting Surah al-Kahf, it’s beautiful man 🥺)

He would frequently invite MC and Luke out for walks too and these three would look so domestic together people often mistake them as a little family (much to the brothers’ chagrin and Simeon’s amusement)

Simeon has such a calming presence that he could even tame a chaotic MC down and have her sit still enough, it will be as if she turned into a completely different person

Lucifer, in his demon form: MC STOP RUNNING AROUND YOU’RE GOING TO FALL AND HURT URSELF

MC, violently shaking like a hamster on crack: U CANT STOP ME LUCI, URE NOT THE BOSS OF-

Simeon: Hello, MC! Would you like to come and have a pleasant chat with me? ^^

MC, as if in a trance: ...anything for you, Beyonce

MC is such a simp for Simeon and honestly, who can blame her?

Luke

Luke was extremely happy when the two of them met

This cutie is a proud servant of God and he loves humans who loves Him as much as he does

So it comes as to no one’s surprise when he attaches himself to MC

This would heighten when MC stepped between him, Beel and Lucifer during that,,,,incident

His favourite time of the day is praying in congregation with MC and Simeon and baking with MC

MC would steer clear from involving Luke in her pranks and/or outright pranking him

He’s just a precious little child okay, MC has a soft spot for this angel

She would definitely try to tone down her chaotic energy around him, but she would NOT hesitate to verbal + cyber bully any demons that dare to bully her child

Rando demon: haha shortstack

MC: So you have chosen death

Seriously, Luke would gawk at the obscenities coming from MC’s mouth

He would have to physically drag her away before the demons could devour them both

He would be absolutely SHOOKETH at the language she used because she has been nothing but sweet and polite to him. It was like she switched into a whole different person right in front of his eyes

Luke: MC! I knew living with those horrid demons is a bad idea! They’ve corrupted you now!! *crying Luke noises*

MC: Lil buddy, I was born this way

He would definitely feel really touched that MC is so protective of him though, but he would have to tell her to never say those words again, even if she’s trying to protect him

She would (hesitantly) tell him she would try her best but that would literally only last for half a day because another demon has foolishly decided to mess with him with her present

MC is Luke’s mother point blank period.

#obey me! shall we date?#obey me!#obey me hcs #obey me scenarios #obey me x mc #obey me x muslim!mc #muslim!mc #diavolo obey me #barbatos obey me #solomon obey me #simeon obey me #luke obey me #diavolo x mc obey me #barbatos x mc obey me #solomon x mc obey me #simeon x mc obey me

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sociallyawkward--fics · 5 years ago

Text

Last Christmas

Here it is, lol. The fic I wrote last night with Wham!’s “Last Christmas” on repeat for literally Three Hours Straight lol. It is entirely unedited except for me having a friend read it over briefly and them go “you’re missing a period here” and nothing else lol. Please be kind though, I have not written for months and any Christmas fics I’m posting are more just warm-ups to get me back to the level of writing I was before I accidentally took a break, cuz no way I’m jumping back into my Big Projects without getting myself back up to par lol

ALSO, I know Jaskier seems like,,, really aggressive towards Yen in this fic. She's not meant to be a villain! Jaskier just is jealous and sad so he takes it out on her a little bit, which is definitely not the right thing to do but I think it's a very human thing to do. After this I imagine them going for coffee or smth and just lovingly trash-talking Geralt and realizing "wow we can actually be decent friends" lol

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Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandoms: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types; Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game); The Witcher (TV); Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski

Relationship: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Characters: Jaskier | Dandelion; Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia; Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg; Triss Merigold; Zoltan Chivay; Iorveth (The Witcher); Eskel (The Witcher); Vernon Roche

Additional Tags: eskel triss iorveth and roche are barely-there btw; Jealous Jaskier | Dandelion; Mistletoe; Getting Together; Misunderstandings; Miscommunication; Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg; Alcohol; Drinking; Smoking; (very briefly) - Freeform; Communication; Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings; Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia; Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia; Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings; Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion; Mutual Pining; Kissing; Hugs; Alternate Universe - Modern Setting; Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers; Alternate Universe - No Powers; Holidays; Christmas; Christmas Party

Word Count: 3614 words

[ao3 link]

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It took an embarrassing amount of time for Jaskier to work up the courage to leave his car. Instead he sat there, heat off and car growing increasingly frosty, forehead against the steering wheel as he bemoaned his own very existence. He did not want to go to this party, which was very out of character for him.

But Jaskier couldn’t take another repeat of last year’s holiday party. And he knew the second he saw Geralt, he would be back there again.

They had both been decently tipsy, which was their first mistake, but Jaskier knew that neither of them were drunk. That’s why he had been so shocked when Geralt made the first move, pressing him up against the wall to the men’s room and ravishing his mouth. They’d gone home together to Jaskier’s flat and had a wonderful night together, but Geralt had been gone come morning.

They never spoke of that night. And by the next week, Geralt had been back in his on-again, off-again relationship with Yennefer.

Jaskier thought he’d gotten over it. As much as he didn’t regret it, it was clear that Geralt did, and he wasn’t going to push his feelings onto the man when they were so clearly unwanted. It was a miracle their friendship survived it, with how testy they had been with each other for weeks afterward.

Jaskier took a deep breath and tightened his scarf around his neck, finally leaving his car to make his way into the hotel ballroom that Foltest had booked for the night. At least their work holiday parties weren’t held in the offices, Jaskier wouldn’t have been able to force himself back to work after last year if they were.

Jaskier’s traitorous eyes immediately sought out Geralt the moment he walked in. He wasn’t hard to find, with his striking silver hair and refusal to wear anything but black. He stuck out like a sore thumb, in the sea of red and green and gold. But god, did he look good. Unfortunately, he was already occupied with the only other person in the room who refused to wear color: Yennefer.

Jaskier forced his eyes away, directing them instead towards the makeshift bar. Zoltan was already there, and, judging by the red on his cheeks, already several drinks in. Jaskier couldn’t exactly judge. He was going to need quite a few drinks to get through this night as well.

“Good old Dandelion!” Zoltan crowed as he approached, words only slightly slurred.

“Zoltan,” Jaskier greeted with an easy smile, nodding at the bartender. “When are you ever going to give up on that silly nickname?”

Zoltan snorted. “You’re the one who calls himself a flower, Julian.”

Jaskier shrugged. “Fair enough.”

Soon enough, Jaskier had a drink in his hand and an earful of Zoltan’s voice, accent only growing thicker and harder to understand the drunker he got. He was barely following what Zoltan was talking about, anymore. Something about his ex father-in-law’s business tanking? He seemed rather pleased by it, in any case. Jaskier probably would be to, if he wasn’t still so anxious.

“What’s got a stick up yer ass?” Zoltan asked after a while, winding down from his latest story.

“Just… not in a partying mood, I suppose.”

Zoltan laughed uproariously. “You? Not in a party mood? Never thought I’d see the day!”

Jaskier gave a half-hearted smile, knowing Zoltan was too far gone to notice that fact, and let his eyes wander the crowd. After a few drinks, he was beginning to feel pleasantly tipsy. The idea of lasting out the party was actually beginning to feel manageable, though he still felt like giving Yennefer and Geralt a wide berth. They always exploded at these things, and Jaskier didn’t want to be caught in the middle of that.

Again.

That was one fight their friendship almost hadn’t survived, and it was the worst six months of Jaskier’s life. And that was including the past twelve months after the last holiday party.

“Come on, Dandelion,” Zoltan said, and Jaskier’s attention was drawn back to the bar. “Sit down for a game of cards with me! Or perhaps a round of dice?”

Jaskier laughed, his first true laugh of the night. “I know better than to gamble with you, old friend. It’s about time I mingled, don’t you think? Give the masses what they desire.”

Zoltan laughed again and gave him a sloppy wink. “Go get ‘em, tomcat. I’ll find some other poor fool to swindle.”

Jaskier grinned. “I don’t doubt it.”

Jaskier slipped away from the bar and into the crowd. He greeted people with hugs and kisses on the cheek, making them laugh and shove him away with teasing grins. He twirled between groups of people in a carefully perfected dance, muscle memory even with the alcohol in his system.

Unfortunately, that muscle memory rather quickly led him to Geralt’s current circle of companions. Yennefer and Triss were there, clearly making an intense effort to not be at each other’s throats. Eskel was there, which wasn’t surprising: as much as a sweetheart as he was, Eskel’s social skills definitely needed some development, and he tended to use Jaskier and Geralt as a social crutch (despite the fact that his brother was even worse with people than he was). Iorveth and Vernon Roche were on opposite sides of the little circle the group had formed, and Jaskier dreaded that disaster waiting to happen.

Really, how did Geralt attract such dramatic people to him so easily?

Despite how suddenly off-kilter Jaskier felt being so close to Geralt, last year flashing through his mind, he knew he couldn’t show it. Geralt would notice, and then it would be awkward for them both, and Jaskier would never forgive himself for ruining Geralt’s Christmas two years in a row.

So he flitted around the group, being his charming self. His smile felt forced as he gave Iorveth and Roche (very awkward) one-armed hugs. His stomach churned as he kissed Triss on the cheek. His balance felt off as he waltzed into Eskel’s arms for one of his patented bear hugs (though that was likely the alcohol, now that he thought about it).

“How is it that you’re already drunk, Jaskier?” Geralt said as Jaskier pulled out of Eskel’s arms.

Jaskier shot him a cheeky grin. “Not drunk, my dear--friend. My dear friend. Merely tipsy.”

“With a stutter like that forming?” Yennefer teased, holding out her hand.

Jaskier indulged her dramatics and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles, chest burning white hot all the while. His smile was probably slightly too-sharp when he stood back up again, but he couldn’t be bothered to fix it.

“The heavier side of tipsy, perhaps,” Jaskier replied, smoothly sliding in beside Geralt to drape himself over Geralt’s shoulders.

A chorus of titters and chuckles went through the circle and Jaskier furrowed his brow. He rubbed his face and ran a hand through his hair, searching for imperfections but finding none. He then looked toward Geralt for an explanation, but the poor man looked just as confused as Jaskier was.

“Aren’t you wondering why none of us were standing all that close to Geralt?” Triss asked, that coy smile Jaskier was all-too-familiar with making its way onto her lips.

And now that she mentioned that, it was odd. Yennefer was usually glued to Geralt’s other side, and Triss was almost always trying to butt her way in. Her jealousy tended to be a great deal more obvious than Jaskier’s, deliberately trying to provoke the two of them. Jaskier simply got drunk and wrote songs about unrequited love, he knew better than to try and put himself between them.

Roche rolled his eyes as Jaskier and Geralt still just stared at the group rather dumbly. He pointed upwards and their eyes followed his finger.

Geralt, very unfortunately, was halfway into a doorway. Taped to the top of the frame of said doorway was a little sprig of green. Jaskier felt his heart stop. He had to swallow to keep the bile from rising up in his throat. He pulled away from where he was leaning on Geralt. The group was still laughing and teasing good-naturedly, but Jaskier felt like his world was crashing down around him. He looked toward Eskel for help, being the kindest of the group.

Only Eskel just shrugged with a grin. “It is tradition.”

“Oh come on, now,” Yennefer said, her voice twisting around Jaskier’s throat like a noose. “We’re all adults here. Just get it over with.”

Jaskier slowly met Geralt’s eyes. He was impossible to read, even moreso than normal, and Jaskier felt that familiar pit open up in his stomach. He needed to get this over with and then smoothly make his escape. Perhaps claim he’d had more to drink than he thought and needed to call a cab.

“Jaskier?” Geralt asked quietly, barely more than a whisper.

Jaskier gave him a small smile and leaned forward. He pressed a feather-light kiss to the scruff of Geralt’s cheek before pulling away, his heart not able to take much more than that.

Jaskier couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes as he walked away.

Jaskier’s kiss was a barely-there peck to the cheek. Before Geralt could even hope to respond, he was gone.

The group’s teasing had quieted down, and Geralt dared to look up. Iorveth and Roche seemed confused, not close enough to the rest of the group to be caught up on the drama. Eskel seemed torn between beating himself up and beating Geralt up. Triss seemed guilty.

And Yennefer was just smug.

Geralt found himself grinding his teeth. Of course she was behind this (though it was clear that Triss had some hand in it, as well). Their most recent breakup, for once, had been amicable. The past few years had been hell for them, trying to make their relationship work even though they both knew it was never going anywhere. Jaskier was Yennefer’s last straw.

Geralt was more horrified that Yennefer had so easily picked up on his feelings for Jaskier than hurt by the breakup. If she had picked up on them, then surely Jaskier had?

Is that what that hauntingly sad smile Jaskier gave him before he kissed him was for? Did Jaskier pity him? Was he trying to let Geralt down easy?

“Go after him,” she said simply.

“Yen, this isn’t one of your games--”

“No,” she replied, voice suddenly terse. “So stop treating it like one and act like an adult, Geralt. I think we’ve all had quite enough of you two being like this, and it only got worse after last year’s party.”

“Which you still won’t talk about,” Triss chimed in, raising an eyebrow.

“So go talk to him.”

Geralt resisted the urge to growl. “Fine.”

Jaskier wasn’t hard to find, when you knew him as well as Geralt did. He liked to be high up when he was upset, saying it made him feel like he was getting some perspective on his problems. Geralt liked to joke that it was because he was more at home with his head in the clouds.

Jaskier was on a balcony overlooking the city, a pack of cigarettes sitting on the railing. A lit one rested between his fingers, the smoke curling into the air and entwining with the condensation trailing from his lips thanks to the cold air.

“I thought you quit,” Geralt said quietly.

Jaskier turned his head, not far enough to face Geralt but far enough to let Geralt see the wry half smile on his lips.

“You know how the holidays are,” Jaskier replied, taking a long drag from his cigarette and turning back to the cityscape.

Geralt moved forward to lean against the railing next to him, letting out a heavy sigh and watching the white vapor twist into the air. He didn’t know how to have this conversation. Between the two of them, Jaskier was by far the more emotionally intelligent one. With him shutting down like this, Geralt didn’t know what to say.

“Are you… okay?”

Jaskier snorted. “Yeah, Geralt. I’m great.”

Geralt considered the words for a few moments, turning around the tone of voice in his head. “Sarcasm,” he decided.

It was much easier to decipher when he himself was using it, rather than try to pick out when others were.

Jaskier sighed, hanging his head. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Geralt shook his head. “What’s going on?”

Jaskier took another drag of his cigarette. “Nothing, Geralt. Don’t worry about it.”

Geralt let out a frustrated growl, not sure how else to express himself in the moment. He snatched the pack of cigarettes off the railing (breathing out a sigh of relief when only one was missing -- the one between Jaskier’s fingers) and ripped the lit one out of Jaskier’s hand, tossing both items over the edge of the balcony.

“What the fuck, Geralt?!”

Geralt stared at him. “You told me last time you quit to not let you start up again.”

Jaskier groaned and put his head into his hands. “Shit. I did, didn’t I?”

Geralt hummed an affirmative.

“Aside from saving my lungs, was there something you needed, Geralt?”

Geralt leaned back against the railing, clasping his hands together. “To know what’s had you acting so weird all night.”

He felt Jaskier’s eyes on him, could see him staring out of his peripheral, but Geralt kept his eyes on the lights of the city. With all the light pollution, it was probably as close to stars as they would get without driving out to the mountains.

“You really want to know?” Jaskier asked eventually, his voice low.

“Yes.”

“Tonight I was pressured into kissing the man that broke my heart, about a year ago now.”

Geralt flinched back, finally looking over toward Jaskier. Jaskier was still staring at him, his blue eyes almost seeming to glow in the dark of the balcony.

“Who--Who broke--”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow, face remaining impassive.

Geralt hesitated. “I broke your heart?”

Jaskier sighed and turned away, looking toward the horizon. “Last holiday party, we went home together. We made love for hours. I told you I cared for you deeply. And when I woke up, you were gone.”

Geralt wanted to say something, wanted to defend himself, but his voice felt like it was glued in his throat, unable to escape.

“Barely any time had passed before you were back in Yennefer’s pocket, not a thought given to us. And we never talked about it.”

Geralt swallowed. “I didn’t realize--”

Jaskier threw his hands up in the air, a frustrated laugh escaping his lips. Geralt’s frown deepened when he saw Jaskier’s eyes glistening.

“Didn’t realize what, Geralt? I thought I was being pretty obvious about the fact that I’m in love with you!”

“Yennefer and I broke up,” Geralt said, deciding to tackle the topic he knew how to talk about first.

Jaskier snorted, leaning his back against the railing and crossing his arms. “What else is new?”

Geralt shook his head. “For good, this time.”

Jaskier only stared at him. Geralt huffed out a breath as he searched for his words, running a hand through his hair.

“You know how… Sometimes, you can have a great friendship with each other, but when you try to date you end up being really toxic and horrible to each other? That’s me and Yen.”

“Could’ve told you that three years ago. Oh wait, I did.”

Geralt sighed. “I know. I’m sorry I didn’t listen, Jask. I just… I wanted it to work so bad, we both did. Even though we knew it never would.”

Jaskier looked down at his feet. “I know. I’m sorry for snapping like that.”

“It’s okay.”

Jaskier looked back up at him. “So what was the final nail in the coffin? What sealed the deal for you two?”

Geralt looked away, choosing a specific building to look at and staring at it intensely. His fingers itched to fiddle with something, but he forced them to stay still, clenching the freezing metal of the railing.

“I love Yen. But she and I both realized that I would never love her as much as I loved you.”

The silence stretched on for far too long and Geralt could feel his skin prickling with anxiety. His throat felt like it had swollen shut, making it difficult to breathe and impossible to get any words out. He wanted to look at Jaskier, see his reaction, but his body was locked in place.

“And if you love me so much, Geralt,” Jaskier said, his voice even more icy than the balcony railing leeching the warmth from his fingers, “why did you leave me?”

Geralt gave into the urge to fidget, reaching up for the pendant on his chest. His fingers were clumsy and numb from the cold, making him fumble, but the action was still soothing.

“I didn’t realize you meant it. Jaskier, you flirt with everyone. You’ve probably slept with half the company, and while I don’t judge you for that, I couldn’t help but feel like I was just the next notch in your bedpost.”

Jaskier dropped his face into his hands. “God, Geralt, I only slept with most of those people to try and get over you. You had Yennefer, and I was just me. I knew you would never choose me over her.”

“I am now.”

Jaskier stayed silent for a moment. “And if I decide that it’s too late?”

There was an uncomfortable burning feeling behind Geralt’s eyes and he did his best to push it back down.

“Then I would respect your decision, and hope we could still be friends come tomorrow. I don’t want to lose you, Jask.”

Jaskier didn’t reply.

“I’m sorry I made you wait so long. I’m sorry I was so blind to your feelings.”

“And say we did do this,” Jaskier said, his voice still guarded. “What about Yennefer?”

Geralt shook his head. “There’s nothing left for me and Yen. We’re done hurting each other for a relationship that will never feel good.” Geralt couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips as he tacked on, “Plus, with the looks Triss has been shooting her, I don’t think Yennefer will be too lonely.”

Jaskier shot him an incredulous look. “Triss and Yennefer hate each other!”

Geralt chuckled. “Yeah, when I was involved. Yen can, quite frankly, be a jealous bitch, and Triss certainly wasn’t letting up on the flirting.”

Jaskier searched his face. “And Triss?”

“There was never going to be any me and Triss, and she knew that. Honestly, I think her flirting these days has been more to toy with Yen than to actually try and woo me.”

Jaskier turned his gaze toward the night sky, a muddy brown-black-orange that ruined any hope of seeing the stars “Huh.”

“They both know there’s only one person I’m looking to woo me, anyway.”

Geralt watched Jaskier break out in a goofy, giddy smile, clearly involuntarily based on the way he quickly bit his lip to try and suppress it. Slowly, carefully, Geralt reached out for one of Jaskier’s hands, tugging gently until his arms came unravelled.

“I’m so sorry, Jaskier.”

Jaskier shook his head. “I’m sorry, too. I should’ve said something.”

“Can I hug you?”

Jaskier’s goofy smile was back and Geralt felt his heart clench. He hoped to see that smile so much more.

“Only if I can kiss you,” Jaskier replied, bouncing on his toes a little.

Geralt grinned. “I find that an acceptable trade.”

Jaskier laughed then, pulling him into a tight hug. They stayed like that for a long while, sharing heat and just soaking in each other’s presence. Slowly starting to accept that this was real, that this was happening. Geralt clenched his hands tightly into Jaskier’s sweater.

And then, some long minutes later, they pulled back from the hug just enough to press their lips together. It was soft and chaste, but by no means short. Geralt decided that kissing Jaskier felt like coming home.

They slipped away after that, deciding not to head back to the party. Their friends would assume things, sure, but they didn’t care. They had lost time to make up for, they could make up for not saying goodbye later.

Geralt drove them home, back to Jaskier’s flat just like last year. Jaskier fiddled with the radio as the streets blurred around them, trying to find an appropriately-themed holiday station. He burst into cackles the second he found one.

“Tell me this is not Wham!,” Geralt begged.

Jaskier was laughing too hard to reply.

“I hate it,” Geralt said, despite being on the verge of laughter himself. “I hate it so much. Stop laughing, it’s not funny.”

“It’s so funny!” Jaskier wheezed, clutching his stomach as he doubled over in his seat.

Jaskier had only just barely calmed down by the time they got to his flat. They curled up on his ratty old couch with some hot chocolate and put on a Christmas movie, but it became more background noise than anything.

Instead they talked. They talked about their past together and how it hurt them, and their future and how they would prevent that from hurting too. They talked until Geralt’s throat was sore and Jaskier was nodding off on his shoulder. Geralt couldn’t find the energy to carry him to bed, so he simply readjusted their position on the couch to be something more comfortable and settled in to sleep himself.

“L’ve ‘ou” Jaskier breathed out against his neck.

Geralt smiled, closing his eyes. “Love you too, Jaskier.

#witcher #the witcher #geraskier #geralt/jaskier #geralt x jaskier #geralt of rivia #Jaskier #the witcher fanfic #witcher fanfic #My writing #triss merigold #Yennefer of Vengerberg #zoltan chivay #iorveth #vernon roche #eskel

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pressedinthepages · 5 years ago

Text

Peace

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Rating: T

Masterlist

a/n: @sometimesiwrite requested Geralt and Eskel having a conversation post-mountain!

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: mild language, hurt/comfort, geralt go fix it you dumbass

Geralt borrows Eskel’s braincell in an effort to apologize to Jaskier.

Geralt was in Velen, in a tavern in the middle of nowhere. The wind howled outside of the dingy window stained with gods-know-what. He watched as rain began to pour, thankful that he was able to afford an ale that granted him a spot under a roof. Ever since Jaskier left him on that mountain, coin had been few and far between, and Geralt hadn’t really felt the same motivation to take on new jobs. Geralt nursed the same sad, watered-down ale that he had been working on for the better part of an hour, mulling the aching silence that ate at the marrow in his bones.

The door to the tavern suddenly slammed open, startling Geralt away from his thoughts. A familiar face peered out from beneath a dark hood before it fell. Another Witcher, strikingly similar to Geralt, save for the mahogany hair and scars down his cheek. His golden eyes tracked around the room before they caught Geralt’s, a smile pulling his lips into an odd sort of grimace as he strode to the White Wolf’s table.

“Eskel,” Geralt smirked, “Well met, wolf.”

Eskel shucked off his wet cloak before he sat across from Geralt, motioning to the barmaid to bring him an ale of his own. She set it down gently as Eskel passed her a bright coin, leaving the two Witchers to their own devices.

“It’s quiet,” Eskel peered over his shoulder to examine the rest of the room, finding a scant handful of other travelers tucked away in the shadows.

“Has been all afternoon,” Geralt replied, running his thumb over the rough handle of the tankard before him.

“Not usually,” Eskel hummed, “Where’s your bard?”

Geralt’s mind ground to a halt for a split second, panic seeping under his skin. He shook it off quickly and hid it with a long draw from his cup. “He-he’s not my bard.”

Eskel scoffed with a shake of his head, his eyes, so like Geralt’s, narrowing in clear disbelief. “Horseshit. That bard follows you all over the Continent for more than twenty years, writes songs about your contracts and how much of a hero you are, you’ve saved his life how many times? He’s your bard.”

Geralt shifted uncomfortably in his seat before leaning back against the wall with a thunk of his head. “I fucked it up Eskel, royally fucked it up.”

Eskel hummed with a crook of his brow, raising his cup to his lips.

“I-I took out my anger on him, said some things I didn’t mean. I blamed him for every shit thing that’s gone on, but tha-that’s not fair.”

Eskel swallowed with a nod of his head and a tired look in his eyes. “How long has it been since you’ve been together?”

“Few months.”

“Geralt. I mean this with the utmost sincerity,” Eskel reached across the table and grabs his brother by the shoulder, “you dumbass. Go find him. You won’t find many rays of sunshine like that in a life like ours, don’t you dare let one go.”

Eskel’s eyes bored relentlessly into Geralt’s, brokering no room for argument. And Geralt knew that he was right. Geralt stood, reaching for his swords. May as well, Oxenfurt is a long ways away...

Eskel reached out again, but in a motion to stop Geralt. “No, wait. It’s pouring. Have a drink with me, let the skies calm. Then, go get him.”

Geralt hummed as he sets his swords back down, another ale joining his now-empty cup on the table. Eskel winked at the pretty barmaid as she takes her leave once more, giggling under her breath. Geralt rolled his eyes as Eskel smirked into his ale.

***

Gods, Geralt hated Oxenfurt. Not nearly as much as Novigrad, but still. There’s just so much, everywhere, all of the time. At least here, though, Jaskier’s kind influence has reached. People recognized him, and not as a threat. They actually smiled as he passed atop Roach, weaving through bustling city streets.

The university loomed through the fog, dense and chilly with the approaching frost. Roach plodded confidently through the gates and Geralt steered her towards the stables, hoping to just easily leave her under a shelter with some hay.

There was no such luck though, a young stablegirl coming to meet him as he dismounts. She smiled, a cute little thing with a gap between her two front teeth. She had straw in her hair and tears along the bottom of her skirt where it was a bit too long for her, and Geralt can’t help but smile back.

“I can take care of your horse, Master Witcher. I’ll brush her down and give her lots of pets, if she likes them.” Her words even had a little lisp whenever her tongue caught in that notch between her teeth. Geralt melted a bit at just how innocent this little human is.

“Alright, sure.” Geralt nodded, handing Roach’s reins to the girl. “Be careful with her, though. She’s pretty big, don’t let her push you around. Come find me if you need to.”

Geralt knew that she wouldn’t need to. This Roach was wonderful, and she loved children. She was already putty in the little girl’s hands, letting her scratch behind her ears and down the velvet of her nose.

Geralt walked quickly towards the dormitories that house the professors. The sun has set, leaving the world drenched in an ethereal twilight. Geralt visited Jaskier here once before, fetching him in the spring so they may begin their travels. He just hoped it’s the same damned room.

As he approached, Geralt knows that he was at the right spot. He could hear Jaskier humming behind the door, and he can smell the bard in the air. But something was off about the scent, tinged with a damp, earthy scent that could only be described as sad.

Geralt took a deep breath and knocked gently, his knuckles just barely rapping on the cured wood. He heard the humming stop, replaced by quiet muttering. “Do they know what hour it is? By the Gods, this is why I can’t stand scholars…”

The door opened, revealing Jaskier just on the other side. It was just as soon slammed into Geralt’s face, and he heard how Jaskier gasped before he wrenched the door back open. The two of them stared at each other in stunned silence, and Geralt could almost make a quip about how often that must happen for the bard.

But then he saw Jaskier’s eyes, so bright and blue with clear skies and rays of moonlight, start to well up, and before he knew it he had an armful of bard sobbing into his shoulder.

“Oh Geralt, you actually came for me!” Jaskier cried, touching and feeling Geralt under his hand as if worried he may disappear. “Geralt, I’m so s-”

“Don’t,” Geralt said as he turned his face into Jaskier’s hair. “Don’t you dare apologize. I should be on my knees, begging you to forgive me.”

Jaskier pulled back, his cheeks flushed and eyes reddened. Geralt was yanked into the dorm and the door shut decisively behind him. Geralt shuffled, looking around the room, bare of anything personal, save for Jaskier’s precious lute tucked into the corner.

“Jaskier, I-the things that I said. You were right, they weren’t fair. I was hurt and lashing out, and I know that’s no excuse, and you deserve so much better than what I have to give you, and-”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said, pushing himself flush up against Geralt and taking his face into his hands. “You silly Witcher, you are forgiven. Yes, it hurt. But it hurt more to know that you were in pain, and there wasn’t anything I could do that would help.”

Geralt sighed as Jaskier ran his fingers through his hair, breathing in deeply as Jaskier’s scent finds its resonance in his soul. “Jaskier, I-I care very deeply for you. And I can’t push it down anymore.”

Jaskier paused his minstrations, looking deep into Geralt’s eyes. They stayed like this, suspended in their own creation before Jaskier breathed in, pressing even closer.

“May I do something that I have wanted to do for a very long time, dear Witcher?”

Geralt swallowed thickly and nodded, rubbing his fingers nervously where they sit at his side. Jaskier tilted his head up and just barely brushes his lips over Geralts, only the fluttering of fairy wings left in the movement.

But then Geralt grew bold, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s waist and holding him tight, slotting their lips together in a move that feels so perfect it is as if Destiny planned it herself. Jaskier positively melted, his hands tangling in Geralt’s silver hair and tugging him impossibly closer.

Jaskier broke the kiss first, keeping his arms wound around Geralt’s neck. “So, does this mean I can come back on the Path with you?” He smirked, already damn well knowing the answer.

Geralt hummed, resting his forehead on Jaskier’s. “If you would be by my side, I would be forever grateful.”

“There is nowhere I would rather be than at your side, my White Wolf.”

#geraskier #fluff #hurt/comfort

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prolestariwrites · 5 years ago

Photo

The Wish [7]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, Vergil, Nero, V, Lady, Eva, Sparda, OC Rating: General Tags: Family, Humor, Fluff, Angst, Typical demon hunting violence

Summary: A demon gives Dante the chance to have his greatest desires made real. When he finds himself in a seemingly idyllic life, all seems well until it starts to unravel. Will he sacrifice himself to save the family he lost, or will he choose to give them up for the truth?

Now Posted: Chapter 7, in which Vergil has a moment.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Chapter 7: Vergil Powers Up

They are on the highway still when Vergil says, “Pull over.”

Dante glances to the left, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. “No can do, brother. The exit is coming up and—”

“Pull over, I’m going to be sick.”

With a sharp intake of breath, Dante does as he says, pulling into the emergency lane and flipping on the hazard lights. Vergil stumbles out of the car and takes a few steps away, leaning over to press his hands to his knees. Dante can see him with the glow from the overhead light, and he tries not to look, wondering if he should go out there. But he figures Vergil would want some privacy, so he waits patiently until he returns to the car and sinks into the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him.

“Take me home,” Vergil says.

“We need to find Dad,” Dante replies.

There’s surprisingly no argument, so after a moment Dante glances over. “I have an idea or two where to look. I just want to stop at my shop and pick up a couple of things. Okay?”

Vergil rubs his finger on his upper lip before nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“Okay.”

Dante continues driving, grateful the traffic is light. They make it back to the city in no time, but as he heads through downtown Vergil says again, “No. Wait. What am I doing? Stop!”

“We can’t stop,” Dante mutters.

“Let me out of this car, Dante!” Vergil shouts.

The next traffic light turns yellow, and he slows to a stop at the intersection. “What’s the plan, Verge?” he argues. “Gonna just throw up all night and hope he comes back? Dad is out there doing god-knows-what, and I can’t do this by myself.”

Vergil groans and presses his palm to his face. “You stabbed him, Dante, you fucking stabbed him! Why the fuck would you do that? Why—how would you know he would—what the fuck—”

Dante winces as Vergil’s breathing goes heavy, and for a moment he’s scared Vergil is going to lose it. It’s a weird feeling. The last time he saw Vergil in the flesh, he was cold, almost disconnected in the Temen-ni-gru. Even here in this place he seems put together, cool-headed, and thinking back, Dante can’t ever remember a time when Vergil just lost his shit.

“What you need is a drink,” he says.

He turns down a street and pulls up in front of the first bar he finds. Dante climbs out of the car and walks around to the side, opening the passenger door. “Come on,” he says.

“No, no I can’t—I have to—Mary is—”

Dante reaches inside and pulls him out, and luckily Vergil doesn’t fight him. He is clutching the Yamato, but Dante decides against trying to pry it away, instead pushing him towards the tavern and through the entrance.

Inside it is thankfully empty, just a couple of drunks at the counter and a waitress rolling silverware at a table. They take a booth in the back, and under the light dangling over the table, Dante can see that Vergil is pale. He feels guilty, but there’s nothing to be done about that now, and when the waitress steps up a few seconds later he orders them both a shot of Jack Daniels and a beer.

“Okay,” Dante says once she is out of earshot. “I’ll tell you everything. Okay?”

Vergil looks up to meet his eyes, his face a bit drawn. “Tell me,” he says through gritted teeth.

Suddenly Dante is nervous. They had left the house in a hurry, Dante pushing Vergil in front of him as Eva came hurrying down the steps to see after the commotion. He had told her they argued and that Sparda had taken off and they were going to get him, and then Dante had practically dragged Vergil to the car. If she noticed the weapons they carried she didn’t say anything, just watched them from the door as he had pulled away and tried to scrape together a plan as Vergil sat in shocked silence beside him for most of the ride.

“Okay,” Dante repeats. “So, Dad is a demon. I think you got that much.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Vergil hisses.

“He’s from… I don’t know, the Underworld. Hell.” Vergil scowls, making it clear he doesn’t believe him. “I’m not making this up. You saw the weapons. You saw him get up and heal.”

Vergil gazes at him suspiciously. “Demons aren’t real,” he says.

“Then explain what happened,” Dante challenges.

Vergil just shakes his head, so Dante continues, “He defeated the king of Hell a long time ago. About three thousand years, I think. Dad’s been on Earth since then, I don’t know, doing whatever.”

“Doing whatever?” Vergil deadpans.

Dante throws out his hands. “I don’t know! Dicking around I guess? Until he met Mom.”

Vergil’s jaw works for a moment before he bites out, “Keep going.”

“There are gates all over the world that connect our world to the demon one, and he sealed them up and makes sure they don’t open. Only…” His voice drifts off as he tries to think of a way to explain his own situation. “I don’t know, sometimes they don’t stay closed, and demons come out—”

Dante grimaces a bit when he sees Vergil’s expression. “You expect me to believe this?”

“I expect you to believe your own eyes,” he replies.

The waitress returns with their drinks, and she tilts her head at Vergil. “Keep that thing out of sight, will ya?” she says.

Vergil frowns before looking down, then starts as if he didn’t realize he was holding a sword. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—I forgot.”

She snorts and walks away. Dante sets the a shot in front of them both, nudging him with his foot. “Here. Take this and I’ll keep talking.”

Shakily, Vergil nods, and together they drink the whiskey. Dante wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, sighing as the liquid goes down nice and smooth before he nods to his brother. “That’s Yamato. It’s yours. Supposed to be, anyway.”

“Why?” he asks.

Dante shrugs. “I don’t know. Sparda gave me Rebellion and you Yamato. Where I’m from, we got them as kids. They were his weapons that he used to take care of the demons.” He picks up his beer and takes a sip before pointing at the sword. “Yamato can open and close the seals. It’s quite a power you have there.”

Vergil lays Yamato on the table, his hands trembling a bit. “I don’t want this power,” he says.

A snort escapes Dante before he can stop it. “What?” Vergil snaps.

“Just funny is all. The you I know only wants power.”

“You keep saying that.” Vergil eyes his suspiciously. “You said, ‘where I’m from’. What is that?”

Dante takes another sip. “Drink and I’ll tell you the rest.”

Vergil looks at him suspiciously, but he picks up the bottle and takes several swallows. Dante nods as he sets it down and says, “Okay. Don’t freak out, Verge. I’m a demon hunter. I’ve been on my own since I was seven, when demons attacked our house.”

“What?”

“We were kids. Dad was gone, I don’t know where. It was just us and Mom for a while. Then one day they attacked. They…” He swallows and rubs his palms on his jeans, looking away so he doesn’t have to watch Vergil’s expression.. “They killed Mom. She hid me in a closet and went to go find you, and I… never saw her again.”

Vergil takes a moment to consider this. “Nothing you’re saying makes sense.”

“I know, but it’s the truth.” He plants his elbow on the table and points at himself. “I don’t fix bikes, I run a business where I kill demons. I was on a job when I met this one and it told me it would grant a wish.”

“A wish?”

“Yeah, like some fucked-up genie,” Dante chuckles. “It sent me here, where all of you were alive. And it’s great, I love seeing you guys again! I love having you back.” He takes a deep breath. “But things have been weird. I don’t think this place is gonna last long. And if there are demons still around, then you need to know the truth. Everyone does. Because if they come back…”

Vergil’s voice is cold as he asks, “What happened to me in your world?”

Dante takes a deep breath. How much should he reveal? It probably wouldn’t help things to tell the whole truth, so he decides to give the basics. “You died. When the demons came to our house and killed Mom, they killed you too. I thought they did, anyway. Turns out you were actually alive. But we didn’t see each other until we were grown up. I lived on the streets, and I guess you did too, getting helped by people along the way. But the demons never stopped coming. See, they hated Sparda, and Mundus—that’s the guy he sealed—wanted out. Some shit went down, and you ended up… well, let’s just say you weren’t the bag of fun you are now.”

Vergil makes a face so Dante quickly continues, “You raised this tower in the middle of Red Grave City and killed all these people and unleashed a shit ton of demons on the world that I had to fight. You tried to open up the gates to hell but some other shit went down with Mary’s father.” Suddenly he brightens. “Mary’s a demon hunter too, you know. She kicked your ass. She’s kicked mine too. We closed the gate but then us two fought and you…”

Dante realizes he has done the opposite of give the basics, so he clears his throat. “Anyway, you fell off the tower into the closing portal and went to hell. The end.”

Vergil stares at him for a full minute, and Dante drains his beer, wondering what is happening. His brother is expressionless, and he swears he can almost hear him processing all that. “Uh, Verge?” he finally says. “You good?”

A slow smile breaks out over Vergil’s face and he begins to laugh. “Okay, you got me.” Dante frowns as Vergil shakes his head and chuckles. “I almost believed you. You’re pretty good at this.”

“I’m not lying.”

“And the blood? The sword? That was good.” Vergil laughs again and looks around. “Is Dad going to pop out now? He always liked a good trick but that was something else. Was Mom in on it too?”

“Vergil—”

“This has been fun, Dante, but I’m tired.” He stands up, still holding Yamato, and pulls his jacket closed. “I had a long day and I just want to go home. Are you driving or do I need to call a cab?”

Dante slides out of the booth. “Vergil, it’s true. It’s not a trick. I didn’t make it up.”

Vergil rolls his eyes. “Joke’s over. You can stop all this. It isn’t funny if you don’t give it up.”

“I’m not—It’s not a joke!” Dante grits his teeth as the humor slides from Vergil’s face. “Dad is a demon. We’re half demons. You’re supposed to be dead.”

“I’m not dead, you idiot,” Vergil hisses.

“Vergil, just listen!” Dante reaches out and grabs his arm, which Vergil yanks away. “We gotta—”

“Don’t touch me. You’ve gone too far.” Vergil looks angry now, and Dante’s shoulders sag in defeat. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I have half a mind to call the police.”

“Vergil—”

“I said don’t touch me!” He gives Dante a shove as he reaches out again, and Dante stumbles back into the table. The glasses rattle as he rights himself, and the two brothers glare at one another. It’s familiar enough that it’s painful, as if a million other fights just like this in their history have been carefully set on a path to this moment.

“Settle down, boys.” The waitress steps between them, and she jerks her thumb at the bartender, who is scowling at them. “Take it outside.”

“No problem. I’m leaving,” Vergil says.

“No, you’re not.”

Vergil rolls his eyes. “Can I use your phone to call a cab?”

The girl nods and points to the bar. As Vergil heads in that direction, Dante steps towards him, but the waitress stops him, her hands firmly pushing him back. “I said settle down,” she warns. “Or Pete over there will settle it for you.”

“Pete can go to hell,” Dante snaps.

“Hell? Like where he is?” she asks. Dante jerks backwards as she tilts her head towards Vergil, who sits on a stool as the bartender hands him a phone. “Is that what you want, Dante? You want your brother to go back to hell?”

“Who the fuck are you?” he hisses.

The waitress sighs. “He’s happy. You’re happy. Isn’t that enough?”

Dante’s heartbeat pounds in his ears as he pushes the waitress aside. “Vergil! Get out of here!”

Vergil turns with a scowl, probably to curse him out, but then his expression turns to shock. Before Dante can turn to see what he is staring at, claws grab him and toss him into the air. He flies into the wall and a dartboard falls on his head as chunks of wood rain down on him, and Dante shakes his head to clear it.

The waitress hasn’t gone full demon yet, but her eyes are glowing and her fingers now have long spikes at the end. “Ready to choose, Dante?” she hisses.

He climbs to his feet and puts his hand out, summoning Rebellion. But the sword doesn’t materialize, and with a groan he pictures it in the backseat of the car. It probably still obeys his old man, he figures, so Dante picks up a chair and slams it into the ground. He grabs two of the legs and twirls one in his hand. “Lady, you don’t know who you’re messing with.”

A tiny part of him has a momentary fear as he wonders if he can do this. Rebellion didn’t answer his call, so what if his other demon hunting skills are also gone? But as the demon streaks towards him, he easily dodges a punch and delivers one of his own, sending the waitress into the ground. He feels guilty for a second about hitting a girl which he gets over when she lands a kick on his shin.

Dante lets go a string of curses as they fight, and as he knocks the demon away again he turns to Vergil and shouts, “Yamato! Now!”

Vergil shakes himself from where he sits, staring in shock, the phone receiver forgotten in his hand. “Vergil!” Dante cries, and his brother looks down at the sword he still carries. There is a moment’s hesitation before he tosses it to Dante, who catches it mid-air and pulls the blade from its sheath in one fluid movement. He spins, pulling the sword in an arc around his shoulder, and with one easy slash he slices through the waitress as she springs towards him again.

The bar goes quiet as the chaos stills. Dante laughs as he catches his breath, happily wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket before glancing over at Vergil. “Now do you believe me?” he says.

Vergil lets go a shaky breath. “Is she… like Dad?”

“Yeah. But this one isn’t coming back.” Dante slides Yamato back into its sheath. “Most demons are sons of bitches, like this one. Only a few are—”

His words are cut off as a thick arm goes around his throat, cutting off his airway. Vergil springs to his feet and shouts his name as Dante tries to buck the demon off. It must be the bartender, he realizes, gripping the forearm pressed to his neck and pulling with all his strength.

But the demon doesn’t budge, and Dante gasps out as his blood pumps furiously. “Vergil, run—” he tries to say, Yamato clanging loudly when he drops it to the floor.

“Dante!” Vergil looks almost panicked, starting forward. The demon growls menacingly and he pauses. “What do I do? What do I do?” “Just go—” The demon cuts him off again, and Dante’s vision swims.

“Stop!” Vergil shouts. “Let him go!”

Suddenly the air seems to move, swirling in a cyclone around them. Vergil looks furious, his chin dropping as he glares at them, and the demon’s grip loosens. Then every knife in the bar, from behind the counter and the waitress’ station and scattered on the floor from when the fight had toppled the table she had been folding silverware all lift into the air together, dozens and dozens pointed straight at them. “Oh shit,” Dante grunts, and he manages to drop to the floor a split second later as they shoot towards them.

The knives hit their target, and the demon bartender keels over with a groan as the blades slash through his body. Dante rolls out of the way, snatching up Yamato as he stands. With a final kick of his boot to make sure that the bartender is really dead, he carefully skirts the mess in the bar to walk over to Vergil.

His brother seems shell-shocked. “Thanks,” Dante says, handing him the sword.

Vergil nods as he takes it back. “Yeah.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, and together they turn back to the bar and slide into stools next to each other as Dante leans over the counter to snag a bottle and two glasses.

#dmc #devil may cry #dmc vergil #dmc dante #dante sparda #vergil sparda #fan fiction #the wish

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scuttling · 4 years ago

Text

Tempting

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina OFC Sophie Cortes Word Count: 2,392 Tags: 16+, Mature SFW, Pre-relationship, Fantasizing, Accidentally turned on, Mentions of sex Summary: Aaron and Sophie both find themselves... tempted. Collection: Sophie Cortes timeline, 7-12 Months at the BAU (See Masterlist for reading order) Link to AO3 or read below! “Hey, just wanted to hand off my profiles,” Sophie says as she peeks her head into Hotch’s office Wednesday night. “Any idea when the department will catch up to the 21st century and let us do these on the computer?” she asks playfully, and he smiles, rolls his eyes a bit.

“It’s not the department that makes us do these on paper, it’s me. Morgan has been trying to get me to switch to digital, says Garcia can make us a user-friendly system in her sleep.” She crosses her arms, leaning a hip against the doorframe.

“And you’re resistant because…?”

“Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe it’s nostalgia, or because I hate change.”

“As long as it's not because you’ll miss seeing my smiling face at the end of the day, turning in my files,” she says, and though it’s obvious she’s teasing, that kind of is part of the answer.

He doesn’t want to be just a figure in his office, silently collecting completed case files with a ping of his computer. He knows they know his door is always open, but it’s sometimes the excuse of turning in their work that leads them there, gets them in the door, and he thinks it’s important to maintain.

“All joking aside, I think it could really benefit the team. If you wanted a beta tester, I’d be happy to try it out; we can get together once a week for a couple weeks to discuss any bugs or issues we find with the system. The others don’t even need to know; I could do my regular cases during the day, stay later once or twice a week and work them on the computer. I don’t mind the overtime, I’ve got nothing going on.”

“You should go enjoy your life, not spend extra hours holding my hand because I’m resistant to change.”

“I want to, though, if it will help. And I said I don’t mind the overtime.” They stare each other down for a moment; he is the first to cave, sighing and pushing a hand through his hair.

“I’ll talk to Garcia, see if she has capacity to work on the program this week.” Her answering smile is almost blinding, and he feels warmth spread in his chest; he's been feeling that a lot lately, always where Sophie is concerned, but especially when she smiles. “Hey, while I’ve got you, do you mind looking at a case with me? I can’t help feeling that I’m missing something.”

“Sure, of course.” She walks fully into his office, around the desk so she’s looking over his shoulder at the open file. Her hair falls in cascading waves around her face before she gets a chance to tuck a few strands behind her ear, and the smell of her shampoo is... tempting, to say the least.

It’s coconut, and jasmine, maybe, a light, tropical scent that makes him think of palm trees, fresh pineapple, warm sand under his feet… Sophie in a bikini, a tiny thing that shows off her every curve… Sophie curled up next to him in a private cabana, laughing softly in the moonlight… Sophie on a soft bed in a hotel room, her bare skin, even darker from sunbathing, a beautiful contrast to crisp white sheets…

“Have you considered that the second unsub could be a woman? That would explain how the victims are being lured from the mall—a woman probably wouldn’t stop in a parking garage at night for a man, but she would for another woman, if she’s in trouble.” She turns to look at him, and he’s shaken from his fantasy abruptly.

“No, uh, I hadn’t considered that. That closes the gap in my profile. Good thinking.”

“That’s why you keep me around, isn’t it?” He earns another, softer smile, and he thinks about leaning in to kiss her, how easy that would be. It doesn’t take long to shake that thought away, because it’s almost literally insane, but he can’t deny that he had it.

“Something like that. Are you headed home?” She stands fully, and he’s glad, because that means the temptation is gone. It’s not her fault in any way, all his, but he can’t deny it gets worse the closer she is.

“Not home; the girls and I are meeting around the corner for a drink. Will you be finishing up soon?”

“Probably not, but it’s alright. I have nothing going on,” he says, repeating her turn of phrase. He looks down at his work, and she sighs lightly.

“You could have something going on. Come out for a drink with me.”

“And crash your meeting with the girls?” He’s not entirely certain he’d be welcome, or comfortable, but she makes it sound so easy. Like it’s something he could just decide to do, if he wanted.

“Trust me, they won’t mind.”

“It’s a nice offer, thank you. Maybe another time.” She rests a hand on his desk, on top of his case file so he can’t finish filling out the consultation paperwork, and he has to look up and make eye contact with her, which he’s sure is by design. She’s too good at reading him, sometimes. “Definitely another time. I really do appreciate the offer.”

“I’m gonna hold you to it, Hotch. You need a life outside of this place.” She lifts her hand from the desk, places it briefly on his shoulder, and then heads for the door. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” he sighs at her retreating back. His feelings seem to be getting a little too hard to ignore. Their next case doesn’t come until the beginning of the next week. Sophie goes with Hotch to interview a victim’s mother in hopes that they can find the woman who is currently missing before the unsub kills her, but they come up with nothing, which is all they’ve come up with all day.

It’s clear Hotch is not pleased with their progress. He stands outside the car for a moment, looking like he’s trying to compose himself, and he takes off his jacket and throws it in the back seat.

“Damn it,” he hisses when they get back into the car, slamming his hands against the steering wheel; he scrubs a hand through his hair, unbuttons his cuffs, and rolls up his shirt sleeves a bit more angrily than seems strictly necessary. Sophie can’t keep her eyes off of his hands as he pushes the fabric up over his forearms—baring firm muscles covered in thick, dark hair—and when he throws the car into reverse and turns his head, placing his palm on the back of her headrest while he looks behind them, it gets her a little… hot.

It’s nothing new, of course. She has been feeling certain things, where Hotch is concerned—some emotional things, some physical things—for a little while now, if she’s being honest with herself. And she’s usually got the presence of mind to ignore it, or force it to the back of her thoughts, but he caught her off guard and she’s spiraling, now, imagining his hands on either side of her head, on her throat, holding open her thighs. His hands are close all the time, and visible, and the thought of reaching out to touch them is just so… tempting.

She must be making an oh, shit face, because his eyes become more inquisitive, his features a little softer. “What’s wrong?” She’s breathing heavily, and her cheeks feel warm, so she probably looks insane; she just shakes her head and exhales lightly, tries to calm herself.

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” He looks like he absolutely does not believe her, and she curses herself for the hundredth time for choosing to work around a bunch of profilers; they’re always thinking, analyzing, squinting their eyes at you and trying to figure you out, and it can get really irritating.

“I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I’m sorry if I upset you,” he says when he’s done squinting. She almost wants to laugh: he’s worried about upsetting her over a minor curse word while she’s literally hot under the collar for him; her chest feels like it’s on fire, always quick to flush when she’s aroused, and she’s thanking the gods that she chose a crew neck t-shirt today and not a v-neck, or the situation would probably be a lot more awkward.

“You didn’t upset me, Hotch, it’s okay,” she insists, and he breaks eye contact to focus on the road.

They ride in silence the rest of the way to the precinct, but he doesn’t move to exit the vehicle after he takes the keys out of the ignition. “I’m sorry again for my outburst. I shouldn’t have reacted that way, at least not with you in the car.” She sits back in her seat, because this is now about more than her embarrassing moment from before.

“You’re allowed to be human, you know,” she tells him, and when it looks like he’s about to argue, she shakes her head. “I know the bureau likes to discourage it, but being in tune with our emotions and other people’s emotions is what makes us the best at what we do. Don’t apologize for the things you feel.”

“I have to lead by example. It’s the best way to set clear expectations.”

“Telling us your expectations is the best way to set clear expectations. You don’t have to pretend to be emotionless. When you’re angry, be angry.” He frowns, looks at her like what she’s saying makes absolutely no sense.

“When I got angry just now, you were looking at me like you were seeing something about me for the first time. Like you were afraid of me.”

“I wasn’t afraid of you, it’s… it’s nothing. I’d really rather not get into it.” His face softens again, and he’s giving her a look that’s usually reserved for families of victims, which throws her off guard.

“I know that victims of abuse can sometimes have a negative reaction to shouting…”

She wants to groan. He’s being so kind, but if he doesn’t let this go...

“I’m not a victim of abuse, and you didn’t scare me.” He still looks guilty, and if that’s what he thinks happened, and that’s how she made him feel? Well she’s gotta come clean sooner than later. She takes a deep breath. “You turned me on, okay? You were angry, and you rolled up your sleeves, and then you put your hand on the back of my seat and it just… affected me. I can’t believe I’m saying this,” she mutters, covering her face with her hand. Hotch processes that, is still processing that when she removes her fingers from her face. He just looks at her, expression carefully blank.

“Oh. Uh, well. It’s natural; nothing you could have done about it.” She sighs at that, runs a hand through her hair.

“I know, I’m not ashamed of being aroused, or anything, but—we’re working, you’re my boss. The situation is awkward.” He looks at the steering wheel, like he can’t say what he’s going to say directly to her.

“You shouldn’t feel awkward. This kind of thing happens to all of us.” She arches her brow, smiles a little incredulously.

“You’re telling me you, Aaron Hotchner, have been inappropriately turned on on the job before?” He shrugs, nodding.

“Sure, yes.” Her brows rise further into her hairline, not believing him for a second; he sighs at her expression and shakes his head, huffing a laugh. “Okay. You were in my office last week, leaning over my shoulder to look at a case file, and I could smell your shampoo. It’s coconut, right?” She nods, not sure exactly where the story is going, but she feels herself getting hot again, against literally her every wish. “Well, it made me daydream of the vacation I so desperately want: a drink in my hand, sun on my skin, sand beneath my feet… making love late at night with a breeze blowing through the open patio door.”

“Oh.” Her heart is racing, beating so hard she’s almost surprised the sound doesn’t give her away, and her breathing is heavy, and she thinks he’s about to speak again when someone taps on his window abruptly. He rolls it down and Gideon sticks his head in.

“There’s another body, 482 West Hemlock; you two might as well stay in the car and meet us there.”

“Will do,” Hotch replies, and Gideon nods, steps away from the car. If he wonders why they were sitting there unbuckled for so long, he doesn't show it.

They back out of the parking lot sexy-incident-free, and they’ve gone a few blocks before he turns to look at her again. “Are we okay? I hope I didn’t say too much.”

“No, you didn't. We’re okay.” She smiles softly, actively thinking about anything but vacation sex with her boss.

(It’s surprisingly difficult.)

They process the crime scene, gaining some new insight about the unsub, and before long they’re ready for a profile. Sophie opts to ride back to the station with Prentiss under the guise of letting Gideon and Hotch iron out the details, but really she needs to be as far away from him as possible while working the case, or she’s going to lose her mind.

The rest of the day is uneventful, spent poring over pages and pages of cold case files trying to link other murders to the one that occurred earlier that day. They identify at least 15, and when they literally can’t go on for a minute longer, Hotch calls it and they discuss where to go to grab some dinner.

Italian wins, and Sophie gets a big, beautiful bowl of pasta primavera and a glass of white wine, and it’s almost enough to make her forget all about the day until Hotch catches her eye from across the table, smiling at something Morgan said, and her stomach clenches. She smiles lightly, trying to hide it, but she’s not sure she was able to save face in time. She spends the rest of the meal arguing semantics with Reid, something so perfectly normal that it shouldn’t raise anyone’s suspicions.

She feels eyes on her anyway, but she doesn’t look in their direction.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner/original female character #Criminal minds fanfic

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kayteewritessteve · 5 years ago

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It’s nice to be important, but it’s important to be nice.

Alright, I think it’s time that I put this out there. I wasn’t planning on having any more to do with this shit storm, but I think this needs to be voiced now, more than ever. I’d like to point out, this is my generalized views on this shit, and it is not to attack or shade anyone in this fandom. This is how I have felt on this shit for years, between two different fandoms and finally I feel like I need to put it into words. Side with me or not, this is my set views on this issue, and I will not sit here and argue or fight online with anyone over them. This is how I see it, and nothing anyone says will change this. So don’t even waste your breath.

To start off, to all my lovely readers, I just want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart. I sometimes feel like I’m in my own little bubble in this fandom. Like whenever I see other writers having issues with readers not interacting, I feel bad for them, but then I look at the comments on my fics and I can’t really relate to them on that front.

I normally steer clear of the reader feedback issues, because I genuinely feel it does not pertain to me, personally. I have so many lovely readers, who leave me lovely comments and feedback, and those few of you who do, are all I truly need to keep me happy.

But, with that said, I also am someone who sees both sides of the coin. I’m someone who cherishes the readers who just like and reblog, cherishes the ones who just like and comment, and cherish every other interaction in between.

I will never personally demand comments from you all, I will never say ‘fuck your social anxieties, you will comment or else!’ Because how does that help? I deal with social anxiety myself, I know how crippling it can be. I have been that person reading other peoples fics silently and in the background. I have had moments where I’m afraid to even like a fic, because then I feel like I must reblog or I’ll be labelled a shit person. I have been there, so many damn times.

I may not appear as someone with social anxieties at first, but they are there, hiding under the overly bubbly personality I also have. I turn the volume up on my friendly side for this blog, just to hide the true anxious person that I am.

So I get it. God do I get it.

Tumblr is scary, it can be overwhelming, and loud, and nerve-wracking. And when issues like this happen, it can be an even scarier place. And I think demanding feedback, and getting super angry about this all, is not helping matters. It’s scaring more people away.

I think us as writers, need to remember that we may not feel intimidating, we may just completely forget that to others, we are bigger blogs, we are the people they look up to, the people they want to be like. And I’m not saying this as an ego trip, I look up to other bigger blogs myself. I idolize some bigger blogs and hope I can even be blessed enough to get halfway to where they are, some day. But the point I’m trying to make here, is that sometimes we forget that someone else may be nervous to reach out, to comment, to interact with us, because they themselves feel like a small blog. Like a nuisance, like they are annoying us, like we will think they are weird. And I only use those exact words, because I have had my readers reach out and tell me that’s how they normally feel in interactions with other writers. How those writers have made them feel.

So I think we need to all (writers included) be a little nicer to each other. Yelling, bitching, chastising heavily, will not fix these issues, it will probably make them worse. If I’m being honest.

And us as writers need to give back just a little more to our readers—I know, I know! Some of y’all are about to go in on me, saying how dare I say we give MORE back after all our hours of writing. But, hear me out first.

When I first started this blog, barely anyone commented on my fics. So what did I do? I started commenting and thanking the people who just reblogged. As people started to comment a little more, I made sure to leave just as in-depth replies as they did, when people started reblogging essay’s on my fics, I replied in kind. I laugh, I cry, and I stomp with my readers. I don’t just write, post it then walk away and expect everyone to sing my praises. I don’t ever demand feedback or love.

I take the few lovely people who give me that feedback and love, and I return it once again. And you know what? Because I do, I have so many lovely readers returning, to give me feedback once again! I have people reaching out to thank me for actually replying to them, I have people stepping out of their comfort zones to read AU’s they never liked before, solely because I wrote them.

And shit. That’s the highest of damn praises, man. Like I can never thank the few of you who love my stories so much. I can never thank the few of you who have been with me from the start, I can never thank those of you who stumbled upon me recently and never wanted to leave again. You all, every single one of you, are the reason I still write today. You are the reason I’m still here.

But I have BUILT these relationships. I have nurtured them, and helped them grow. I have taken the time to really see my readers, to appreciate them. To give back exactly what I get. And yes, it’s time consuming, and yes, sometimes it takes me a few days to finally reply to them, but the point is, I find the time to reply.

I can’t tell you how many times I have seen someone leave such a lovely long winded reblog comment on a fic, and they literally get ‘thanks for reading!’ in reply. Like. Damn. That hurts meeeee, and I wasn’t even the commenter. But I think I can only feel that hurt, because I have been the reader that pours my soul into my comment, and then doesn’t even get a thank you. Not even a reply at all. And that shit sucks, and it can really deter me from ever commenting like that on that persons fics again. Like why waste the time, if they aren’t even reading your comment? And yeah, maybe they are, and in this case, even just a ‘thanks’ would be better than nothing. But most of the time, a thanks doesn’t even come.

Now look, I get that we all have lives, I get that we all have things that are more important to take up our time. Trust me, I do. But I think you can’t really sit here and complain about a lack of reader interaction, when you yourself aren’t doing everything you can to encourage them to interact. To show them that they can reach out and comment, and you will love them for it. They will be your hero for it.

I think if you just come in here, thinking you’re above everyone else, and demanding praise for this, you are going to be in for a rude awakening when you don’t get what you think you are owed. What you believe you deserve, solely because you write.

I personally believe that my job is not finished just because I posted my fic. I personally believe my job is never finished on a story, so long as people are commenting and reblogging. I give them a story to read, they give me love and feedback, and then I give them that in return as my thank you for reading. And ya know what? It’s worked out well for me. I’m happy with all of my readers, I cherish them, and I feel blessed for every single one of them.

This is a hobby for me, it’s not a job, I love interacting with my readers. And I think when this hobby starts to feel like work, and I don’t want to interact anymore, then I will walk away. If I ever stop getting the joy out of it, then I’ll stop. Simple as that, and you know why? Because I was the one who decided to share my writing with others. I am the one who built a following around them. I am the one who choose to put myself in this place. So how the hell am I supposed to sit here and demand people to praise me, when I was the one who took the necessary steps to put myself in this exact spot. I was the one who opened my stories up for people to actually read.

So yeah, maybe I don’t see it the same way the rest of you do. Maybe I’m naive, or silly, or ignorant, but this is how I see it. And I’m sorry if you don’t, I’m sorry if you feel you deserve a certain level of interaction and you just aren’t getting that. Because at the end of the day, I want everyone who writes to truly enjoy it and to get the love they deserve.

But we have to lower our standards a bit, we have to realize that we may not get exactly the praise we want, but we still get praise. And in any form, that’s such a glorious thing. When we all first started out, getting 3 comments was HUGE for us. Getting even one persons feedback was like life changing! So why is that not the case anymore? Why is that not enough now? Because we have thousands of followers now, instead of a hundred? That’s utter bullshit.

Praise is praise, take it or leave it, but don’t bash it. Don’t discredit it. And don’t act like it isn’t there. Because it is, just maybe not in the full extent you are wanting. But it’s still there.

TL:DR - please be nicer to people, and understand not all of us are extroverts. Some of us suffer from social anxieties, and that needs to be realized and remembered. Show love. Spread love. Stop bashing each other and just write because YOU want to, and not because you want all the damn praise.

#kt talks #kt rambles #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #long post #long read #marvel au #au fanfiction #to my readers #to my followers #to my friends #to my mutuals #to my fandom #marvel fandom

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simptasia · 5 years ago

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neurodivergence in abc’s lost

i’m gonna be listing off and talking about the canon neurodivergent characters in lost. i won’t be adding characters that i personally headcanon as neurodivergent in some way, what i’m writing here is elaboration upon what has been given to me by the show. please note that none of these people’s conditions or disorders were named in the show, so such diagnoses being named here are me taking that extra step based upon their symptoms

first of all i wanna point out that based on what i’ve seen the show, that the island’s healing powers applies to conditions inflicted upon the mind, not ones inherent to the mind. thats why daniel’s brain damage heals, but people like hurley and locke will always continue to have depression

hugo “hurley” reyes

schizophrenia and depression

our most prominently featured mentally ill character. it might seem bold to label him with schizophrenia when it’s never said that that’s what he has. but during his time on lost, he displays many of the symptoms: paranoia, pathological self loathing, delusions and hallucinations. now, it’s a fictionalized depiction of schizophrenia and that’s probably not even what the writers had in mind but it’s none the less a really, really good and respectful portrayal of it

it would take too long to list off all the times when hurley displays paranoia (heck, it’s easy not to notice how much its a part of his character) and self loathing. delusions? the situations regarding the numbers and his bad luck (canon never ever Proves what hurley believes to be true regarding that stuff)

they did an episode dedicated to hurley having hallucinations. a man named dave who drives him to self destructive behaviour, self hatred and attempted suicide. fun fact: when people with schizophrenia in real life have hallucinations, they tend towards just auditory. hurley gets visual as well as per Rule Of Drama. this is not a bad thing, just a narrative tool

(steering slightly into headcanon for a bit here but i personally ignore the dharma made Hurley Bird they revealed in the epilogue and just take hurley hearing that bird say his name as an auditory hallucination. for two reasons: one, hurley hearing/seeing things that don’t exist is already consistent with his mental state. and two, that bird literally, genuinely did not fucking say hurley)

extra notes

to be clear, in case there's confusion, hurley really does have magical powers. he can talk to dead people. that isn’t a delusion or hallucination. you can understand how confusing and distressing this must be for hurley

he's had a compulsive eating disorder since he was ten due to the pain of his father abandoning him. his struggle with this is well documented

at several points during the show he’s shown to have trouble spelling. he especially confuses his “y(s)” and “ies”. it’s not clear if this is due to poor education or a learning issue. or both, really. it’s safe to assume with him being poor, mexican and mentally ill, that school wasn’t easy for hurley

hurley has unjustifiably lived at mental health institutions on at least two occasions (the first time was against his will, second was volunteer)

john locke

depression

locke suffers from severe self esteem issues, and i know most lost characters do, but i mean to the point of irrational and destructive behaviour. he has an obsession with being deemed special in order to justify his existence. he also suffers jarring mood swings. (he can switch from calm and jovial to angry and defensive at the drop of a hat). when he was wheelchair bound, this threw him into a depression. when he failed to convince anybody to come back to the island, he attempted suicide. he would have gone thru with it too. he will go to extremes to make sure things stay the way he wants them to (killing an innocent woman so they can stay on the island, tying up and drugging boone so he won’t tell anybody about the hatch), and will fall into despair if he fails

also note that the things im saying about locke are not a comment on people with depression. i don’t think all depressed people kill and drug people. those were statements on locke’s character that i believe are a part of his mental state. my point is: he’s emotionally unstable and he tried to kill himself. and i think his extreme need for validation (from people and the universe in general) is especially concerning

to me, this all says to me that locke has clinical depression

locke isn’t as easy as the other people on this list to classify as Canon Neurodivergent but at least to me, i think it’s very obvious. like i feel bad being so vague but like, basically, watch any locke episode

daniel faraday

acquired brain damage, severe memory degradation as well as other neurodivergent behaviours (i’ll go into it)

he’s played by jeremy davies. enough said

okay, jokes aside. at some point in the past daniel and his assistant theresa were involved in some vaguely referred to time based experiments. while she was catatonicized, the accident left daniel severely brain damaged (also daniel spent years doing radioactive experiments without head protection, which would not have helped and indeed that is foreshadowing of this whole debacle)

apparently this left him in a state where he can no longer take care of himself, having been assigned a carer. his most outstanding symptom is that his ability to process short AND long term memory has been impaired

short term: he’s shown to have issues retaining memories from day to day. he wasn’t sure if he had met charles widmore already (he hadn’t). charles lays some exposition on him and when daniel asks why he’s telling him this, charles says, with sureness, that “because by tomorrow you won’t remember this”. counting on that to be an absolute fact seems silly to me but that does seem to the case. again, Rule Of Drama is in play here

long term: he can no longer access memories he formed many years ago, famously the memories he formed with desmond in 1996. all in all, this condition is highly plot convenient. can’t argue with results, really

no, i can keep going, i got more, this is daniel fucking faraday we’re talking about: his ability to remember 3 playing cards has been impaired (note that this is a skill most 4 year olds master), he forgot the secret code the science team were all taught and when he introduces himself to jack there is a long pause, in hindsight implying that daniel forgot his own name

like real life memory conditions, theres varying level to how much he does and doesn’t remember. he’s thankfully not in a 50 first dates situation and doesn’t forget everything day to day. clearly he remembers people if they’re around enough, like during his time on the boat. charlotte, miles, frank, naomi...

upon landing on the island, his memory slowly gets better (considering his condition beforehand, the fact that nobody comments on this is staggering)

when dan is fully healed? i could not say, i could theorize, but such things are nebulous. but still, the times we see dan without his brain damage, he still behaves like a neurodivergent person. just not like he was when he was brain damaged. he stims near constantly, has a tendency to repeat names and words (echolalia) and it’s shown that dan compulsively counts in his head. he counted up to 864 beats, if i remember correctly, which is about 10 minutes of counting in his head. by no stretch of the imagination is that neurotypical behaviour

(im not trying to sound defensive. and i don’t think anybody, anywhere, is arguing that daniel faraday is a neurotypical. unfathomable)

going into headcanon territory again, his ND traits, when not brain damaged, say to me that he’s autistic and/or has OCD and possibly anxiety. thats all theorizing on my part tho. but the fact of the matter is, damage or no, he’s neurodivergent

notes

his apparent need for tactile sensory input is legendary in the lost fandom. in layman’s terms: him pet pet. not just people but objects too. humans, overall, tend to touch things to process input better. many ND people do it more, and it seems daniel is a case of that (i am not making a solid statement on jeremy davies’ neuro state. that’s his business)

he shows an inability to properly process grief

he also shows shocking indifference to his own safety, resulting in reckless behaviour. how much of this is a result of his mental state or his upbringing is up for debate. i think it’s a combo of both

without his brain damage, he appears to have an eidetic memory

danielle rousseau

trauma induced mental illness

pretty self explanatory. the loss of her expedition, husband and daughter, as well as 16 years of loneliness (on THIS island) has resulted in emotional instability for danielle. she’s prone to paranoia, trust issues, irrational behaviour

she’s just not well. she’s right most of the time but she’s not well

libby smith

indeterminate mental state

libby was institutionalized (the same place hurley was sent to) and placed on medication (which seemed like sedatives to me, based on her expressions). in the show it’s not what clear what put her there, but having just done some research, i’ve discovered that Word Of God says that libby became mentally unstable after the death of her husband dave smith. so this is probably another case of trauma induced mental illness. she must have had a pretty extreme episode to cause her to be sent to a place like that. something to think about

but alas, it’s libby, so not much info. moving on

benjamin linus

anti social behaviour disorder (is my best guess)

oof. depictions of mental illness with characters who are immoral are depictions of mental illness nonetheless. i feel almost silly saying this but: ben is not... okay

ben displays issues (at best) with empathy, compassion and morality. how much he cares about other people is highly debatable but one thing that's certain is that he does genuinely love his daughter. everybody else is ????

but the loving alex thing rules out him being a sociopath or having narcissistic personality disorder. and it is genuine because when he loses it with grief, it’s not a performance, because the only audience is us...

he’s a compulsive liar, lying even when it doesn’t benefit him. lying just because. ben is highly unpredictable, which isn’t inherently a neurodivergent thing, but when a person goes from a calm discussion to strangling somebody, all roads point to Uh Oh (i don’t know the technical terms for Uh Oh). many of his outward emotions are performed (the difference between his fake smiles and few real smiles is noticeable). he’s manipulative, he treats people like objects for his benefit/plans, he’s self absorbed, he has zero issues with murder unless it’s a child. he does have some moral standards. but overall, uh, [just gestures at ben]

also ben is repeatedly offended when other people don’t trust him, which is HILARIOUS, but also shows a cognitive dissonance on his part

hmm i need more here, im gonna break out the big guns

that’s some basic info there and doesn’t that line up with ben?

the article goes on to say that people with this can put on superficial charm. that is, behave friendly and “normal” when they have to. which ben is shown to be able to do

and this

“Serious problems with interpersonal relationships are often seen in those with the disorder. Attachments and emotional bonds are weak, and interpersonal relationships often revolve around the manipulation, exploitation, and abuse of others.”

reminds me of his situation with juliet. and locke. and his “friendships” in general

i snipped the wikipedia article for this because unlike the rest i felt,,, underequipped to talk about this sort of thing

ben being mentally unwell is clear enough in canon and i think this disorder is what lines up best with it. please note that ben is capable of change and growth (like people in real life who have such issues) and like the show i’m not gonna paint him 100% evil or irredeemable. i’m just saying what’s true

notes

ben says at one point that he doesn’t dream anymore. it’s highly probably that this is a lie, but if it isn’t, well that's not good. it’d mean his brain isn’t entering into REM sleep properly, which can lead to emotional problems

ben doesn’t blink as much as most people do, something michael emerson did on purpose. this can apply to some neurodivergent people

it’s shown that he was quite nonverbal as a kid. in the flashbacks in “man behind the curtain” little ben barely speaks

honourable mentions

pretty much all the survivors suffer from PTSD due the trauma of the crash

a great deal of the characters suffer from PTSD from trauma in general due to their awful lifes. like, abusive parents, war, loss of loved ones, etc

and i must note that ben, daniel and locke suffering from parental abuse, ranging from emotional to physical, is something to factor into their cases

claire, similar to danielle, also suffered trauma induced mental illness due to the loss of her baby and feeling like she was abandoned

sayid is depicted as dead inside during season 6 due to The Sickness, so thats like a magical form of depression. and one could argue that he already had regular depression beforehand

boone joked about shannon having bulimia. (whether or not it’s true, boone is an asshole) if it’s true, shannon has an eating disorder, which is considered a form of mental illness. espech one so self image based

self harm

self harm is not an inherent part of mental illness but such concepts are often linked so i felt i should mention some of these, it’ll be quick

hurley’s aforementioned eating disorder

charlie takes heroin as a form of self harm (that isn’t a theory on my part, it’s clear as day that charlie started taking it because his sense of self worth was so low that the drugs felt like the only option)

locke, hurley, (both as mentioned above), jack, desmond, michael and richard have all attempted/nearly commited suicide

so what can we conclude from this? well that's up to you, really. that i love lost a fuck ton? that the actors and writing in lost is amazing? that all the neurodivergent based depth got saved for the boys? yeah

but i wanna conclude with this: a part of what makes lost really special to me is that these people i’ve talked out here? they’ve suffered, and oh boy it was tasty suffering, but all of them, yes even libby, were more than suffering

these people have nuance. one way or another, these people (to varying degrees) were happy at times. silly. funny. angry. opinionated. they loved. they were loved. they lived and breathed as human beings. that means a lot to me

lost is a story of broken people given a second chance. take that as you will

thank you for your time

#lost #charthann #missinglost #(i don't wanna lose this so i tagged you guys)#i've made a list like this before but i wanna go into detail #and before i knew it i made an incredible essay #lost headcanons #most of this is based on canon but as i said there is extrapolation at play #and i mention some headcanons along the way when i felt it was needed #gosh this became a whole Thing #i hope y'all enjoy it!#and this isn't counting ppl i headcanon as ND #like jack being autistic or charlie having HPD #i could go into that too

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evergreen-dryad · 5 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 신의 탑 | Tower of God Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Khun Aguero Agnis/Twenty-Fifth Baam | Jyu Viole Grace Characters: Khun Aguero Agnis, Twenty-Fifth Baam | Jyu Viole Grace, Rachel (Tower of God), Headon (Tower of God), David Hockney (Tower of God), Ship Leesoo, Androssi Zahard, Hatsu (Tower of God), Anak Zahard Jr., Hwa Ryun, Mata (Tower of God) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Sirens, Deals with the Fae, Mutual Pining, Fluff and Angst, Body Possession, almost turns into a daemon au, Animal Transformation, Fairy Tale Elements, Witches, Deception, because it's rachel, Happy Ending, Misunderstandings, POV Multiple, Injury, Magic Summary:

The tales have warned before not to make deals with the fae. Especially those that are beautiful, and dangerous, and related to the sea-witch.

Viole finds he doesn't care, as he stares into the deep blue eyes of the Khun siren. He's going to risk it for their happily-ever-afters.

(In which there's a voyage over the sea, and falling in love. Khun Aguero Agnis somehow, inevitably, becomes the lighthouse for Viole Grace, and there are deals involved with legs. And a happily-ever-after.)

//here’s the thing I’ve been working on in August! Hence the silence. Enjoy~

Outwards, it is lonely dark water. The crunch of ice echoes around him as his craft moves through them slowly. In the distance, whalesong shudders.

Viole keeps an eye out. They've all been warned of the dangers.

Tales tell of fantastic creatures rising up from the sea, singing of your heart's desire. They sing in such a way to pluck out your heart, that you no longer know yourself or your right mind.

They always end with the poor soul drowning.

Though, Viole has doubts that entire shiploads can go missing, going from some of these embellished tales.

He had been following the voice over many leagues now. The voice that now winds into his ears, as sure as a shining thread of light.

Viole had stopped counting after the last fortnight had gone by in a blur. Bleak open water all around — it was easy enough to feel life was all a dream. The horizon always far away, destination unknown.

He sighs, burying his nose into his furs.

"Not too long now, Rachel," he murmurs out loud. "I'll see you again soon." Viole had found that talking out loud actually made him feel less like he was losing his mind, like uncorking a bottle the sea had deposited deep within him.

Birds swoop overhead, cawing furiously as they divebomb the water. It is that time of the day where the sun is almost directly overhead. Hunting time for the animals, but for Viole it is time to sleep. He retreats back into his cabin gratefully. Even here, the sunlight can be searing. He had found that out the hard way, back when he'd been starting out.

Back when he'd begun this journey to find a witch, for Rachel's legs.

Rachel, who might never run and laugh again, and walk on her own two legs to find her fortune. It had hit her especially hard because she was the only child.

Only children rarely fare well in the stories, so she had told Viole. Especially if one of their parents die and remarry and give them a stepsibling. They fare even worse if they're the oldest, she said, in that gloomy tone of voice that said she was ready to go off for a long sulk. And Viole didn't like that.

"I'll go," he said quickly before it looked like she'd start crying. "I'll go and be your legs. And - I'll look for your fortune, Rachel."

She'd brightened.

There were hedge witches, but they apparently did not know the magics needed for deep healing. So he'd travelled the other direction of the crossroads instead, to the coast.

(He was afraid to go too far from Rachel. Somewhere too far from all he'd known. )

But here he was anyway, set adrift in an unfriendly sea. Viole had never really had the chance to visit the ocean much before, but he found with a few rough starts he was actually a pretty good hand at sailing. He knew ropes well. The rest were adjusting the various parts of the ship he’d rented on the fly.

If he could just find a sea witch, he returns to his thoughts drowsily, perhaps even the fabled sea witch, of which the info broker said the sirens are abundant—

(“A Khun siren could probably do the trick,” Shibisu said pensively over folded hands. A critical glance went over him. “But are you sure? They’re known to be vicious and exacting.”)

—then they could swap Rachel’s bad legs for good ones.

They had to.

Making deals with any of the fae was bad enough, let alone with a witch, but Viole is nothing but determined to pay the price.

(If like repels like, then surely like can cancel out like?)

Sleep drags him down into its depths. The voice spirals along with him, and Viole dreams of sky-blue expanses.

At night, the voice echoes even clearer over the waves. It reverberates, bouncing off the icebergs almost eeriely, till Viole can feel the notes of the siren song hooking into his chest. Four clear notes, always the same. He didn’t understand why, but it was his only clue.

It seemed he was the only person who could hear it too. When he asked Hockney, the guy who rented him the craft, he’d shaken his head and looked at him oddly. And Hockney had eagle eyes who could see storms coming from far-off.

Maybe Viole’s special talents lay in hearing the unseen.

He gazes upwards at the sky, holding out his hands to measure the space between stars. He’s only approximating where he thinks he needs to go, after all. But he does have to make sure he doesn’t just sail right back where he came from, or fall off the edge of the earth.

How far will he need to go?

He had reached ice. He had never known there was even ice beyond the sea that bordered them. What would be beyond all this? His teeth were chattering.

Only the desperate can hear them. This was what the singing of the Khuns was renowned for — the lure they maintained, for their desolate icy kingdom.

Aguero Agnis knew this. He had watched the dark shape of the boat come over the waves, steering by night.

Hunger simmered deep within his bones, his tail shifting impatiently. He knows a chance when he sees it. Perhaps it’s not his, but he will take it. He had borrowed power for the occasion, after all.

He will be nothing more than his father's lackey if he stays under here.

There is not a single thing that truly belongs to him. All undersea belonged to his father, where the ice breathed and shone.

There's nothing more he hates than drowning alive. They know all about killing people, things slowly.

They are Khuns. They do not do things otherwise. They hunt with the killer whales, beating in the prey in a shell of bubbles.

This Khun, however, has no intention of following the same rules.

Softly, he unspooled the lure, note after note. The moon above, magnifying his every ulululation.

Yes, come, little fish.

It was coming to the ice shelf, the boat scraping through, slowing down.

It was easy enough for Aguero to hide under the sheet ice, their colouring naturally lending them camouflage in this world of blues and greys.

He flicked his tail in agitation. He couldn't get a clear visual without giving himself away, but he could hear the whistling breath of the human overhead, as it strained. The rhythm by which it rowed, its oars scraping and carving against the broken-up bits of ice.

Here it comes now, the prey over the waters. Aguero peers upwards through a small disc of air—

—and sees a young man, dark hair tied up in a little tail.

Why, if he isn't a lean one. The shape of his fate had a body like a fisherman. This was the hook he had fashioned for himself, and now all he had to do was throw himself upon it, and up the line and sinker he would go.

I will bend fate to my will. Moonbeams travelled down the runes he’d casted, etched into the grooves of his skin.

Now then, how could he make a grand entrance?

#tower of god #khunbam #25th baam #khun aguero agnis #jue viole grace #twenty fifth baam #kami no tou #tog #rachel #my writing #ed fics

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msbeccieboo · 5 years ago

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Arrow 8x09 Brain Dump

It was...not all bad. I really want to like this. I love Mia, William and FTA. I want to enjoy BS like I did in S7. I want to see Dinah written consistently with any kind of actual character. Well, at least my love for FTA is still intact 😂😂

Mia

Kat was brilliant in this episode. Her leading lady really jumped out 😂😂 Her emotional moments hit the mark, and I think she juggled her post-Crisis new life with her old memories brilliantly.

We opened on her waking up in the Queen mansion(!), with a very yummy Diggle Jr in her bed, only it’s JJ not Connor 😱😱 She’s also surrounded by adorable family photos, showing that Oliver got his wish of her and William growing up together (and confirmation that the Olicity Love Cabin still existed!) Basically, she’s living the best life that Oliver could have wished for her, without him in it, of course 😭

Probably the most notable change in ‘new Mia’ (other than her being infinitely happier and living in a crime-free city) was her social poise. She’s been brought up in Oliver Queen’s old world, and is quite the socialite, only without any of the haughty frivolity that one might expect (I imagine we have Felicity for that 😍). She loves her life and her friends, and she defends them, especially in the face of Laurel, who seemingly does nothing but scoff at her lifestyle for the whole episode 😒 I loved her addressing the press!! That was pure Queen! Maybe the influence of a certain Aunt Thea?

Source: feilcityqueen

More below the cut…

Basically this Mia is smart and loving and happy, and Oliver gave her a warm and otherwise full life, save for finding her true purpose (which is gonna be vigilanteing, of course). So of course BS and Dinah rock up and upend it all 😂 I really liked how they made the returning of Mia’s memories a source of conflict, as well they should. It was so brutal to just return them with no preamble, to destroy what happiness Oliver had given back to her, just because, what? BS couldn’t complete her own fucking mission? (More of that later lol) Then Mia standing up to BS when she went as far as to mock Mia’s new world, just gave me life!!!

Anyway, with her memories restored, and bad guys to track down, of course Mia couldn’t resist her heroic calling and suited up, then proceeded to be the epic badass that we have grown to love.

Source: kathmcnamara

I loved seeing her struggle with her memories returning, and the guilt that they brought with them of not living up to Oliver’s legacy. At the same time, she appreciates what Oliver did for her, that all he wanted for his family and the city was to be safe and happy. She ultimately decides to remain the Green Arrow, taking up the guard of her city in her father’s memory, to protect the new world that he sacrificed himself to create.

Source: felicityqueen

We’d seen she’d developed her ‘street smarts’ in the flash-forwards, so I think she’ll end up bringing these together with her new social skills, and badass moves, and be an unstoppable force!! Hopefully that will include her old FTA team as well, and not just the two feathered ones 🙄

FTA/JJ

God this needed more FTA.

We got a small amount of William, more of JJ, what with him being Mia’s fiance (!!), and little more than fleeting glances of Zoe (!) and Connor. The disrespect!! 😂

William (who even knows his surname in this new life?) continues to hold my whole heart in his hands 😍😍

Source: oliverxfelicity

LOOK AT HIM!!!!💗💗💗

He seems to have been least affected in terms of his character, post-crisis. It’s implied that he’s running Smoak Tech, and that he and Mia grew up together and are basically each others’ ride-or-dies 😭😍😭

I truly hope if the show is picked up, that they increase the William content by a solid 1000% 😂 He brings so much heart and a certain humour and lightness, just like Felicity brought to Arrow, and Ben is such an amazing actor. The new show will need a William. BADLY. He really seems to have his shit together (in the very limited time we have seen him of course 😒), but I’m hoping that that doesn’t lead to Mia keeping her memories from him for long (although remembering who their Dad is, I’m guessing she could take a while 😂😂).

So JJ proposes to Mia at the beginning of the episode!!!! Apparently they are the love of each others lives here. Dig clearly learned from what Connor told him, and steered JJ away from becoming a murdering gangster...YAY! Although it seems that in doing so, our darling boy Connor ran into a few issues of his own 😫😫 It looks like there is no love lost between him and Mia, that he has been in and out of rehab, and is now somewhat of a bad boy 😏😏 But when they first lock eyes there is still definite history and heat there and, just HJJHDFVGDFK 🔥 BACKSTORY IS NEEDED!! Then at the end, JJ has his memories restored by scary-dude-in-cloak (who I was totally hoping would be Dig or Oliver tbh 😂), so I’m super interested to see how he copes with his dual memories!! So now Mia loves JJ, but knows he was evil and killed Zoe, and she hated Connor, but now remembers they had feelings for each other and that he is a beautiful soul, and all the shit is gonna hit the fan!!! I usually hate love triangles, but this is so exciting, with the good boy/bad boy switch up, and then the opposite memories being returned...YAAAAASSSS!! Although I’d like to make it clear that, whilst I’m going to enjoy the drama getting there, I am firmly in the SmoaknHawke end game camp!!

And as excited as I just got, all of this took up just about 5 mins of screen time 😫😫 It reminds me of what Arrow was lacking in its early episodes...heart and hope. They lucked into it with Felicity/Emily, but they have it here, ready and waiting, and are so far not using it.

Kat knows what’s what. This is the show we deserve.

Birds

There was a lot of bird action. Apparently in shaping a perfect future, Oliver saw fit that Mia never met BS or Dinah...this is why we stan 😂😂 Dinah has also seemingly been erased from the history books 😬, waking up after Oliver’s funeral (😒😭) 20 years in the future, so naturally becomes a bohemian, opens a bar and sings a lot. Cool, I’d probably do the same 😂😂 Laurel, it seems, went off to spend time with Sara, and has apparently become a solo time-traveller, trying to stop 2041 from becoming a really bad year. Righto.

Dinah was actually ok in this episode, if not hugely out of character, but that in itself has been inconsistent throughout the show, so here’s hoping that the zen-filled peacemaker that she was in this episode continues! Dinah’s new-found peace and bearability seemingly comes at the cost of Laurel being utterly awful. She rocked up in the future like Billy Big Bollocks with a huge chip on her shoulder, just sneering her way through the episode. She had such bitterness, disdain and anger directed towards Mia (and Dinah, at times) for no apparent reason, when they seemed to have somewhat bonded previously?! She spent the majority of the episode sauntering around looking down on everyone, portraying a bitchy-tomboy type, deeming anything vaguely typically feminine or not hard-moody-’badass’ as beneath her. This is not #girlpower. Fuck off.

Then we have that clusterfuck of a scene at the exhibition 🙈🙈 where BS tries to tell Mia that she used to date her Dad, before quickly correcting herself to “some version of him, anyway”, as if they were one and the same 🙄 Laurel’s continual need to imply that she knows, or has history with our Oliver is infuriating as hell. E2 Oliver died on the Gambit in his early 20s. Even if he was similar in character to E1 Oliver up until then, that person bears no likeness to the man he became. Her past with her ‘Ollie’ is entirely irrelevant to the man that was Mia’s father, who she barely even got to know at all save for a couple of episodes in S8. And not only the implication that she knew him, but then to actually try to trash him as well, to his kid?! All to push her idea that all versions of people are the same (which was refuted when JJ doesn’t even turn out to be behind the Deathstroke mask anyhow)? NO! At least Dinah and Mia were cringing along with us 😂

It’s just astounding, the turnaround they’ve managed with Laurel/BS. They already did the unthinkable in S7 and got a lot of people from this side of the fandom to empathise and warm to her, without pissing off her existing fans. I really did grow to like her in S7 (check my reviews, I still can’t believe it 😂), she was snarky, but not bitchy, and showed some heart and vulnerability. So it’s mind-blowing how they took all that growth and just obliterated it this season, and then even more so in this episode where she is just plain nasty and unlikeable.

I do think, however, that giving BS and Mia a tempestuous relationship from the off was a good idea, cos let’s face it, you can tell there is no love lost between them. But they could have made them clash in a better way than BS just being an arsehole to Mia for most of the episode. My best guess is her anger comes from Mia coming out of Crisis with a life untouched by violence, whilst her earth was still lost? (Was it? I can’t actually remember if E2 came back.) She can’t complete her self-appointed mission on her own and knows she needs Mia’s help to do it?? I don’t know. She had a lot to say about JJ supposedly being a ‘homicidal manic’...pot, kettle much?! She also seemed to find the notion of Mia initially wanting to just appreciate the peaceful life she had been given and not becoming a vigilante reprehensible, but why? BS is the one that needs to atone for past sins. Mia does not.

Stray thoughts

That cliffhanger!!! WHO TOOK OUR WILLIAM?!?!?!

The music was...not good. Especially during the fight scenes. Arrow was always so on-point with its score. I don’t understand how this can be so bad?! I did like hearing Mia’s theme in there, though, that was a nice tie-in the old flash-forwards.

Who is this Kevin that cheated on William? He must be destroyed!😡

Some of that future make-up was really something 😬😬 2040 is all about the severe/dead and unblended looks, apparently. The fashion was fabulous though!

The dialogue in the action scenes was soooo hammy.

Who is the mysterious, villainous “she”???

“Frack you!” and “I’m not interested in joining your Canary club” YAASS MIA 😂

William and Mia’s “pet rock” talk was super cute 😍

Oliver’s statue!! 😭😭😭

Hopes for the future, if series gets picked up:

Increased focus on Mia/FTA. We have such a fresh, interesting, diverse cast, with intertwined back stories ready to go for this show here already, waiting to be used. USE THEM.

A deadly outbreak of avian flu 😂🙊

Failing said outbreak...keep the birds in the background or MAKE THEM LIKEABLE. This is a chance for a clean slate!

I wanna see Papa Dig so bad. David had said we’d get to see 2040 Dig in Arrow, but looks like that isn’t going to happen now, and I’d just love to see how he is. I can also imagine David being entirely done, and not wanting to be a part of this, however, but a cheeky little cameo would be amazing 😂

SmoaknHawke to RISE 🔥🔥🔥

As it stands, I’ll watch if it goes to series, but for how long remains in question. I just know I cannot get on board with the faux feminist “heart/vulnerability/girly is ‘weak’! Let’s be hard/edgy/angry badasses and fight men and show the world we’re strong pow pow pow” narrative that BS in particular, but also the general tone of the show overall, is trying to portray. I really think that if the show is picked up that they should look to see what is working and what is falling flat on its arse. It’s in dire need of more heart and fewer birds imo, but we can have both, if they’d just write them as better people.

Thank you to the beautiful gif-makers 😘 Any uncredited gifs are mine.

💗💗💗

#Arrow 8x09 #Arrow #Arrow spoilers #Mia Smoak Queen #Green Arrow and the canaries #Arrow Season 8 #beccie's brain

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lyrishadow · 5 years ago

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Prompt 21: “this, this makes it all worth it” Fandom: Mass Effect Title: Geth Pairing: Egan Shepard/ Kaidan Alenko Rating: T Warning: Longer than I have been posting.

“Geth,” Egan muttered several times under his breath along with descriptive words that Kaidan raised an eyebrow at as they drove the mako around between outposts. “Shepard?” No response “Egan?” “Yeah.” Egan looked over at him briefly. “I know. Sorry, Tali.” “I have heard worse in my pilgrimage.” Tali shrugged “You should hear the mercenaries on Omega.” “You… went to Omega?” Kaidan was shocked “Of course, it is closer to the fleet.” Tali said as if everyone knew the location of the flotilla, “I wanted to come to the Citadel, to see what it was like… I hadn’t really decided what to do.” “When you were attacked?” “Well I did get the Geth data first, and then came to the citadel where yes, I was attacked by Saren’s minions. Tali supplied. “I always forget you had done all that before we met you.” Egan started to reply when the mako clipped a hill and spun. “Son of a…” “I think Garrus has been calibrating the steering a little” Tali offered as an explanation. “That is why I get into my seat well these days.” Kaidan nodded though Egan did note that his friend was looking a little green around the edges. “Alright, I will try to stick to flat ground.” “Feel free to stop for ore.” Kaidan said gesturing to the GPS map interface, “there is some around here and you know how that gets.” Stopping for ore would give time for the green to settle, Egan thought, and for him to get a better bearing on what the Geth were up to in the sector. Why were they focused on being here? They had been on three planets already in the area, trying to stop the Geth incursion in the Skyllian Verge. It had taken a lot to get where they are and Egan was less than impressed with the damage the Mako had already taken.

“Can we fix this?” Egan kicked the rim of the mako’s tire which was decidedly dented from the last episode with a Geth. “Be nice if we had some idea of what they were using to do that?” “Plasma weapons?” Kaidan said scanning with his Omni tool “I am guessing it bounced off something though, we only got a little bit of reflected damage.” “They always seem to aim for the front of a vehicle,” Tali added somehow coming to stand directly next to the two men. “Oh, that is handy to know.” Egan nodded “I can dodge them if we don’t freaking bounce all over the place.” They looked at each other and said “Garrus.” “Alright, got that map Alenko?” “Yes Sir.” Kaidan pulled up the map on the Omni tool and Egan blinked as he identified and memorized the locations they needed to go. “Ok two more bunkers to storm, let’s go.”

They piled into the mako and made their way to the next base. It was un-nerving the number of spikes around it and as much as Egan wanted to ignore it they were a sign he wished he had never witnessed on Eden Prime. “Keep sharp.” he waved at the spikes “That’s a lot of spikes.” “Egan that was unintentional right?” Kaidan asked running a hand over his face at the horrible pun his Commander had used. “What? Oh god… “ Egan sighed “Sorry, it’s been a long day, just pay attention.” “Ok let’s deal with this.”They sobered themselves as they went into the second last bunker. “Must they kill the science guys here? I mean… ”Egan pulled his biotic shield up and dodged to shoot the incoming husks. “Not a fate I want thanks.” “Not a fate any of us want.” Tali echoed his thoughts “Except maybe the already deranged. “All clear,” Kaidan said coming round behind Shepard. “Alright check for useful things, and see if there is anything we can learn from the Geth.” He would have to file a report after all of this was over, and he wanted as much information as possible to relay back to Admiral Hackett.

Tali was on that already, scanning and taking notes for him on the nature of the Geth. “I wonder if Geth get indoctrinated?” Kaidan asked. “Well, I guess that’s…. can an AI be indoctrinated?” Egan began to wonder about that too, “What influences does Sovereign have over … Geth?” “We know they worship them.” Tali supplied as she gingerly turned over another Geth body, this one a larger model called a juggernaut. It was well dead, and it oozed that white conductive fluid common with all Geth they had killed. “We know what you know.” Egan nodded at Tali “Short of asking one about these things, which I highly doubt we will be doing, we need to ascertain why they are here.” “They have enough here to invade at least our main colonies out here.” Kaidan pointed out handing Egan some medi-gel and supplies he had gathered. “Medi-gel?” Egan looked curiously at the Geth “Do you think they use it?” “Maybe.” “So much we don’t understand about our own creation,” Tali said sadly. “It’s okay Tali, maybe you will be the one to change all that.” Egan said pointing at her work with the Geth in front of them “You have anything for us?” “Some data, information on shields and damage and such.” Tali sighed “Not enough.” “Want to grab a weapon and take it back to look at?” Kaidan called “Egan missed one in the fight.” “What hey!” They moved to where Kaidan was standing over a fallen Geth juggernaut, dead but still with its weapon close by. “I shorted a few, they blew up.” Egan was explaining himself as they walked over. “Plasma weapons.” Tali confirmed “Let’s take one back with us and look at it. Maybe even get Ashley to analyze it and tell us more.” “Ok one more base to go.” Egan nodded to the others “We might find out where the main bunker is located.” They made their way back to the Mako and Egan maneuvered his way to the final bunker on the planet where the Geth had holed up.

The final facility there was a lot of dead bodies littered near the door. “The scientists put up a fight.” Egan said sadly as they made their way through “I don’t know if it even matters?” “Fight or die trying.” Tali confirmed “Better than being turned into a husk.” “I imagine so“ Egan replied grimly, his biotics flaring as he prepared himself “Let’s go.”

The fight went as before, the Geth benign torn down by the two biotics and Tali with her electronics managing to tear through their shields. “Shepard!”Tali called as Egan felt his shields being torn through. “Damn it.” He ducked down behind a barrier and used the medi-gel on a burn that had caught him. “You ok?”Kaidan called as Egan saw the last Geth float off up to the ceiling of the room and crash violently to the ground and its death. “Fine. Just a scratch.” Egna shrugged “Not the first, won’t be the last.” “Oh, that’s not pretty. Get Chakwas to patch you up when we get back.” “Sure.” He was focused on the room with computer panels in the back. “I have a location for the last base.” “Ok.“ Egan looked over her shoulder at the screen “Another planet?” “Yes,” Tali held up her omni tool to view it “Grissom system, Solcrum.” “Alright back to the Normandy:” Egan suggested “Next planet Solcrum.”

Back on the Normandy, Kaidan reminded Egan to get his arm seen to. “Commander, that’s a nasty burn, get it seen to.” “Ok ok.. I’m going. Get Joker to head for Solcrum”. Egan was sitting in the med bay when Kaidan came by to make sure he had taken himself there. “Oh just checking he took himself to you Doc.” Kaidan smiled as Egan frowned at him ‘“C’moin you know I wouldn’t mess around with. Ow…” “Stay still.” Dr Chakwas said exasperated “Or do I have to get Kaidan to hold you down?”

“Fine.” Egan managed to stay still for the duration of the treatment. “Hey, Kaidan,” “Yeah?” Kaidan had laid down on one of the other med bay beds. “You okay?” “Migraine.” “Oh.” Egan sighed “Wish I had a solution for that” “It’s ok, gives me time to rest and think.” “How long till we get to Solcrum?” “A good few hours.” “Ok you rest, I will go think.” Egan looked at the Doctor who rolled her eyes. “Commander you are like having a teenager around.” “Sorry.” Shepard replied, “I try not to get hurt too often.” “Learn to duck,” Kaidan said with an effort from where he was resting his head. “Ok ok,” Egan threw Kaidan a concerned frown before he added, “I’m leaving before he thinks he has to lecture me, migraine and all.”

As he left the med bay he asked Joker to call tali up from Engineering, where he knew she was already raptly watching everyone work. “You called Shepard?” “Yeah I was wondering if you could help me with the report on the Geth, I want as much information on what they were using and how to defeat them as possible.” They worked together with the data they had collected over the next few hours looking at possible information that the Alliance could use in facing any stray Geth incursions.

“Commander” Joker’s voice came over the announcement system “Solcrum eta about 10 mins.” “Thanks, Joker” Egan replied, “Tali, I’m going to see if Kaidan is able to come with us, and then meet me in the mako.” “Certainly.” Tali paused “Thanks for letting me see this through.” Egan nodded and proceeded to head to the med bay again.

“Kaidan?” he asked Dr Chakwas who looked up from where she was typing when Egan walked in. “Recovered, said something about meeting you downstairs.” “Thanks, Doc.” “Shepard?” “Yes?” “Take extra medi gel with you this time.” She pointed at the dispenser and Egan chuckled but added some more to his supplies just the same. “Good luck Commander.”

The last and biggest of the Getht bases more like a warehouse, with more of the juggernauts and larger Geth taking up their positions against them. “Keep cover, Egan!”Kaidan called as Egan slid into the room, his biotic shield intact; but shortly after taking up behind a crate, the crate shattered. “Egan!” Tali never used his first name but he gathered that having traveled with Kaidan calling him that had rubbed off. “I mean Shepard,” “It’s fine!” Egan laughed as he shot another singularity at the Geth as it approached. Floating in the air it struggled while Tali shot it down. Finally, the room was empty. “Wait…” Egan said, “Do you hear that?” “I…” Tali moved across the room to a console “Keelah..” “What is it?” Kaidan came over behind them “Is that Quarian?” “Music from Rannoch… it has to be..“ Tali lifted her omni tool and recorded the last few seconds of the music fading to a mournful wail. “More terminals in here.” Egan called after the sound had faded; having respectfully moved off to look in the side room. “Oh.” “What do you have?” “Files, going to be eons before they can be translated, but files from the Geth, data files.” “Data files?” Tali joined the two men to look at the console “We could learn a lot about the Geth from these files.” “You want a copy Tali? For your pilgrimage?” Egan asked “Shepard?” Kaidan seemed surprised that Egan knew anything about what Tali was after. “I was talking to Tali about what she was looking for, she said something to help them understand the Geth.” “I want to take as much as I can home to the fleet.” Tali replied to both of them “Yes, if it is okay Egan… Shepard, please, this makes it all worth it!” “Just watch calling me Egan in front of the crew, and we will be fine.” Egan was amused at the slip “Most of them would die before calling their superior officer by name.” “Sorry.” Tali shook her head. “Well let’s head back, time to get back on the hunt for Saren, find out what Geth are doing on Faros.” Egan sighed “I am sure the answer is up to no good but we have to go there to find out.”

#fictober20 #mass effect #OC: Egan Shepard #kaidan alenko

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wistfulcynic · 6 years ago

Text

abandon

@kmomof4 I wrote this for your birthday, but since I STRONGLY SUSPECT that you will have many birthday fics to read tomorrow I thought I’d post it early to celebrate you getting your stitches out. Congratulations on being one step closer to a fully functioning hand! Have 6k words of Neverland sex-pollen smut! 🤣🤣

Seriously, though, thank you for being such a great cheerleader for the fandom. Your real-time flails are a highlight for so many writers, and it’s been wonderful seeing you start writing yourself! I am soooo looking forward to what you have planned for CSSNS next year! And of course I personally have loved getting to know you over the past year. You are a lovely person and a great friend, and I wish you the happiest of birthdays (a few hours early) (but it’s already the 15th here, so...) ❤️❤️❤️

Summary: “Neverland sex-pollen smut” pretty much covers it. Set post-Dark Hollow, Emma and Hook get separated from Neal and encounter some unfamiliar flowers.

(Just to be very clear there is NO dub-con here. It’s not that kind of sex pollen.)

Words: 6k Rating: E Tags: smut, sex pollen, PWP, Neverland

On AO3

abandon:

“What’s that?” Emma pointed to the patch of tall, dark red flowers just to their left. Hook frowned.

“I don’t know,” he said, the first time he’d ever not had an answer for one of her what-the-actual-fuck-is-the-deal-with-this-nightmare-place questions.

“You don’t know?” He shrugged. “You don’t know. How many years did you spend here again?”

Hook rolled his eyes. “I’ve told you before that much has changed in Neverland since I left. I never encountered these flowers during my time here. I suggest we steer well clear of them.”

“Agreed,” said Emma, and turned back to the path… to find more of the flowers waiting for her. “What the—”

“That bloody demon,” snarled Hook. “He’s playing with us.”

“What? Why?”

“Who knows why Pan does anything? Just making us dance to his piping is reason enough for him.” His expression was dark, frightening in a way it hadn’t been since before he’d turned his ship around and come back for them.

He really doesn’t like being manipulated. The stray thought flashed into Emma’s mind and and clung there as Hook gingerly reached out with his namesake to ease the flowers aside so they could continue along the path.

She took a step forward just as the flower caught in the hook seemed to cough and a shower of dust burst forth, covering both of them in a thin, faintly glittering layer. Her eyes flew to his face to check his reaction, ready to gauge the seriousness of the situation based on how he handled it. He seemed fairly calm and not in any obvious distress, she noted with relief, noticing also the way the dust clung to his eyelashes, how it highlighted his bone structure and the scruff along his jaw, how it sparkled in the hollow of his throat and the hair on his chest.

“God, you’re hot,” she said.

“Aye, the weather is oppressive here, but that is the least of our concerns—”

“No.” She felt the oddest desire to laugh. “No, it’s slang, it means… handsome.” She stumbled a bit over the word. “Attractive. Like I want to…” She reached up and brushed her fingertips over his chest, exposed by the open buttons of his shirt. His skin was warm, the hair softer than she’d expected. He caught his breath as she flattened her palm against him and she could feel his heart begin to pound. “I don’t know why I’m doing this,” she whispered.

“I do.” His voice was deeper than usual, rougher, and angry. “This is Pan’s game. The pollen from the flower must be making you do things you don’t want.”

“Oh, she wants,” said a taunting voice. They turned to see Pan lounging against a tree, arms crossed over his chest. Emma felt Hook tense, felt his hand come up to curl protectively around her waist. “That’s the point. The pollen doesn’t force you to do anything, it merely amplifies your existing desires. And dulls your inhibitions. Like good rum does. You should be familiar with that, Captain.”

Hook growled. “How long does it last?”

“Well you both got a good faceful of it so I’d say three, four hours at least. Have fun.” And with that, he was gone.

“Curse that wretched bloody child,” snarled Hook as his arm snaked around Emma’s waist, his hand fisting in her hair. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“Why?” She began to press kisses along his jaw, loving the way he shivered at her touch. His head dropped to nestle against her neck and he breathed deeply.

“Because I shouldn’t—I should let you go.”

“Do you want to let me go?” she murmured, pulling back to look at him. His eyes were dark and their expression made her thighs clench.

“No,” he whispered. “I don’t.”

His eyes fell closed on a soft exhale then as she watched his features shifted and hardened into a leer. When his eyes opened again he was the man who’d left her in Rumplestiltskin’s cell. “Shall I tell you what I want, Swan?” he asked, his voice low and harsh. “I want to rip every scrap of clothing from your body with my hook.” She caught her breath as he snagged the front of her shirt with the appendage in question, then let it trail up her chest to her neck, the point dragging lightly across her skin. “I want to mark you with it, and with my teeth,” he continued, “Marks on your soft skin that will last for days, and every time you see them you’ll think of me and remember what I did to you. I want to push you up against a tree and wrap your legs around my shoulders and I want to bury my face in your wet cunt—” Emma gasped and he smirked, his tongue tracing a glistening path along his lower lip “—and it will be wet, won’t it darling,” he purred, his voice dropping still lower as he leaned in close to her ear. “Positively dripping with how much you want me. I want to lick you, Emma, to tease you with my tongue and my teeth, work you up and hold you just on the edge until you beg me to let you finish, and then I want to thrust my cock up deep inside you and fuck you until you can’t take any more. I want to wreck you, Emma Swan.”

“You’re trying to shock me,” she said unsteadily, struggling to think over her pounding heart. “Trying to offend me so I’ll leave. But everything you said—” She hesitated, afraid of what this confession would reveal to him but so desperately turned on she was prepared to let him see it. She drew a shuddering breath and went for broke. “That’s what I want too, Hook. I’ve—I’ve had fantasies of you fucking me for a while now.”

The leer melted away, leaving him looking as wrecked as she felt and he groaned, shaking his head in denial even as he pulled her closer, as his lips traced a damp trail up her neck. “No,” he rasped, his breath hot against her skin. “It’s not what you want, it’s just the pollen making you—”

He broke off as Emma snapped open the clasps on his vest and pulled his shirt from his trousers, dragging her fingernails across his stomach as soon as it was bared. His skin was smooth and hot and he actually whimpered when she touched it, his muscles leaping beneath her hand and making her dizzy with lust. “You heard Pan, the pollen doesn’t force us to do anything,” she breathed, then leaned in and sucked hard on his collarbone. He wasn’t the only one who could leave marks. “It just takes away our reasons not to.”

“They’re good reasons, though,” he muttered into her hair as his own hand quested beneath her shirt to close over her breast. His thumb caressed her nipple and his hooked arm was tight around her hips. “I couldn’t bear it if you had regrets… after.”

“I won’t.”

“How could you not?” His voice was raw now, and Emma had the fleeting thought that he might be as exposed as she.

“Hook, please.” She tried to keep the neediness from her own voice. Without success. “I promise I won’t blame you for this, none of it is anyone’s fault but Pan’s, I just—please.” She met his gaze imploringly. “I need you to touch me.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes boring into her, dark and desperate. Finally, he nodded. “Come with me.”

He took her hand and pulled her back in the direction of the Dark Hollow, turning just before they reached it and heading down a small hill towards a thick copse of trees. He didn’t hesitate, pushing through the dense foliage and into a clearing where a small pond lay rippling gently in the breeze.

A breeze. Emma had almost forgotten what they felt like. She sighed and lifted her hair off her neck to let the cool air caress her sweaty skin. Hook watched her with hooded eyes, his hand clenching and unclenching into a fist.

“Emma,” he said harshly. “Are you sure about this? If you choose to walk away I won’t follow you.”

His shirt and vest were hanging open, and she could see the rising and falling of his chest as he fought to keep his breathing steady. She could see the effort his restraint was costing him, the sweat trickling down his temple despite the breeze, his eyes so dilated the blue was barely visible. Their kiss the day before had rocked her more than she cared to admit, but she wasn’t sure she was ready for this, ready to deal with her attraction to him or what it might mean.

And he was giving her an out. He wasn’t lying when he said he wouldn’t follow her but Emma was ashamed to admit to herself that she almost wished he would. If he tried to force her she could push him away, but this—this being the gentleman he always claimed he was… this just made her want him more.

“I want to fuck you,” she admitted, “I have since the beanstalk. I don’t like this—” she wiped some pollen off her face “—or this stupid game of Pan’s any more than you do, but I want to know what it feels like to be with you.” With sure steps she closed the distance between them, pushed his coat, shirt, and vest off his shoulders in one go then trailed her hands down his chest, letting them come to rest just above the laces of his trousers. He was rock hard beneath those laces, and his breath in her ear was ragged. “Show me what you’ve got, pirate.”

With a growl he pounced and swept her up into his arms, his mouth coming down hard on hers. They kissed frantically, all tongues and teeth and clawing hands; Emma was so caught up in pleasure that she didn’t notice they had moved until she felt rough bark against her back and gasped at the feel of it.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted you against a tree,” Hook murmured into her mouth. “Or that I’m bloody desperate to taste you. But what do you want, Swan? We have hours to fill, if the demon can be believed.”

“I—” Emma tried to make herself think. “I—”

“Tell me, love. What shall I do to you?”

Her head was spinning and her clit ached, and only one thing came to mind. “Just fuck me.” She ground her hips into his. “I just want your cock inside me. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

“Always so practical, Swan,” he said, sounding almost amused as his hand and hook tore at his trouser laces. “I bloody love that about you.”

Something fluttered in Emma at those words but she had no time to examine it; she barely had time to kick off her jeans before he was on her again, hoisting her up to wrap her legs around his waist. She threw her arms around his shoulders, gouging his skin with her nails as he buried his hook in the tree just above her head and slid inside her, groaning at the ease of the penetration.

“I knew you’d be dripping,” he growled in her ear as he thrust into her with deep, hard strokes. “Gods, you feel so bloody good. Better even than I imagined.”

He felt good too, thick and hard inside her, bigger than she’d imagined and oh yes, she had also imagined it. “You—oh fuck, yes, right there!—you imagined—this?”

“Darling, I have had the—filthiest fantasies—about you,” he breathed between thrusts. “Shall I tell you—about them? Many involve handcuffs—chains, perhaps—always you spread out beneath me—begging me to let you come—then me beneath you—with the same—plea—”

The tension was coiling tight in Emma now as his velvet voice roughened by lust wove intoxicating images in her mind.

“Both—ah, fuck—both sides, then?”

“I am a very—broad-minded man, love. Now come for me, darling—I know you’re close—come, Emma.”

Oh, she loved it when he said her name, even more now with his voice so completely wrecked by lust. She clenched around him, thrilling in the way he gasped, how his fingers dug into her thigh. He thrust harder, ground his pelvis against her clit and she came, harder than she could even have imagined possible.

She thought she may have screamed but she couldn’t be sure. The world was whirling around her, Hook was still moving inside her, still whispering filthy things in her ear—how good she felt squeezing his cock, how he was going to come deep inside her. Then he did, groaning her name into her hair, his cock pulsing as he pressed it into her one final time.

Emma drifted down slowly from her high, still held against the tree by Hook’s body, still touching him because the influence of the pollen was strong as ever and she wanted to. It was oddly freeing, this permission to do the things she had been dreaming about for far too long, she thought as she combed her fingers through his hair.

He seemed to feel the same way for a moment later he eased himself out of her, set her gently on her feet, then latched his mouth onto hers like he couldn’t go a second longer without kissing her. He ravished her mouth with a hard, wet kiss then dragged his lips down her neck and along her collarbone, leaving a damp trail with his tongue that caught the chill of the breeze and made her shiver. He couldn’t seem to keep his mouth off her skin, not even looking as he eased the tip of his hook beneath the straps of her shirt and bra and tugged them down to expose her breast. He trailed soft, damp kisses along the curve of it then licked her nipple roughly, and Emma felt lust begin to surge in her again.

Hook kissed his way down her torso, licking and nipping and sucking over her navel and down to her mound, nuzzling his nose into her curls. She felt the cool curve of his hook on the back of her thigh, gently easing her leg up over his shoulder, spreading her open for him.

“You smell bloody amazing,” he rasped, and the vibrations of his voice against her skin made her writhe. “Is this okay, love?”

“Yes!” She pressed herself against his face, hating the desperate eagerness in her voice but damn it, she really wanted to know if he could do more with his tongue than just talk.

He was as eager as she, growling in approval as he buried his face in her just as he’d promised, licking through her sensitive flesh in a slow, savouring caress that ended with the tip of his tongue pressed hard against her clit. Her hips bucked of their own volition and she moaned loudly.

“You like that?” he breathed against her.

“Yes,” she gasped, barely able to force out the word. “More.”

“As you wish.”

The strokes of his tongue grew rougher, licking deep through her folds and up inside her then out again to press hard circles against her clit that brought her just to the edge of bliss and held her there, held her taut and tormented as she made helpless pleading noises and clutched at his hair. His hook arm was wrapped around her leg, the sharp tip of it digging into her thigh as his fingers clutched at her ass so tightly they would surely leave bruises. He was as frantic as she, Emma realised somewhere deep in her consciousness. He loved this.

The thought of that—of Captain Hook on his knees in front of her, barely hanging on as he pleasured her with that smartass mouth of his—sent her careening over the edge. She definitely screamed this time, as waves of pleasure rolled through her and Hook sucked her clit between his teeth to draw them out.

When the last one had faded away he stood, catching her as she swayed on wobbly legs and pinning her to the tree to kiss her, hard and frantic, his tongue deep in her mouth so she could taste herself. She hummed in enjoyment but had no energy left to do much more than let him take what he wanted.

He broke the kiss just long enough to scoop her up in his arms and then his mouth was on her again, kissing her even as he carried her to the edge of the pond and laid her down a patch of soft, sandy ground. Stretching out beside her, he pulled off the tank top and bra that she was somehow still wearing. His touch was gentle and his movements careful but his cock was hard against her hip and his hand trembled as he eased her legs apart and sank it into her again. She angled her hips to take him in deeper and he groaned when he was fully seated, nipping at her neck as he began to move. He thrust slowly this time, long, deep strokes that kept her body humming despite how sated she felt and she sighed, relaxing into the sand and just enjoying the slick drag of him inside her until he came.

He collapsed against her, panting breaths hot in the crook of her neck. She wrapped her arms around him and stroked his back, not stopping even when his breathing calmed and his cock softened within her. Neither of them spoke or moved for several long moments, save for her hand on his back and his curling into her hair. Deep in the depths of Emma’s mind a faint voice was screaming that this was too intimate, too tender, too much, but it also felt too damn good and she wasn’t ready to stop.

—

The last thing Killian wanted to do was move, though he knew eventually he would have to. They couldn’t stay this way forever, however wonderful it felt to have her stretched out beneath him he was probably already crushing her with his weight, and both of them were sticky with sweat and other fluids. Reluctantly, he rolled away and risked a look at her face. She was smiling a soft smile that made his heart ache, and it didn’t fade when she met his eyes.

“How are you feeling, love?”

“Good.” She stretched luxuriantly. “Bit sore. Bit sticky.”

“Aye. Perhaps, ah, you might care for a swim?”

She glanced dubiously at the pond. “Can we?”

“We can indeed.” He stood and offered her his hand, pulling her to her feet when she took it and leading her to the edge of the pond.

“Are you sure this water’s okay?” She eyed it with a suspicious frown between her brows that he wanted to smooth away with his lips.

So he did. This was the one time he could be free, after all. Free to touch her as he’d wanted to for what felt like a long time.

She slipped her arm around him when he kissed her forehead, pressing her naked body along the length of his. He nearly groaned, nearly dragged her back down to the sand, but however strong their need to touch each other he didn’t think either of them were ready for another go-round quite yet.

“It’s perfectly okay,” he said, answering her question. “I used to come here often. There’s something about this place that Pan doesn’t like so he tends to stay away. And the water itself has soothing and healing properties that—well, come in and see for yourself.” He took her hand again and she let him lead her in until they were about chest deep. Emma swirled and splashed the water around herself and he did the same, enjoying as he was sure she must also be, the cool relief it offered from the heat of the day and the sweat of their earlier activities.

“It feels great,” she said, smiling the widest smile he’d yet seen on her face, simple and happy.

Killian felt his heart tumble perilously at that smile and reminded himself forcefully that this was merely an interlude. It was just the effects of the pollen that made her let him in like this; once they wore off her walls would be up again higher and stronger than ever. He still intended to break them down but certainly didn’t relish increased difficulty in this already challenging task. If only he’d been successful in his attempt to resist the pollen’s effects... but he was barely able to keep his hands off her when she wasn’t wrapped around him begging for his cock. He hadn’t stood a chance.

They went deeper into the pond. When they were neck-deep Killian dunked his head beneath the surface. Emma did the same. Her hair swirled in the gentle current and he watched it, mesmerised.

“How deep is the water?” she asked.

“Deep enough to swim properly, if you’d like,” he replied, then demonstrated by diving under the surface and swimming a few strokes to his left before coming up again. When he opened his eyes he couldn’t see her but she appeared at his side a moment later, laughing as water streamed down her face and hair. She caught his shoulders and pressed close to him. “I haven’t been swimming in forever,” she said. “I did a bit in Tallahassee, but—” she broke off and a cloud passed over her face.

“But what?”

She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

“You can tell me, Emma,” he pressed. ��Anything.”

Please, he begged in his mind. Please don’t shut me out. Not now. Later, perhaps, but not—

“Tallahassee was where Neal and I were going to go,” she said in a small, quiet voice. Her fingers tightened on his shoulders and he wrapped his arms around her, careful not to nick her with his hook. It occurred to him that he hadn’t been swimming with a woman since Milah, and he’d had both hands then. Emma allowed him to hug her though, let her own arms slide around his neck. “It was supposed to be like our happy ending, or something.” She tried to sound dismissive but Killian heard the decade-old pain, still in her voice. “After he left me”—Killian’s arms tightened on a flash of anger; he hadn’t known Bae had left her, what was the lad thinking?—“I went there myself. To wait for him. I thought—I thought he’d—but he didn’t, and so I moved again.”

He brushed her wet hair back from where it was sticking to her cheek, tucked it behind her ear and kissed her. She responded warmly, opened her mouth for him, but he kept the kiss soft, just a gentle brush of lips and tongues. “I’m sorry, love,” he whispered.

She tried to shrug. “It’s nothin—”

“It’s not nothing if it hurt you,” he interrupted. “Which it clearly did.”

She stared at him. “How do you do that?”

“Do what, love?”

“How do you always understand me?”

He smiled, soft and almost shy. “As I told you on the beanstalk, Swan, you’re an open book.”

“Mmm,” she murmured as her fingertips ruffled the hair at his nape. “And I suppose I said myself that we understand each other.”

“Aye, so you did.” He let his hand slide down her back and over her ass, pressing her closer against him.

She hummed and tightened her hold on his shoulders, letting her forehead rest against his—just for a heartbeat—before she leaned back again to look at him, her expression troubled. “Hook, this doesn’t—this can’t—”

“Shh, darling I know,” he soothed. “We don’t have to speak of it. Not now, anyway. Right now I—”

“Now you what?”

“I want to take advantage of it,” he confessed. “This… amnesty, if you will. When the pollen’s effects have worn off we can go back to how things were, but now—”

She cut him off with her lips on his. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Me too. Amnesty.”

She kissed him again and this time he let it deepen, let it grow hot and aching until she was clinging to him as the water swirled around them and he was hard again, pressed insistently against her stomach. He lifted her with his hook arm and swam them both to the side of the pond where he knew there was a large, smooth rock tilted at just the right angle to support a resting body. He had lain on it himself on many an occasion to enjoy the peace of this place. He lifted Emma onto it then stretched out beside her and couldn't help smiling when she immediately snuggled up against him, as though she couldn’t get enough of the feel of his skin against hers.

He understood the impulse.

He wrapped his hook arm around her shoulders so she could rest her head on it then let his hand explore her body, tracing feather-light touches over her hip and the dip of her waist, up to her breast to tease her nipple, down her belly to the soft curls between her legs, slipping into her folds as she bit her lip and moaned.

“How do you like to be touched, Emma?” he asked as his fingers stroked her, gathering her moisture and rubbing it over her most tender spot.

She gave a strained laugh. “I’m surprised you have to ask,” she said breathily. “Everything you do is—fuck—it’s just right.”

He felt a ridiculous surge of pride at that, but while he’d always made it a point of principle not to leave a woman unsatisfied with Emma he wanted far, far more. “I’m glad to hear that, love, but you could give me a little more to go on?” he insisted. “For example—” he slid a finger into her whilst keeping his thumb on that sensitive pearl. “How does that feel?”

“Good. Not as… satisfying as your cock, but I like it.”

“Could you come from this?” He slid a second finger in. “What about this?”

“Maybe?” she gasped. “If you touched my nipple too—ooh,” she cried as his mouth closed over her breast and he licked her nipple with the flat of his tongue then nipped at it. “Yeah, I could come from that. But—”

“But what?”

“I don’t want to,” she confessed, meeting his eyes. “Not until I’ve had my turn.”

“Your turn?”

“To taste you.”

With a quick, lithe twist of her body she flipped him onto his back and straddled his hips, clutching at his shoulders as she leaned in to kiss him. He reached for her but she shimmied away and down his body, trailing kisses as she went. Killian sighed at the feel of her mouth on his skin, absently licking his fingers—she really did taste amazing, he thought—then nearly choked on them when he felt her lips closing around his cock.

“Sweet bloody fuck, Emma,” he groaned.

“Hmm?” she hummed, and he hissed out a more vicious curse as the vibrations of her voice made his balls tighten. He sank his hand into his hair and clutched it hard, tugging at it to distract himself from the soft, wet warmth of her mouth as she began to suck on him... from the gentle friction as she moved her head up and down... from her tongue swirling around his tip.

Pleas and curses fell heedlessly from his lips as gradually she eased him deeper and deeper into her mouth, until he was hitting the back of her throat and his scalp was aching from his fist pulling on his hair. Until he couldn’t hold off any longer.

“Emma,” he gasped. “I’m going to—”

“Mmm,” she hummed again and took his balls in her hand, squeezing them gently as she sucked his cock hard. Killian interpreted this as consent, and with a strangled noise he barely recognised as his he came in her mouth, his hips bucking helplessly. She swallowed around him until he was spent, then licked the last drops away with the tip of her tongue. He gave a garbled moan.

She slid back up his body and lay against his chest, her chin resting on her hands and a smug little smile on her lips.

“So I'm guessing you liked that, huh?”

“You are… a bloody goddess, Swan,” he panted.

“I just like having the fabled Captain Hook at my mercy,” she teased.

She had no idea how true that was, he thought. He was beginning to suspect that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for this woman.

And so much he longed for from her.

“Would you do something for me?” he heard himself ask.

“Didn’t I just—” she broke off when she caught his solemn expression and the teasing smile fell from her own. “What is it?”

“Would you—” he took a deep breath “—would you call me Killian? Just until…”

He could see in her eyes she understood everything he meant by the question.

“Killian,” she said softly. “It’s a good name.”

He pulled her up into his arms and kissed her, deep and soft and far too tenderly, but between the pollen and their bare bodies pressed together and the fact that she’d just sucked him to oblivion and the fact that he was falling in love with her—may have already fallen, if he was honest—he couldn’t hold the tenderness back. Her arms curling tight around him, her lips and tongue pressing and sliding softly against his were the best things he’d felt in three hundred years—and far too soon they would be gone. The pollen’s effects were already fading; before long he and Emma would be back to how they had always been, if not worse. She would pull away from him, retreat back behind walls rebuilt high and strong, and Killian wasn’t sure his battered heart could take it. Now that he’d had Emma soft and open in his arms he wasn’t sure he could live without at least a scrap of hope that he might have her like that again.

Emma began to make that humming noise at the back of her throat that he now recognised as a sound of pure pleasure, her arms tightening around him, her hand sinking into his hair and combing the drying strands with her fingers. Killian’s heart clenched and his chest tightened with the anguish of impending loss. He rolled them over so she was on her back on the warm stone and gazed down at her, fixing the image of her face—of that look on her face—firmly in his mind. Water from the pond lapped against their feet as her hands roamed his body and he began to trail soft kisses down her neck, savouring her sighs of pleasure and the salty-sweet taste of her skin. He found a sensitive spot just at the curve where her neck met her shoulder and he nuzzled it, sucked and nipped at it until she was gasping and quivering.

"Killian," she breathed, "Killian."

He groaned helplessly at the sound of his name and the press of his fingers on her skin grew more insistent. Every inch of her body he explored with impassioned strokes of fingers and tongue; every spot that made her moan he worshipped. He’d give her something to remember him by, he thought almost viciously—something to warm her on those cold nights alone behind her walls. Memories that would last far longer than the marks left by his mouth on her skin.

Memories that might weaken her fortifications, just enough to give him hope.

—

Emma couldn’t think and she was glad of it. If she could think she’d be thinking about how right this felt, with Ho—with Killian worshipping her... there was no other word for it... with his mouth and his fingers and even his hook, trailing the cool metal along her heated skin as she sighed and shivered and fought not to beg. And if she thought about how right it all felt she’d be terrified and she’d run. And if she ran... she would miss all of this.

They didn’t speak and she was glad she couldn’t think about how that was because no words were necessary. Her body was so responsive to his touch and he was so intensely focused on her—noting every sigh and charting every moan and working her up higher and higher until she felt ready to shatter. She felt like he was mapping her as he must have mapped many undiscovered lands in his time, and she knew that if they ever found themselves like this again he would remember everything about her body and how she liked to be touched.

It was unnerving and exciting and terrifying and wonderful and if she let herself she could get addicted to this, this dedicated attentiveness and single-minded focus on her pleasure. She wouldn’t, of course. Emma knew herself well enough to know this, to know that once the already-fading effects of the pollen were gone she would push him away as she always did, too afraid to let him in—to let him see all the broken parts of her despite how she knew that he was broken too in exactly the same ways.

But for now she had an excuse to let herself be open, to have him like this, to give herself over to him and let him pleasure her, and she wished fiercely for enough time to take full advantage of it.

But the pollen’s effects were fading fast and her fears creeping back in to take their place. There was desperation in her fingers now as they gripped his shoulders and pulled him up to kiss him and press herself tightly against him. She wanted to feel him inside her once more before this was over, just once more, but she couldn’t find the words to tell him…

“Please, Killian…” she implored him, “please…”

He understood—because of course he did—and she saw the flare of emotion in his eyes as she moaned his name, just before he kissed her again. His hand curled around her thigh, lifting and positioning it over his hip as she reached down to grip his cock and stroke the head of it through her slick folds before slipping its tip inside her. Their eyes met and held as he pushed in the rest of the way and god it was too intimate and too raw and she couldn’t deal with what she saw in his eyes but also couldn’t look away. She dug her heel into his ass and her fingers into his shoulders as he found their rhythm, as he filled her again and again with smooth, hard, deep thrusts and helpless moans fell from both their lips.

Far, far too soon she felt her orgasm coiling in her belly and she wished, just for a moment, that she could hold it off and keep him here with her for longer. Just a bit longer... But everything just felt too damn good, he felt too good, and she couldn’t stop it, couldn't hold on to what she wasn't ready to let go. She cried out his name as she came—something she had never done before in all her life, but she wanted Killian to know that she knew it was him and not Hook that she was with. The sound he made in response was almost agonised; his fingers gouged painfully into her thigh as he drove himself into her with bone-shaking force then came moments later with a heartfelt groan, deep within her body. Emma lay trembling and gasping beneath him; she felt sore and roughly used and she welcomed it, welcomed the gouging fingers and the hard fucking and the bruises both would leave behind. She knew it meant he understood, and that was all that she could give him.

They lay entwined for as long as they could, until the strengthening breeze made goosebumps rise on their skin and they pulled apart, not looking at each other. Killian cleared his throat. “You should make use of the pond to bathe,” he said. “It’s the best place on the island to do so. The water is soothing and cleansing even without soap.”

She nodded and slipped into the water, into its welcome softness on her over-sensitised skin and though her sweaty hair. Killian followed her with a smooth dive. He surfaced in the middle of the pond to rub himself down before heading towards the sandy shore where they had left their clothes. Emma followed his lead, rubbing her hands vigorously over her skin and thoroughly rinsing her hair. Killian was right about this pond, she thought. She felt cleaner than she had in days, refreshed and invigorated.

Even if the water easing away the soreness between her legs made her want to cry.

—

He watched her warily as they dressed, waiting for her to pull away as she had after their first kiss. Waiting for recriminations and blame.

“I’m not angry,” she said, not looking at him. “And I don’t regret this. But I think—there’s still Henry to save, and I can’t—” She sighed and squeezed water from her hair with a sharp twist of her arm. “Look, don’t misunderstand, but can we just pretend this never happened?”

He echoed her sigh, but his was in relief. This, at least, was no worse than he'd expected. “Aye, love. It never happened.”

She nodded, glanced just briefly at his face then spun away, heading for the edge of the clearing. Before she could reach it he darted forward and snagged her elbow with his hook. She didn’t turn around.

“I still intend to win your heart, Emma,” he murmured, low in her ear, and just enough of the pollen’s effects remained to make her smile at the earnestness in his voice.

“Good.”

Hope lit his eyes as she curled her fingers around his hook and held it tightly as they left the clearing together.

—

“You see?” gloated Pan.

Neal didn’t reply. His fists and jaw were clenched so tightly they hurt, his eyes fixed on the image of the pirate and the saviour as it shimmered and faded from the still surface of the pool at his feet.

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, trying to shake the images from his brain. Images of Emma falling apart in Hook’s arms, screaming his name as she came... he doubted he’d ever be able to scrub them from his brain. What was it about that damned pirate that made women ready to throw everything away just to fuck him? Sure, Emma said she wanted to forget about it but then she held the bastard’s hook…

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It was just those flowers. Emma and I have a history, we have a kid. She’ll see. He doesn’t mean anything to her.”

“Sure. You keep telling yourself that,” smirked Pan.

#birthday fic #kmomof4 #smut #and lots of it #and sex pollen #and all the things Krystal likes #I hope #cs fic #cs ff #abandon #profdanglaisstuff

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