#ill go read those two fics on ao3 that sort of sound interesting and then ill crawl over to ff.net with my apologies | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

grapesodatozier · 3 years

Text

so close to the real thing (closer than you think)

rating: explicit

word count: 6.8k

summary: Eddie's been pining over Richie for as long as he can remember. He loves everything about Richie; especially how much Richie loves touching him. It's a little inconvenient, though. Eddie copes with his pent up sexual tension by constantly checking a porn blog he's obsessed with on tumblr. This guy has the same type of body as Richie, he talks like Richie, his name is even Richie! It makes it all too easy for Eddie to pretend it really is Richie while getting himself off to all of the blog's content.

You'll never guess what he finds out when he starts sexting this stranger named Richie from his anonymous porn blog.

tags: friends to lovers, porn with feelings, love confessions, dom/sub dynamics, bi dom top richie, gay sub bottom eddie, the most oblivious pining idiots in the world lol we love them

notes: this is one of my more ridiculous ideas but I had so much fun with it lol. also as a note you probably should not approach people on the internet the way they do in this fic, but they're just v enthusiastic and everything here is v consensual!! still tho definitely don't take this indulgent fic as a guide on how to approach real people online lmao. okay have fun!!

read on ao3 or below!!

notsfw under the cut

Eddie Kaspbrak’s friends were his entire world; time spent with them meant everything to him. But he also really valued his alone time. He’d always been the sort who needed time to just sit on a grassy hill and watch the trains go by, to catch up on comics in his room, to get lost in Netflix shows or even just his thoughts as he moseyed around his apartment—one he live in by himself, for when these moods hit. He needed time to himself to unwind. And sometimes he unwound by scrolling through some porn blogs on tumblr with his hand in his pants.

There was one blog that he was particularly fond of. There were other blogs more catered to his personal interests, namely blogs that didn’t feature women like this one did. But there was a good balance of genders represented, so Eddie figured he could just scroll past those posts. This guy was worth it. His pictures were ridiculously hot, and his dirty talk was even hotter.

Also, his name was Richie. Which Eddie refused to acknowledge as part of the draw.

It was harder to ignore tonight. He’d been out with the losers, and Richie had just been so touchy. And there was something about the way he'd been talking; his voice was lower than normal, slower in a way that made Eddie’s stomach flip. And his touches had lingered, his hand squeezing Eddie’s hip slow, then lazily brushing against his ass as he dropped it. Eddie could hardly take it. He brushed it off as Richie just being tired from work, but god, Eddie wanted it to mean more. The hardest part was hiding how much he wanted Richie to keep doing it.

There were so many things Eddie wanted Richie to do to him. He wanted Richie to touch him harder, to grab him by his hips with both hands. Richie’s hands were so big; Eddie just knew Richie could manhandle him so easily, so roughly. He wanted to know what it would feel like to have Richie’s hands all over him, grabbing at his ass and his thighs, holding his wrists down, making him feel so small. While Eddie would never admit it, huffing at every short joke Richie made, but he loved being shorter than Richie. He loved how safe he felt when Richie held him. And he was dying to know how small he would feel with Richie looming above him, or sitting in Richie’s lap, bouncing on his cock. He wanted to hear Richie talking to him in that low, slow voice, with that condescension Eddie did his best to pretend not to be affected by. He wanted Richie to whisper in his ear and call him all those pretty names he always dropped so casually, all those sweet ones and also ones that were a lot meaner. He wanted Richie to want him.

But it was easier to think about it than to ask for it. He knew Richie had way more experience than him. Well, okay, maybe not way more necessarily, but they were starting their third year of college, and he hadn’t wasted any time. Eddie, on the other hand, hadn’t done anything more than hand stuff with someone else. The guys he’d hooked up with were nice enough, and hot enough, but they just… weren’t Richie.

He supposed this guy on tumblr wasn’t Richie either, but at least he was everything else Eddie wanted. None of his hookups had been so, well, dominant, and that was this guy’s whole thing. He was dominant and a top and into guys that looked like Eddie. He even kind of talked like Richie, and he was apparently pining over his best friend, just like Eddie was. It had him completely smitten. Plus, internet-Richie’s crush had brown eyes like Eddie, and he ran track, just like Eddie did. Internet-Richie had posted once about his dick getting hard watching his friend at his track meet, and Eddie had come so hard that night, his track shorts around his ankles, imagining his Richie thinking those things about him.

Eddie was in bed now, in nothing but his boxers and one of Richie’s old shirts that had been Eddie’s for a while now. Still reeling from the way Richie had been acting that night, he logged into his porn account on his phone and scrolled through his dash for a grand total of thirty seconds before going immediately to internet-Richie’s blog. A thrill went through Eddie’s body when he saw that he had just posted. He’d written, “god my friends gonna fuckn kill me with that ass, i wanna plow him so bad” then reblogged it and added, “reminder that my asks and dms are always open if any pretty needy little subs need help getting off. please come be sluts in my messages.” Eddie’s breath caught in his throat when he saw that there was a picture, too, one of him gripping his hard cock, his boxers pulled down just enough for Eddie to see the dark hair around the base of his cock. Eddie moaned at the sight. His cock was so nice, so long and thick and pink. And fuck, his fingers. They were so long and slim, almost as nice as his-Richie’s.

Eddie scrolled a little farther down, his heart racing. There were a lot of reblogs, but some original posts here and there, things like, “what i wouldn’t do to have a pretty guy drooling all over my cock rn,” and, “in the mood to get someone dick drunk. wanna fuck a someone so hard they forget their own name.” One that made Eddie nearly choke said, “want someone i can pump my come into whenever i want, over and over again. want a sub i can keep full of my come all the fuckn time.” That post had Eddie getting out his lube.

It also had him thinking about internet-Richie’s most recent post, his post about his DMs being open.

Eddie bit his lip and thought about it. He’d sent internet-Richie some asks before from his porn blog (his blog didn’t have his name on it, just the teddy bear emoji, since he privately thought the teddy/Eddie rhyme was fun and clever, and also it was cute), and he’d seemed plenty happy enough to respond then. Still, it felt like a much bigger step to DM him, to talk to him just one on one. But the more he read his posts, the more he thought about his-Richie and how he’d touched Eddie that night, the easier it was to convince himself to shoot his shot with this stranger.

Eddie just messaged him a simple, “hi,” with a heart emoji. It was innocent enough, but his heart was still racing.

Internet-Richie responded a lot faster than Eddie was expecting. Honestly he hadn’t been expecting a response at all. But he said:

hiya cutie (; ive been hoping youd message me

Eddie flushed. He couldn’t help but hear cutie in his-Richie’s voice—especially given how often Richie used the nickname. really? he typed back.

fuck yes, ur cute little messages make me so hard. i can tell ur a pretty little thing just from the way you type

Eddie was blushing deep. Pretty little thing. That was hotter than it should’ve been. He wanted his Richie to talk to him like that, in that deep, sleepy voice.

there’s no way you can tell that from some messages :P, Eddie sent.

His heart stopped at the next messages internet-Richie sent.

oh, u dont think so?

why dont u send me some pics to prove me wrong (;

Oh my god, Eddie thought, his breath coming short. His head swam at the thought of sending this guy nudes, of showing himself off to someone who clearly wanted to see him, who would know how to take care of him and fuck him the way he liked, a guy with his crush’s fucking name and body type and hands. It had Eddie’s cock hard and leaking, and he slowly slid a finger inside of himself.

But just because the thought turned him on didn’t mean he was gonna send this stranger what he wanted so easily, even if he desperately wanted to.

you’d like that, wouldn’t you?

He fingered himself open as he waited for a response, working his way up to two fingers. It was nearly impossible to ignore his cock, but he didn’t want to come before the conversation even had a chance to start.

fuck ya i would, internet-Richie responded. Then, in a second message, whats wrong baby? you shy? ill show u mine ;)

Eddie's breath caught. God, this guy even made stupid shit sound hot, just like Eddie’s Richie. This was unreal.

i’ve seen yours, Eddie pointed out.

ya and you musta liked it if ur messaging me rn

Eddie bit his lip. ...maybe

aw thats cute sweetheart. u know i can see all the needy little tags you add when u reblog my stuff right?

Eddie blushed. He’d kind of always hoped he’d read them, but he never thought he actually did. i didn’t know you read those

oh ya, read them, jerk off to them. bit of a size queen, aren’t you? ;) it’s cute. makes me so fuckn hard when u talk abt how u want me to fill you up

Eddie whimpered out loud, sliding a third finger into himself. Fuck, he wanted that cock inside of him so bad. But right now one of his toys would have to do, once he was stretched out enough. He sped up his fingers, getting impatient. Gathering up all of his horny courage, he sent, show me.

what, no please? only good boys who use their manners get dick pics babydoll

Eddie pouted and whined to himself, making quick work of sliding his hot pink vibrator inside of himself—well, as quickly as he could without hurting himself. He moaned as it filled him up, making pleasure spread deep through his body. Slowly pumping it in and out, he reached for his phone. please, he typed, please let me see? wanna know what to picture while i fuck myself with my vibrator. He even added the wide eyed pouting emoji to really milk the whole begging thing. He knew he’d been playing a little coy, but now with the way internet-Richie was talking to him he was getting desperate.

well fuck baby since ur begging ;)

Eddie held his breath as he waited for the picture, slowly rocking his toy in and out, savoring the feeling. He wished it was Richie doing it, wished it was his cock. The lines between which Richie blurred; he wanted to get fucked by either of them, both of them.

What Eddie received when his phone lit up was not a picture, but a video. It was short, just a few seconds of Richie’s hand dragging wetly, smoothly over his cock, but it had Eddie drooling. The room was dark, so he’d used a flash, and it made the mix of what Eddie assumed was precome and spit glisten as the swollen head of Richie’s cock disappeared and reappeared from behind his fingers. Eddie must’ve played it at least five times, fucking himself a little faster, before remembering to say something back. And to take a video of his own. fuck, I want you so bad, want you to fucking ruin me, he wrote back. A part of him couldn’t believe how openly desperate he was being, but he found that he liked it; he liked the way it made him blush, he liked the way it felt to beg, to ask for what he wanted.

Richie’s response came fast: show me kitten. show me how you want me to fuck your pretty little ass.

Eddie moaned at the pet name; casual little nicknames were such a weakness for him. He was already so far gone, just picturing Richie’s cock inside of him, picturing him stroking his cock to thoughts of Eddie. The attention had his cock hard and leaking as he thrust his vibrator even deeper inside of himself, pumping it in and out a few more times before rolling over and getting on his hands and knees. It was hard to take a video from this angle, but he wanted to show off his ass and hide his face. Plus, there was something so hot about having his ass in the air and his face shoved in his pillow, looking like the perfect image of someone desperate to be fucked. He loved the way it made him feel, loved the thought of being so open for someone. For Richie.

He ended up shooting a short video as well, about ten seconds of him sliding his vibrator slowly in and out of himself, letting out soft little moans. He was pretty pleased with the way it turned out, his hole pink and smooth and wet as it stretched around his toy. The angle was a little weird, showing a lot of his room once or twice when his hand slipped a little, but overall he thought his ass looked amazing, if he did say so himself. He sent it and said, feels so good. do you want me to go faster?

As he sent it, he got settled on his back, forcing himself to go slow as he fucked himself while he waited for internet-Richie’s response. It was taking longer than before, and Eddie was getting antsy; it was so hard to drag it out, to not get ahead of himself. But whatever Richie was doing, Eddie knew it would be worth the wait. Still, he pouted as his cock ached, begging for attention.

He almost jumped out of his skin when he heard a knock at the door.

He groaned to himself and stayed put, fucking himself even slower as he waited for whoever it was to leave. But then the knocking continued, loud and incessant and obnoxious, and Eddie knew exactly who it was. He also knew he wasn’t going to go away any time soon, which honestly made him smile and blush. Richie had terrible timing, but Eddie would never be upset to see him.

Reluctantly, he slowly slid the toy out and pulled on his shorts, leaving his shirt off. He still had a pretty obvious boner, but his horny brain did not mind the idea of Richie seeing it. So he strode lazily down the hall, shouting a performatively annoyed, “I’m coming!” Finally, he opened the door, cocking his hip to the side and giving Richie an expectant look. “Can I help you?” he asked, a small smile dancing around the corner of his lips. He had to fight off a smirk at the wide eyed look Richie gave him as he ran his eyes over Eddie’s body.

“Fuck,�� he muttered lowly, his eyes trained on Eddie’s cock, which was getting even harder the more Richie stared. Eddie bit his lip and grinned a little, making doe eyes at Richie. But Richie didn’t meet his gaze—instead he brushed past Eddie, his mouth still hanging open as he made his way urgently toward Eddie’s bedroom.

“Richie?” Eddie asked, a little let down that Richie’s hands weren’t all over him right now. But hey, if he was heading to Eddie’s bedroom he figured that was at least the right direction. He closed his front door and followed Richie into his room, where he found him staring at the bright pink vibrator on the bed. As confident and horny as Eddie was feeling, that still made him blush. He was only human. Crossing his arms, he said, bashful now, “I was kind of in the middle of something.”

Richie looked over at him, his cheeks bright red under his freckles. Then he got a glimmer of that trademark shit-eating grin on his face. “Eds, you fucking slut,” he said, sounding both delighted and breathless. “You are so fucking hot.”

Eddie flushed and tried not to squirm, but he couldn’t help but press his legs together, his eyes brightening. Fuck, was this actually happening? Shit, he needed to think of something witty to say. “You gonna do anything about it?” Okay, that kinda sounded like a corny porn, but he had to give himself credit for even being able to form words just after his lifelong crush and personal wet dream had just admitted his attraction to him.

“I think I already have been,” Richie said, still grinning.

Eddie cocked an eyebrow at him. He couldn’t help but smile back. “Oh yeah? How do you figure that?”

Eddie was expecting a confession. He was expecting something along the lines of you think I don’t notice how you look at me? or did you really think those were casual touches earlier? What he was not expecting was for Richie to unlock his phone and hold it up, showing Eddie the video he had just taken, the video he’d sent to internet-Richie.

Oh. Oh. Oh fuck.

“Oh my god, that’s you?” Eddie cried in disbelief.

“You’re telling me you didn’t recognize this dick?” Richie asked, swaggering over to Eddie, clearly enjoying himself.

“How did you recognize it was me?”

Richie nodded toward the Thundercats poster on Eddie’s wall, then to the model train that sat on his dresser. “What other guy has decor like that and the ass to match?”

Eddie grinned and shook his head. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Well pardon me for not being especially eloquent when I’ve just learned that the guy I’ve been masturbating to since I learned how to and been in love with for even longer has been masturbating to me too.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide, all thoughts of getting fucked leaving for a moment. “You’re in love with me?” he asked, his voice as soft as his smile.

Richie was not a bashful person, but the little laugh he let out just then was close to it. “Have been my whole life, but thanks for finally noticing.”

Eddie shook his head and stepped closer, until he had to crane his head up to meet Richie’s gaze. “I love you too.”

Richie’s eyes widened behind his thick frames. Eddie had only seen that look in Richie’s eyes a few times before, but he never wanted to lose sight of it again. He always wanted Richie to look at him like that. But then Richie was closing his eyes and leaning down. It only took Eddie a second to get with the program, drinking in the moment just a little longer before letting his own eyes fall shut as he pressed his lips against Richie’s.

It started gentle enough, if deep and passionate and intentional. But then Richie’s hands were on Eddie’s bare waist, skin against skin, and Eddie was gasping into Richie’s mouth, his hands coming up and resting against Richie’s chest. He curled his fingers into Richie’s shirt as Richie ran his tongue over Eddie’s lips, just before pulling away. He laughed at Eddie’s indignant little whine.

“Oh, you mean you don’t want me to take off my shirt right now?” he smirked as Eddie tried to pull him closer by the offending fabric. Huffing, Eddie conceded and let go long enough to let Richie pull the shirt off over his head.

“Oh,” he said softly, his voice a little, awed moan as he drank in Richie’s chest. It wasn’t like Richie had never been shirtless in front of Eddie before, but Eddie had never felt like he was allowed to really look at Richie all those times. But now he could; now he could touch. And he did, running his fingers over Richie’s smooth, warm skin, over his acne scars and blackheads and freckles. “Fuck, Richie,” he sighed before pressing his lips to Richie’s collarbones, trailing them all over Richie’s beautiful chest.

Richie gave a breathless, almost shy laugh as he stroked Eddie’s hair. “Damn, Eds, never pegged you as a tits guy.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Eddie giggled, bringing his lips back to Richie’s. They both smiled into it, getting lost for a moment as Richie’s hands slid slowly down Eddie’s sides. His hands lingered on Eddie’s hips for a moment before he slid them further down and grabbed at Eddie’s ass, making him gasp.

“Is that any way to talk to the guy who’s about to rail you ‘til you can’t walk?”

“What’re you gonna do about it?” Eddie asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Spank me?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Richie smirked. He gave Eddie’s ass a playful smack, making Eddie gasp again and fall into him, needing more. Richie’s voice was dripping with adoration as he purred, “Little brat,” and pulled Eddie against him, kissing him again. Eddie went with it easily and happily parted his lips to let Richie lick into his mouth. Richie had one hand gripping Eddie’s jaw and the other on his ass, touching him in a way that exuded a command Eddie was desperate to follow. God, Eddie knew Richie had big hands, but they felt huge on him like this. It was dizzyingly hot. And the way Richie’s tongue was teasing his had Eddie’s knees going weak. His dick was throbbing in his shorts, aching to finish what he’d started, what had been interrupted. When he thought about it all—about playing with himself for Richie, about the video Richie had sent him, about all those things Richie had said about filling Eddie up—he felt himself clench down on nothing, desperate to get fucked. Desperate to feel Richie’s cock so deep inside of him.

“Richie,” he whined into the kiss, pulling on Richie’s belt loops, “please.” He pressed himself urgently against Richie and rutted shamelessly against his thigh.

“Fuck, you’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?” His voice was cocky and teasing, but there was an apparent undercurrent of wonder there as well.

Eddie shoved his face into Richie’s neck and whined, grabbing onto Richie’s wrists without even knowing what his goal was. “Richie,” he whimpered, sounding pitiful and ruined already.

“What do you want, baby?” Richie’s voice made it clear that he was enjoying seeing Eddie this wrecked, and that just made Eddie even harder. “Come on, tell me, use your words.”

Eddie squirmed as Richie held him close, but still not touching him in any relieving way. “I need you inside,” Eddie said, his voice high and soft as he squirmed in Richie’s grip. “God, please, Richie, need you to fuck me. Fuck me so hard I can’t even think. Fuck me like I’m your little toy.”

Eddie could hardly believe the words coming out of his mouth, and judging by the gasp he heard Richie let out, he’d caught Richie off guard too. But if the hard bulge in his jeans that brushed up against Eddie was any indication, he was apparently just as turned on as Eddie was. Besides, Eddie knew from his blog that Richie was really into that sort of thing too—and, apparently, really into the idea of doing those things with Eddie. The realization that Richie had been saying all those filthy things about him had him grinding against him with even more fervor, kissing his neck with a heated confidence. Richie moaned, and Eddie could feel the warmth of it spreading through him. “Yeah, sweetheart? You want to feel me inside you? You think you’re ready for me?”

“Yes,” Eddie sighed, looking up at Richie with wide, desperate eyes. He shivered at the new look in Richie’s eyes, the blue nearly entirely eclipsed by how wide his pupils were. He looked hungry for Eddie; Eddie wanted to feel it. “‘M ready, Richie, please, so open for you.” He looked to the toy on his bed pointedly, but Richie only gave a deep laugh.

“Oh honey, that’s cute that you think that little thing is gonna have you ready for my cock.” Eddie’s breath caught; that toy wasn’t small. Before he could gather his scattered brain enough to react, Richie was scooping him up and tossing him on the bed, the toy falling forgotten to the floor. Richie moved Eddie onto his back, and Eddie went happily, pliantly. Richie’s fingers were cool against Eddie’s burning skin as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of Eddie’s shorts, slowly dragging them over his hips and down his legs, tossing them to the floor. Eddie’s cock was dripping with precome, his chest flushed a bright red as he squirmed under Richie’s gaze. Eddie been dreaming of Richie manhandling him like this for he didn’t even know how long; he couldn’t help the way he reacted. And he especially couldn’t help the pleased little sound he made when Richie murmured, “God, you’re gorgeous, Eds.” Then Richie was grabbing him by the ankles, gently but firmly spreading Eddie’s legs, and Eddie let out the most pathetic, genuine moan he’d ever heard. “Fuck, baby, you sound pretty. You like when I spread you open?” Richie asked. He was smirking down at Eddie, but Eddie could see how flushed he was, could see the thrilled awe in his dark, hungry eyes as Eddie nodded.

“Richie, please,” Eddie whimpered. “I need you so bad.” He sat up, reaching for Richie’s belt, but Richie easily pressed him back against the mattress with a large hand on the center of his chest. The confidence in Richie’s dominance took Eddie’s breath away, and he stayed right where he was, nice and obedient, as he watched Richie get off the bed and slowly undo his belt, then his button and zipper. He took his time dragging his jeans and boxers off, enough time to let Eddie’s eyes linger on the reveal of the dark hair under Richie’s waistband. Then Richie’s cock was bouncing up against his stomach, hard and flushed and fucking long. Eddie moaned at the sight and fisted the sheets underneath him. He wanted so badly to get his mouth on Richie, to breathe him in and be nice and good for Richie on his knees. But he was also desperate to get fucked; his hole clenched down on nothing at the thought, and then it was all he could think about again. “Richie,” he repeated, whining now as he reached for him. “Stop being such a tease.”

Richie laughed as he moved easily out of Eddie’s grip and climbed on top of him. Eddie gasped softly at the sight of Richie above him, his dark curls surrounding his face, his full, pink lips pulled into the most beautiful smile Eddie had ever seen in his life. He ran his hands over Richie’s chest and sides, marveling at the fact that this was really happening. Then, his eyes flickering down, he tentatively brought his hand to Richie’s cock.

“Oh, fuck,” they said, both at the same time, making them giggle together.

“Fuck, Eds, your pretty little hand looks so cute wrapped around my cock,” Richie teased in a low, rough voice. Eddie shivered; he couldn’t tell if Richie was praising him or degrading him, but either way it made his head fuzzy.

“‘M not that little,” Eddie grumbled out of habit. But he was clearly breathless. He’d never been good at pretending not to like Richie’s compliments, however teasing.

“Aw, but you are, baby,” Richie cooed, nuzzling his nose against Eddie’s and pressing a lingering kiss to his lips. “You’re so cute and tiny for me. I don’t even know if we’ll be able to fit my cock inside you.”

“I can,” Eddie whined, both indignant and impatient. He bucked his hips up, but Richie held him down. He gasped when he felt the warm, soft skin of Richie’s cock press against his stomach. Looking down, he saw that Richie had his cock lying on Eddie’s stomach, showing just how deep he would be once he was inside Eddie.

“You sure about that, babydoll?” While the teasing note was still there, Richie’s voice got noticeably softer as he said, “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Eddie’s chest swelled at that. Cupping Richie’s face in his hands, he insisted, “I can take it.” Then he reached down and took Richie in his hand, glowing with pride when Richie let out a low moan. “Richie, please, I want you so bad.”

“Okay, baby,” Richie agreed, turning his head to kiss Eddie’s palm. “Fuck, I want you, too.” But he stalled. “Have you ever… like, been fucked before?”

Eddie flushed. “Well, not by someone else, but I have some toys. I’m not gonna break, Richie.” He huffed, but the way Richie was looking at him soothed any ruffled feathers.

“I’m your first?” His smile was soft, and while his eyes glittered, there was nothing teasing about his tone.

“I didn’t wanna do it with anyone else,” Eddie mumbled. He tried to look away, but Richie pulled him into a kiss.

“Fuck, I never thought you’d want me,” he chuckled. “Sorry, that was depressing, I just mean I can’t believe we didn’t do this sooner, you know?”

Eddie beamed, a small, giddy giggle dancing on his lips. “Well it’ll happen sooner if you stop talking so much.” But his smile, and all of the little kisses he planted on Richie’s freckled shoulders told Richie that Eddie never wanted him to stop talking.

“Alright, alright, sheesh, I know I’m hot but you don’t gotta rush me.” Eddie was still giggling when Richie kissed him, and he could feel that Richie was smiling too. “Where’s your lube?”

Eddie stretched his hand out and patted the bed for a moment, searching. After what was probably only four seconds but felt like an eternity, he finally found the bottle and handed it eagerly to Richie. “Oh, right,” Richie smirked, “you’re already wet for me, aren’t you?” Eddie moaned as Richie swiped his fingers over Eddie’s slick hole, pressing in just a bit. His fingers went in easily, and he pumped them slowly, drawing little, breathy moans out of Eddie. Richie’s fingers were a lot longer and thicker than his own, and they felt amazing, but they weren’t what he wanted in that moment.

“Richie, fuck me,” he whined.

“Aw, no please? Again?” Richie tsked and shook his head, curling his fingers against Eddie’s prostate, making him cry out. “I told you, sweetheart, only good boys who use their manners get fucked.”

“Please,” Eddie cried. He rocked his hips and grabbed at Richie’s shoulders, at his arms, not even sure what his goal was there other than to get Richie closer, to get his attention, to show him how desperate he was. “Please fuck me, please.” He sounded pathetic begging like this, but that just made him harder. And it made Richie’s pupils even wider as he slid his fingers out of Eddie and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Good boy,” he purred. Eddie moaned and arched into Richie’s touch, but he only gave Eddie one more kiss on his cheek before pulling back and covering his cock in lube. Eddie watched, entranced, as Richie’s hand moved smoothly over his cock, glistening and slick. Then Richie was gently spreading Eddie’s legs even further and pressing the head of his cock against Eddie’s hole.

“Yes,” Eddie whimpered brokenly, grasping at the sheets beneath him. “Richie, please.” Meeting his gaze, he said softly, “I need you.”

“I’ve got you,” Richie assured him in a voice that made Eddie feel like he was glowing. Richie took Eddie’s hand in his and entwined their fingers, using his other hand to guide his cock inside of Eddie, who gasped at the feeling. God, he couldn’t believe this was happening. He couldn’t believe his first time was going to be with his favorite person. He couldn’t believe he was finally getting exactly what he wanted. Love flooded through him, warm and perfect, somehow both soothing and electrifying as he watched Richie’s face. Eddie’s mouth dropped as Richie pressed into him, deeper and deeper and still fucking deeper, until finally Richie let out a low moan and Eddie felt absolutely breathless. The stretch was intense, and he held onto Richie tightly as he caught his breath. “Are you alright?” Richie asked. His voice was strained, but the care and concern in it was clear. “You don’t have to take all of it if it’s too much.”

Eddie wanted to laugh at the remark or roll his eyes, but with how breathless and dizzied by pleasure he already was, he had to admit Richie had a point. “Just need a minute,” he gasped. Richie ran a soothing hand over Eddie’s skin, helping him even out his breathing and relax. The feeling of Richie’s cock twitching in anticipation inside of him had him letting out little moans as he adjusted, getting more and more used to the feeling until he felt comfortable enough to tell Richie he could move. Richie kissed him before he did, his lips soft against Eddie’s, a reassuring weight. Eddie breathed in sharply as Richie pulled back, grabbing at Richie’s shoulders.

Richie immediately stopped. “You okay, baby?” he asked, caressing Eddie’s face.

Eddie wanted to melt. Richie was always touching him, always jokingly flirting with him, but this unabashed concern and, well, love had previously been reserved for dire situations, like panic attacks or injuries. Eddie couldn’t help the dopey smile that bloomed on his face as he tilted his chin up and kissed Richie. “I’m okay,” he said breathlessly. “It’s just a little different from my vibrator.” They both gave a shaky laugh as Richie nuzzled his nose against Eddie’s.

“Better, I hope?” he grinned.

“Can’t tell yet,” Eddie retorted. Another snarky comment was on the tip of his tongue when Richie pulled his hips further back, effectively sucking all the air—and attitude—from Eddie’s chest. And then Richie was pushing back in, and Eddie let out a moan he couldn’t have faked if he tried, relaxing back into the mattress as his eyes fell shut. It was the best thing he’d ever felt, pleasure and relief flooding through his body. They’d been building up this tension for years; Eddie had figured it would feel good to break it, but it really felt magical, like something had just clicked into place. Feeling Richie inside of him, rocking his hips carefully, feeling Richie twitch as he tried not to lose control had Eddie’s head reeling. Eddie’s eyes fluttered open, focusing on Richie above him, on how flushed his face was. When Richie met his eye, pressing in deep, Eddie let out a small, “Fuck.”

“Yeah? Does that feel good, sweetheart?”

Richie was smirking as he said it, but there was something else sparkling in his eyes. Something giddy and awed. Something that made Eddie sigh dreamily, “I love you.”

Richie’s eyes widened for a moment before he pressed his lips firmly against Eddie’s, his hands roaming over Eddie’s body like he couldn’t choose where to put them, where to touch him. “I love you so much,” he beamed, pressing a few more kisses to Eddie’s cheeks. Eddie giggled at the feeling, but then Richie’s hips moved just a little faster, pressing him in just a little deeper, and he was back to melting under Richie’s touch, clinging to him as he rocked his hips with Richie’s. “Fuck, you’re so amazing, baby, so fucking beautiful. You look so good like this, holy shit.”

Eddie smiled almost drunkenly at Richie’s ability to ramble even when blowing Eddie’s mind. “Feels so good,” he moaned, his voice breathy and just a little bit higher than normal. He wrapped his legs around Richie’s waist. “Please, Richie, please.”

“Fuck, baby, wanna make you feel like this all the fucking time,” Richie groaned as he picked up the pace. Eddie whined in pleasure at the change, and that just spurred Richie to go faster, harder, until he was well and truly fucking Eddie, both of them moaning with every thrust.

“Oh my god,” Eddie cried, “ohmygodohmygodhmygod, oh fuck, Richie, please.” It felt so amazing, Richie fucking into him like this, but he needed that little bit more. His cock was throbbing desperately, achingly hard; he needed to feel Richie’s hand on him. “Richie, please,” he whimpered, “please, please touch me. I need you, I need you so bad, please, Richie.” Eddie was pouting now, grabbing aimlessly at Richie, his legs still wrapped tight around him.

“Fuck, you’re so hard for me,” Richie marveled, his voice sweet and condescending as he wrapped his hand around Eddie’s cock. Eddie nearly screamed at the contact, his back arching off the bed. Richie laughed a little, which just made Eddie even harder. The way Richie spread his precome over his cock, twisting his wrist just so as he stroked him had that familiar tension coiling in his lower stomach. “Aw, does that feel good? You gonna come on my cock, kitten?”

“Fuck, yes!” Eddie screamed. He gripped at the sheets as Richie stroked him, his voice washing over Eddie, mixing with the pleasure of Richie’s touch, of his thrusts. “Yes, yes, yes, please let me come, please, please, please.”

“That’s a good boy,” Richie purred, and Eddie could feel himself tipping over the edge at the words, at how low and affected Richie’s voice was. He groaned out, “Come on my cock like a good boy, princess,” and pure pleasure crashed over Eddie like a wave. He arched his back and cried out as he came, his moans filling the room as he squirmed under Richie, grabbed at him, at the sheets. It was fucking ethereal. He felt somehow so in tune with his body and yet so detached, like he was floating. He was barely cognizant of what Richie was saying, but when he put the sounds together and realized Richie had just said, panting, “Fuck, baby, gonna come,” Eddie felt like a live wire again.

“In me,” he said urgently. His mind was still a little too scattered for full sentences, but he knew what he wanted. God, he felt like he needed it. Like he needed to feel that connected to Richie. “Richie, come inside me, please.”

Richie apparently didn’t need to be told twice; he let out a moaned, “Oh, fuck,” before burying his face in Eddie’s neck, his breathy moans like music in Eddie’s ear. And then, as Eddie was coming down from his own high, he felt the holiest thing in the world: Richie’s cock, twitching inside of him, then his warm come filling Eddie up. It was unreal, being this close to him. Richie clutching at him as he came. It was even better than the little fantasies Eddie occasionally allowed himself. Richie was here, in his arms, pressing kisses to his neck as he caught his breath. Eddie was stroking his hair and rubbing his back as Richie nuzzled into him. Richie’s skin pressed against his skin, his legs wrapped around Richie’s waist, then falling to his sides, but still pressed to him. Still keeping him close. There wasn’t a single thought in his head that wasn’t about Richie.

Richie pulled him from his dreamy haze with light kisses pressed up his jaw, then over his cheeks. Eddie giggled at the onslaught of affection, still reeling from how fucking hot and euphoric what they had just done together had been. But he happily accepted Richie’s kisses, his heart bursting, then racing as Richie pulled back to look in his eyes. “Holy, fuck,” Richie beamed, his face flushed and blue eyes hooded from the weight of his orgasm, even as they sparkled.

“I know,” Eddie said, returning Richie’s grin as he basked in the surreality of having Richie on top of him, his dorky yet charming smile framed by lips that were red and swollen because of Eddie. His glasses were knocked askew, and Eddie instinctively reached up to fix them. With a sense of wonder, he realized that his touch was allowed to linger this time. He ran his fingers down Richie’s cheekbones, over his jaw, cupped his cheeks. “I love you,” he said. The words spilled out over his lips like he couldn’t stand not to say them. And while it made his heart race a little to say it out loud now that the adrenaline and tension was all worked through, it felt even better this time when Richie’s face softened and he nuzzled his nose against Eddie’s.

“I love you so fucking much.” Richie’s voice rarely got that soft, that sincere; it felt like a blanket wrapping around Eddie. It felt safe, secure. It felt like a promise. And if there was anyone in the world Eddie knew he could trust, it was Richie. That feeling of everything coming together came back to Eddie as he lay there under Richie, their lips moving together, feeling light as a feather now that everything was finally out in the open.

#reddie #notsfw #reddie smut #reddie fic

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fanfickittycat · 3 years

Text

First Glance

TITLE: First Glance

CHAPTER NUMBER/ONE SHOT: One Shot

AUTHOR: fanfickittycat

FANDOM: Haikyuu!!

CHARACTERS/PAIRING: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader

GENRE: Romance/Fluff

FIC SUMMARY: Ushijima doesn't know why the girl tasked with covering the team for the school paper won't leave his mind

RATING: G

AUTHORS NOTES/WARNINGS: I’m putting this below the cut but you can also read it on AO3 here

“Is she back already?” Ushijima didn’t flinch when Tendo joined his side, only nodding stoically in response. He was observing the girl with such rapt attention, that Tendo was genuinely surprised; usually, Ushijima only had eyes for volleyball. Girls seemed to be out of the question. Even when the topic of girls was brought up in the locker room, he never paused to pass comment. In fact, he didn’t look like he was even listening to the conversation, instead methodically doing up the buttons on his shirt or neatly folding his kit.

“I hear she’s from the journalism club” he said, watching his friend’s face carefully for any changes in his features. The day had been so boring, and finally something interesting was happening. “Hmmm”. Nothing. “I guess she must want to cover the team going to the finals.” “Hmmm.” Nothing again. “Maybe she’ll want to interview us?” Ushijima cleared his throat “hmmm.” Ah, bingo. “You should talk to her” he nudged Ushijima in the side “you’re the captain after all.” Ushijima finally broke his gaze, looking down at the water bottle in his hands “I’m not good at talking.” Tendo opened his mouth to say something encouraging; to bolster his friend who always seemed to be confident in all his abilities on the court, but the squabble between Semi and Shirabu stopped him.

“Hey” Ohira said “don’t fight in front of the press, it makes us look bad.” The two setters continued to scowl at one another but stopped bickering. “It’s no way to act in front of a girl” Tendo added, slapping a hand on his teammates backs “especially a cute girl.” His eyes trailed over to look at Wakatoshi who’s impassive face was betrayed by the way his hands mindlessly fiddled with the blue bottle in his hands. “I guess she’s cute” Semi agreed “if you like that kind of girl.” “What kind of girl is that?” Ushijima asked, making his teammates look up at him in shock. “W-well you know…” Semi struggled to come up with the words to describe her “she’s clumsy, did you see the way she almost tripped coming in here?” “Yeah, but she got up again with that super determined face” Shirabu interjected “like she was so nervous she was overcompensating.” “She seems energetic” Ohira said “and tenacious.” “Those are good traits” Wakatoshi said offhandedly. “They are” Tendo agreed, egging him on “and she has pretty, long hair. I usually like short hair on girls but even I have to admit that it’s very becoming on her. Right, Miracle Boy?” Ushijima looked up at her again, observing the waves of thick, dark hair that flowed past her shoulders. She tucked a strand behind her ear as she continued to speak to Coach Washijo and note down the things he said in her notebook. “Yes” he agreed “it is.”

Ushijima continued to think about the mystery girl as he got changed. Who was she? Tendo had said she was here on behalf of the school paper, but usually whenever they were written about, it was a sandy haired boy who came by. Why had he never seen her before? He idly put his jacket on, pondering what the feeling in his chest was. A sort of warmth and tenderness. He hoped he wasn’t getting ill.

“Before you all go” Coach Washijo said, stopping the boys from leaving the gym “remember we have practise on Saturday, and I expect you all to be there bright and early at 6am. No excuses. Also, we’ll have a member of the journalism club with us this week so watch your mouths.” He looked pointedly at Semi, who’s cheeks flushed red, much to the enjoyment of Shirabu who nudged him. Ushijima wanted to ask what her name was, but they were dismissed in the next instance and it seemed pointless.

The girl stayed on Ushijima’s mind. That evening he had several hazy dreams all involving her. In one, he just remembered her looking at him and smiling so brightly that he managed to miss a relatively easy receive. In another, she was interviewing him, and he was struggling to answer coherently. He didn’t remember the last one very well, but in it she was holding his hands. He woke up with her phantom touch still on him. He turned his head to squint at his alarm clock. It was almost five am, way too early for him to consider rising. He closed his eyes again, but sleep didn’t find him. He took his phone off charge and looked for Tendo’s number to text. He had insisted that he get a phone, but he didn’t use it much.

U: Tendo, are you awake? I have a query. 4:58am

He didn’t expect to get a response and instead went to take a cold shower to focus his mind. The cold water was a welcome distraction, and he felt his body leave the dreamy warm state it was in. Today he had practise until noon, but nothing especially pressing to do afterwards. Perhaps he’d take a jog before dinner. He knew he should probably make time to review some tapes from their last practise game too. Despite him concentrating on his own schedule, his mind once again wandered to her. What would she do today?

He left the shower, padding back to his room with a towel around his shoulders. His phone buzzed.

T: What query could you possibly have at 5am??? 5:08am T: Lay it on me, Miracle Boy 5:09am

He picked up his phone, struggling to come up with a coherent sentence.

U: The girl has remained in my mind. I think I must be getting ill, should I tell coach today? 5:12am T: Sounds like love sickness to me ;) 5:12am U: I’m not familiar with that illness 5:1am T: -_- It’s a good thing you found volleyball 5:14am U: I don’t understand 5:14am T: We’ll talk about it later 5:15am U: Ok 5:15am

“She’s here” Ushijima blinked at the girl, standing before them. She looked sleepy, clutching a thermos as she greeted the volleyball team members. Her hair was tied up into a ponytail, which Ushijima didn’t like nearly as much as her hair being out. Still, there was something admittedly quite cute about seeing her like this; dreamy eyed, red cheeked, and cosy in her fluffy jumper. She shouldn’t be out here in the cold, watching the boys do laps, she should be tucked up in bed with her hair being petted gently. The thought made Ushijima flush. He resolved to himself that he was going to concentrate on practise and not on this girl, whose name he still didn’t know.

“So, lover boy” Tendo teased, as he shrugged off his track jacket alongside his friend “you like her?” The boys had entered the gym now to do some routine stretches before doing drills, and Tendo had taken the opportunity to speak up. “I don’t know her.” “But you think she’s cute?” Ushijma paused and swallowed “yes, I suppose so.” “Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.” Tendo winked at him and Ushijima frowned. Surely, he had his back? In their current formation he tended to be behind the Guess Monster. He shook his head free of the thought and went to join the others.

“Take a twenty-minute break and then we’ll do three on three!” “Yes, coach!” The lapse in practise was a welcome one, and Ushijima wiped the sweat off his brow with his towel, grateful for the moment to breathe. “This is your chance” Tendo sang, jutting his chin out at the girl who was speaking to Semi. “It’s rude to interrupt” he said, feeling a sinking feeling in his chest as she laughed at something Semi said. What was this? He felt something brew in his chest that made his teeth clench in annoyance at his teammate. He gripped the water bottle, turning away to drink. “Don’t be angry” Tendo chided “I’ve found out her name…”

*** You stood, trying to follow the game but it was difficult to really grasp what was happening. The ball was shot back and forth with such ferocity that you worried it would hit you. How embarrassing you cringed, picturing yourself getting smacked in the face with the volleyball. You took a step back for safe measure, trying to remember what Haruki had told you.

“The piece is about emotion as much as it’s about sport.” “What kind of feelings can hitting a ball possibly inspire?” You said skeptically. Haruki smiled apologetically “I’m sorry you have to take over for me” “You didn’t ask for a family death” you said, feeling sorry “I’ll do my best.” “You’re a talented writer. Just put your own spin on it, like you always do. I promise this is the last time you’ll have to write a sports piece.”

You had to admit, that despite the dread and the unmistakable sinking feeling in your gut from being out of your depth, you were also in awe of the players. The way they were able to make split second decisions that ensured the ball’s return to the other side of the court; the constant movement… It was actually impressive.

The red-haired boy – you still didn’t know them by name – had an almost eerie gift for knowing what the opposing side was going to do. You scribbled it down, annoyed when you dropped your biro.

“Look out!” Your head tilted up to see your worst fear coming true. The ball was flying towards you and you felt like you had frozen, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. You braced yourself for impact, lowering your head again but the hit never came. You heard a scuffle near you, and you opened your eyes to see the tall one with the olive hair hit the ball away. He met your stunned eyes with his formidable ones. You’d heard of this one. Ushijima the captain of the team. Haruki had assured you that despite his daunting exterior and intimidating manner, he was nobody to legitimately fear. Unless you were on the other team that is…

He looked away first, running back to the court to be alongside his teammates without a glance back. You felt winded. Whatever had just happened felt so intense that it was strange to believe that it was only a couple of seconds long. The sound of a whistle blowing, and the shouts of the demon coach did nothing to snap you out of it.

“Are you alright?” you looked up again to see the captain looking down at you. “Um, yes” you felt your hands go clammy “thank you.” He nodded at you and a silence followed. “Is it always so…” you looked for the right word “dangerous?” The corner of his lip twitched upwards “sometimes.” “Why do you play it then?” He hesitated, looking wistful “I’m good at it and I like it.” It was a terribly blunt answer, but it made you smile. “You’re funny” you said which made him cock his head to the side. “I’ve never been described as humorous before.” “It’s a special kind of humour” you said, rewarded with a faint blush colouring his cheeks. “How is your article progressing?” He asked, clearing his throat. “I think I found my angle on it” you looked up at him “but I need to do more research. I don’t really know too much about volleyball.” “You can ask me. I know about volleyball.” You felt flustered “are you doing anything after practise? Maybe you could help me clarify all the technical stuff?” He nodded “I’m free.” “Cool.” “Yes… cool” he nodded at you, excusing himself to run back. You felt your heart race as you watched him go back to the court. For the first time since you’d been assigned the piece, you felt excited about volleyball.

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akvtsuki-ari · 4 years

Text

Sweetheart (Ch.1)

Warnings: Mentions of BDSM and bunch of other kinks but nothing sexual in this chapter lol. Sub!Spencer and Femdom!Reader

Length: 5.3k

Authors Note: this is hands down the most self-indulgent shit ive ever wrote but do i care? the answer is no dsjk but this that series i had planned where the reader introduces spencer to proper BDSM and all that. hoping to make this fic kinda informative also lol. also im uploading this fic on ao3 as well. also no tags for this fic bc its really specific and ill probably be writing for it for a while! sorry about that

Plot Summary: Spencer Reid just wanted to be.., well, you know. He doesn’t expect to find much when he signs up for a BDSM dating website but somehow he manages you and he couldn’t be more delighted

Spencer Reid was certainly a lot of things. He was a lover of the arts, someone who had a particular affinity for 15th-century literature, a magician at best, a theater nerd at worst, and a teacher when life called for it. He loves the world even when it's really dark and he loves sleeping in even more. He loves his friends and they love him too - even when they pretend that his random facts annoy them. Spencer Reid was a friend, an FBI agent, a genius with an IQ of 187, and a son to a mother he loves wholly. He was a lot of things and for the most part - he knew a lot about what he really loved to do. He supposed that it's been like that his whole life.

It's not everyday that he discovers something new about himself. About everything else? Always. He loves to learn, but about himself? There's never all that much on the frontier.

It's hard to say, because of that, when Spencer discovered he was a sub. It's difficult to pinpoint a specific time and place, or even how the pieces got put together. He just remembers how it felt when it hit him, like a freight train going 100 miles an hour into a concrete wall. Or a plane crashing onto an island. Or like a fly hitting the glass panes of a delivery truck. He remembers the feeling when he was deftly reminded of this fact. Spencer Reid was a sub - through and through and he wasn't really sure what to make of it.

Surprisingly to most of his direct peers, Spencer wasn't a virgin. He'd had sex with 2 people who he'd been kinda friends with at some point, but it always got a little weird after that. The second time though, the girl ended up choking him a little bit when she got off and Spencer thought he had died. Not in a bad way, more in a "I'm so turned on by this I feel like I've genuinely gone to heaven," sort of way. He didn't think it was possible for a sexual encounter to make him feel like that but it did. It didn't stop after that either, which was the most agitating part.

Spencer doesn't consider himself a sexual person. Sex is about intimacy and companionship, and hopefully love when he finds that someday. Sex isn't necessarily about pleasure but that wasn't an easy lesson to learn.

Spencer just wanted to understand - so like any great genius he participated in thought experiments. It's normally a female superhero/supervillain that crosses his mind (he has an affinity for Poison Ivy), and he just kinda imagines what it would be like if they did what she did. The choking turned him on, but it wasn't enough. Through that, he figures out that he had more than a choking kink and that he was more than a little interested in a partner having complete access to him. He thought about it for weeks and the getting off was working for him but he couldn't get the fantasy out of his head. He wanted more - he wanted someone to fulfill his wishes.

It was too much for him to ignore. Those months of being able to hold off through masturbating are over and he's just sorta itching. Aching to act on those impulses with another person who can give him what he needs, and he doesn't want it to be transactional. Maybe it's too ideal to want a partner out of such an endeavor but was it so wrong? To want real affection and romance from someone who could also overpower him wasn't a crime and he'd be damned if he pretended to want any less. Spencer was just searching, even if it was rather desperately.

So, when Spencer finds himself on a BDSM dating site and he feels like his life is in shambles, he can only blame himself. It's not something he'd normally do but he's getting a little more than relentless about it but he also just wants to see what's out there. He's so out of it was it happens, it felt like he was being possessed as he made a fake email and wrote out his account information. Definitely blaming it on possession, he thinks.

It's too late to go back, as he scrolls through tons of profiles of rather intense looking people. He's not surprised, this is where people go to express themselves. They're entitled to that, it just sucks since he's just not ready for such levels of intensity. He wonders if he's in too deep yet, but he figures he'd hit that mark a long time ago and keeps scrolling through profiles. There wasn't much to go off of, many people not choosing to use photos for the sake of anonymity, which was good for Spencer. He clicks onto his own profile, reading his own bio carefully.

USERNAME: DOC187

SUB/ SWITCH / DOM

M / F / O

FETISHES: N/A

BIO: Interest in a dominant female companion. Completely inexperienced.

Spencer feels ridiculous, but he doubts anyone would even message him. He doesn't have much on his profile and he keeps things short for that purpose. He wanted to stay as low to the ground as possible - more curious to explore what was going in the world than to find anything legitimate. He scrolls through hundreds of profiles, mostly of people who were BDSM vets looking for new connections or fun. Some people catch his eye but they don't match his interests so he doesn't bother.

Except, one profile. The bio was beyond interesting to Spencer.

USERNAME: MISS—LILAC

SUB / SWITCH / DOM

M / F / O

FETISHES: Sadomasochist, Degradation, Humiliation, Pegging, Overstimulation, Edging, Crossdressing, Exhibitionism, Mutual Masturbation, Dacryphilia, Shibari/Gags/Bondage, Wax Play, Impact Play, Breath Play, General Sensation Play, Discipline, Collaring, Begging. Willing to try most things.

BIO: Interested in submissive males of any experience level. Helps if you're interesting and like to read and watch indie films. Looking for genuine connection and plenty of good banter. Curly hair is nice too. lol.

Before Spencer can think about it for too long his mouse clicks over that stupid little message button next to your profile. Spencer shakes his head at his own existence as he types you a message. Says you're online right now, but Spencer's sure he won't get a response for a while.

DOC187: Seems I fit who you're interested in. I even have the curly hair.

Spencer chews on his nails anxiously before he sighs at himself. He has no clue what's gotten into him belle before he can think he sees your 3-dotted bubble pop up. He feels his body wracked with nerves.

MISS—LILAC: I'm guessing you like to read and watch indie films too?

Spencer smiles. You seem interesting and the fact that the two of you were just talking normal was making Spencer happy.

DOC187: Indeed. I'm a sucker for 15-century literature and anything in Russian and foreign language. You?

MISS—LILAC: 15th century huh? I'll assume Chaucer. And Russian? You're interesting, doc. I'm more modern and English, hope you're not deterred.

Spencer smiles, surprised that you recognize an author as niche as Chaucer. He shakes his head at your commentary. He almost forgets that both of you are on a BDSM dating site and the irony doesn't escape him.

DOC187: Deterred? Never. I think you're rather interesting too, Miss Lilac.

MISS—LILAC: Ever the gentleman doc. I'm hoping you won't run away if I ask you more personal questions.

Spencer swallows. He types back quickly.

DOC187: What kinds of questions?

MISS—LILAC: If it's okay, you're real name and what you do. My names Y/N, and I'm a florist. I live in DC and I love romance novels.

Spencer smiles. He appreciates you laying down the path for him, knowing the stakes.

DOC187: My names Spencer and I work for the FBI. I also live in DC, and I love magic.

MISS—LILAC: Magic? I'd love for you to show me sometime.

Spencer swallows. Part of him feels like it's a stupid idea to ask you out so early but if you asked, he'd likely say yes. He decides to wait it out.

DOC187: I'd be more than happy to show you.

MISS—LILAC: I suppose you could send me a video but that's not the same as seeing the magic in real life, now is it?

Spencer is smiling like an idiot at this point. He shakes his head a little, jittery.

DOC187: Infinitely better live, I would say.

MISS—LILAC: Seems like I've found an excuse to ask you on a date then. Saturday's work for me but I'm sure it depends on you, FBI man. Before that, I'm gonna drop my number and I'll be expecting your call. (XXX-XXX-XXXX)

Spencer giggles. It's a little out of range for things he's used to doing, giggling aloud for someone else is certainly new. Spencer picks up his phone and dials away, anxious to call you but excited nonetheless. He heard you pick up the phone and his heart catches in his throat.

"Hello?," Your voice is smooth, and a little bit lower than he was expecting. It sounds pretty.

"Hello, Y/N," Spencer says back. He heard you laugh on the other side and can't help the way his heart flutters.

"Lovely to talk to you doc,"

"Still Doc? Not Spencer?" Spencer questions. You smile on the other side of the line.

"Doc seems to fit you. But, for the sake of formality, hello Spencer,"

"I like Doc too, but it feels like I should have a nickname for you as well. Only seems fair," Spencer says laughing quietly.

"If it's your prerogative you can call me Miss Lilac, or just Miss but..." you trail off for a minute. Spencer squints.

"Miss is a title, you know? Doesn't seem fair for you to call me that when I haven't earned it from you yet. I'm sure we'll get there but for now you can just call me Y/N," you say softly. Spencer blushes bright red, his voice betraying him as he speaks.

"O-Oh, well um - where does the name Lilac come from? Normally people go with their names when it comes to stuff like that," Spencer says shyly. He heard you laugh on the other side of the phone and blushes again, grateful you can't see him.

"I love the language of flowers and flowers themselves. It's a way to speak that not many people know - but I like the meaning and look of lilacs. White lilacs represent purity, so that was a bit of irony, but light purple lilacs mean first love," you say carefully.

"First love?," Spencer asks. You bite your lip for a moment.

"I joke that BDSM is my first love since it's such a big part of my life. Not as big as some but not small for certain. It gave me much needed confidence so I joke that it was my first," You say lightly. You hear Spencer giggle on the other side and you smile.

"What about your username? Any significance to DOC187 that I should know of?," you readjust your seat on your couch as you talk. Spencer grows a bit embarrassed.

"I normally introduce myself as Doctor Spencer Reid for work, not a medical doctor but I have three PhD's," Spencer admits. You raise your brows but hear the hesitation in his voice.

"Very, very impressive doc. What about the 187? It could be a plain ol' number but my guess would be otherwise,"

"That's my IQ, actually. I don't think intelligence can be boiled down and quantified like that but I couldn't think of anything else," Spencer explains.

"So you're a certified genius with 3 PhD's? To say I'm impressed is an understatement. Anything else impressive you'd like to tell me before I totally pick your brains," you say a little shocked.

"You wanna pick my brains?," Spencer asks. You wanna laugh at the irony of such a silly question from such an intelligent man but you refrain.

"Who wouldn't?," you say incredulously. Spencer smiles shyly.

"The only other thing is that I can read 20,000 words per minute," Spencer says trying to deflect. Your jaw dropped before but it manages to unhinge a little further.

"There's a lot to get to know about you Doctor Reid,"

"I'm sure it's the same for you," Spencer replies.

"Guess we'll have to find out won't we?," you say smiling.

Damn, Spencer got lucky. Hopefully he'd get to find out soon

_____

"Reid, are you listening?," Derek's voice snaps Spencer out of his entranced state. His smiling expression snaps up to look at Derek who looks a little exasperated.

"Sorry, what was that?," Spencer asks back. Derek puts down the case file they were working on. They had just finished a case and needed to complete some paperwork before submitting it for review and to be used in court. The job was given to him and Morgan and Spencer was evidently distracted.

"Alright, kid - what is up with you? All case you've been checking your phone non-stop and spacing out, all smiles and giggles. C'mon now kid, seriously. You got a little lady at home waiting for you or is there something else I don't know about?," Derek interrogates. Spencer doesn't really know what to make of it, though it's not really in his interest to hide you, it hasn't really come up with anyone on the team yet so it was proving difficult to decide what to do. The smile on his face manages to appear again as he starts to think about you, the tips of his ears red.

"Reid," Morgan says again, with a small look of irritation.

"Her names Y/N," Spencer blurts out faster than he can't think. Derek gives him a huge grin, holding his hand out to dap Spencer up. Spencer just looks at it confused for a second before getting the memo.

"'My man," Derek says chuckling. Before Spencer can continue Prentiss, JJ, and Garcia walk in. Hotch is the only one missing, and Spencer's a little grateful.

"What are we celebrating in here you guys?," Prentiss asks first. Spencer goes to say something to move away from his sudden confession but Derek is quick to cut him off.

"Our boy genius over here got him a little lady," Derek announces. The whole team erupts in questions and Spencer wants to bury himself.

"Congratulations, Spencer!! How long have you two been dating?," Prentiss asks.

"You guys are so dramatic. It's only been two months but no first date because well..." Spencer trails off. JJ just nods her head.

"Duty calls, I'm guessing" JJ finishes. Spencer nods deflated hearing Emily draw a breath between her teeth.

"That's tough, Spence,"

Just as Spencer goes to give a response back he gets a text from you that makes his day a little better. It's a selfie of you at work, a picture your employee must've taken of you in a room full of new flower deliveries. You're giving Spencer a toothy grin as you hold a bunch of gardenias in your hand.

Y/N 🌸: *image attachment*

Gardenias// You're lovely + Secret Love <33

Spencer cannot control the way his whole face bunches up in a smile, as if there's no one else in the room with him. Everyone just looks at him surprised, Garcia giving him a side-eye.

"How can you guys trust this stranger? We don't even know who she is! I haven't even run any background checks on her," Garcia complains. Prentiss nudges her side.

"I don't know if it matters - look at how hard he's smiling over there," Prentiss says. Garcia reluctantly looks and can't help but sigh.

"Okay well he seems really happy but still! We don't even know her," she pouts.

"I'm sure we'll meet her soon," JJ snickers at Spencer's lovestruck expression. Derek leans over Spencer's shoulder and raises his brows.

"Is that her, kid?," Derek asks. Spencer nods, simply staring at the picture you sent. Derek whistles when he sees you - you're genuinely stunning and he's surprised to say the least.

"Hot mama, pretty boy - how'd you manage that?," Derek asks, dumbfounded. Emily rolls her eyes.

"C'mon Derek, I'm sure - oh wow," Emily leans over Spencer's shoulder to see you and is met with the same reaction. JJ and Garcia are quick to follow thereafter, both looking equally as surprised.

"She's..." JJ trails off. The rest of the team just nods as Spencer grins ear to ear.

Spencer 🐻: Beautiful, as always.

Spencer ignores the rest of the team as they look at each other in disbelief.

Y/N🌸: Me or the flowers, Doc?

Spencer🐻: Both, but mostly you.

"Wow, Spencer you're really -" Prentiss starts

"You're whipped, kid. I mean seriously whipped," Derek finishes, nodding in agreement. JJ can't help but smile, giving Spencer a small pat on the back.

"She seems lovely, Spencer. How'd you two meet?," JJ says. Garcia stands around looking rather suspicious. A blush creeps onto Spencer's neck as he's reminded of how you two met.

"Online," Spencer says shortly. No one decides to question it, and Spencer thanks every god he can think of.

"Have you two FaceTimed yet? How can we know she's not, I don't know - catfishing you? Or scamming you in some other cyber criminal way?," Garcia sounds distressed. Spencer gives a small smile.

"We fall asleep over FaceTime every night," Spencer admits. Penelope's expression falls, and Prentiss gives a smile.

"That is disgustingly cute," JJ says laughing.

"Okay, well - I'm still running a background check on her," Garcia says stubbornly "But, I'm happy for you,"

"Thanks Garcia," Spencer mumbles out as he texts you again.

Y/N🌸: I wanna see you, love

Spencer blushes red as he reads your message. The word love makes his whole face hot.

Spencer🐻: I can't take a selfie for my life

Y/N🌸: You're with your team aren't you? Get them to take a picture of you.

Spencer wants to fold away, not ever really being the picture type, but how could he ever deny you.

Spencer🐻: How could I ever say no to you?

"Hey guys, can one of you take a picture of me for Y/N?" Spencer asks embarrassingly red. The whole team sends him a look of surprise.

"I'll take it Spence, try not to look as uncomfortable as you do right now," JJ says. The whole team refrains from laughing as Spencer gives an awkward smile. He thanks JJ who hands him back his phone before texting you again.

Spencer🐻: *image attachment* You owe me one

Y/N🌸: you're stunning as always. hadn't seen you in so long I almost forgot what you looked like.

Spencer🐻: stunnings an interesting choice of words.

Y/N🌸: I said what I said, doc.

Spencer can't help but do a little giggle, that causes the whole team to give him a look. Morgan just shakes his head, shrugging. Emily, JJ, and Garcia just look at each other before the room draws into a subtle but comfortable silence as Spencer just smiles, totally unaware of how whipped he happened to look. He didn’t seem to mind either way.

___

"How was work?," Spencer asks over the phone, kicking his shoes off as he looks into his fridge for something to eat. He hears you sigh on the other side of the line.

"Busy today - wedding season is coming up so tons of calls for centerpiece designs and costs. It's going well though, business couldn't be better," you say, clearly tired yet content. Spencer gives a small smile and feels relieved that things are going okay for you.

"That's really good. I'm glad you're feeling alright," Spencer replies. You ease into the couch as you talk to Spencer, relaxing by the second.

"What about you, FBI man? You have an okay day?," Your voice is full of a gentle concern that Spencer appreciates.

"Yeah, just paperwork and JJ said that we shouldn't have any upcoming cases this week to be worried about so I have the weekend off," Spencer says without thought.

"Have any special plans for the weekend?," you say cheekily. Spencer, still not having caught on, shakes his head for a second.

"No, why?,"

"Hm... well - would you like to go on a date with me then Doctor Reid?," You ask, giggling. Spencer's eyes widen in realization as he facepalms for a moment.

"Wow, I didn't even think... yes - yes I would love to go on a date with you Y/N," Spencer says laughing at his own misfortune. You shake your head instinctively, but the growing smile and even further growing adoration makes it hard to sit still.

"Hey, Spencer," you say, butterflies filling your stomach.

"Yeah?"

"I really like you,"

____

Saturday comes quicker than Spencer can really understand. You told him not to worry about what the days plans would be but he can't help it. Anxiously awaiting you in front of the cafe that the two of you were supposed to meet at, in a part of town Spencer hasn't really seen before. You said that you'd lead the way and the irony isn't lost on him.

"Spencer?," Your voice is small, as you call out to what you think is Spencer Reid. Of course, you'd seen him before but to see him in person like this was still so unfamiliar. His head shoots up, eyes searching for you. He's delighted to have found you, certainly that was true as he walks towards you. Your arms envelop him in a friendly hug and he can't help but find himself sinking into. You smelled sweet, like fruit and flowers (which makes sense, the more he thinks about it)

"Lovely to finally meet you, Y/N,"

"Same goes for you, doc. Would you like to be informed of our plans for the day, or do you prefer the element of surprise?," You ask smiling. Spencer laughs at your question.

"Details would be appreciated, but I get the feeling you're not gonna give me those."

"You're right! It's a trick question, since it's a surprise. But, promise it'll be good,"

"I'll take your word for it then," Spencer says with a small smile. You hold your hand out for Spencer which he accepts, locking his hands with yours. The affection makes him feel full of warmth, as you lead him away for the day you had planned for the both of you.

___

Spencer underestimated how well you knew him. He really, really did. It's hard to explain since Spencers been on a date before but this was so profoundly different. He's a little touched, but beyond that he's just.. surprised? Every date he'd been on before this, he'd have to play the gentleman but it never seemed like the other person was interested in just him. It was always casual small-talk over dinner, or a mid-day coffee date or something else that just felt mundane but this was beyond Spencer's imagination.

The first place you took him was a bookstore - which was in Spencers mind already a winner for best date he'd ever been on. You walked inside with him and told him he had to pick up a book for you and you had to pick up a book for him and to say his heart absolutely fluttered would be an understatement. He picked up up a copy of "The Screwtape Tales," by C.S. Lewis for you, and you gave him a copy of Shel Silverstein's "Where The Sidewalk Ends." For you, you got a glimpse to see what Spencer's sense of humor was and you gave Spencer a piece of your childhood. Both equal but opposite forms of intimacy. The only thing was Spencer had to wait to read his book because it's relatively shorter than yours and he reads 20,000 words per minute.

The next place you took Spencer was an indoor butterfly garden. Does he have to explain why that's a good date? He heard you talk about all the scientific names for the different flowers and why they attract butterflies and he wasn't sure he could crush any harder on you if he tried. A particular moment sticks out to him on which a butterfly landed on your shoulders and just stayed there like it didn't want to leave. Spencer's eyes were fixated on it the whole time - and he had never wanted to be a butterfly in his life before but he figures there's a first time for everything.

The last place, where the both of you were at now was just a small coffee shop, locally owned and supported by the community here. You told Spencer that when you started up your shop, you'd come in here to work on big orders before you'd expanded enough to have employees. Spencer admires your work ethic, much more than he could ever anticipate as he sits down at a small booth, totally covering the both of you as you return to the table with a little plate of banana bread and two iced coffees. Spencer pouts as he looks up at you, watching you flash him a grin.

"I could've helped you carry this over," Spencer complains gently. You roll your eyes.

"Maybe next time doc," you say softly. You hold back your commentary often on the date, and Spencer pretends not to notice for your sake but he'd be lying if he said he didn't wanna know. You always had something sly to say but you'd kept it from him so many times now he figures it's better if he didn't ask.

Spencer looks at you as you push a plate of banana bread towards him. He looks at you with curious eyes before reading your clearly excited face and laughs. He picks up a piece and examines it, before taking a bite. If it tasted as good as it smelled then he would be more than obliged.

The involuntary moan that escapes Spencer's throat makes you choke with laughter. Shit, you weren't kidding when you said this was the best banana bread in the city. Spencer just looks up at you like he's about to cry with joy as you double over in giggles.

"I know," You say softly, taking a bite yourself eyes filling with joy "I ordered some more for us to take home - you're welcome," you say with confidence. Spencer smiles because that is genuinely thoughtful, but it was more endearing to see you pretend it wasn't. He just shakes his head, a blush arising to his face as he looks at you. You're staring at him with intent. He quirks his brow at you in question.

"I had a good time today, Spencer" You say warmly. You only called him Spencer when you were saying something affectionate and a bit serious. He gives you a toothy smile.

"I haven't been on very many dates, but this was easily the best one I'd ever been on," Spencer says honestly. You grin ear to ear, hands carefully holding Spencer across the table, running your thumb over his knuckles for a few seconds. You couldn't say for sure whether it was too soon to ask him to be your boyfriend, but you'd be damned if you said it didn't cross your mind.

Spencer was mind-numbingly unaware of what good boyfriend material he was, but beyond that - what good submissive boyfriend material he was. It was driving you nuts, but you knew this was all new for him and you didn't wanna freak him out. Even when guys say they're interested in being submissive, they're still often times uncomfortable with you being fully dominant. Dominant in public and in bed, if you will. You wanted to pay for dates, and buy him flowers, and make him feel special too - at least on the occasion. That role came naturally to you, that let me make you feel owned type affection that only a dominant person can give. It scared men off - out of relationships, and you totally got why - but you liked Spencer too much as a person to risk iit.

Spencer holds your hands together, gathering your attention. You looked at him spaced out and he gives you a look of concern.

"You okay?," Spencer asks. You nod, chewing your lip in debate of whether or not you should express your concerns. Spencer just tugs on your hand and looks at you intently.

You sigh, looking at Spencer softly.

"I'm okay I just really like you," you say a little exasperated. Spencer laughs but is filled with relief.

"I'm glad to hear that. What else is on your mind?,"

"I really like you - like in an, I want you to officially by my boyfriend way and I hope it's not too soon but I'm just, worried I guess," you say nervously. Spencer can't help the way his heart beats in his chest when he hears you say boyfriend. God did he want to be your boyfriend.

"What're you worried about?,"

"I'm worried about freaking you out. I can be a lot since I'm... you know?," You say nervously. Spencer looks at you to continue.

"I'm more than just dominant in bed, and for a lot of guys it's not their thing and that's their right but I like you so much. I really don't want that to happen if I ask you out now and you realize that it's not for you," you say in clear upset.

Spencer looks at you in disbelief. You were worried that he was gonna freak out over that? That you were too dominant for him? It feels like such a silly concern but the expression on your face tells him you're speaking from experience.

"I mean, it's all kinda new to me but, well - I do like how you treat me? It's a nice change, I can't imagine myself getting tired of it, or of you. I really like you too," Spencer tried his best to reassure you without totally embarrassing you. You smiles at Spencer but your face is still full of doubt.

"If that ever changes, I'll tell you but I'd really like to call you my girlfriend," Spencer finishes. You can't help the warmth that spreads in your stomach at the offer. You just nod, looking up at him. You stand and walk to Spencer's side of the booth, sliding in next to him, leaning your head into his shoulder for a few while seconds. You sit back up, and Spencer turns to you.

"Hey, doc," you say softly. Spencer hums in acknowledgement.

"Can I kiss you?," you ask softly. Spencer chews his lip and nods, looking down at your lip. You're wearing lipgloss and it makes them look pretty - you are so pretty to Spencer.

Kisses are their own language, Spencer figures. The way someone kisses you can tell you a lot about who they are - so, when you put your hands on the side of Spencer's face, pulling him closer to you with such care and adoration - Spencer can feel what you were referencing earlier. The word Miss rings out in his mind, the way you pay attention to him with your hands. He feels your lips press against his, slowly gliding your fingers in his hair, thumb brushing agains the side of his cheek. Your other hand rested on his inner thigh and he has to think about anything other than that not to get hard. Spencer didn't get how much he'd been thinking about touching you until you'd do with no hesitation and he lets out a small whine. You pull back and Spencer has to catch his breath.

His lashes blink up at you and you're absolutely beaming.

"You're cute baby,"

Baby? Spencer wants to cover his face when you say it. You kiss him again and he can't help but feel flush.

You were Spencer's girlfriend and then some and he couldn't be more happy.

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer reid angst #spencer reid oneshot #spencer x y/n #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #Criminal Minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #sub!spencer #sub!spencer reid #so nervous abt uploading this lol

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flutteringphalanges · 3 years

Photo

Summary: “Am I in Hell?” Agatha’s voice was hoarse, a hint of fear in her tone. “That depends on your definition,” Dracula answered. “Perhaps.” His fingers felt cool against her burning skin, the fever raging through her body. “If you’re going to kill me, then do it,” she mumbled. The count chuckled, gazing into her eyes. “On the contrary,” he smirked. “I’m going to save you.”

((In which Dracula cares for a gravely ill Agatha))

Characters: Agatha Van Helsing/Dracula

Rating: M

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: Well it’s been several months! Hope you guys haven’t forgotten about this little fic! I won’t keep you waiting too long! I highly suggest you read the second author’s note which can be located at the end of the chapter on either FFN or AO3 if you have any questions! With that said, feedback is greatly loved and appreciated! Huge thanks to @mitsukatsu for always letting me bounce ideas off of her! Thanks, girl! Hope ya’ll enjoy! -Jen

Chapter Thirteen

Though the sky was shrouded in near darkness, the full moon peaked through just enough to illuminate the scattered clouds that blanketed the night. It was eerie to say the least and even Agatha, despite what she now was, stuck close to Dracula as they made their way down an off-beaten path towards the small village. If her still heart could, it would be beating with such ferocity that her very chest would've felt the crushing blow of each throb.

"You're awfully quiet." Her mate commented, offering his hand as they stepped over a log. "You have nothing to fear. It is quite a simple process and I assure you that I would not allow any harm to come to you."

"That's not what I'm afraid of you." Agatha said quietly. "I am not worried about my sake."

"Then what?" The Count inquired, stopping them both in their tracks. "This isn't about your moral standards is it, Agatha? We've discussed this on numerous occasions. I only wish what is best for you. I think in time you will see that. How much, I cannot promise, but it will get easier." He smiled gently and tilted her chin to press his lips to hers. "Come," he urged. "Let us not wait. Time seemingly moves much faster than one would presume."

Part of her wanted to say something. Outright deny any participation in this immoral act. But perhaps it was her selfish love for him that even made her consider the possibility. Why was romance so damn desirable? Holding her in a vice grip where eternity with her former enemy was a far more pleasant option than being without? Was this love sickness? Could he feel the same way? That only made it worse. The former nun sighed, trying to clear her head of such thoughts. So much had happened in these past few months. Her skull hurt and she wasn't quite sure if it was due to her fall or just the strain of it all.

"Ah! We're here!" The excitement in Dracula's voice pulled the former nun from her thoughts. She looked to the vampire, his teeth glinting in what little moonlight shone from the clouds. "It's right outside the city of Brașov, secluded enough that we shouldn't be bothered." He reached down and gave her hand a squeeze. "Fear not," he murmured. "I will be right by your side guiding you the entire time." Though his words offered little relief.

The village was nothing special, far from appeasing to the eye. It was small, perhaps used at most for those passing through or people making just enough to get by. Agatha absentmindedly dug her nails into the palm of her hand, feeling their newly found strength press indents into the skin. Dracula was speaking to her, but his words sounded so distant as she took in her surroundings. As a greater part of her wanted to turn back and return to the castle, an unexpected sight captured her immediate attention.

"No, please! I'm begging you! Leave me be!"

From the entrance of an alleyway, a woman stumbled backwards, her hands outstretched as if in some poor attempt to protect herself. Agatha stepped forward instinctively, but found her mate's arm outstretched in front preventing her from going forward.

"Wait." He said quietly. "Allow this to play out."

Agatha threw him a look of horror about to protest when a stranger strode out from the shadows something glinting in his hand. Without warning, the figure slashed the object at the woman's neck causing a gurgling choke of surprise to escape past her lips. Something sweet filled the air. The scent was more alluring than any blossom the former nun could remember smelling. Blood. Fresh blood. Human blood.

Whizzing, the lady collapsed on the ground, too weak to ward off the man as he began to dig through what little satchel she carried. Finally snapping from her trance, Agatha looked in horror at the sight before her. At the intense feelings that bombarded her mind after witnessing what she had just seen. How both her former and immortal sides were battling against her sanity.

Agatha's eyes remained locked on the man's as he stood unmoved just meters from her. With her new found abilities, even in the nearly moonless night, she could make out the thick, crimson liquid as he dripped down the shimmering blade. It was almost teasing. Watching it fall to the ground below where it became soiled by dirt.

"What are you waiting for?" A voice coaxed softly from behind, its excitement barely masked. "Go, I'll follow."

Yet Agatha's attention was not drawn to Dracula. Instead, her gaze briefly flickered to the figure lying nearly lifeless off to the robber's side. The woman's hands wearily grasped at the deep slash drawn across her throat as her life blood gushed between her fingers. An easier prey, she knew, but not one of good consciousness. If the former nun was to kill, then there had to be a reason.

"Two for the price of one." She heard Dracula say from behind. "The girl is merely a mercy kill."

They had different ideas about compassion, and the younger vampire's attention redirected once more to the man. The soon to be murderer. If it could, her blood would be boiling. A strange emotion began to fill her. Almost primal in nature. Her smooth teeth began to shift as she took a step forward towards the thief.

"Stay-stay back!" The man warned, swinging his knife shakily between Dracula's and Agatha's direction. "I'm warning you!"

But Agatha's ears no longer heard the desperate, empty threats. Nor did she feel the anticipation of her mate by her side. Instead, she lunged forward and knocked the man to the floor. Predator finally becoming prey.

Fangs cut through soft flesh like a spoon through room temperature butter. Instantly a flood of hot, sweet liquid coated her tongue and flowed down her throat in deep, hungry gulps. Agatha wasn't sure what she had been expecting. As a child, she'd once fallen and bitten straight through her bottom lip. Through the pain, the blood had tasted salty. Unpleasant. But now, here where she feasted, it was like honey straight from the comb. This wasn't the putrid taste from animal gore. No. No, this was far, far delectable.

"Agatha."

A hand clamped down on her shoulder but Agatha ignored it, choosing instead to keep suckling away at whatever remained of her victim. The grip, though gentle, tightened slightly causing an unanticipated low grumble to escape from deep within the former nun's throat. Finally, she sat up, blood dripping unceremoniously down her chin. She blinked, slightly confused for a moment as she began to take in her surroundings once more. Dracula smiled fondly at her, an almost proud sort of expression. Agatha blinked again and, looking from the dead man to her lover, quickly wiped away at her chin in slight embarrassment.

"I must admit I am quite impressed." The Count mused, admiring her handy work. "You took to it much better than I had anticipated." He ran a hand through her hair, his dark eyes flickering away from the body. "Now might I interest you in some dessert?"

The blood that bubbled around the entry wound on the woman's neck was already blackening with clots when Agatha arose to her feet. With great care, the younger vampire made her way over, careful not to step on the crumpled body. The lady gazed up at her with grey, uncertain eyes, each breath more raspier than the prior. Perhaps she didn't see the act Agatha had just committed, or was too out of it to even fully absorb what had occurred.

"Scared…" It was about all Agatha could clearly make out. "Please…"

Ignoring what Dracula could possibly be thinking, his Bride gingerly sat on the ground and cradled the woman like one does a babe. Her skin was grey, cold as what little blood left stuck to Agatha like a paste. A waste, she knew, but her own needs were none of her current concerns. She held the woman close, as best as one could for both being around the same height.

"There is nothing to fear." The former nun said softly, her eyes locked onto the woman's. "Soon there will be no pain. No horror. Be at peace with your Savior. Go now with God."

Her pulse stopped and Agatha watched the woman's chest rise and fall one more time before all with still. Gently, she closed both eyelids, covering the irises that reflected the moonlight like glass. She turned her head to see Dracula watching her, his expression hard to read. Chewing on the inside of her cheek, she lowered the woman back down onto the ground and rose to her feet.

"She didn't deserve to die like that." Agatha finally said, not turning to meet the vampire's gaze. "No matter what you say, I made the right call."

The Count exhaled. "I take it you know your way enough to start walking back towards the direction of the castle?" Agatha merely nodded and Dracula cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose then I'll clean up for tonight. We can make that a lesson for another day." He smiled, trying to lighten the tension. "You did well, Agatha. Give yourself some credit. We'll have to celebrate amongst ourselves."

Dracula kissed her cheek and Agatha forced a small smile. She tried not to look at the two bodies as her mate gave her hand a small squeeze. Though she physically hadn't felt this great in a long while, the repercussions of what she had done had struck her hard.

Honestly, she quite yearned for the vampire's company as she followed the trail that led back to their home. Right now, the idea of being alone wasn't all that pleasant. Then again, crushing the chest of a human to prevent it from turning was far less appealing. So she went by memory, trying to push past what she had done until the castle was in sight.

"Foolish, foolish…" She thought to herself, the brush and stone crunching under her feet. "Just let it slip away. If there is some higher power that thinks I have done some good enough to deserve the least bit of mercy, allow me to forget for a few precious moments."

A humorless chuckle escaped from between her lips. At least Dracula hadn't called her out on her biblical speech. That had taken her by some surprise. But as a nun, the dying always seemed calmed by the idea that God awaited for them with open arms and complete, forgiving nature. She hadn't quite understood that. Then again, she hadn't quite understood much of that the more she considered it.

A pair of arms wound themselves around her waist just as Agatha reached the top of a hill. Dracula pressed his face into the crook of her neck and inhaled. She could smell the heavy scent of blood on him, though it was far from pleasant. Corpse blood never did have the same effect she was beginning to pick up.

"You walk too terribly slow." He murmured against her skin. "If I were a fox and you were a rabbit, you'd be dead."

"Always lovely with your analogies." Agatha snorted, rolling her eyes. "And we both know I'm too wise to be a rabbit." She paused, hesitation in her voice. "Is it done?"

"As I've said before," Dracula turned the former nun so that she now faced him. "You are my true bride. I have no intention to turn others." Her eyes narrowed, pressing him for a better form of confirmation. "Yes. You have nothing to worry about." The Count exclaimed, admiring her in the moonlight. "Have I told you how ravishing you look tonight?"

Forget. Forget. Agatha gazed up into his dark eyes, taking in the lust and excitement that they held. She could taste the thief lingering on her tongue. Feel the dried blood from the innocent woman against her skin and on her clothes. Forget. Forget. She wanted to block it out. And here stood Dracula. Completely unaware, far too focused on what he thought was right. Was okay. In that moment, she needed him to help her forget. Wanted him to make her forget.

"Then show me." She whispered, his eyebrow quirked in surprise as she moved his arms to the straps of her dress. "You tell me I'm exquisite, but words have no meaning over actions." Agatha locked eyes with him. "Take me here. Right now."

Dracula's lips curled into a smile. "I did not realize how much tonight meant to you."

A blur of emotions. A tidal wave of feelings. Agatha bit her lower lip, glancing once at the night sky before back at her lover. They still had time. A few hours before dawn. They'd make it back. She just needed to be distracted. If just for a little while. Forget.

Agatha forced her second smile of the night. "Then let me show you."

#Dracula #Dracula 2020 #Dragatha #Agatha Van Helsing #BBC Dracula #Dracula x Agatha #Bad Moon Rising

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topaziraphale · 3 years

Note

Any good nsfw aus or multi-chapter recs? I’m in dire need for Top Azira content 💕

There aren't actually many AU'S that I read. However, there are a few that have really caught my eye. I only have 4 stories for you here. Unfortunately none these are finished yet as of the time I'm answering this, and I don’t recommend WIPS on the off-chance they never get completed, but these are honestly just too good not to share. All fics listed are rated E on Ao3.

Getting Sacked by vgersix

Office-romance AU, where Aziraphale and Crowley are both humans that work in a London building for a major conglomerate. Crowley is introduced to the world of BDSM and explores submission with his new boss, Mr. Fell, who is an experienced Dominant. But kink is not the only kind of work Fell is hiding from his colleagues...

This story is unfortunately unfinished, and will not be continued. But I recommend this anyway because I think, not only is it a good read, it's also includes education on the nuances of queerness beyond the typical cis gay experience, and for kink, debunking some misconceptions about the practice. Crowley is gnc and queer (also implied/most likely nonbinary), and Aziraphale is explicitly asexual. Okay so I'm probably cheating by putting this fic here since it's strictly D/s and not top/bottom like you asked, but I can't help it, this is too good not to recommend.

Push(ing) Down on Me by raiining

This work is directly inspired by the fic above. Detective AU! Crowley is a D.I. investigating a human trafficking ring in London. When the Interpol gets involved with his case, he finds himself going on a deep undercover mission to infiltrate a BDSM scene with Interpol agent Fell, in order to expose something even bigger than they were initially going for. But Crowley hardly has an idea of what he's gotten himself into.

This is, just, really kinky, and I like it a lot. This might sound weird but it's sort of like a porny action movie, but, you know, with actual good production. For anyone that loves exhibitionism and/or knifeplay, THIS one is for you. The fic is actually done for the most part at the time of posting this! Just needs a finale epilogue chapter.

Rough Enough for Love by nekhen

Fake-dating-turned-real-dating human AU. Anathema sets Crowley up with one of her friends so that he won't have to attend a family wedding alone. Of course they end up catching feelings for each other.

This is a behemoth of a work, already past the 300k mark and going still. I don't even know where to begin with OP's writing. Their prose, their diction, their similes and metaphors and-- everything! Is just so incredible. The smut is scorching hot and the feelings, my god the emotions, are so intense and raw and so real. This really is a long, intricately thought-out story of two people in their middle age finding love after living most of their lives having failed at it. If the phrase "Gentle Dom Aziraphale" appeals to you, you have to give this one a shot. This Aziraphale is such an incredibly gentle soul and I love him SO so much.

Stitch Me Up by get_wrexed

Hospital AU! I’ll let fic’s actual description take care of the plot summary, because there’s no way I can cover just a small amount with anything less than a small essay. I’m just here to praise the amount of subject matter covered and how well it’s done. This fic tackles many different heavy subjects, and the biggest one by far is living and coping with mental illnesses and the trauma that comes with it.

I’ll keep it real, this one gets heavy. This fic does not sugarcoat its subject matter. The highs are high, and the lows are low. But this is ultimately NOT a sad story, not by a long shot, not from what I can see so far. It’s an inspiring story. There is a beautiful balance between the good times and the bad times, much like they are in real life. Every single update is nothing short of a delight and a highlight of my day.

~~~

(NOTE: For the last two stories on the list, there are a few occasions where a/c do actually switch, but the power dynamic remains the same. As in, Aziraphale is only ever a Dominant bottom and Crowley is only ever a submissive service top. I like it a lot, but I can see why those of you that followed this blog might not be interested in that. So there’s the heads up.)

#derpy answers #fic recs #good omens fic recs #good omens nsft #top aziraphale #anonymous #bottom crowley #will i ever not spend entire paragraphs hyping a fic up? the answer is no

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aye-write · 3 years

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Summary: Research student Isla Reid has been fascinated with the legend of the Kildonian Chessmen - a trio of mythical Pokemon rumoured to have lived centuries ago on the remote region of Kildo - for as long as she can remember. So, when a museum exhibit on the Chessmen is set to open in Kildo’s Hydrogate City, coinciding with her independent research project, she packs herself and her trusty partner Furret onto the long ferry journey bound for this new region.

However, when she arrives in Kildo, thoughts of her research, new friends, and an entire Pokedex’s worth of new Pokemon, are quickly dashed. Kildo is a troubled place, beset by natural disasters and fierce rivalries among its people. Isla suddenly finds herself at the centre of a centuries-old plot to invoke the wrath of the Chessmen, and is set on a race against time to stop them, before it spells destruction for the entire region.

Other Links: Read it on Ao3!

Tags: OC Pokemon journey, OC region, Fakemon region, bisexual main character, found family, ace main character.

If you are not interested in these posts, especially as I know Pokemon journeyfic is fairly niche, please blacklist the tag #Checkmate. Most of the story will be put under a Readmore anyway!

Author’s Note: If you’re interested in more information, exclusive updates, character art, and teasers for this fic, please consider following its sister tumblr @kildo-pokedex!

This was another chonker chapter at 4.5k that I didn’t anticipate being this long at all! The joys of plantsing, eh? I had hoped to reveal the starters this chapter, but that’s being bumped to next update. In the meantime, please enjoy the reveal of Brootser, and the partial reveals of Weldeon, Ampster and Coastrot!

*****

Chapter Three

Despite everything, night rolled over the Whispering Pine Croft.

After hours battling insomnia, Isla stole downstairs not long after the clock in the hallway chimed midnight. Goosepimples erupted on her skin, the air chilling her to the core. Clicking on the floor lamp, she cast her gaze around the living room. A rickety bookshelf took up most of one wall, covered in dust and trinkets. It didn’t take her long to strike gold.

The Etymological Dictionary of Old Kildonian, 1981 Edition.

Sitting at the old coffee table, she spread out her books and copies of the Old Kildonian script until there wasn’t an inch of space left. Then she opened the dictionary and started to read. She read, moving between dictionary and text, until her eyes strained in the dim light of the lamp, and the words on the page turned into incomprehensible squiggles. Just keep going, she told herself, as she marked off another decoded word. Just keep going. Just keep going. Just keep—

“Isla?”

Isla slammed the book shut. The noise seemed to echo forever in the quiet of the living room. The intruder snapped on the main light and Isla blinked foolishly as everything illuminated around her. It was Blair at the door, swaddled in an enormous red dressing gown and a pinched look on his face.

“What are you doing down here?” he asked, pulling his dressing gown tighter. “You’ll catch your death of cold.”

“I’m… I’m not doing anything,” Isla said, trying to collect the papers together, position her body over them, anything to hide them from sight.

“Really? You look like a student trying to panic revise a whole subject the night before an exam,” he chuckled, plopping himself in the seat opposite. “Come on. What’s up?”

Isla sighed. What was the point in lying? “I’m just trying to make some sense of these texts.”

Blair glanced at the clock above the fireplace. “At half two in the morning?”

“I couldn’t sleep. This presentation is doing my head in.” When Blair frowned, she added, “My supervisor asked me to update them with all the “progress” I’ve mad so far. Of course, I haven’t made any yet.”

“So, you’re trying to decode all these old books with…. an out-of-date Kildonian dictionary?”

“I found it in the bookcase. I thought it might help.”

“I’m pretty sure that book is older than me. Please don’t tell me you’re taking it word-by-word.”

“More or less.”

“You’ll be there months trying to sort all that lot.”

“I don’t have any other choice,” Isla’s voice cracked. “Everyone is hounding me. I can’t let this come undone. They’ll pull approval of my project and fail me if I don’t keep jumping through all their hoops.”

“Why is the legend of the Chessmen so important to you?”

Isla hesitated. It was an innocent enough question, but the thought of answering it felt like ripping her chest open and exposing the beating heart underneath. “Well...” she started, cringing at how stupid it all sounded in her head. “When I was little, I was kinda lonely. I didn’t have siblings. Or friends, really,”

Blair made a sympathetic noise.

“No, it’s okay. I wasn’t that bothered by it,” Isla lied. “But because I didn’t have many friends, I naturally leant towards books instead. And I loved fiction, like adventure stories and that, but I felt so much more connected to things that were actually real.”

Blair nodded. “Understandable.”

“Anyway, one Christmas, I got this book. I think it was called Myths and Legends of the Pokemon World and it had all the origin stories of all the legendary Pokemon from like… every region in the world. God, I ate up every single story - how Arceus created the world, the theory that all Pokemon came from Mew in some way, how Groudon and Kyogre created the land and sea. I was absolutely hooked. Then, right at the end, there were a couple of small articles devoted to a place called Kildo.”

“Typical,” Blair muttered. “Always playing second fiddle to the big guns.”

“The book explained a little bit about the legend of the Chessmen. I was just… amazed at how these Pokemon brought humans these gifts of technology and arts and whatnot and how advanced the region was for its time. And then when I read what happened next, well… I just wanted to know why. Why did the Chessmen take away what they gave the humans? What happened to them after they became dormant? I was obsessed. When I was younger, I had this stupid dream that I would like… Oh, it sounds so cheesy now, but… like solve the mystery of what happened all those years ago.”

“It’s not cheesy, Isla. Dreams are never cheesy.”

Isla bit the inside of her cheek. “I know that. It’s just… well, this legend has been everything to me for years. I’m not bigheaded enough now to think someone like me could ever solve it. But I’d love to find something. Even if it’s just standing in the same place these Pokemon stood once, all those years ago. But now it feels like it’s slipping away from me. I won’t be able to do anything unless I get these texts translated.”

“They’re well-known texts, right? Haven’t they already been translated?”

“The only translations that exist are locked behind online paywalls,” Isla sighed. “Not exactly within my budget. The originals were family owned. I suppose you can’t blame them for wanting them kept safe.”

“Could the university not pay for you to access them?”

“Not my department. They already think the project isn’t worth the time. They’re usually into social changes, modern day life, that sort of thing. Mythology doesn’t get a look in. Even though I changed my project a bit – focusing more on how the mythology influences modern life, with the Chessmen more of like a case study – the department still don’t want much to do with it.”

“Well, that’s their loss. Your project sounds fascinating just from what I’ve seen of it.”

“This little bit you’ve seen might end up being all it ever amounts to. With Nana Morag in the hospital, my options for translations are limited, and these old texts are all I have to help me piece together where the Chessmen might be.”

Silence unfurled around them. Isla stared down at her lap, her legs shaking and her mouth dry. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d ever talked so much about herself and she found that she couldn’t quite bring herself to look Blair in the eye.

“I think I might know someone.”

Isla pricked her head up. “Really?” she said, hope throbbing in her chest.

“I have a friend who lives in Inverbrook. It’s not a huge city, but they do have a subsect of Tideburgh University there. He’s doing a Masters in Language and mentioned being involved with an elective on Old Kildonian. I can contact him for you. He might be able to help.”

Something surged through Isla like she’d just taken a shot of adrenaline. “Oh, Blair, thank you! That’s amazing!”

“No guarantees, of course!” he said, spreading his hands hastily. “He might not know enough of it to be a proper help. But he may be able to put you in touch with some other folks who can help, if that makes sense.”

“It does. A lot of sense. Thank you again.” Isla paused. “Where is Inverbrook?”

“Pretty much directly south of here. About forty odd miles or so. Following routes 29 through 26 pretty much leads you right there. Public transport is crap, though, so you’re better walking most of it. Shouldn’t take much more than a couple of days if you’re…”

He paused. Isla knew what he wanted to say. If you’re fit. Women like her weren’t supposed to be fit. And even though the thought of days of walking filled her with equal parts apprehension and dread, she forced a look of determination onto her face.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I can handle it.”

Isla shared the news that she would be leaving in the morning as they sat down at the kitchen table. Kenneth and Skye stayed quiet, barely reacting to the news, but Rhona’s face crumpled.

“Oh, chick, are you sure?”

“I think it’s probably for the best,” Isla said. “I don’t want to be a burden, especially with you guys having your hands full with the croft and Nana Morag being ill. Having a guest is too much on top of everything. I really do appreciate everything you’ve all done, but I think it’s best that I head towards Inverbrook and start my research properly.”

A strange expression passed over Rhona’s face, one that Isla couldn’t make sense of. For several terrifying moments, she thought she’d offended her.

“You wouldn’t be a burden on us, Isla,” Rhona eventually said, her eyes brimming. “We’d happily have you here for as long as you want. It’s been lovely having you.”

Isla felt something in her heart buckle.

“We do understand that your studies have to come first. But… you said you wanted to go to Inverbrook?”

“Yes. Blair is going to put me in touch with a friend of his there that might be able to help me with some translations.”

“It might not be as easy as you think, chick. I’ve just been watching the local news. There was flooding down south. The river that goes through Route 27, which connects Port Glen to Inverbrook, burst its banks. The whole route is submerged. No-one can go through. It’s completely impassable.”

You wouldn’t have said the entire of Port Glen had only just recently been battered by a storm, Isla thought, as she set off down towards the harbour after a filling breakfast. The morning sky pinkened gently, like a mother’s embrace, and golden threads of sun drifted through soft, watercolour clouds. A cool wind kept the worst of the heat at bay as she walked. All in all, it was a fairly pleasant experience. Well, as pleasant an experience as walking would ever be.

It was Rhona that had suggested trying the ferry. She couldn’t be sure what passenger routes they ran from Port Glen, or if they only did international and goods shipments, but it was a better option than waiting the potential weeks for the Inverbrook route to be cleared or taking the (extremely) long way around the whole region.

Breathing heavily and sweating despite the brisk ocean breeze, Isla stopped to catch her breath as she arrived at the harbour. She cast her gaze around hopefully. It was quiet. Too quiet. Not a good sign in the least. Aside from the occasional sailor pacing the docks, and the sharp, cutting cry of seabirds, the place was still and silent.

The thought of asking someone to help sent panic crashing through her like waves in a storm, but there was no other choice. The best option rested with a nearby sailor, busily looping ropes and picking apart complicated knots. A Pokemon stood at his side. Squat, muscular, with short brown fur, flecked with white, and cut into a stout triangle pattern, it was another one that Isla didn’t recognise. Every now and again, the sailor tossed it a particularly difficult-looking knot of rope, which the Pokemon expertly shredded with sharp, curved claws.

“Brootser, the Pelting Pokemon. The evolved form of Brogue. With incredibly sharp claws and powerful jaws, Brootser are highly aggressive and territorial. Even against much stronger foes, it won’t back down easily,” her Pokedex chirruped.

Isla’s hand tightened around Soba’s Pokeball as she read more details. A Fighting type. A second evolution. Being a Furret, Soba wouldn’t stand much chance in a fair fight, much less an unfair one. While she did generally feel more comfortable approaching a fellow Pokemon owner, she probably could have stood to pick one with a less terrifying partner.

All the same, she approached the sailor, keeping herself primed like a coiled spring. “Excuse me? I was wondering if you could help me with something?”

The sailor had a strong, lined face, but he didn’t seem anywhere near as intimidating when he relaxed into a smile. “Sure,” he boomed. “What can I do for you?”

“Are there going to be any sailings from this port in the next few days? Anywhere that lands near Inverbrook?”

The Brootser, distracted from its work with the knots, pressed its wet nose against Isla’s hand. Isla let out an involuntary squeak.

“Brootser, stop that!” the sailor said firmly. “Sorry, miss. He’s obsessed with leather. Have you got leather in your handbag or anything? Your shoes? I swear, he can sniff it out within a mile. I have to keep him distracted at work otherwise he’d never leave people alone. Here, Brootser, go and do this for me.”

The sailor tossed a section of rope a few feet down the docks. The Brootser growled, a deep throaty rumble, before dropping to all fours and pursuing. Within moments, the rope was ripped to little more than fibres.

Isla searched for something to say. She eventually settled on, “He’s cute.”

“He’s a menace is what he is,” the sailor said, wiping his brow. “Anyway, you were asking about the ferries? Unfortunately, the passenger ferry was badly damaged in that storm two nights ago and won’t be running any routes for a while.”

“How long is a while?” Isla asked nervously.

“We’re waiting for some metal workers to come down from Hydrogate. They’re delayed because their Weldeon team were exhausted after a big job in the ironworks. Currently we’re looking at about a week.”

“A week?”

“I’m afraid so. If you go to reception and leave your details, they’ll be able to contact you as soon as we know when the sailings will be going ahead.”

“Aren’t there any other options?”

The sailor considered. “Not here. But if you’re set on sailing and you could get to Dewbrae Town, I think they’re still running sailings.”

“Where’s Dewbrae Town? Is it close?”

“It’s up past Aberdrip City, which is an hour’s drive north of here. Then you have to pass through Aberdrip Forest and that brings you out just at Dewbrae. Maybe a couple of days walking if you keep a steady pace,” he paused, and Isla felt his eyes rake her body. “Maybe a couple more. But, if you’re in a hurry, it’s better than waiting around here. Everything’s very up in the air at the moment.”

Isla thanked the sailor, trying to ignore the heavy feeling that came over her. Why was this so difficult? She’d encountered disaster at every turn so far and, in her darkest moments, she couldn’t deny wondering if it was even worth it to keep going. Nana Morag ill, no passage to Inverbrook through Route 27, no ferry from the Port Glen docks, now she had to go all the way to Dewbrae – wherever that was – on nothing more than a possibility?

But what could she do? What other options did she have?

Rhona would know what to do, Isla decided. She had a way of sorting things out, an uncanny level-headedness her own mother didn’t have. That’s what she’d do. She’d head back to the croft and take stock of the situation. She started walking, thoughts whirling through her head like the flapping of birds’ wings. Maybe there was another way to Inverbrook. They knew the region better than she ever would. Maybe they could—

“WIIIIING!”

Isla gasped and swore as her foot trod on something soft. With a gust of cold air, the offending thing burst upwards and pain erupted at the top of her head. Sharp, pointed talons dug into her scalp and she yelped in pain.

“Gull! Gull!” her assailant screeched; each squawk accompanied by a swift peck to the head.

Isla’s hands closed around her attacker’s soft wriggling body. With all her might, she tore it from her head and tossed it as far as she could manage. But the Pokemon swooped back into the air, seemingly unharmed, fixing Isla with a glare that sent a tremble down her spine.

“Gull! Wingull!” it shrieked.

Recognition dropped into Isla’s belly like a stone. It was a Kildonian Wingull. The same Kildonian Wingull that had attacked Rhona the day Isla got off the ferry. At least, it certainly looked like the same one – she could hardly call herself an expert on them – but it was roughly the same size and had the same high-pitched squawk. And didn’t the Pokedex say that Kildonian Wingull only attacked people who had food? Isla didn’t have a single crumb on her. So what other motive could it possibly have for attacking her?

Isla reached for the Pokeball at her waist, panicked fingers scrabbling for the catch. But the Wingull screeched again, diving into a tackle. The impact came low in her stomach, knocking the air from her lungs and leaving her doubled over. The second blow sent her off-balance and stumbling, eventually crashing to the ground where the pain came in sharp spikes. With a fury of feathers, the Pokemon ripped Isla’s bag away from her.

“Hey!” She wheezed. “There’s nothing in there for you!”

Her protests were rewarded with a face full of frigid water.

By the time Isla had sluiced the water from her face, the Wingull had unhooked the bag’s clasp and was digging around in her things. Hairbrush and deodorant were both ignored, the coin purse in the shape of a Quagsire got an inquisitive gnaw but ultimately left in favour of a pen, which lasted a whole thirty seconds until it splintered and was promptly spat back out.

Every inhale felt like she was being stabbed underneath the ribs, but she still forced herself to move. “Leave my things alone! There’s no food in there!”

Wingull had wriggled itself right into the bottom of the bag and had pulled out an old emergency kit that Isla had nearly forgotten about. Most of the items had already been used or dumped over the years she’d had it, leaving only a couple of travel sized Potions, a Repel Kit, and a Poke Doll, wrapped up in a worn-out bag. The Wingull squawked indignantly and decapitated the doll in one fell swoop. Then it turned back on the travel bag, scraping around and tearing at it with its beak.

Something dropped out. Isla’s heart plummeted to somewhere near her feet.

It was a Pokeball. An old Pokeball scratched and grimy with age. A Pokeball that Isla had all but forgotten about ever since she made the decision to train just Soba all those years ago. A Pokeball that was now right in the Kildonian Wingull’s line of sight.

She saw it happening before it actually did. The hungry Wingull viewed the Pokeball as nothing more than a shiny, tasty snack. It darted forward, opened its beak wide, and engulfed the old capsule. Isla prayed that the ten year old ball would turn out to be too old to work anymore, and the worst thing to happen would be the Wingull hacking it back up again. But the Pokeball made a shrill shiiing noise as it made contact with Wingull’s beak, and the Pokemon disappeared in a flash of blue light.

The Pokeball shook. Once. Twice. Three times. Then it was still.

And Isla had caught a Kildonian Wingull.

Isla told the story of her accidental Wingull capture to an appreciative audience when she got back from the docks. And then again over sandwiches at lunchtime. While Soba curled up in the corner next to the radiator, oblivious to this new teammate, Isla released Wingull for the nerve-wracking job of introductions and feeding time. Rhona’s eyebrows rose so high that they practically disappeared into her hairline, but she didn’t protest.

“I can’t believe it’s the same one,” Rhona said, eyeing her half-eaten sandwich she was planning on saving for later. “Most try their luck once and then move on.”

“I think it’s young,” Blair said, lifting its wing to get a better look. “Perhaps separated from its mum too early. Maybe it doesn’t know any better.”

“I didn’t mean to catch it,” Isla sighed. “I’d forgotten all about that old Pokeball. We were always told to carry an extra one or two, even if we never intended to catch Pokemon, like for emergencies and that.”

“It must have been starving if it thought a Pokeball was food. Or maybe just exceptionally stupid.”

“Jury’s out on that one,” Isla said, as the Wingull pecked at a Tauros shaped pepper shaker.

“Kildonian Wingull are incredibly food oriented,” Blair lifted his plate to avoid the Pokemon’s frantically flapping wings. “Most of the bird Pokemon around here are.”

“Why is that?”

“Competition. Because there’s so many, they all compete for the same natural resources. That’s part of why people think Wingull adapted for Kildo the way they did. They couldn’t compete for most of the natural food, so they evolved to take food from humans instead. Problem is, they end up thinking all food is fair game. Hey, watch it! No! That’s mine!”

Isla suppressed a chuckle as Wingull lunged for the crusts on Blair’s sandwiches. In the kerfuffle of squawking and feathers, Isla looked over at Skye, who hadn’t said a word through the entire of lunch. Her face was screwed up.

“Skye? Are you alright?” Isla asked.

Skye made an odd strangling noise, pushed herself back from the chair, and ran for the stairs, each one thudding under her feet. A moment later, a door slammed.

“Did I say something wrong?” Isla said, horrified.

“No, not at all,” Rhona said, rescuing a glass of juice that had been upended when Skye left the table. “She’s just a bit upset. We were supposed to be going up to meet Professor Spruce tomorrow to get her trainer’s license and first Pokemon. But because Nana Morag is in hospital, I have to be here in case something comes up on short notice, and I just can’t spare the time to take Skye up to Aberdrip City. She’ll only be delayed for a few days, but the poor lass was so looking forward to it. Especially when she’s had to wait so much longer than everyone else.”

“Why’s that?”

It was only after she asked the question that she considered it might have been rude. Or none of her business. Too late to save herself now, though. Rhona’s face tightened, her mouth puckering like she was sucking on a sour lemon.

“Sorry,” Isla looked down at the table. “I shouldn’t be nosy.”

The kitchen fell quiet. Rhona let out a deep, juddering exhale and sat back down, folding her hands into her lap, the kitchen suddenly feeling about ten degrees colder. Isla took a sip of water, her mouth and throat turning to chalk.

“Skye had childhood cancer.” The words didn’t even get a chance to settle before they were tumbling out again, like Rhona was trying to get them all out at once. Like they couldn’t hurt her as much that way. “She spent most of her childhood in hospital with leukaemia.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” Once again Isla found herself cursing both her mother and herself for not bothering to find any of this information out beforehand.

Rhona shook her head. “It’s alright, chick. We don’t talk about it much. Besides, she’s been in remission for a year now. But she’s missed out on so much school and she gets tired so easily.”

There was nothing Isla could say that would be enough. She had to settle for, “I’m sorry to hear that…” and hope Rhona could somehow understand just how much she meant it.

“There was a time when she was being treated that she became very low and very depressed. It was frightening. I’ve never been so worried in all my life. We were scared she was just… giving up. Then, one day, they had some Pokemon trainers visit the hospital. A lot of children there would never be able to go out training. Some wouldn’t even… you know, live to see their next birthday.”

Rhona’s voice wavered. Blair put his hand over hers and squeezed. “Easy, Mum. Don’t go upsetting yourself now.”

“One of the trainers was assigned to Skye,” Rhona continued. “But she was so quiet and so withdrawn that we didn’t think the trainer could get through to her. The trainer had this Pokemon with her – Ampster, I think it was – and it was like a light turned on behind Skye’s eyes when she saw it. I saw glimpses of my daughter again. This trainer stayed with her for hours. Just talking. She’s wanted to be a Pokemon trainer ever since. And I hate that so many things keep getting in her way.”

Rhona sunk her head into her hands. Her shoulders quivered.

Isla felt terrible. No wonder Skye had been quiet during the whole of lunch. How stupid had she been? Skye was being kept from her dream of being a Pokemon trainer and she’d waltzed into their kitchen showing off a Pokemon she hadn’t even meant to catch? It made Isla’s toes curl just thinking about it.

“Could Skye not make the journey on her own?” she asked.

“No,” Rhona lifted her head again, looking pale even at the thought. “She’s not fit enough. We were going to rent a car and drive her, but…”

“Could I take her?”

The offer slipped past Isla’s lips before she knew what she was doing. Rhona looked at her in mild shock, her mouth slowly gaping open.

“I mean, I’ll be passing through Aberdrip anyway!” Isla continued. “One of the sailors said I could get the ferry from Dewbrae Town which is just past Aberdrip, right?. I could take her along with me.”

“Gosh, that’s very kind of you, chick. And I’m sure Skye would love it,” Rhona said, nervously glancing at the stairs. “But I’m not comfortable with her making the trip back on her own. Or even just the amount of walking she’d have to do.”

“I could go with them,” Blair said.

Rhona looked at her son like she’d only just remembered he existed. “What’s that, honey?”

“I could go with them,” he repeated. “We could put Skye on Coastrot. That’s my partner Pokemon,” he added for Isla’s benefit. “He’s strong enough to carry her and we can keep her nicely bundled up. Then once Isla heads off to Dewbrae, I can take Skye back.”

“I don’t know,” Rhona said. “We need you here too.”

“Mum, it’s a day. Maybe two, tops, if we let Skye rest overnight. You and Dad can manage that long, right? You could ask a couple of the lads from the market to pitch in if you really need to. I’m sure they’d work for a hot pie and some cash in hand. And you don’t need to worry about us. We won’t do anything silly. We’ll just get Skye her Pokemon, check in for the night, see Isla off to Dewbrae the next morning and head back ourselves. Easy-peasy!”

Rhona still didn’t look convinced. “It’s such a long way, though. She’s not been away overnight in such a long time.”

“It’s a few hours of travelling, Mum. You said it yourself, Skye’s already missed out on so much. It might not feel like much for us, but for Skye, it’s her whole life. One delay after the other. And with everything the way it is right now, what if there’s just more delays? More reasons not to take her? You have to let her.”

Rhona went very quiet, her face pale.

“I’ll look after her, Mum,” Blair said. “She needs this.”

“I know you will. And I know she does,” Rhona heaved a sigh. “She’s not my little baby anymore. She’s growing up.”

“I’d like to go.”

Everyone jumped at the voice that came in from the doorway. Rhona wiped her eyes. “Oh, Skye, honey, sorry. I didn’t hear you come down. Are you okay?”

“I think I can do it,” Skye ignored her mother’s question. Her voice was louder this time, but still hesitant, like she was testing out its limits. “I want to go get my Pokemon and I’d like Blair and Coastrot to take me. And Isla,” she added, and Isla felt a smile curve onto her face. “If that’s okay with you?”

Silence widened like a chasm between mother and daughter and for one horrible moment, Isla half-expected Rhona to turn away, to start shouting, to deny her flat out. But then tears spilled out of Rhona’s eyes and her whole face softened.

“Yes, honey,” Rhona said, her voice little more than a whisper. “Yes, that’ll be okay with me.”

As they hugged, Isla felt a stray tear prick at the corner of her eye. The emotion surprised her. Yes, it was touching to see a mother and daughter hug and reconcile, but something told her it went deeper. As she looked out at the dying sky, strewn with deepening orange and slicks of black, something unsettled itself in her heart.

Tomorrow she would be leaving Port Glen. Tomorrow she would leave behind a family unit where she felt accepted. Tomorrow she would start her journey to Inverbrook.

She didn’t know which one felt scarier.

#checkmate #pokemon oc fiction #pokemon fanfiction #fakemon #fakemon fanfiction #long post #fanfiction

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mailorderfictionalcharacter · 3 years

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to love & be loved

@startreksecretsanta and @spinifex-ao3, I present my humble gift for the 2020 Secret Santa Exchange.

to love & be loved is a Raffi-centric short fic. It can be read on AO3 here, or below the cut.

There was this thing Raffi's therapist recommended. She said that we tend to view mental ailments as a result of a singular issue, when that was not the case. This isn't unique to the so-called mental conditions; physical ailments are always the result of multiple convergent factors, many of them largely outside of our control. Whether you break a bone running down a corridor depends on the gravity levels, the angle, your physical ability to catch yourself (or not), your species' biological attributes, and so on. But because the bone is easier to fix, we don't place as much value on all these could-have-happeneds.

So her therapist recommended that she looks at her alcoholism, even at the collapse of her family, and traces its lineage. To assemble the history in whatever way she preferred; a narrative, an artwork, a quasi-scientific graph, a mission report. Raffi tried and failed.

She ended up with a start chart of the Milky way, no, too big, zooming into a few classic earth constellations. She grabbed her stylus and pulled it across the screen, trying to connect disparate factors.

Childhood??? --- > my son --- > my husband left me

kicked out of starfleet --- > Starfleet = War?

Starfleet = JL? -- > betrayal?

She couldn't talk about any of it. She brought in a star chart with a handful of annotations explaining her biggest failures and regrets. She could barely explain why she wrote them down without crying, her hand itching for the phantom weight of a glass, even filled with water. So mapping the lineage of her alcoholism & her life became their goal. The implication being that you cannot fight a monster you cannot name.

***

Raffi's therapist was an Andorian woman with deep blue skin, almost an indigo tone. She was tall and friendly in a way that was sometimes clean and professional and sometimes cute and childish. On Earth, she took the name of Julia for some of her clients. Her actual name was J''ul/sth, but more humans were able to pronounce the vowels in Julia, so Julia it is. Julia was a fiercely intellectual woman and would cater her services to different conceptions of what it means to be mentally unwell. She was familiar with centuries of earth, Betazoid, and Andorian theories of mental illness, many of which weren't even addressed within the medical model preferred by Starfleet. Even in her darkest hours, Raffi could barely think a negative thought about Julia; her competence, her expertise was... illuminating.

For someone who had been judged by her own spouse as incapable, for someone who struggled to take care of her hair or to sweep a floor, it was intoxicating to have this brilliant woman focused solely on her for an hour each week. Julia never condescended. She had this assured confidence that Raffi was an interesting person, still worth talking to. It was the sort of thing that could give you hope, if you let yourself believe. It was also the sort of thing Raffi fucked up.

***

Julia was not a believer in abstinence from alcohol as the definition as sobriety. She pointed to it as an outdated Earth concept that had far too long of a shelf life for the evidence behind it. She encouraged Raffi to define her own boundaries about what substance use or lack thereof meant. And Raffi remembered when she could go to a bar for the music and the sensory experience of one or three Saurian brandies without the all consuming urge, twisting under her skin, telling her to escape from her life. And that was their goal. But Raffi didn't tell Julia which bar. She went to a local bar, one that straddled the line between bar and pub and played live music, an eclectic mix of whoever was willing to play for cheap, across genres, cultures, and species. Tonight was a young human teen, not a singer. They were remixing Vulcan instrumental music, very peaceful and precise, with bright and happy sounds. It was almost gauche, the way the emotions would intercut through the melodies. The sort of thing that art and music journals would comment on, asking if it was subversion or a childish rebellion, a blending of cultures or a mocking. The sort of thing that goes good with brandy.

And it was good. It was good for an hour, slowly nursing two drinks. It was good until she saw her, walking in kind of tipsy, skin flushed a warm blue. Surrounded by friends, bar hopping. On a youthful adventure. She felt ashamed, in that moment. That this woman half her age was supposed to be giving her advice, pretending to listen to her problems. That she could never be one of those friends, all so young, with a world to explore.

When Julia caught her eye, she walked over to say hello. And when Julia's friends asked her who she was, Raffi called herself a friend; not a client, not a patient. She doesn't know what it says that Julia didn't correct her; probably that outing a client was a breach of professional ethics. Raffi has more brandy, to wash away the deception, the feeling of herself as lecherous and pathetic and weak.

Raffi wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, entangled in long blue limbs. For a moment, this brings her happiness. The idea that she was wanted, that the woman who knew so much about her made love to her.

It was only for a moment.

She shifted out of the bed, cautiously. She left to the sound of gentle snoring and the feeling of breeze and slick on her public hair.

She didn't go back to therapy, after that.

She met Benjamin Sisko, Emissary to the Prophets and legendary war hero, at a Starfleet Intelligence conference. It was near the end of her career; there wasn't much longer she could hold onto the idea of the person she used to be, of whatever Starfleet begged from her. There were always threats on the horizon and she had become numb to it all. But Sisko interested her.

In a way, his life was quite possibly her worst nightmare. The idea of being essentially forced into a religion because, by the way, you are now an important figure in our religion and its impact on interstellar politics... what a nightmare. That wasn't mentioning being pulled out of linear time by powerful aliens worshipped as gods. At least -

At least when Q had showed up that one time, JL and him had a bit of a rapport.

But he didn't seem unhappy. She was used to seeing the haunted faces at conferences, as people who were raised in peace and sent out to explore ended up soldiers for war. Starfleet Intelligence was different, it attracted a more cynical bunch. The sort who wouldn't show it. But Sisko seemed... happy. He didn't look like a man who was kidnapped in order to appease powerful beings, or even someone straining under a PR lie. He looked like he had transcended beyond it all. And yeah, she wanted a piece of that.

But she couldn't ask for it. It was a crazy request. It was her imprinting her desires and pains onto a stranger's life.

It surprised her, after the conference, when he approached her and asked if she knew any Bajorans.

“Just the one.” Something in her felt compelled to add, “he wasn't religious.”

“So I'll be the first one to surprise you like this.”

And he grabbed her by the ear, what the shit, and said, in a low voice. “Your pagh is strong.”

***

After Agnes Jurati confessed to murdering a man, on their ship, the scientist had cried, and asked her, “Why are you still being so nice to me?” There were a lot of answers Raffi did not give. She did not say that she had a son and a husband who wouldn't let her love them and her desire to care for someone was apparently stronger than the realization that they were a semi-brainwashed murderer. She did not say that at this point, she didn't feel like she could judge anyone, morally speaking. Or that maybe this was pragmatism, keeping your friends close and your potential enemies closer. Or that at the very least, there wasn't much she could do to fuck up Agnes' life anymore, which is a marked improvement from the rest of her relationships.

Instead, she let herself feel soft. “Because, sometimes we make mistakes. And even if we can't fix them, I think we should still let ourselves love and be loved.”

#raffi musiker #alcoholism

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queenofthelanternfish · 4 years

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Disclaimer: I am once again posting my gf @anesther‘s lovely fics to my account in order for it to have some chance of showing up in the tags. Definitely read it, it’s steamy!!!

AN: A much longer chapter, and it probably wasn’t smart with my hands but here we go!

Title: Interfaces

Characters: Entrapta, Hordak, featuring quite a few characters

Pairing: Entrapdak, implied Catradora and future Scorpfuma

Rating: M (smut found its way in)

AO3 is for better times.

Party

“You are cordially invited to a party held at Bright Moon by Queen Glimmer,” Entrapta reads, holding up the invitation. She looks at her communicator, “Why would you send out an invitation if you’re going to call us directly?”

“I got excited!” Glimmer says. “It’s been a while since we had a proper celebration of any sort, and I feel this is a good way to bring everyone together for a little bit.”

“Did you not host an event a few months ago?” Hordak asks over Entrapta’s shoulder.

“No, that was a picnic. Which you two didn’t come to,” Glimmer pouts, crossing her arms.

“Sorry, but we really were too busy to go,” Entrapta says, scratching her cheek. “We will be able to go to your party though!”

“Really?!” Squealing, Glimmer points at the two of them, winking. “I’ll see you two at eight sharp. And you don’t need to dress too fancy, it’s semi-formal!”

With that, the communicator is turned off. Entrapta returns to her mechanics, welding a piece of metal together. She asks, not looking at him, “You don’t mind going, right?”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be a waste of an evening. Besides,” Hordak touches her shoulder. “You would encourage me to attend.”

Entrapta flips up her mask, “That I would!”

The dining hall, even for a semi-formal party, seems to be packed with people.

Hordak walks down the steps with Entrapta, staring straight ahead. Entrapta, meanwhile, has her gaze darting everywhere, paying attention to the decorations and individuals.

“Entrapta! Hordak!”

They turn, Glimmer teleporting right in front of them. Entrapta smiles, “Hi!”

“Hello,” Hordak nods.

Glimmer appraises the two of them, “You two are looking good. Love the pantsuit and dress combo.”

“Thanks!” Entrapta looks down at her outfit. “I’ve had this for a while, but I never needed to go out to a party before.”

“Well, be sure to mingle! Refreshments are at the table,” Glimmer tells them.

Hordak watches her walk away. Dusting off imaginary debris from his dress, he glances at the balloons and string occupying every corner of the vicinity.

Entrapta grins up at him, “Do you want to get a drink?”

“Why not,” Hordak replies. Entrapta shuffles on her hair, staying at his eye level. “I thought this was supposed to be semi-formal.”

“Truthfully, I don’t know if what we’re wearing counts, but Glimmer seemed to be pleased with our choices,” Entrapta says. Reaching the table, she leans down, hands folded together. “Ooh, tiny cupcakes!”

Taking a plateful of sweets, Entrapta and Hordak walk over to one of the standing tables.

“Entrapta! There you are!”

She turns, swallowing her sip of soda. She smiles, “Hey, Bow!”

He grins at her, “I thought that was you. Hordak, how’ve you been?”

“Well, thank you. And yourself?”

“I’ve been doing okay. I’ve been helping my dads with their library, for right now, in order to make sure that they have their records on Etherian wars and the First Ones updated.”

“Has it really been taking a long time?” Entrapta asks, holding up her plate.

Taking an offered treat, Bow bites into a cookie, “Amazingly, yes, since the majority of our contents are mislabeled.”

“Have you been making any new inventions?”

“I’m glad you asked, Hordak!” Bow says, ecstatic. “Look, I brought all these new types of arrows, and some technology Glimmer calls Spy Stuff.”

Entrapta lifts an arrow with a strand of hair, sipping her drink, “What’s in this one?”

“It’s one of my explosion arrows!”

“Don’t you have one of those?” Hordak asks. “I remember having that blow up in my face.”

Bow gives a sheepish grin, “I’m still sorry about that.” At Hordak’s offhanded wave, he continues. “And no, this one explodes but it releases smaller pods that also explode. It’s a kinda diversion arrow, I guess.”

“I say this because if you change around the compounds in your arrow, you will be able to produce a more effective explosion that spreads out a fire.”

“It’ll take down anyone!” Entrapta laughs.

Bow mulls over their answers, “Hmm, that would be useful if we needed it again.”

“You could use it for prescribed burning,” Hordak suggests. “Right,” Entrapta agrees, turning to Bow. “Isn’t there an area Perfuma needs to clear away in her kingdom?”

“That sounds like a good idea! I’ll begin tweaking after,” Bow says. “What about you two?”

Together, they begin to discuss the latest inventions they’ve been working on for the past several months. Entrapta and Bow add a layer of zeal to Hordak’s calm demeanor that is relaxing for the three of them. Hordak finds himself at ease, despite knowing that there are folks staring at them, or, more rather, himself. Despite the length of time gone by, Hordak isn’t oblivious to the wary gazes from some of the other guests.

“Hey, if it isn’t the best inventors on Etheria in their little clique!” Glimmer says, appearing in a dazzle of stardust. “How’s it going?”

Bow and Entrapta grin at her, “Going great!”

“Hordak?”

The three of them turn to him, expectant.

“Uh… I’m having a fun time?” Hordak says, intelligently.

“Really?” Glimmer asks, leaning forward to him. “You mean it?”

Hordak gives a thumbs-up.

“Yay!” Glimmer and Bow cheer, feeling accomplished.

“He wouldn’t lie,” Entrapta says to the pair, draining the last drops of her drink. “We are having loads of fun. This is quite the party you set up.”

“I got everyone here, and some of the other princesses showed up too,” Glimmer informs them. She glances behind the three. “Oh, Mom! Dad! Come here.”

Hordak’s ear twitches as he looks at her parents, former enemies and fairly tenuous allies. While Glimmer has taken to him well, Angella and Micah are staring at him with neutral interest. In truth, he feels the same about the previous king and queen.

“Everyone is enjoying themselves!” Glimmer announces, hands on her hips.

“I am glad to hear that this is going well,” Angella says, choosing her words carefully. She looks at Hordak, “Are you finding the festivities to your liking?”

“Yes, thank you,” Hordak says, standing upright. He gives a low, respectful bow, “I appreciate being invited to your home.”

Micah and Angella glance at each other, then their shoulders grow lax.

Micah gives a small smile, “That is good to hear.”

Glancing at Glimmer, Angella steps up to him. She extends her hand, “Thank you for coming. If I may ask, would you care to accompany me to the dance floor? I would enjoy the exercise.”

Keeping his surprise to himself, Hordak looks at Entrapta, who gives an encouraging motion.

Staring at them, Glimmer returns to her conversation with the rest of her friends.

Hands pressed together, Angella spins with Hordak in place. Wings tucked firmly behind her, she steps to the side, “I have heard from Glimmer that you have been helpful in restoring Etheria. Is the progress going well?”

“It has been,” Hordak answers, lacing their fingers together. He gently twirls her body, her footfalls light. He raises a brow, “I know you couldn’t have asked me to join you unless you wanted something from me.”

“What would that be?”

“To interrogate me.”

“I wouldn’t use the word interrogate,” Angella says to him, twisting on the ball of her foot. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she stares at him, “I would use the word ‘threaten,’ if needed.”

“A waste of time, Your Majesty,” Hordak replies, voice low. “I have no malicious intent toward your daughter or kingdom. She asked me to be here.”

“I know,” Angella tells him. “She has allowed bygones to be bygones. And while I have seen that you are not up to your old ways, I wanted to discuss things with you privately. We haven’t been able to talk alone in all this time.”

“I understand the concern, however, I don’t find it prudent or wise to insinuate that I’m biding my time to destroy your planet.”

“A person can never be too sure.”

“If I had ill will towards your people, I wouldn’t have joined the Rebellion in the final battle,” Hordak says, tone clipped.

Angella throws a delicate glare at his direction, “Be that as it may, I wanted to be certain that you aren’t going to harm us in the future. Can we trust you?” At one point in time, they couldn’t have. But he has changed, gone through a metamorphosis that he never expected to undergo. The time spent on Etheria, not as a warlord, but as an individual, showed him how many wasted years he had spent in the name of vengeance and bloodlust. His lack in valuing other lifeforms stemmed from believing that no one had value, least of all himself. He was born to destroy, and that was the end of it.

“I do not expect you to forgive me, or even trust me,” Hordak replies, slowly. “But I promised someone I care about that we would live differently, treat others better. I trust her above all else. And I trust myself to amend what damage I have done.”

Angella lifts an eyebrow, then her gaze softens, staring at nothing. She whispers, “When I lost my husband, I hated you. I hated you more than words could express. Then I felt… numb. So numb I couldn’t bring myself to fight you. As if all life in me had been leached out. I felt this ache in my chest every waking moment. That hatred of you became apathy. I wanted you gone, but at times it felt...” Angella’s voice fades for a moment.

“It felt as though I simply wanted it to be over. In the worst part of me, I wanted you to win, to win and end my suffering. I failed my husband, so what good was I to lead, if I couldn’t protect those close to me? I wanted to be with my beloved, and if it meant giving up my kingdom… I didn’t care. And now I feel as though I have to make up for that, by ensuring your loyalty has changed, because, in those moments of weakness, my loyalty to my people and daughter didn’t matter.”

“I…” Hordak glances at the ground. Then he directs his gaze at her, not breaking eye contact. “I’m sorry. I truly am sorry for the pain I caused you. And more so, knowing now what it means to lose someone you care for.”

Angella looks at Hordak, allowing herself to pirouette around him, “You do?”

“I never had a person I cherished before. I never thought someone would want to be with me. I had… formed these ideas in my mind, that maybe things could fall into place now, and she would be in them. When I believed she had betrayed me, I barely held my composure together. There was rage in me. And I became more determined to destroy all of you. As wrong as it was, it made sense at the time. It wasn’t simply about conquering another nation, but to hurt people because I wanted others to understand my anger. Then, when I thought she had died…” Hordak’s gaze flickers to the side, before turning back to Angella.

“I thought that was it. For a brief moment, I didn’t care if I won or lost. I wanted to die. But then, all that time I spent, it would be for nothing. So I pushed myself to go on, because then, the little I had left, perhaps it would ease the realization that I failed her.”

Angella pauses in her movements, eyeing her previous foe. He meets her gaze, quiet.

Neither of them are open people. They prefer to keep their insecurities and worries at bay, by either neglecting their emotions or engaging in destructive ones. They once led the opposing sides of a war, growing fractured as years came and went. She had been afraid of him for the harm he wrought, and he had been afraid of her for the victories she continued to gain.

He knows, and she does too, that there doesn’t have to be forgiveness to move forward. Perhaps not now, if ever. But resentment is breeding ground for corpses. So she will give him tolerance, and he will prove that that is enough for her to do.

They stand as the music peters out to silence. The applause doesn’t break their concentration.

Angella gives a curtsy, smiling gently, “Thank you. The dance was illuminating.”

Hordak bows, “Likewise, Your Majesty.”

She walks away to Micah, and he walks toward Entrapta, lost love reconciled.

Hordak finds that their little group has increased. Angella and Micah bid them goodbye after their dance, while Perfuma and Scorpia had joined up with them. The four of them slam their fists onto the table, “Chug! Chug! Chug!” Hordak raises a brow as Glimmer tosses her head back, gulping down her beverage. When she puts it on the table, she holds up her pointer finger. Waiting. Then lets out an enormous belch.

“Ooh, Glimmer wins,” Entrapta announces, clapping.

Bow snaps his fingers, “Aw, darn. I thought I had that one.”

Scorpia slaps his back, “I’m sure there are lots of other things you can beat her at.”

“Like what?”

Hordak stands beside them, “You keep your dignity. Is that not better than a… whatever that was?”

“It’s called a burping contest—” explains Glimmer.

“—Disgusting—”

“—And I won, so there.”

Perfuma giggles, leaning onto Scorpia, “Maybe we should see what else we can play.”

Bow hears a sound from behind. Seahawk stands flexing his muscles on a table, Mermista’s face in her palm.

“Glim, we should probably get him,” Bow informs her.

“Ugh, I thought he’d behave. Excuse us.”

Scorpia looks at Hordak, “We saw you dancing with Queen Angella. I didn’t know you could dance.”

Hordak shrugs, “It doesn’t seem overly difficult.”

“Man, it’s been a while since we hung out. Not that we ever did, but it’s kinda weird you’re not my boss anymore.”

“It’s still hard to believe we don’t have to fight anymore,” says Perfuma. “Which is wonderful, conflict always disturbs my energy flow.”

“Ooh, what kind of energy flow?” Entrapta queries, grabbing her recorder.

As they talk, Hordak allows himself to relax. The conversation with Angella, while not terrible, tired him a little.

“Hey, Hordak.”

He looks over his shoulder, “Hello, Catra.”

His once Force Captain sidles up to them, “What are you guys doing?”

“Perfuma is telling me about her energy flow!” Entrapta says.

Catra smirks, “That sounds interesting.”

“Very much!”

Catra looks up, “Hi, Scorpia.”

She nods, “Hi, Catra. You, uh, look good.”

“Thanks.”

Perfuma and Entrapta glance back and forth between them, with Hordak appearing disinterested.

“Whew, sorry, we’re late!” Adora yells, coming up to the group. She glances around, “Where are Bow and Glimmer?”

“They went to go stop the singing pirate from dancing on the table,” Hordak informs her.

“I should go help too. Catra, I’ll be back,” Adora bounds away, telling Seahawk to mind his manners.

Clearing her throat, Scorpia smiles at Catra, “How’s everything?”

“It’s been good. Adora and I have been great.”

“That’s nice, I’m glad you’re doing good.”

“Yeah, it’s good.”

“It is good, yeah.”

Entrapta and Hordak exchange glances.

Perfuma, sensing the odd tension, takes Scorpia’s claw, “Oh, I forgot I wanted to show you this dance move Mermista taught us. Can I?”

Scorpia nods, “Sure! Let’s boogie down!”

Catra sighs as they walk away. Scratching her chin, she says, “I didn’t know they were dating.”

“They’re not,” Entrapta interjects, swinging her legs in her seat. “I think you made it too awkward to be here.”

Catra frowns, “Thanks, Entrapta.”

“You’re welcome!”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Catra turns to Hordak, “You’re quiet as usual.”

“There is nothing to discuss, ergo, I am quiet.”

Dragging a chair over, she sits on it. Taking a cupcake off Entrapta’s plate, she wrinkles her nose, “I never understood the appeal of sugary desserts.”

Entrapta shakes her head, hand on her heart, That is so sad.” She perks up, “Do you want me to see if I can alter your tongue’s ability to perceive sweets?”

“Not today.”

Glimmer, Bow and Adora come up to them, having finally wrangled Seahawk off his ‘stage’ and onto the dance floor.

“I’m parched,” Glimmer says. “I’m going to get another soda.”

“Just don’t burp anymore,” Hordak teases.

“Har har,” Glimmer sticks her tongue out at him.

“What?” Adora asks.

“Entrapta, do you want a refill?”

“Yes, please!”

With a quick teleport, Glimmer takes off and comes back. Tired of being still, they all head to dance in the center of the room. Entrapta and Hordak watch from the sidelines, much better observers than participants.

“You okay?” Entrapta asks, touching his shoulder with a lock of hair.

“Yes, the evening is proving to be tiring, is all.” “When we get back to the lair, we’ll go right to bed.”

Hordak leans on his palm, finding the idea vastly more tempting than anything, “That sounds pleasant.”

Entrapta looks at the dance floor, then back to Hordak. She smiles, “You were really dancing out there.”

“It’s not difficult. It’s simple side motions much of the time.”

“Can I have the next dance?” she asks.

“Of course you can,” Hordak answers. Smirking at her, he leans toward her, murmuring, “I can do a lot more than dance too, you know.”

Slowly, a wide grin spreads across her face, “Do you want to find a room?”

Entrapta drags her mouth along the crook of his neck, breath hot on his pulse.

Hordak’s head tips back, gripping her thighs with his hands. Guiding her hips, she slides onto him. He breathes out when he feels familiar warmth, wet and soft.

Moaning, Entrapta begins to gyrate her hips. Her shirt is unbuttoned, revealing the curve of her breasts. Her fingers dig into his abdomen, gliding them along dark skin. Her hair wraps around his wrists, keeping them at her waist. His thumbs stroke her sides, laying still as she rocks her frame against him.

Breathing out, his eyes shut tight, relishing the feel of her body, strong and secure. Hordak allows his body to loosen, forgetting the world outside this room. Her moans drown out all other sound, the scent of her removing all thought.

All thought except getting caught.

Entrapta grins down at him, and she allows her binding to relax. His hands skim over to her breasts, massaging her nipples through the shirt. Groaning, her back arches, sinking further onto him.

Hordak hisses between gritted teeth, tempted to buck his hips. Her grip tightens, noticing his pelvis shift upward.

She bends low, brushing her mouth over his. His head inches forward, and she inches away. Teasing. Mocking.

Daring.

He thrusts up, causing her to cry out in pleasure.

They glance at the door, and they grin.

Quickening their pace, Entrapta pushes her hips down onto him, the two moving in an easy rhythm.

Panting, Hordak caresses the top of her thighs with his nails, sending shivers throughout her body. She releases one of his hands, and it glides along her frame to her clit. His thumb rubs it slow and gentle, even as she pumps her hips in fast motions on his cock.

Sweat forming on their skin, the two do all they can to make the other scream, all while attempting to be discreet. Entrapta thrusts her body down, Hordak bites his lower lip. Hordak rubs her clit harder, Entrapta covers her mouth with the back of her hand.

Her walls clench around his cock, the sound of their bodies slapping onto one another driving his mind wild. Remembering the talk he had earlier, and he’s all the more glad she’s alive. He reaches up to touch her cheek, throat tight.

Entrapta slows for a moment. She stares down at him, gaze loving. Pressing her hand against his, they don’t say anything. Glad they don’t have to miss each other anymore.

The movements pick up faster than before, trying to make up for lost time, the past mistakes made to stand in the way of what’s happening. Soon, they forget all that. Ministrations become more hurried, and they forget to be completely quiet, allowing their moans to deepen, gaining a little more volume.

Bodies hot, Entrapta and Hordak come together, muscles tensing, then easing. They glance at the door.

Entrapta and Hordak grin at each other, laughing quietly in the dark.

“Hope everyone had fun!” Glimmer shouts at guests disbanding. She turns to Hordak and Entrapta, “And it was nice of you to join us on the dance floor near the end.”

Entrapta beams at her host, “It was a lot of fun! And the food was delicious.”

Hordak bows his head, “It proved to be an entertaining night.”

“Well, don’t forget your party favors,” Bow tells them, handing each a small bag. “Don’t be strangers.”

“Seriously, you’re welcome at Bright Moon anytime,” Glimmer tells them.

Entrapta smiles, Hordak smirking beside her. Bidding farewell, the two wait until they’re well out of earshot before bursting into evil cackles.

“I wonder what they’re laughing about,” Adora says.

Glimmer shrugs, “I don’t know. I'm more wondering why I got a weird feeling again.”

#entrapdak #entrapta #hordak #spop #shera

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jemej3m · 4 years

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radio silence (chapter 1: misunderstandings)

twinyards week - day 1!!!! im going to be compiling these all in an ao3 fic at the end of the week, because they’ll all be the same au, and ((mostly)) in chronological order.

i hope u enjoy!

tw warning for child sexual and physical abuse, self harm, canon-typical violence, swearing, homophobia (aaron and andrew ((and nicky))’s backstories)

Ever since Andrew could remember—which was pretty much forever—he’d had an imaginary friend.

Well, sort of. His imaginary friend was a very distinct voice in his head called Aaron, who didn’t like his mother because she would always hit him, and leave him locked in his room whilst she went off with needles and men. Andrew was sometimes perplexed at how specific his imagination could be.

Aaron knew about Samuel, and James, and Harrison, because Andrew had told him, hidden away in a small, dark closet with his body shaking and aching. Why do they touch you? Aaron had asked, sounding upset. Probably because Andrew was upset, too.

I don’t know, his seven-year-old self had whimpered, lost and scared and alone. I don’t know.

Imaginary friends fell out of fashion pretty fast when Andrew finally went to school: Andrew Doe, the foster kid. Andrew Doe, the weirdo who talked to himself. Don’t go near the short one: He’s a freak.

He spent his time instead in the small, decrepit libraries that those schools had to offer, hiding in the corner with a book that was probably too hard for him to read but he didn’t care: He waddled through it, Aaron asking about what happened at the end of every chapter. He couldn’t read as well as Andrew could. Probably because he wasn’t real.

It was the realisation that Aaron was most certainly a detailed, intricate figure of Andrew’s imagination that forced him to stop talking to him. This lasted for years: The silence was almost echoey in Andrew’s head as he moved from home to home, none of them any good.

Until Cass.

She was warm and gentle. She baked him cookies and taught him how. Richard took him to the movies and drove him too and from school. They were the kindest people Andrew had ever met, and Andrew clung onto them fervently.

Then Drake, their son, came home. He was tall and broad shouldered and smiled like a wolf: He pinned Andrew down into the mattress and Andrew wished his pillows would just swallow him. Mornings were spent squirrelling away bloodied sheets and staring at himself in the mirror as hopeless tears rolled over young adolescent cheeks. Why me? He’d thought, desperate. Why me?

Andrew, Aaron said, astonished after all the years of radio silence. Is that you?

“You’re not real.” Andrew whispered. “You’re not real.”

Is something wrong? Something has to be wrong. Are you hurt?

Andrew ignored him in favour of finding the razor tucked under the spare face clothes in the sink’s spare drawer. When he climbed into the shower, he watched the water dilute his blood, and thought of the way that everything had a cost.

Officer Phil Higgins was an overbearing man who knew Andrew from a program for troubled kids within his area, where he gathered them all into a circle and forced them into bonding activities. Board games. Backyard baseball. ‘Buddy’ forming activities. Andrew was required to go, due to his ‘lacking social skills’, but he almost never participated. The pig never pushed him, never asked why he wore black long-sleeves in the middle of a Californian summer and never encroached on Andrew’s personal space, which was why Andrew continued to put up with the man’s antics.

The only actual conversation he and the pig ever had was when the man held Andrew back after one afternoon session, much to Andrew’s irritation.

“I went to a baseball game on the weekend,” he said, like it was something Andrew wanted to hear. “I met someone very interesting.”

Andrew stepped out of his space and made for the exit: When Phil said “Andrew, please listen,” he stood, the revolted shudder making the entire frame of his body tremble. He glanced over his shoulder for merely a second, but the officer took his chance. “I met a boy just like you. He looked identical to you. I think you might have been separated in the system at birth. His name is Aaron.”

That was enough for Andrew, who sprinted away from Phil’s curious gaze. In a brief lapse of control, he silently yelled at Aaron: You’re real?

Yes. Are you?

Yes, Andrew thought, devastated.

I met a police officer, today. He said that you’re real, Andrew. That you’re here, in California. Are you? Can I see you?

Fuck off, Andrew snarled, wishing he could run away from the voice inside his own fucking head. He didn’t want Aaron anywhere near the Spear family, with Cass’s gentle hugs and Richard’s genuine laughs. He didn’t want Aaron near Drake’s malicious intentions, facing the same fate that Andrew did every night. Fuck off, don’t talk to me, don’t come near me.

Andrew—

Andrew shut himself inside his bedroom and made a feral snarling noise, wishing he could cut Aaron out of his head. Rain splattered carelessly against the small window of the bathroom, so uncharacteristic of California’s sunny skies and relentless cheer that he had to look away.

Everything was wrong. Everything was so wrong.

It wasn’t until the pig himself came over and explained to Cass and Richard what had happened that Andrew decided to do something preventative: From the hallway, Drake grinned, fisting a tuft of Andrew’s hair in his too-tight grasp.

“We’ll have so much fun together,” He whispered against the shell of Andrew’s ear. “The three of us. Won’t that be exciting?”

That night, Andrew crept out with a flask of gasoline from Richard’s shed and a box of matches before Drake could sneak his way into Andrew’s room, walking to his school under the veneer of darkness.

He watched the baseball pitch burn, sitting in the batter’s cage and letting the heat lick his sweat from his skin. When the police arrived he went gladly.

“Don’t let there be any more kids,” Andrew insisted as he was being shoved into a cruiser. Phil Higgins looked at him, perplexed. “Promise me that there won’t be anymore.”

“Andrew, what are you talking about?”

It was useless. He burrowed into the corner of the police car and let the cool metal of his handcuffs around his bloody wrists draw him out of his head.

He did it for Aaron. He did it for the voice in his head, who could be real after all.

If that didn’t make him insane, he didn’t know what did.

The first time Andrew and Aaron met—in the parking lot of the Seattle Juvenile Detention Facility—they’d just stared at each other. Their mother had been too sick to come all the way to greet him, something about a chronic illness that probably wasn’t very chronic. Instead Luther and Maria, and their squirrelly son Nicholas, welcomed Andrew with open arms.

“We’re very glad to have you,” Luther said.

“Let’s go home,” Maria insisted.

They sat in the back of the rental car, venturing back to the airport with Nicky sitting purposefully between the two brothers. Forever an ice-breaker.

Andrew? Aaron asked, hesitantly. Andrew looked out the window. Please—I just want to know if I’m actually insane or not.

I hate that word, Andrew said, scathingly. Aaron looked down to where his hands were entangled in his lap.

Sorry, he said, and actually sounded like he meant it. He was kinda pathetic. Andrew finally looked around Nicky at his brother, who caught his eye. Aaron was littered with bruises and sickly pale, even if he tried to cover it up with his loose polo shirt.

Does she hurt you? Andrew asked.

Andrew—

I asked you a fucking question.

Slowly, Aaron nodded. Andrew settled back into his chair and glared at the seat in front of him, Maria’s tangle of curls peeking through the gap between the chair’s headrest and body, wondering what kind of woman Tilda Minyard would be, to give up one son and not the other, and then treat the one she had like shit. Ideas wafted across the empty expanse of his mind, forcefully blank to avoid exploitation.

That was fine. Andrew would cross that bridge when he came to it.

“No.” Andrew said. It was the first time Andrew had ever spoken to Luther, six months since being initiated into the Minyard-Hemmick household. He’d spent that time convincing Aaron of his plan to get rid of their biological mother, who continued to hit Aaron even when Andrew warned her not to. Aaron didn’t want his mother to die.

(She’s family, Andrew, he’d said silently. She’s family. Andrew had just looked at him and reminded him that he was family, and that they had always been there for each other, and that there was no way he’d leave Aaron now.)

“No?” Luther inquired. “But Cass and Richard would love to see you. They were very shocked when you were arrested. They’d wanted to adopt you, Andrew.”

“No.” Andrew insisted, voice hoarse. “You do not let them anywhere near Aaron.”

Luther still wasn’t sold. “Why not?”

“Drake - he -” Raped me. Because someone always was.

Luther’s smile was beseeching and patronising, and drained every last rivulet of energy from within Andrew, who was exhausted and angry at the world. He’d just found his family - why was fate so insistent on tearing it away from him again?

“I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding, Andrew.”

Misunderstanding. Misunderstanding. Misunderstanding.

Right. Of course.

Andrew turned on his heel and marched out of Luther’s perfect little living room, where he was sat on the white linen couches with a cup of tea and his little wooden cross on the mantelpiece. By the time Andrew had grabbed his coat from the Hemmick’s pristine entrance corridor and ignored Maria’s inquiry about staying for dinner, the plan was already in place.

People always underestimated the lengths to which Andrew would go to protect what little family he had: He supposed that lack of insight about Andrew’s limits would come in handy when orchestrating everything under their noses. The only person who knew him, really, was Aaron, but he spent most of his time hooked up on their mother’s shit to read whatever Andrew was up to now.

Andrew would kill Tilda. Nicky would come back from Germany. Luther would forget all about the Spears, and Aaron would be safe.

Perfect.

twin telepathy!!!

(is dark rn im sorry but i promise we’ll get through all the canon stuff and then explore their relationship post-canon and get to that SWEET SWEET DOMESTICITY, i promise anon :ppp )

#twinyards #telepathy au #they can talk to each other silently!!! wooo!!!#andrew minyard #aaron minyard #nicky hemmick #dr*ke spear #yuck #back story #day 1 prompt: misunderstandings #all for the game #the foxhole court #jem writes

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justheretobreakthings · 4 years

Text

Kings Over Aces - Chapter 2

(Previous Chapter) (Next Chapter)

Word Count: 3,114 (Total Word Count: 6,290) Read on AO3

Story Summary:

The Voltron Coalition has an alliance in the works with the resource-rich planet of Yuipra, and it’s the paladins’ job to keep on the king’s good side while the deal is made. That shouldn’t shouldn’t be too great a challenge; after all, they’ve courted plenty of planets before for the sake of alliances.

Unfortunately, things are made much more complicated when the king takes a special interest in Keith.

Fic content warnings for attempted rape/non-con.

“I’m telling you, he wants me,” Lance said, for what was probably the dozenth time since breakfast.

Pidge rolled her eyes, stretching her leg out along the couch to kick Lance where he was seated on the opposite cushion without moving from where she’d comfortably settled with her tablet. The paladins were spending their downtime after training this morning in the lounge, all having claimed their usual spots to relax, but Lance harping on about last night’s dinner was making it even more difficult than usual - which was saying something, as the weirdly translated Altean books Keith tried to pass time with were hard enough to focus on anyway. “He does not ‘want’ you,” she said. “You think every person we ever meet at these coalition things ‘wants’ you, and how many times has that been the case?”

“Plenty of times,” Lance answered. “I’m not gonna be able to keep track exactly.”

“It’s sort of a numbers game by this point, isn’t it?” Hunk asked, tilting his head back from where he was seated cross-legged on the floor in front of the other two to join the conversation. “You flirt with basically every single person you find attractive - ”

“ - And your standards for that aren’t exactly sky-high,” said Pidge, “So you’ve probably hit on like five hundred people since we got shot out into space. Which would make your success rate - ”

“All right, I see where this math is going,” Lance groaned. “For your information, I do not flirt with nearly that many people.”

“Good point,” Pidge said. “Just winking and making finger guns probably doesn’t count. Or at least only counts as, like, half a flirt.”

“It’s not - you know what, whatever. We’re not talking about my overall track record, just last night. And that king was totally into me. Basically talked just to me the entire night. You saw, right, Keith?” He turned to Keith, who silently cursed his inability to turn invisible. “Back me up here.”

“Um,” Keith said. “Well, you certainly talked to him a lot.”

“I was replying to him, that’s how conversations work. But he was totally flirting with me, right?”

“Uh…”

Lance huffed and crossed his arms. “Okay, that doesn’t count for anything. Keith probably wouldn’t recognize flirting if his life depended on it.” Keith let out a little harrumph of indignation. Sure, that was true, but there was no need to just announce it like that.

“Nah, I’m gonna go ahead and take his testimony as gospel,” Pidge said. “Sorry, Lance. You bombed.”

“Need me to get Kaltenecker to make you some ice cream?” Hunk asked, reaching up to pat Lance on the leg.

“I’m like two seconds away from slapping all of you.”

“The bitter sting of rejection is such an ugly look on you,” Pidge said drily. A small beep sounded from her tablet, and a moment later, she sat up. “Allura just messaged. They’re getting an incoming signal from Yuipra, we’re probably gonna solidify alliance terms. Gotta go join ‘em in the bridge.”

Lance groaned. “Why do we all have to go? Shiro and Allura are in charge of all of that.”

“I dunno, to make a good impression?” Pidge stretched as she stood from the couch. “Besides, you should be excited. Get another chance to talk to the love of your life.”

“At no point did I ever say anything about him being the ‘love of my life’,” Lance said as he and Hunk reluctantly stood too. “All I said was that he wants me. Which I still maintain is one hundred percent true.”

“If you say so. You coming, Keith?”

“Yeah, I’m coming,” Keith said. He shut off his electric reader and dropped it onto the seat to come back to later before joining the others, shuffling in behind them for the short walk to the bridge.

When they arrived, joining Allura and Shiro on the deck, the holoscreen was already on and tuned to an image of King Olren, the arms of two of his ever-present guards just on the edges of the frame. The discussion was already in motion, but Olren paused mid-sentence as the door to the bridge slid open.

“Ah, the rest of your paladins have arrived, I see,” he said, smiling down at them as they took their places on the bridge. “It is a delight to see you all again.”

“You too, your majesty,” Hunk said.

Allura smiled as she looked back over her shoulder at the others. “King Olren was just telling us that he was quite impressed by our performance yesterday, as well as our engagement with his people at the banquet.”

“Quite so,” Olren said with a nod. “Your presence went over very well amongst my nobility. And, of course, I was just as enamored by Voltron as anyone in my court. Your knowledge and passion are obvious. Now, I’ve spent the morning reviewing the terms of our potential alliance with my advisors. Yuipra’s stance on interplanetary relations is perfectly in line with your current mission statement of resistance against the Galra empire and liberation of those under its control. However, I must confess slight apprehension over how the citizenry would respond to engaging in a conflict in which we are currently not directly involved. As your proposed terms are outlined right now, the use of our resources versus the coalition benefits that you would grant us in return seem rather unbalanced.”

“That’s only in the short term,” Shiro spoke up. “We may currently be thin on benefits, but that’s entirely due to past Galra occupation that we are working to wipe out. Already we’re seeing the signs of environmental improvements and economic growth from planets that have been liberated and are being helped by the Coalition now. The trade agreements and political relations we build now will yield positive growth over time, and in the long run it’ll more than offset the costs of your involvement.”

“And you have evidence to back your claims of long-term benefits?”

“I would be more than happy to send you any details about the Coalition’s fiscal plans and projections of resource growth that you need,” said Allura. “You will find that we have been nothing but meticulous.”

Olren nodded. “That would do nicely, Princess, if you would be so kind. I must admit, your confidence alone is quite the sales pitch.” Allura lifted her chin, a proud smile on her lips, and Olren grinned back. “The rapid creation and propagation of the Voltron coalition makes ever more sense. It’s certainly likely that Yuipra will have its part in it as you make history.”

“We thank you, your majesty,” Allura said.

“I am still not, however, quite ready yet to solidify an alliance with your coalition,” Olren continued, and Allura deflated. “Not due to problems with any stipulations we’ve laid out as yet, but because I like to know those with whom I ally on a more… personal level, you see. It is one thing to be able to ally with someone politically, but such bonds are far more meaningful, not to mention harder to break, when they are personalized to a nigh emotional level. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Allura paused a moment before answering, “Well - well, yes, of course. I completely understand where you are coming from.”

“Excellent. Now, I’ve gotten a bit of a chance to gain some familiarity during our banquet, but if Voltron would be so willing to indulge me, I really prefer to do so more privately. One-on-one, actually.”

“All right,” Allura said slowly. “So, erm, what, exactly, are you proposing?”

“Suppose I’ll get right down to it,” Olren said through a little breath of a laugh. “I wish to host an intimate dinner in my private dining room tomorrow evening. And I would like your red paladin to accompany me as my date.”

Lance cast the others a grin - a smirk that seemed to say, I told you so - before he stepped forward and bowed grandly. “Your majesty,” he said as he straightened up, “It would be an honor to - ”

“No, no, not him,” Olren said, waving a hand dismissively. “The red paladin.”

“I am the red - ” Lance started, before his face fell and his eyes widened. “Wait, do you mean - are you - are you talking about Keith?!” he spluttered, gesturing with his thumb toward Keith, who stood in stunned silence as all the eyes in the room spun toward him.

“Yes. Keith,” Olren said with a smile. “I do hope you will accept my invitation?”

“Uh - I - I - ” Keith stammered out.

“Is, ah, is that really necessary?” Shiro asked. “Voltron functions as a unit, you see, and there’s no need to have only one of us to dinner rather than the whole group.”

“If you function as a unit, then your red paladin’s character should reflect that of all of you,” Olren said. “You need not worry, really, over the effect on our potential alliance. I must admit, I’ve found myself quite taken with his disposition already. But you do understand why I may want to take the time to personally assure myself that we will be a good match, yes?”

“Understandable, yes,” Allura said. “I’m sure that we can arrange - ” She paused as she glanced back over her shoulder at Keith, whose knees were growing shaky and who had long since felt his face heating into a bright red.

Allura furrowed her brow and turned back toward Olren. “Could you please grant us a few doboshes to discuss our availability?” she asked. “We will be happy to resume this conversation shortly.”

“Of course,” Olren said. “I look forward to a call. And I must admit, I do expect to like what I hear. I’m not in the habit of taking ‘no’ for an answer.” He cast them all one last smile before his holoscreen went dark and then disappeared.

Allura let out a breath before turning around toward Keith. “Keith,” she said. “Are you ill?”

Keith blinked at her. “Am I… what?”

“You look ill.”

Slowly he shook his head. “No, I’m - I’m not sick.”

“Because if you have any sort of bug that the king might catch, that would certainly not reflect well, nor be ideal for you and your state of mind during a dinner. Or if something in their meal disagreed with you - ”

“It’s just, um - this is - he said.” Keith took a deep breath. “He said - he said he wanted me to be his date.”

“Yes?” Allura said. “And?”

“And, well, I, uh - I don’t - I don’t really have - ” Allura tilted her head, and Keith took a deep breath before finishing, “I don’t date.”

“Oh for the love of - ” Lance groaned. “Of course. Of course Mullet’s never been on a date before. We should’ve known.”

“Is that all?” Allura asked. “Keith, I’m sure it won’t be much of a problem. Everyone gets nervous the first time they go on a date. We could always go through some etiquette with you, some conversation starters. We’ll no doubt have to brief you on a number of courting customs anyway, seeing as nobility is rather more particular in how they go about it, but I’m certain that - ”

“No, look, that’s not it,” Keith interrupted. “It’s - it’s not that I haven’t dated. I mean, I, um, I haven’t, but it isn’t - it’s just that, I don’t date.”

“I’m… not sure I follow,” Allura said.

With a grunt of frustration, Keith brought a hand up to card his fingers through his hair as he searched for the words to explain it in a way she’d understand. “I just - I don’t do that, I - I don’t feel the things that people are supposed to feel when - when they’re on dates, like, the romance and all, they - they don’t - ”

“Hang on,” Pidge interrupted, lifting a hand and peering at him with narrowed eyes through her glasses. “Keith, are you aro?”

Keith felt his voice halt in his throat, and he crossed his arms and took a step back, ducking his head a little as he closed in on himself and avoided looking at his teammates’ faces. It wasn’t that he thought they’d react badly to it, or judge him for it - at least, he sure hoped they wouldn’t. It was just that this was personal, and he much would’ve preferred to come out when he was actually ready to, not just… like this.

But, of course, now that it was out there, it was out there. Not like there was any point in denying it. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Um, aroace, to be specific, but, uh, yeah. Yeah.”

He dared a glance up beneath his lashes. Pidge was nodding slowly in understanding, and Shiro was more or less expressionless - he’d already known, after all. The others all just appeared to be confused.

“I’m sorry, arrow?” Allura said. “Pidge, what is that?”

“Aro. Short for aromantic,” Pidge answered. “Means he doesn’t feel romantic attraction.”

“Wait, for real?” Lance said, his brow wrinkling and his eyes scanning Keith up and down as if looking for some sort of clue on his clothes to verify it.

“Yes, for real,” Keith snapped. “Why the fuck would I lie about something like that?”

Lance lifted his hands innocently. “Shit, man, I wasn’t accusing you of lying. Just, you know, processing the new information. Guess that kinda clears up some of the rumors that were going around the Garrison…”

For a moment Keith was about to demand some follow-up about these rumors, but decided to let it go for now. He’d overheard plenty of gossip about himself as a student on every other subject - whether he cheated on the sims and how he did it, how he got into the Garrison, his juvie history, his relationship to Shiro, his family. A couple rumors about his sexuality were a mere drop in the bucket. It wasn’t important now.

What was important was the matter at hand: the dinner date with King Olren. “Look, the point is, I don’t do the whole ‘dating’ thing. It’s - it’s not my thing. I wouldn’t be able to pull it off.”

Allura crossed her arms, tapping her finger pensively against her elbow. “Well, what if we trained you on it?”

Keith frowned at her. “What?”

“On dating. I’m sure we’d be able to give you sufficient instruction to handle a single dinner date. If we trained you, do you think you’d be able to manage?”

Keith took a step back. “Allura, I told you, I don’t feel - ”

“I know, I understand. I’m not asking you to be attracted to him. I know you can’t control that. But I also know that this could be a very advantageous alliance for Voltron, and a date with you seems to be the deciding factor. Would it be at all possible for you to, er… fake it?”

“Fake it?” Keith repeated incredulously.

“Yeah, yeah, that could work,” Lance said, nodding. “I mean, that’s not exactly hard to pull off, right? I’ve faked my way through dates before. You know, I meet someone online, but when I show up to the restaurant for a date it turns out they’re a total weirdo, so I smile through the dinner and make small talk and just sorta, like, humor them. Let them have a nice evening then get the fuck outta there.”

“What, you can’t just be up front about not liking them?”

“It’s called manners, Mullet.”

“Look, I’m not going to - ”

“They do kind of have a point, Keith,” Shiro interrupted.

Keith turned to him, taken aback. If anyone knew how uncomfortable Keith was over the concept of dating, it would be Shiro. Keith had only even learned about aromanticism and asexuality because Shiro had explained them to him, back in their Galaxy Garrison days, and his surrogate brother had held his hand tightly through the process of coming out for the first time. So him saying that Allura and Lance ‘had a point’ about sending him on a date… it was unexpected, to say the very least. “Shiro?” he said. “You - you think I should…”

“Keith, I’m not saying you need to, uh, take it very far,” Shiro said slowly. “I know you’ve got your boundaries, and I respect them. It’s just, well, it isn’t as though Olren is asking for your hand in marriage or anything. All he’s requested is a dinner date. I realize that it wouldn’t be a comfortable experience, but one awkward evening in exchange for all the resources Yuipra can offer… It would be a shame to have to pass it up.”

“Exactly,” said Allura, giving Shiro a grateful nod. “There’s no need to make it a bigger deal than it is. One dinner date. That’s all.”

“I mean, Olren’s certainly not my type either,” Shiro said with a shrug. “But if it was me he’d asked after, well, I wouldn’t love it, but I’d take one for the team, you know?”

Something rolled in Keith’s stomach and he swallowed down a lump in his throat. That was true. Shiro would do this without hesitation. Hell, even if it had been a woman asking, which would definitely leave Shiro uncomfortable to all get out, he would take the fall. Because that’s what he does - he makes sacrifices for his team. That’s what a leader does. And Keith was the leader now.

One date, he repeated mentally. He could handle just one date, surely. For Voltron’s sake.

“All right,” he said, his voice coming out sounding quieter and dryer than he would have liked. “All right, I’ll, uh, I’ll do it. You can let him know.”

Allura let out a breath of relief and smiled at him. “Thank you, Keith. I’ll get a missive off to him at once, and we can start training.”

“You know what I still don’t understand?” Lance said as Allura turned away toward her podium.

“What?” asked Keith.

“This guy had a dinner with our whole team,” Lance said. “He was sitting at the same table as Shiro and Allura and, well, me… and he goes for Keith. I just don’t get it.”

“Lance,” Shiro said with a frown.

“Look, I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. It’s not like he didn’t have options. He actually chose to thirst after the mullet. Out of everyone there. This was a conscious decision on his part.”

“Everyone has their own tastes.”

“It’s like if he’d gone to an art museum and decided that his favorite exhibit was the bathroom door.”

“That’s enough, Lance,” Shiro scolded.

Lance shook his head. “I dunno, man. Just doesn’t make any sense to me.”

Keith could only shrug in reply. It didn’t make any sense to him either.

#aroace keith #keith #vld keith #voltron fic #vld fic #my writing #fic: kings over aces

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talpup · 4 years

Text

Lost Song: 1

Summary: The war between the Dragons and Griffons ended 233 years ago, and both races right along with it.

Or so it was believed. There are three individuals that will soon change that.

Kai is the last of the Dragons and he seeks to take what he sees as his rightful place and rule over all of Oblvi. Meanwhile, Shouta, the last Sphinx, wants nothing more than to do his job; keep the peace and and teach the young Fourth’s to hopefully avoid the mistakes of their ancestors. And Teris, a Foundling who is just trying to understand and survive in this strange new world that is supposedly her own.

All three have their own wants and desires, but Kai’s plans, Teris’ existence, and Shouta's past mean that none of them may get what they want.

***So this fic will have a LOT more world building than my others. Please feel free to comment. For those who have read my Chaos fic, yes, I'm reusing the term Oblvi. Words are hard and I liked the term; but this fic isn't connected to Chaos. The same goes for reader/oc's name being Teris. She's not the same Teris from Erase the Shadow.

This fic is rated explicit and has warnings of sex, violence, and other possible triggers.

If you prefer reading off AO3 here’s the link for that: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24009679

Special thank you to @inorganicone2230 who knows of my love for the mythic and encouraged me to start this fic without stressing about the other two I’ve got going. Your friendship means the world to me. And I can’t wait to go down the rabbit hole of ideas with in for this fic.

1.1

“What do you mean she wants to give him back!”

The Arbitrators snarl caused the already nervous Miyashita to hiccup and vanish. With a swallow the Changeling slowly reappeared.

“I—it—it is not a matter of want.” The nervous Sprite responded. “Rather a matter of necessity.”

The Arbitrator glared at the little man seated across from his desk. As a rule, Enji didn’t trust things he couldn’t look in the eye. So it didn’t help his annoyance that he had to stretch his back and lean slightly forward in order to see the Changeling given that the Sprites forehead barely reached the level of the desks polished surface.

“Explain.” Enji demanded when the Sprite showed no sign of going on.

“Well, ah, you see--” Miyashita stalled looking every where but at the frightful Manticore.

Enji growled his impatience, struggling to keep his human form. To think that this little gnat had had the nerve to chitter at him for offering a book on which to boost his child-like frame upon.

“The thing is.” Miyashita went on with carefully. “Her Ladyship would not be able keep the Reaping even if she wanted, for he is not human.”

Not human! Enji blinked. A second Foundling in as many days. This was just great. At least the first, a woman, hadn’t been discovered during a Changeling Reaping. Though Enji couldn’t decide if that was worse or better. In any case, this would certainly garner the Council’s attention. Something nobody wanted.

1.2

“Aizawa. Please, come in.” Nedzu beckoned.

Shouta stepped into the Director of Traverseen Halls office and closed the door. At the sight of Yagi and Todoroki, Shouta’s shoulders slightly tensed. Thankfully, in human form his black hair was long enough to cover his neck and no one noticed the brief rise of his heckles.

“Please. Take a seat. We have much to discuss.” Director Nedzu urged.

Shouta did so choosing to take the open chair near the Arbitrator rather than Toshinori. Sinking into the too soft seat, Shouta tried to think of any trouble his class of 1-A might have caused last time they were in town. It was the only explanation he could think of for why both the area Arbitrator and Toshinori, the area Elder, were here.

Coal black eyes on the Director, Shouta questioned. “What’s this about? I have class in twelve minutes.”

“This will take longer than twelve minutes I’m afraid. But there’s no need to worry about your students. I sent Nemuri to cover your class.” Nedzu told.

Shouta's eyes narrowed. Though the animal looking creature tried to sound his usual chipper self, he could hear a tight telling of concern in the Hybrid’s voice. The Sphinx sniffed. His pure blood and Nedzu’s overly mixed meant that he could smell it too.

He wondered if Todoroki could smell Nedzu’s unease. While dragons, griffons, and sphinx's were the most ancient of beasts; manticore's were older than most. It afforded the species better honed senses, especially if they were pure bloods. Something Arbitrator Todoroki was overly proud of. Honestly, Shouta was surprised the respect Todoroki showed a hybrid like Nedzu, whose lineage was so mixed and mutated that even Nedzu himself couldn’t say what all he was.

Unlike pure bloods, hybrids carried remnants of their true form over into their human form. The more muddled ones blood became the more remnants got carried over. Nedzu’s lineage was so mixed that he couldn’t alter the image of the humanoid animal he appeared as. And given the fact that Fourth’s who couldn’t change into more human-like forms were thought of as less at best, Nedzu had faced a hard life. Not that one could tell by his usually bright personality.

“Tea.” Nedzu offered the three men seated before his desk.

Enji and Shouta shook their heads, while Toshinori politely took a cup.

Curiosity and impatience getting the better of him, Shouta spoke up. “Sir. I ask again. What is this about?”

Nedzu set down the tea pot. “That’s why I like you, Aizawa. Focused. Straight to the point. Something that was rarely found in your species.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Shouta deadpanned. He was the last of his kind. Locked in stone as a cub and found long after the dragons and griffons thought they had extinguish his species.

Enji huffed, crossing his arms. He felt no sympathy for Aizawa's loss. The way he saw it it was sphinx-kinds own fault for not siding with the dragons.

Toshinori lowered his cup of tea. The reminder of what dragon and griffon kind had done when the sphinx's refused to chose a side in the Dragon-Griffon War still sat ill with him despite him having served the griffons.

Nedzu knew well enough that Aizawa wasn’t seeking sympathy or calling anyone out for their past allegiances. The Sphinx was merely stating a fact. “Arbitrator, if you would.”

Enji uncrossed his arms. “A week and half ago, the Changeling Queen of a local clan visited Terra for a sanctioned Reaping. Unfortunately she couldn’t keep her claim as the being she reaped turned out not to be a Fourth.”

“A foundling Fourth.” Shouta mused. “Irregular to find one young enough that it hasn’t realized what it is, but not impossible. Sprites more than any other Fourth like to mess with humans. Despite the Council’s laws, Changeling’s will find a way to trade their young for human children.”

“As a member of the Ilca it’s your job to stop them.” Enji rumbled.

“Your opinion of me flatters. But I’m only one sphinx. I can’t be everywhere.” Shouta stared at the reddening Arbitrator a moment before going on. “Besides, some Fourth foundling isn’t what this is about. Such a clear and simple breach of Council law wouldn’t interest both you or the area Elder.” He glanced passed Todoroki to Yagi. “So I ask again. What is this about?”

Shouta realized he was being rude but he didn’t care. He had a class to get to. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Nemuri not to let 1-A run rampant...okay, that was precisely it.

Not one to be rushed by anyone, and certainly not some member of the Ilca, Enji went on. “The Foundling the Changeling Queen reaped is a man. Obviously young. Says he’s twenty-nine. Likely a hybrid of sprite and spirit. Though time will tell exactly which species his lineage is. But that’s not all. The day prior to that a trader whose license allows him to bring goods in and out of Terra returned with a Foundling of his own. A woman. The trader was a Derrick, said he sensed the presence of a Fourth and followed it discovering an unconscious woman in an alley. Unable to rouse her and finding no pass that allowed her to be in Terra he brought her back with his load. Since the woman claims she doesn’t know the Derrick and only regained consciousness once here we had no way of verifying his story. Derrick’s are tricksy creatures--”

“They’re a benevolent species known for pranks of little harm.” Shouta interrupted.

“That hardly means the Derrick is telling the truth.” Enji bristled.

Rather than argue, Shouta looked across to Yagi. “What does the area Elder think?”

Toshinori set down the tea cup. “I believe him. The Derrick has no reason to lie.”

Enji scoffed. Yagi might be a powerful Talos, but he was too kind. Too trusting. The Elder’s compassionate, charitable nature made him weak in Enji’s eyes. He would've been a better Elder. The area needed a firmer, less accepting leader.

Shouta smirked into his scarf-like piece that served as restraints and a weapon of sorts. He had never really cared for the boisterous, attention hungry Elder. But if they insisted on making him late for class, the least he could do was irk the Manticore by reminding him of his lesser place to Yagi.

The Sphinx fixed his gaze on Nedzu. “As intriguing as all this is, Sir. What does it have to do with me or Traverseen Hall in general?”

“Both Foundlings are to be trained and placed in your Ilca.”

Shouta's mouth opened. He worked alone. And with good reason. Though the species divided by the Dragon-Griffon War were slowly coming back together, there was one species. One person. That they all hated. Him.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Nedzu said.

“Do you?” Shouta asked.

“The Foundlings don’t know about our history. They won’t care that you’re a sphinx.”

“I work alone.” Shouta said.

“Correction. You <em>worked</em> alone.”

Shouta frowned into his scarf-like piece at Todoroki’s taunting words.

Yagi cleared his throat. Only he, Todoroki, and Nedzu knew that the woman was a griffon. But if she was to be part of Aizawa's Ilca, he thought it important for the Sphinx to know.

Sensing the Elder's plan, Nedzu spoke up. “Discovering what either of them are is of secondary consequence at the present. Neither of them remember anything about who they truly are, if they ever knew in the first place. They didn’t even know Oblvi existed and therefore know nothing of our world. The goal is to see that they have the tools and ability to survive.”

“And you don’t think making them part of my Ilca is counter productive to their survival?” Shouta questioned, levelly. Just being part of his Ilca would make things unnecessarily difficult on them when it came to making acquaintances, never mind friends.

Nedzu ignored the query. “Seeing as you have a full schedule teaching and being an active Ilca, I have ordered Oboro to instruct and train the male Foundling. And Kai do to the same with the female.”

Kai. Shouta's teeth pressed together at the mention of the Dragon. “So you think she’s a beast of some kind?”

Nedzu nodded. “She’s certainly not a spirit, sprite, or demon.”

Shouta sighed. At least she was of the same division as he. But the other Foundling? It wasn’t that he had anything against spirits or sprites…

Still ill at ease about keeping the truth of the woman’s lineage from the Council, Enji stated. “Yagi and I have spoken with the Council. They are eager to learn exactly what kind of Fourth’s the two are.”

Boisterous voice taking on a more serious edge, Yagi told Aizawa. “I’m more concerned with seeing that these two learn how to survive and don’t inadvertently hurt someone. Proper instruction and first hand experience are vital to that. Sending them out with an Ilca member will give them both. Especially if that Ilca member is an accomplished teacher.”

Shouta disregarded the compliment, silently cursing the Elder’s reasonable thinking. Tiresome as it was, the idea was logical. The two foundlings clearly weren’t some young-lings to be enrolled in the Ilca course at Traverseen Hall. A three year sedate course of learning would only be a danger to themselves and others. Being older their power would be greater. They needed to learn to control it as quickly as possible. While throwing them into the fire might seem a recipe for disaster. It was only rational way to assure their power displayed itself and force them to control it.

Still, Shouta didn’t like being saddled with two members to his Ilca. As much as he liked teaching, he worked alone. Not to mention the hassle and danger of not knowing what kind of Fourth’s they were.

As if reading his mind, Nedzu said. “Aside from basic base instincts, once they learn and begin to display their inherent abilities, we will be able to narrow down what kind of Fourth’s they are.”

Shouta nodded in agreement. While a particular species instinct didn’t always run true or as strong for every Fourth of that species; that, combined with the inherent abilities, should give them a better idea of what kind of Fourth they were. They already knew the divisions of the two. Beast for the woman. And spirit and sprite for the man. The next step would be to learning what phylum they were part of, then class, followed by order, tribe, genus, and finally species.

Shouta cursed his own species inherent love of puzzles and riddles. Even if given a choice by the three seated around him, he wouldn’t have been able to say no to such a tempting mystery.

“I’ll take them.”

1.3

A knock on Kai’s office door sounded. “Enter.”

Teris eyed the man that had escorted her, slowly walking passed him to enter the room.

“Kai. The Foundling female.” Hari introduced.

“I have a name.” Teris snapped. She looked to the man behind the desk, her breath catching in her throat.

Kai’s head shot up, gold eyes lifting. The aura she gave off. The prideful power…

Teris chalked her hammering heart and tingling senses up to the events of the last three days and not the man seated before her. “Where’s Hizashi?”

“Who?”

“The other Foundling.” Hari explained.

Kai’s disappointment was palatable. For a moment he had thought. Had hoped that she was a dragon. Just the feeling of ancient, unbridled power she gave had excited and thrilled him. But that excitement and interest diminished in an instant. Dragons weren’t pack Fourth’s and whatever this woman was, she clearly was if she cared enough to ask about the other Foundling whereabouts.

Setting aside the quill, Kai closed pushed away the stack of orders. “The other Foundling will be learning with those from his own division. You will be learning with yours.”

“Beasts.” Teris said, pulling the word from memory. A lot had been said to her and Hizashi these last few days, it was hard to remember and keep it all straight.

“At least you’re not completely oblivious.” Kai muttered under his breath.

“I have a three masters and was close to getting my doctorate before--” Teris stopped. These people. These things didn’t need to know about her abduction and trouble she had escaped from before being found and brought over. More over being taken was a sign of weakness and every instinct she had was telling her not to appear weak before this golden eyed man.

“Your Terra education will be of little good here.” Kai dismissed, not at all surprised she had heard him. Excellent hearing was a trait of most beasts. Simmering eyes focused on her. “Though I can appreciate your obvious interest in learning. I myself enjoy the endeavor of bettering not just my body but my mind.”

If her world hadn’t been turned upside down, Teris might've remarked that his body didn’t require any bettering; but she kept the passing thought to herself.

“Let’s start properly, shall we. I am Chisaki Kai. That’s Kurono Hari.”

“And what kind of creatures—Fourth’s are you?”

“That’s impolite to ask.” Hari grumbled.

Kai held up a staying hand. “True. But forgivable. I’m a dragon. Hari’s an arepyiai. And you are?”

“I—I don’t know.” A part of her still wondered if she should be here. The other, great part, still questioning if this was all real. Maybe she was still back in that cell. Her abductors…

“Why don’t we start with your name.” Kai suggested.

“Nova. Teris.”

“And may I call you Teris?”

Teris nodded.

“Good. You may call me Kai. What don’t you show me your true form.”

Teris’ hand pressed to her shirt collar. “M—my what?”

“Hari.” Kai commanded.

Hari changed into his true form. It was a startling sight. Unlike more ancient Fourth’s, arepyiai’s were far from beautiful. More horrid miss-mash of the two root species that arepyiai stemmed from. He had the bird-like lower body of a harpy, along with their smaller wings. While his torso was lion-like with the head of an eagle, showing the griffon part of his species lineage.

Teris jumped back.

Kai noted her quickness even in human form, adding it to the list of telling things about her that would eventually reveal what she was. “Your turn.”

“I—I can’t do that.”

“Afraid there’s not enough room? Don’t worry. Traverseen Hall was built with dwarf magic. The room was made to accommodate Fourth’s in their true from. It will expand as much as required.” Kai offered.

“That’s… Not what I meant.”

Kai sighed. It was foolish to think it would be so easy. “Fine. We met. I will teach you. Be back here first thing in the morning.”

It wasn’t as if he had much of a choice. The Rat, Nedzu, hadn’t given him a choice.

“That’s it.” Teris blinked.

Hari already back in human form, had the door open, ushering arm extended.

“The day is nearly done and I have work to do.” Kai stated.

He couldn’t help a small smile. She was pretty. And if she was bright enough to have three masters from Terra, she might be a welcome diversion from the rigors of his goal.

Hari returned shortly after seeing her out. “What do you think?”

“Too soon to tell. But whatever she is, her species is old. It’s inconvenient. Having her around. Even if it’s just during the day.”

“Wonder if the Rat suspects.”

Kai shook Hari’s concern away. “Even if Nedzu suspects anything. A Foundling would make for a terrible spy. She doesn’t know enough about anything to find something out of sorts.”

“Even so. I’ll order the rest of the Ilca to be careful when she’s around.”

Kai nodded, pleased. He was just glad that his Ilca had a full complement of eight and the Foundling couldn’t be assigned to it. That definitely would've made his plans all the more difficult. He had the thought of teaching her the old way. The true and right way of things.

“Whose Ilca was she placed in?”

“Aizawa's.”

Kai frowned at that. The thought of teaching her suddenly became all the more appealing.

I write for my own enjoyment, but edit and post for yours. If you enjoyed reading this at all please comment and let me know. It’s the only thing that encourages me to keep editing and posting.

#bnha #aizawa shouta #shouta aizawa #kai chisaki #chisaki kai #todoroki enji #yagi toshinori #bnha nedzu #hari kurono #my hero academia #lost song

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lightninginabottle0613 · 4 years

Text

some post-ttlr reflections 🚌💛

typing this from beyond the grave, as you all have killed me/are continuing to kill me with your sweet comments on this epilogue. what are you all doing, why are you all perfect angels. why was my “””epilogue””” the longest goddamn chapter of this story. i have so many questions and not a single answer.

if you are at all interested in some deeply personal ramblings and feelings (tw: depression and mental health and all of that), those are below the cut. i was honestly just looking for a place to dump them all, so i could properly process this whole experience that completely turned my life upside down in a matter of months. but if i learned anything from writing this story, it’s that maybe some people can relate to what i’m feeling! so they’re there - if that’s something that floats your boat.

if not (and you will not offend me, seriously, it’s long lol), then please please please just know one thing - i love every single person who read this story. i can’t believe it’s over and i’m going to miss the fuck out of it, but i’m so happy that i could write something worthy of consumption for a fandom/pairing that is so close to my heart. i sort of felt the whole time like i wished i had waited until it was finished to start posting, instead of updating after i was done each chapter, but looking back - i’m so glad i didn’t. this story was so heavy in so many ways, and every comment and private message made me want to keep writing. so much about this felt like a shared experience and a collaborative effort, even as the author, so i just want to say thank you to anyone who showed it even the slightest amount of attention. i can’t wait to keep writing both for and among such incredible people.

(also, i would be remiss if i didn’t say a special thank u/i love u to @yanak324 and @harrenhollaback. for the emotional support and for gifting me with friendships i never expected when i joined this community. i owe you both more than i can say.)

ok hey! i’ll get right to it - 2019 was the worst year of my life, and i very nearly didn’t survive it.

i’ve struggled with depression for about ten years, to varying degrees. it runs deep in my family, in pretty much every person on my mother’s side, and i didn’t learn that until about four years into my own mental health journey. my entire life, a lot was expected of me - not a super uncommon thing for an eldest child, i think. but as a result of a lot of repression from other people in my family of their own mental illnesses, i was confused by a lot of the heaviness i was feeling, and i thought i needed to handle it the same way, because that was the only example i had.

a lot of my progress was stunted after that, but i did start trying to make some changes when i turned 18. even so, i was doing a lot of the work on my own and in silence, and i still made a lot of decisions based on what i thought i should do, instead of giving myself the space and time to figure out what i actually wanted to do. i think my main focus for so long was just on not feeling sad anymore - because i was still so in the dark about the complexities of depression, and i had no idea how much work it actually takes to undo a lifetime of destructive behaviors and negative thought patterns.

my life was pretty nonstop from 18-24. for six years i dealt with one crisis after another. i was forced to react to all of them in real time, but i wasn’t able to thoroughly process any of them, and it wasn’t until may of 2019 that i realized just how brutal and damaging that pace was. that month was the first time that my life was even remotely calm for the first time in six years, and once my mind had a second to breathe, i realized just how numb it was.

i really, really did not want to be here anymore. i was so far down in the pit (something i’ve been calling it for about five years), that i could barely breathe. i can remember one specific saturday that month where i sat on the floor of my apartment for three hours in silence and didn’t eat a single thing until 6:00 that night. even now as i type this, i’m curbing the urge to call myself dramatic (ha), but i don’t know how else to describe it - other than saying that i quite literally could not function.

as suuuuper dumb and cheesy as this probably sounds, this was all concurrent with the last season of game of thrones and my subsequent discovery of the character of arya (i hadn’t consumed any asoiaf content prior to last year). i was so fascinated by her - i know so many arguments can be made that show!arya was not really her by the end of it, but trust and believe that i have read everything about book!arya that i can get my hands on. i had never seen so much of myself in a character before - both book and show - and i found such a comfort in watching her navigate childhood and deal with trauma and learn how to be vulnerable.

i couldn’t tell you the first fic i found or even how i stumbled across ao3 to begin with. but i can tell you that - not unlike probably anyone reading this, lol - i think i tore through like five stories a day for the entire summer. you know that post that’s like ‘all i did this summer was read fanfiction and cry’ ? hello. LITrully all i did. reading so many different authors’ takes on a character that i connected with so deeply and how she leaned into love/grew from pain/strengthened her convictions was a catharsis i’d never experienced before.

i had a massive upheaval in my personal life toward the end of august that resulted in my living out of a hotel room for five days, and one of those days i blinked and had 6K words of a gendrya fic written. it contained zero of the angst and pain i was feeling, and i still have no idea which deep recess of my brain it came from. it was light and silly, and i had no intention to continue beyond that, honestly. and then the literal first comment i ever got was from someone that said ‘please don’t let this be a one-shot,’ and i suddenly realized i was doing something so harmful (something that’s been a habit of mine for so, so long, but one that fic-writing has forced me to break) - i had found something that i genuinely enjoyed, but i was talking myself out of pursuing it, because my own insecurities were telling me it wouldn’t be worth it.

ttlr was supposed to be similarly light. i’d seen a post on a really long prompt list that was written by someone whose parents actually met in the same way that gendry and arya meet in the story, and i thought it was hilarious and serendipitous and perfect for their canon storyline, which is very much a pseudo-road trip in a way. i wanted arya to have struggles with depression and self-worth, because that’s true to my interpretation of her character, and i knew i wanted to sort of explore her conflicts with catelyn as a bit of a side plot, but nothing could have prepared me for how heavy the story became. the basic gendrya plot remained the same, but the rest of the story strayed so far from the outline i planned out, in the best way.

i really hate to call it self-insertion, because i think that sort of cheapens the messages i started to try to send with each chapter, but almost every non-gendrya detail in the story is something that’s happened to me. 99% of arya’s conversation with catelyn in chapter 10 came from verbatim text messages between my mom and me, that i had to scroll back to in order to reference. i struggled so much with how to characterize ned, because i think he’s sort of difficult to get right since a lot of his canon characterization is learned through memories that other people have of him, but in this story, he is my dad. all of arya’s introspections and bad habits are mine, her conversations with her therapist are mine (adapted accordingly), and her attitude toward romantic love is mine. i do my best to keep a journal, but writing this story all but replaced that for me, for months.

so EVEN AS i slowly started to adjust to what this story was turning into for me personally, absolutely nothing could have prepared me for how it resonated with other people. depression is like a tailored suit. on the outside, it looks like any other suit for any other person, and it has a lot of the same surface-level features. but beyond that, it preys on your specific insecurities and traumas, and no one person’s experience is exactly the same as someone else’s - obviously, because no two people are exactly the same. so when i started getting comments and messages from people saying they felt seen and understood, and that my depiction of mental illness was like a punch in the gut/made them cry/was so true that it was at times hard to read, i knew that there was a reason that my brain wanted me to write this story, beyond my need for my own healing.

one of the best comments i got was from someone who said that in the future, if they ever met someone who said they didn’t understand depression, they were going to show them ttlr. i cried for like half an hour after i read that (like the choking, sobbing kind), because all i ever want to do is educate myself and other people on this really hard stuff, and make people feel like they have the right tools to be empathetic. i know that the story ended on a hopeful note - because there is always hope but it’s also a fiction story (and i would never write an un-hopeful ending for gendrya…miss me with that) - but i also really hoped to convey the idea that she still has work to do.

because i am so far from done, myself. i’m still living in the city i moved to when i thought that all i needed was physical space from my problems, and i’m finally (sort of) at a place where i can take the time i need to figure out where i’m meant to be next. i’m in my last semester of grad school, studying something that i recently learned i hate, because i picked it thinking it was the logical decision, and now it would be stupid to drop out. and i really did have that text conversation with my mother, but that was about nine months ago, and i currently haven’t spoken to her since new year’s day.

i’m also in therapy, and i’m slowly starting to reach back out to some of the people i love, who i’ve shut myself off from for the past eight months. i’m at a job that i kind of hate in a lot of ways, but it also allows me to have one-on-one time with people and help them develop, and that’s super fulfilling. and i have a real hobby now that i previously hadn’t done since before i was a teenager. that’s thanks in large part to arya, but it really comes down to this community of people.

i am fully aware that i’m on the younger side of the people in this fandom, and the last thing i want to do is come off as preachy. but while i have big plans to continue writing for these characters and treating them with the care they deserve, i also do really want to continue to be someone that can make people feel a little bit less alone (through the stories i tell, and beyond that). the entire journey of this story for me was a lesson in how to say what i feel in an unapologetic way, treat even the darkest and saddest parts of myself with the same amount of love that i do the happy parts, and hopefully create a space where people feel like they can do the same thing.

i read something once that said that a member of a family who actively chooses their own healing will go through a period where they become the enemy, because they’ve disrupted the family system. i don’t know that this is true all the time, but i think it’s a really eye-opening way to think about a lot of situations where people find themselves isolated even more for prioritizing their own recovery. it was certainly the case for me, anyway. again, i know that i’m young and i have a lot of life left to live, but (at the risk of sounding ….. dramatic) i have that life to live because i’m making that prioritization. if ttlr, and any other story i write, can serve as the reminder for at least one person that healing is a choice we make and a long road to travel - and based on the comments i’ve gotten, it sounds like it has - then there’s nothing more that i could ask for.

this story is my entire heart and soul. i worried every step of the way about whether i was doing justice to the characters, but i mostly just loved having an outlet for such tough stuff. i’m excited to write more, but i don’t know that anything will ever mean as much to me as this has. so thank you to every person that gave it the time of day (or night lol). writing it genuinely changed my life.

(also as an additional resource, i’m sharing this podcast interview with none other than the hero of winterfell herself. i watched this when it first came out, and i’ve watched it probably 50 times since. if you’ve made it this far in this post - first of all, omg. but also if anything i said struck a chord and you haven’t seen this, it’s a must-watch. she hits the nail on the head perfectly, and she puts so much into words that i was never able to before.)

my messages are always open. i am always free to talk about anything and everything mental health. if you’re struggling, just know that i’m with you and i love you. 💛

#gendrya #arya stark #personal #tw: depression

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flutteringphalanges · 4 years

Text

Condemned to Motherhood

Summary: Maze finds herself in a troubling situation when she learns she is expecting. Nowhere in literature has it been said demons make good parents. With the help of her friends, both human and supernatural, can she pull off such a feat? Start the nine month countdown!

Rating: T

Read on AO3 and FFN

A/N: I've gotten requests on Tumblr for Deckerstar babies, Ella and Dan babies, but I think the baby fic writer in me has found a muse in a different character. That's right, Maze, I'm coming for you now. Welcome to parenthood you feisty demon you! There will be ten chapters, one for each month, and a final one as a sort of epilogue. If you like this story and find it interesting, please let me know and I will do my best to do frequent updates!

Month One, First Trimester

Cambion. A creature in late European mythology that was said to be the offspring of a human and demon. Except, Maze didn't quite remember which human it was she procreated with. Orgies were irritating in that way. Until now, she never fathomed the idea of being able to conceive. Maybe she should've been more attentive when Amenadiel managed to knock up Linda. But the demon lived on the wild side of life, and such actions were the reason she ended up in her current position.

"I'm not taking that," Maze hissed weakly, wiping her mouth with her wrist after vomiting another bout of back vile. "Go away. It's probably just the plague or something."

"I doubt that," Chloe said, holding out the pregnancy test.

Sometimes the detective could be so aggravating, it took everything within her not to embed one of her knives in her chest. No. No, she'd never do that to her. What was wrong with her? Everything hurt. Mouth burning from stomach acid. It was bitter, sour. Even though she didn't have a soul and would go nowhere if she died, Maze was beginning to wish death would take her.

"Take the test," the detective insisted. "Prove me wrong if that'll get you to take it."

"Fine!" Maze finally snapped, Chloe jumping a little as the demon snatched the pregnancy test from her roommate. "If it'll make you shut up."

Humans and their strange little inventions. She sat on the toilet, lips pulled into a frown as she read the directions. Urine. How truly pleasant. Maze did as the box asked, removing the stick and providing the bodily fluid it required. Now to wait. One. Two. Three minutes. She tapped her foot, almost nervously as she finally found the willpower to look down. Two lines. Positive. Fuck.

"It's broken," she shouted, storming out of the bathroom. She beamed the test at Chloe, the detective jumping out of the way in time. "There is no way that I am pregnant. It's impossible! I told you this was stupid!"

"If you are concerned about accuracy, we can always go to the doctor?" Chloe suggested, using a napkin to pick the test up from the floor.

"Who? Linda?" Maze inquired, narrowing her eyes.

"No, a real doctor-well, one for someone who deals with these kinds of things," the detective said, reaching her phone. "I have a gynecologist myself. Maybe she can make a recommendation."

"No," the demon grumbled. "I'm not going to any doctor. This is all so stupid. I'm staying right here until this...whatever human illness I have is over," her expression darkened. "I'm not going to the hospital."

XXX

"Congratulations, Ms. Smith, you are in fact pregnant!"

Maze glowered at Chloe as the doctor peered down at his paperwork and then at the demon. Blood tests. First urine, and then blood. She didn't dare think what else they might be able to use from her body to confirm she was pregnant. Chloe rested a hand on Maze's knee and the demon shied away, arms crossed heavily over her chest. This was not happening. This was a mistake.

"You're around five or six weeks, it may be a little too early to hear the heartbeat, but we can still do an ultrasound scan to just take a peek, see how things are looking. Are you interested in that?"

"Yes," Chloe cut in before Maze could decline. "She'd be very interested."

"Wonderful, if you'd lay back for me, we can get started," the doctor smiled, pulling over a piece of equipment that Maze thought looked more like a toture device she'd use in Hell than something to locate a baby. "Now, this might be cold."

The demon stiffened as the doctor lifted up her shirt just enough to expose her abdomen. As he rolled on his stool to adjust the transductor, the detective moved to the demon's side. Maze just stared forward towards the nearby wall. Anger was melting into anxiety and she hated feeling weak.

"Now let's just take a look around," the doctor mumbled, moving the device across Maze's stomach. "And...ah, here we go!"

An unmistakable whooshing sound filled the room. Maze looked over at Chloe, feeling a little horrified. The detective stared back and smiled, taking the demon's hand and squeezing it.

"It's okay," she assured her. "That's just the baby's heartbeat."

"And a strong one too for being so small," the doctor chuckled. "There's the sac, you can look now if you'd like, Ms. Smith."

She didn't want to look. She really didn't want to see. But something within her pulled her gaze over to the monitor. There, sitting in what looked like a tiny bubble, was a strange little blob. Maze frowned, squinting her eyes.

"What is that?"

"Your baby," Chloe exclaimed, rolling her eyes. "It's still very early, they don't exactly look like much right now."

"Is it...okay?" Maze ventured, still unable to decide how she felt about the little parasite growing within her.

"Well, based on your tests, it measures right. The heartbeat sounds good. All and all, I'd say you are on track. Which is good," he replied, noting Maze's still uncertain expression. "I can print you some images for you to take home. People like them as a keepsake."

"I don't think I have much of a choice," the demon said, eyeing Chloe. "Fine. So, I'm done here? I don't have to come back?"

"Oh of course you do!" The doctor exclaimed, looking a bit alarmed. "We need to track your progress and make sure you and the baby are healthy. If you go up front, they can schedule your next appointment. It'll be in a few weeks. You'd be surprised how much development occurs between now and then."

"Great," Maze muttered, hoping off the cot. She snatched the pictures from the man and handed them to Chloe. "I'll be going now. Come on, Chloe."

"Congratulations again," the doctor waved. "See you in a few weeks!"

The detective made the next appointment, Maze choosing to lean against the wall uninterested. How could see have been so stupid? Pregnant? A baby? Those words sounded so wrong. So foreign. When they made their way back into the car, the demon grabbed Chloe's arm before the other woman could start the engine.

"No one can know about this," she growled.

"You're going to have to tell people eventually," Chloe commented. "You can't hide this forever."

"Well, I will as long as I can," she muttered. "And for your sake, I'd keep my mouth quiet. I have hormones, I can't exactly predict my behavior. Or control it."

"And you have no idea who the father is?" Maze flinched at her words. "Sorry, I didn't mean…"

"I don't know and I don't care," the demon mumbled. "Look, I just want to go home and forget about this. Have a drink and…"

"You can't drink," the detective said firmly. "Not while you're pregnant."

Maze froze, her eyes growing wide. "Excuse me," her tone was low, frightening. "What do you mean I can't drink?!"

"It's bad for the baby," Chloe said, finally pulling out of the parking lot. "Don't worry, it'll be easier than it sounds."

The demon stared out the window, her head pounding from the overwhelming aspect of it all. Pregnant. Unable to drink. Motherhood. God smite her where she stood-or sat for that matter. The only interaction she ever had with kids were with Trixie and Charlie. Now she was being forced to have her own. What else could go wrong?

Lots.

#Lucifer #Lucifer on Netflix #Lucifer Morningstar #Chloe Decker #Mazikeen #Maze #Deckerstar #Condemned to Motherhood

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ofravensandgenesis · 4 years

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World Building Through Character Creation and Background NPCs

Entry 03. I was thinking over how to build out more plot points for both the underlying bones of original fiction, and also fleshing out ideas for some of the arcs in my ACABH fic. Honestly, adding more characters within reasonable limits seems to really help with that. Even if they’re just characters with a name and a few lines of description, or even just one line of description, it makes for a great springboard point to start tacking on more details. From those details, it’s a lot easier to build out the world around them in various layers. Like for the original fiction world I’m building out right now, creating the character Corwin Blackwood with the helpful input from my friends on how the name sounded, resulted in spinning up a huge chunk of the underlying world order. Originally I was going with just a two-sided state of tension and conflict, but Corwin’s family brings with it a third side that’s caught in the middle—people minding their own business that aren’t actively affiliated with either side. In terms of mechanics, the Blackwoods’ existence brought in some specific broad categories of magical beings, a rudimentary idea of various magical systems with an as of yet undefined overarching universal magic system, and social conflict regarding differing points of view relating to said beings and affiliations with them.

His name is all about his role in the story, with the meaning of his first name being “heart’s friend,” and having had a close if tempestuous friendship with the main character. The last name of Blackwood automatically brings to mind a haunted forest, and as inspired by a Netflix Castlevania fic called Baba by Crownofpins on Ao3 as recommended to me by a friend, and the Blackwoods’ home-locale and name makes me think of the Belmonts. So it was easy enough to consider the Blackwoods tentatively as a family of exorcists/monster-hunters/etc in this rough draft. (The Baba fic is pretty awesome btw, it’s got great elements of old Slavic folklore, obviously Baba Yaga for example, among other things. I shan’t spoil it ofc, but I thought it was a lovely read. Adult content warning for the fic ofc, read the tags, etc.) There’s other external factors that helped bring him about, including other recent media consumption on my part also again in thanks to my friends for recommending them, including Mo Dao Zu Shi and The Legend of The White Snake. (Content warning: Both of those works contain adult content, etc.) They’re both stories of Chinese origin that focus on romances that contain supernatural elements, with The Legend of The White Snake being an old classic tale of folklore. But what’s really fascinating to me is the mythology system that’s at play in the stories—I’m so used to “medieval” fantasy settings being European-influenced landscapes and civilizations, it was really cool to see a more involved Asiatic-inspired one. I’ve certainly seen Asian-mythos-based supernatural movies and series before, but not in this specific niche that’s more fantasy-adventure-ish. Usually the ones I’ve come across are much more heavily leaning into the martial arts category of movies as I’d classify them, or set in more modern-based times. That’s probably just a sign I need to go out and find more content of this sort to consume, honestly. But how the above two works treat the whole spirituality/magic/supernatural aspect is admittedly a huge inspiration point for me for how I’m hoping this original fic’s world will be built, and provides a great starting point to go and try to research more into stories and myths relating to those elements. It also happens to fit in neatly with me being interested in trying to learn a bit more about some of my heritage and culture, being partly of Chinese descent. That’s another thing I know I want Corwin to explore as an additional main character: what does it mean when you’re a part of multiple cultures as a person? What’s that experience like? How does that fact shape how he interacts with his world? I know it has a huge impact on how he’s perceived socially and allows him greater access to magical training via one side of his family having the history for it, and it interests me to think of exploring that in writing. What I’m not certain of is what name to label this general cluster of magical beings as—are they demons? Yaoguai? Spirits? There are associations with each word and name, and giving them a newly made up name would mean severing those ties for better or worse. There are definitely classical monstrous elements in that group, but also a lot of diversity, holding up yet another mirror to the run of the mill humans of that world. What is this group of magical beings specifically in this world’s build? Are they humans that have cultivated themselves spiritually enough to transcend, or is it a reincarnation gig, or something else? I’ll probably have to make another OC or import ideas from mythology to explain where they’re from. With regards to the FC 5 fic though, I’m currently listening to more of the in-game dialogue and commentary as provided by DanaDuchy on their account/channel (also: thanks to DanaDuchy for providing the rest of us such wonderful resources on this and other games/works) and boy the dev team did a wonderful job of just adding more of those little details to help make the setting feel alive. Like it’s honestly really cool to hear the NPCs talk about how haunted the King’s Hot Springs Hotel or the Catamount mines are, how Casey at the Spread Eagle makes the best loose meat/steamer/etc sandwiches and burgers in the entire county, the stories behind the Whistling Beaver Brewery, etc. It’s also pretty grim to hear the tales of all the people the cult’s taken and some of the things other people have seen the cult do, namely killing civilians in gruesomely inventive fashion. Which raises as an interesting problem for me as a fanfic writer is trying to figure out A) how much did the Seeds know about these particular clusters of mass murder, B) did they permit it if they knew about it ahead of time, and C) what purpose does it serve? Currently the answer to A is more than enough because the Seeds not knowing wouldn’t fit this AU nor their character builds in it to go well with the level of importance that the themes of responsibility and consequences carry both in the meta of the fic and in-world for Joshua personally. So that means for B, the Seeds are definitely permitting the additional senseless acts of cruelty noted in the dialogue and conflicted-conversations among the Peggies. Certainly they’re aware at least to some extent if not fully aware of the entirety of it, but I would assume based on the Heralds’ personalities that they all do like to know what their people get up to. They all seem like they would want to know the details of what’s going on for various reasons. I’m leaning towards having the particularly senseless murders be a mix of some acts the Seeds ordered, some acts they left open to interpretation to their followers who then took it to a dark extreme, and some acts were instigated by the followers alone. Basically: humans being humans during chaotic dark times and doing terrible, bad shit. Which leads to the conclusion for Joshua that the Seeds should be more disciplined about keeping their followers in line and not sinking down to this level of pointless evil. He’s not wild about their more purposeful evil acts either and is intent on trying to get them to stop the worst of that, but there are darker gradients of black and grey morality for him there to be more outraged by. So that pretty much wraps up C with the answer of “not much” other than humans being terrible to each other. Perhaps from the villainous perspective it helps terrorize the people of Hope County and whittle down the number of people the cult has to fight now or later, but overall that is still straight up mass murder. ...hm, that reminds me, I need to go tweak a line in a past chapter regarding the population of Hope County. I had it too low for there to be a reasonably-sized if small county aside from the cult’s numbers. Hm. I have the cult at around 1,800ish souls, with their goal being 3,000 total based on in-game commentary from nameless background NPCs, and the line from the Book of Joseph “A few thousand pure souls, whose mission would be to start over and repopulate the earth.” Doing a little quick search, there are some counties even in Montana that according to past censuses had 3,000 or less people in them. For it to feel a bit less likely that the Resistance and civilian population would be easily overwhelmed, it probably should be somewhat higher than the cult, since the county’s numbers will include those who cannot or do not want to fight—that being the old, the young, the ill, etc. Plus if the cult’s being quite so gruesomely wanton in the murdering sprees, that means they aren’t out to absorb the entire county, just most of it. But the cult must also be expecting losses on their side as well since this is a violent conquest they’re undertaking and all of Hope County’s armed to the teeth, if not as necessarily heavily as the cult itself seems to be. We’ll stick the vague number at around 2,400 civilians who are not in the cult for now then and add that to the notes—plus some of the cult’s population is certainly from the county itself pre-Reaping, not including increases that happen during the Reaping with all the active brainwashing, kidnapping, etc. Hm, given some of the generic-NPC-dialogue of how people were forcibly turned to being obedient members of the cult who actually did turn on and shoot their once-allies (and in that dialogue, the brainwashed were also long-time pre-Reaping neighbors of the speaker,) that makes Pratt’s situation in-game all the more interesting. He definitely recognizes the Deputy, whereas it sounded like the aforementioned brainwashed-individuals did not recognize their once-neighbors and friends at all. Pratt’s capable of thinking independent thoughts and he’s remained lucid enough to observe his surroundings and plan an escape, despite going on what sounds like a very dark “hunting trip” Jacob may have taken him on to hunt “deer” which sounds definitely like he was hallucinating in a bad way per his own lines. Jacob apparently isn’t a guy to miss out on using easy symbolism for his enemies, specifically the Whitetail Militia. That was probably not the only “hunting trip” Pratt and the other converts have been on, and that would potentially suggest that the converts are still possibly hallucinating much like how the Deputy is during the first portion of Jacob’s boss fight with the destroy-the-music-beacons visual effects, after exiting the Wolf’s Den. Is Pratt seeing something like that scene though? He doesn’t seem to be triggered by the music box or in the scenes where the music starts playing certainly. He’s surely been exposed to Jacob’s conditioning or at least the trials, and the list his name’s on would strongly suggest he passed his trial, dark as that is. Who did he kill as his sacrifice? Is he perhaps more immune to the Bliss effects? It seems to vary in intensity of how effective it is and how it effects people, based on their susceptibility to it—some factors may include addictive tendencies, personalities, etc, looking at generic-NPC-dialogue in Faith’s region. The sparkles that show up on the screen in addition to the red edges do lend themselves to interpreting that Jacob uses Bliss as part of the brainwashing regime, in addition to the hallucinations Pratt, the Deputy, and others seem to experience. (Also the Judges disappearing in Bliss clouds during the first half of Jacob’s boss fight, etc.) Either way, with the mention of no one expecting Jacob to go easy on Pratt, it seems like Pratt was more resistant to the brainwashing and breaking than Jacob expected, even in light of there being potentially more torment lined up for Pratt than the average captured civilian. (I suspect aside from Pratt’s involvement with the officers who tried to arrest Joseph, Jacob in particular is more likely to not think kindly of police men, given his time in Juvie and the events leading to him being sentenced to doing time, setting him on the path to joining the Army and the ensuing tragedy, and separated from his brothers when they were younger. Also possibly the lack of perceived protection from policemen in the times prior to their father Old Mad Seed’s arrest.) However, it could also be that Jacob deliberately set Pratt up to test his loyalty to Jacob and the Project by giving Pratt the opportunity to help the Deputy escape, instead (or a little from column A, a little from column B.) That music did come on awfully fast after the breakout after all, and perhaps Pratt hadn’t made his sacrifice yet. Maybe the Deputy was meant to be his sacrifice, in a less murderous way of just leaving the Deputy in Jacob’s hands. Seems like Jacob would have mentioned it if the Deputy was meant to be Pratt’s sacrifice by leaving them in the cage to their fate, but on the other hand it would fit the game’s plot and Jacob’s theme real well. Plus Jacob’s a cunning bastard and able to plot this kind of scheme out quite readily, I would say. This all probably means I need to flesh out more of the fic’s world with background NPCs here and there a bit more for the plot. That being said, I’m all excited to be borrowing with permission AU versions of some of my friend’s OCs for this. It’s definitely a new addition to the plotting that I hadn’t started out with, but feels like they’d fit in well with the plot overall. Two of the OCs will have a significant impact on Jacob as a character across his entire timeline in the past, present, and future. It’ll be an interesting challenge to deal with that, since while I do want to try to interpret the characters as close to their original canon lines and outlooks as possible, I feel this addition does open up more preexisting lines for Jacob that do fit the hints we get of his internal workings from in-game. It’ll mean he’s got more development in certain areas of his psyche and mental state, but a little bit of twisting here and there still keeps it all in line with the initial interpretation this AU’s got for him. I do feel the addition of the OCs will help bring Jacob to be more emotionally involved than he potentially was to begin with before the real-world-now with the intended future events of the fic, and this creates much more potential for up-close-and-personal levels of emotional exploration for the entire lot of them, both positive and negative emotions. ...oo, we might get to see Jacob actually losing his cool on-screen externally as a result of possible plot happenings. That could lead to an entire mess of the entire Seed family being angry and yelling at each other, creating emotional development. It’s really quite fascinating to try to work out how to get a group to actually get along well with characters like Faith, John, Joseph, and Jacob who are often at odds with each other. All while dealing with their rampant personal issues. Still something to study and test out for other original writings—haven’t quite learned how to take that kind of group dynamic apart and construct something from that inspiration yet. But definitely learning as we go. Back to listening to more NPC dialogue recordings though.

#writing about writing #writing about fanfiction #so many dialogue lines to listen to #Danaduchy is an amazing person to have recorded all of this #you all should check out Danaduchy's tumblr youtube and everything else #ACABH #writing about writing FC5 fanfiction #FC5 #fc5 au #Far Cry 5 #original fic talk #original character talk #OCs

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