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broiunno · 3 years

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License to Steal - Act IV

License to Steal

ACT IV

Act I // Act II // Act III // Act IV

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summary: Min Yoongi is your new protection detail upon your return to your father's side after being sent away during a bloody gang war. Now the dust has settled, you've been called back to your old controlled life, and leaving you an unwilling participant in your family's plans. You don't know what they are but you are no longer willing to be the obedient, protected daughter. You don't really care in the least of it makes Yoongi's new assignment hell on earth- So you'll carve your own life out back home on your own terms.

-rating: 18+

-pairing: min yoongi x reader

-word count: 5.8k

-warnings: swearing, gang activities includes drug mention and eventual drug use, the slowest of burns, organized crime, toxic af family dynamics, BEWARE IN THIS ACT: graphic family abuse (father initiated verbal and physical assault- does not fade to black), violence, blood, graphic descriptions of torture, and graphic sex scenes will be included in this work.

-authors note: @chelsea-chee leading the au as usual. I love her the appreciate her as my love, writer, and my beta. Her works are *chefs kiss* Thank you again beautiful <3 PLEASE NOTE: I AM REALLY NOT EXCITED TO POST THE NEXT FEW ACTS. They deal with heavy subject matter and I don't fade to black at any point so please note my works are for mature audiences, warnings are there for a reason and in bold. You are an adult if you are reading this work (per the warnings) and you are responsible for the content you consume. Thank you. ILY all and I love asks about the characters. And that's all I have to say about that...I'm sorry for the wait. I've had covid. I'm back on a better schedule now.

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You fumbled with your hair as you tried to rip your fingers through the still damp strands to assemble it back into a semi-presentable pony tail as the door slid open to your father’s office. You really did wish that you had been able to go upstairs and shower. Or at least change your clothes from the workout gear you currently felt sticking to your skin from the cooling sweat. As a breeze drifted from the vent as the air kicked on, you shivered violently, shaking your head and shooting a hateful stare in Yoongi’s direction as you stepped into the office. Appearances were everything in your family. They were the first level of protection to ensure threats stayed at a minimum. A show of strength and cohesiveness discouraged any hair-brained ideas from a weaker or less organized opposition.

Your father raised a dark, thick brow, turning from the man was speaking quietly to, his expression unreadable as you inclined your head slightly in greeting. “You asked to see me?” you said quietly, keeping your eyes downcast. Since Yoongi had mentioned your father was summoning you, you knew it couldn’t be anything positive. This soon after your arrival? Nothing good would come of this. You had just grabbed onto the distraction of Yoongi until you both stood in the office, feeling stripped bare, awaiting whatever admonishment was about to be delivered.

“You couldn’t make it a full forty-eight hours without causing me a migraine,” your father said sharply and you kept your eyes trained on the floor, as you replayed yesterday in your mind.

“Father, I don’t know what you-”

“Y/N, you weren’t even back a day and you spent how much?” he said, aggravation lacing his tone. “I had to call in Kim to look at your accounts immediately. You’re a fucking hassle.” He huffed and your eyes finally lifted to the stranger that stood next to your father, noting that he stepped away from your father and bowed quickly.

“Nice to meet you, miss. I’m Kim Namjoon. I’ve been handling your accounts and will continue to do so.” You felt your lips part in a soft ‘oh’ as you studied the broad planes of his face, full lips and intense eyes. You felt like he was picking you apart in that moment as you took your time to absorb his ash blond hair in a relaxed, but carefully crafted style. His skin tone was golden; a contrast to Yoongi’s milk-like skin. He glowed, and you couldn’t tell if it from his melanin or the fact that he was radiating intelligence.

“N-Nice to meet you too,” you stammered and managed to close your mouth as he pushed up the rolled sleeves of his white button-down shirt. You swallowed hard and tried to claw through the mental fog that had overcome you. With the teasing from both Jungkook and Yoongi, being presented with another god-like man was the last thing you needed. “I will admit I’m a little confused; my spending was never a problem when I was away? I mean, it’s not like I bought a car.”

Your father barked a laugh and threw up his hands. “You have no grasp on what I do to make this money that you just piss away Y/N! And you COULD have bought a car with the amount you spent yesterday! Like I said: a god damn burden!” he hissed and you flushed slightly, taking a step back unconsciously as you watched his neck flush. Yoongi hadn’t said a word, but you knew you could still sense his dark presence in the corner of the room, not looking at him to notice his eyes narrowed slightly as the scene unfolded.

“Y/N, I’ve had an idea. You’re a daughter. I can’t do much with you. Your brother who I could actually have used is dead. Your mother-” He stopped as he watched your eyes bulge and he shook his head. “I can’t have more children. I’d consider it disrespectful to her memory,” he mused, a hand running along his chin and you couldn’t help the scoff that escaped you, but your jaw snapped shut audibly as your teeth clacked together after the noise passed your lips.

Your father’s eyes flared to life in challenge and he glanced at Namjoon, lip curling. “Did you calculate her estimated cost of living and monthly expenditures? Do you have solid numbers?” he said shortly and Namjoon just nodded, eyes flicking between the family members silently. “And did you adjust for a profit at the margin we discussed?”

“Yes sir,” came the deep steady voice, Namjoon’s eyes traveling your figure, his gaze not heavy with lust or desire, but full of curiosity. “The monthly amount that you should request for that profit is in the proposal if you would like to review it.” He finished and cleared his throat. “I can return if you want me to look over the contract,” he said softly, clearing fishing for a dismissal and your father granted it, offering his hand and you felt your mouth tighten in confusion.

“What contract?”

Namjoon grabbed a briefcase and inclined his head to you stiffly in farewell before his long legs carried him out the doorway. Your father’s gaze didn’t leave your eyes as he spoke. “Yoongi, see him out.” Yoongi nodded and started after the tall man in silence, not sparing you a second glance on his way out.

“I asked you what contract?” you said softly, struggling to keep your voice even as your father stepped closer to you.

“Well, you went out. Spent a lot of money that you’ve done nothing to earn, and caught someone’s eye in the process. Someone worth a lot of money and who would be an asset to have closer to the family at this point in his career.” Your father clasped his hands behind his back as he continued to close the distance between you, each step he made, you felt your heart plummet further.

“Father… what exactly are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything, Y/N. I’m telling you. Someone’s made a bid for your hand, and it’s the only thing you’ll be good for at this point. The shopping sprees, your lifestyle. I can maintain them, but if someone else is willing to do so, and the marriage benefits me in my business, I’d be stupid not to pursue it. Do you think I’m stupid, Y/N?” he said, voice getting dangerously quiet as he reached out to tuck a piece of hair that had escaped the rapidly put-up ponytail behind your ear.

“You can’t sell me off like fucking cattle!-” you said, flinching away from his touch, and his large, calloused hand shot out to grab your chin tightly. He forced your face back towards his as you tried to jerk away, squeezing hard enough to make your eyes begin to water. Your heart thudded out a dangerous irregular rhythm as you breathed hard through your nose.

“I can’t? Y/N, you seem to be under the delusion that you are free from the responsibilities that come with being in this family. I suppose that may be my fault. I was too soft on you, pitied the losses I caused you to have. I always had your brother anyway; there was no harm in indulging you. But now, you’re the only one with my blood in your veins. You’re home to do a service for this family. Everyone else has given their lives in some way. Did you think you were special?” His words were measured and cold as he studied you, grip not loosening on your face. You would be bruised tomorrow as you felt the throb set in from the pressure he was applying.

“You may order me to do it, but I don’t have to go along with this,” you hissed, barely able to open your jaw, but clenching your teeth to get your words out, rage licking up and down your body. He had taken your entire life as a child, as an adolescent. Did he really think giving you a few years of freedom put you back in his debt so far that you owed him the rest of your life?!

No sooner than the words were out of your mouth you heard the sharp crack, and felt yourself stumbling backwards into the wall. You blinked quickly as you registered the pain in your head, immediately starting to pound as the metallic taste of blood filled your mouth. You barely had time to regain a semblance of your bearings before your father was upon you again, face chillingly blank as his ringed fingers gripped the base of your ponytail, ripping your head back at an awkward angle, a scream breaching your bloody lips. The noise was cut short by another blow, snapping your head to the side before he jerked your face back to center.

“Who do you think you are, you little bitch?” he said with a lilt to his tone as you choked out a sob, unable to keep it from escaping your lips. “You really thought you weren’t going to do shit to replace that money you spent?” When he finished speaking he gave your head a violent shake, as if to scramble your thoughts further. It was completely unnecessary, as your head felt as if it was splitting with the pain he had rocked through you with his blows and harsh grip. You felt the start of a purely hysterical giggle break through, spitting out the fresh rush of blood that ran in your mouth due to the cuts in your cheek from your teeth. You noticed a piece of the skin from inside your mouth flapping loosely that made you nauseated if you dwelled on it.

The laugh was probably the worst response you could have had.

You heard a soft hiss, and your father stepped into your space further, hands darting from your head to wrap themselves around your throat and squeezing. As your hands scrambled to scratch at his hand, his arm, his face, anything, you wished you were surprised at this. You wished you were hurt because you were shocked, but you weren’t. There was blood in the water and he was a shark. He built his life this way.

“You don’t have to go along with this…” he said softly, voice void of emotion, “but you also don’t have to keep living here either. How long will you make it without this family? You’d never make it out of the city.” He mused and continued to squeeze, your vision starting to spot as you tried to draw in any bit of air within the hold he had, the choking heaves under the weight of him making the blood that had pooled in your mouth from his blows spill over your chin grotesquely as it began to stream onto his hand. “So will you behave for once in your fucking life?”

You were hyper aware of the tears streaming down your face as you managed the smallest of nods. You supposed he was right; you had never imagined you would be used in the family in any way. Your entire life had been lonely, and even though you hated it, you had resigned yourself to it. His hands unwrapped themselves from your neck, letting you inhale a burning gasp of air as you slid down the wall, and onto the floor. You coughed and rocked forward onto all fours as the shaking of your body didn’t allow for much more than consciousness.

Your father pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the crimson of your blood off his hand before tossing it to you on the floor. You could barely recognize the quick but unhurried footsteps coming back down the hallway to the office before they stopped short.

“Yoongi, take her upstairs.”

The flush from hustling back to his boss’s office drained from Yoongi’s face as his eyes widened at your figure hunched forward onto your elbows on the floor. He watched you hack as your body tried to clear your airway. Yoongi stayed silent as he reached down, crouching next to you and attempting to offer you a hand so you could stand on your own, for which you were thankful. You felt the physical pain, but no emotions as your mind sluggishly screamed at you to just accept his hand and stand. You needed to walk out of here on your own. You knew you wouldn’t make it all the way to your room after the assault, but you didn’t need to. Just to the elevator.

You reached out your hand, shaking hard, as you clasped at his large palm and hoisted yourself up, letting him pull lightly as he stood with you, noting that he was still silent. You tried to ignore how your vision swam before you, willing your knees not to buckle. You couldn’t pinpoint if the unsteadiness was from the blows to your face, the lack of oxygen, or the tears that had thankfully stopped streaming down your face but still filled your eyes.

Yoongi seemed to read your mind, shifting his grip from your hand to your upper arm, nestling in your underarm and gently steered you to the door, but let you support most of your weight on the way out. You walked in silence as he didn’t rush you down the hallway, both of your eyes trained on the lift door as he typed in the code. As you waited for the door to open you felt your shaking legs betray you and start to bend. You glanced away from him, the movement of your eyes causing a piercing pain to shoot through your head. “Please,” was all you rasped wetly as you put more weight and started to sink, but the pressure holding you up immediately doubled, Yoongi’s support forcing you upright, even if it made your shoulder raise. It would be almost imperceptible from your father’s office if he was still looking in your direction, but you doubted he would. He had already received your submission; he didn’t need you for anything else.

Yoongi didn’t seem to want to take the chance that he was still watching, stepping into the elevator and continuing to only hold you in one place. His grip was still disguised as if he was walking you out in the same way he may escort an associate who was no longer welcome - in such a manner that would deter any further escalation. No one would be able to tell he was the only thing keeping you upright.

As the door slid shut to the elevator the facade crumbled, you lurching forward and gasping out a sob of pain, tilting your head down to let the blood that had been collecting in your mouth pour out onto the floor. You forgot how much mouth wounds bled. Yoongi was not bothered with the grotesque display as he swiftly adjusted his grip to wrap around your shoulders, his other arm sweeping at your feet as he lifted you with apparent ease. You shut your eyes as the tears began to flow once more, unable to restrain the moans and whimpers of pain that escaped between gasps as you cried. He still hadn’t said a word, even as you turned your face into his suit jacket, inhaling jaggedly as you tried to focus on the scent permeating from him, trying to place it through your snot-filled nose. The only thing you could recognize was the warm, woodsy scent of patchouli as you reached a shaking hand up to hold onto his jacket tightly. You knew he wouldn’t drop you, but it grounded you all the same.

You tried to slow your breathing, but failed as the elevator door opened and Yoongi strode quickly to your bedroom door, bending at the knees and somehow using his crook of his elbow and his body to turn the door knob, the only change in your positioning being that you tilted slightly as he spun it. He kicked the door with his foot gently as he stepped in, by-passing your bed as he carried you into your bathroom, carefully getting on his knees as he lowered you into your large bathtub as he placed you there. You continued to breath quickly, your gasps becoming sharper as your gentle shaking soon became uncontrollable. You released his jacket as he stood and you pulled your knees to your chest, shutting your eyes finally as you heard the tap briefly run before a cool rag brushed your chin, eyes flying open as you flinched away.

“Shh, I need to see your face. I have to get the blood off,” Yoongi whispered, and you finally looked at him, noting his face was still paler than normal. “Princess, I need you to take a slow, deep breath okay? Can you do that? Your lips are turning blue; you’re hyperventilating. You’re safe,” he murmured, brows pinching together in a pained expression you had never seen on his face as you tried to nod, attempting to take a long breath in but ended up gulping in air multiple times on the way, the blurring of your vision worsening as Yoongi grimaced, your breathing speeding up again, your shoulders shrugging with the effort to take in air. The last thing you heard was Yoongi’s tense exclamation of “Shit!” before you blacked out.

When you awoke, you were under the covers of your large bed. You sat up quickly before groaning from the ache in your head, then realizing that opening your mouth made you want to scream from pain. Between the squeeze on your jaw and the cuts inside your mouth, it was safe to say you would be saying very little for a while. You glanced towards the window, noting it was inky black outside.

“How long has he hit you?” came a cool voice from beside your bedside and you turned to face the source, seeing a figure standing beside the small table, casting a shadow with the aid of a lamp. Had he even left? Yoongi had shed his stained suit jacket, but still wore the white shirt and same suit pants. You only knew it was the same shirt due to the blood stain from where your mouth must have painted him. Instead of attempting to speak, you shrugged in an attempt to get his gaze off of you. It was piercing and unnerving. You felt as if this was the beginning of an interrogation, and you didn’t fail to notice the color had still not returned to his normally pale face. Now that your mind was a bit clearer you were able to recognize why it registered so deeply with you. He was the embodiment of white with fury. “How. Long?” he said again with such harshness you swallowed hard, ignoring the fire that licked down your throat as you did so.

“That’s a joke right? He’s always been like that. I just normally am better at avoiding it,” you forced out; your words were almost incoherent as you tried to move your jaw as little as possible as you spoke. That was bearable. Good. Not that you had expected it to be, but at least your jaw wasn’t broken; that would have been a pain in the ass. “What time is it?”

“It’s three am,” Yoongi hissed as his eyes glimmered in the near darkness, pushing off the wall and grabbing a glass of water off the table and sweeping a few pills into his hand. “Take these.” You took his offering and a small sip of the water before carefully throwing the pills to the back of your throat and washing them down, sighing softly. “They’re pain pills. They’ll help and you’ll be able to go back to sleep in a bit.”

You didn’t answer but pulled back the cover of your bed and slid out, noting that your bloody shirt had been changed but you still had on your sports bra and leggings. And your ponytail had been taken down, which was probably a good thing since your scalp was still aching from the hold your father had you in.

“Y/N… don’t.” Came Yoongi’s voice, still unemotional but a bit gentler than his earlier tone. You didn’t turn back to him but stopped your path to your vanity, obviously trying to look at your reflection in the mirror to assess the damage.

“Is it that bad?” you grumbled, turning to him and you watched him shrug.

“It’s not good. Don’t worry about it tonight. No bones are broken from what I can tell. I wiped you down the best I could. Just change once I leave and get back into bed.”

You let out a deep breath but finally stepped towards your closet instead to grab an oversized t-shirt. You could work the bra off under it and slip your pants off once you had it on. “Why did you even stay?” you said softly as you set to work, your muscles aching as you attempted to change modestly. You don’t know why it even mattered, but in this moment it did.

“I needed to know if he had done this before. I needed to know if this was the first time. When we were kids, you weren’t around all the time. Sometimes, I’d go months without seeing you. I didn’t know if this was a part of it,” he spat out, visibly tensing as he took a loud steadying breath.

You shrugged as you pulled off your leggings, successful in stripping your bra off under the shirt, and padded back to your bed. “There were a few reasons he kept me separated from everyone. It wasn’t all because he thought I was too precious to see any of this.” You climbed back into bed and tried to settle back into the plushness. Yoongi took a step closer to you, his mouth slightly open as he watched you try to get comfortable, seemingly unable to stop himself.

“Y/N…” he said softly and reached a hand towards you and you stiffened, eyes narrowing, and he took note, dropping his hand slowly.

“Yoongi, I never asked for your fucking pity.”

“I know, and it makes me want to help you even more.”

You blinked and tried to register what he was implying. “Help me?” you repeated, shaking your head as you felt the same hysterical laugh bubble up that had made your assault that much worse in your father’s office. “No one can help me!” You laughed, eyes widening as the smile twisted your features. “This is my life, this is what I was born into. This is what all those shiny things cost, Yoongi! I always knew it but I forgot.” You watched as the pained expression from earlier slid back over his features, and you raised your eyebrows in response. “I appreciate it, but unless you’re willing to put a bullet in my fucking head there’s no saving anything.”

“Who says it has to be your head, Princess?” he said gently and you swear you felt the world stop.

“Don’t say shit like that Min,” you hissed, baring your teeth and shaking your head. “Even if we don’t always get along, I don’t want you dead too.”

“Whatever you say Princess,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips as he cocked his head to the side. “Are you alright to sleep? You don’t feel like you’re going to vomit?” he asked seriously, watching as you shook your head.

“I don’t have a concussion,” you grumbled but as you watched him smirk and go to grab his jacket you felt your heart speed up. “Yoongi- w-wait.” He immediately stopped, as if he was anticipating your words. “Can you stay here the rest of the night? I know he won’t do anything but I-”

“Let me go change my clothes. Is that okay Princess?”

“Yeah… I just don’t want to be-”

“It’s fine Y/N. I’ll be right back.” You stayed sitting up, watching him as he dismissed your attempts at explanations and justification as he walked out.

You sighed, leaning against the leather headboard and let your breathing even out, even as your heart still raced. The pain began to slowly ebb as the medication took effect; what had you even taken? It had to be something strong as a comfortable fog began to cloud your thoughts.

You didn’t know why you felt the need to have him here. Did you even need to explain? He was technically your bodyguard. You had known each other most of your lives. You had just suffered through an assault; staying with you was reasonable. Even if the assailant wasn’t unknown, nor were the motives. At the end of the day, Yoongi’s presence made breathing a bit easier. His presence made you feel safe.

The door opened again and you sucked in a breath as Yoongi re-entered your bedroom, one hand carrying his gun and holster, the other a hanger with a clean pressed suit. “I’ll wake up before you,” was all he said in response to your surprised expression as he studied you. He mistook the shock on your face as being accredited to the suit. He was an idiot if he thought you cared about the fact he would dress here. You were too busy drinking in the sight of his lean figure in low-slung grey sweatpants. You tried to rip your gaze back to his face but you got caught on the black ribbed tank top and the swirling black tattoos covering his shoulder and chest before disappearing under the material.

“I didn’t know you had tattoos,” you choked out, feeling your face flush and mentally slapping yourself. He may look like sex on legs, but you looked like you just had the shit beat out of you. Which to be fair to yourself, you actually just had the shit beat out of you.

“Oh, I forgot,” he said, a small smirk tilting his lip up but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. He draped his suit over the chair to your vanity and carried his gun with him towards the plush armchair in the corner of the room.

“The bed is big enough Min. I won’t touch you,” you said breathlessly, trying to force away the blush that was deepening across your face. He seemed to freeze and take a few steadying breaths.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea Princess.” His voice was controlled but quiet.

“Please Yoongi…” you said just as quietly. “It’s just for tonight. I won’t feel safe if you’re all the way over there.”

It was definitely an over exaggeration. You hadn’t really expected him to even agree to stay in your room with you. The chair was the reasonable option. You knew you were pushing it.

“Princess, I-” He breathed, the airiness of his tone making your belly somersault and it gave you a tiny shiver.

“Yoongi, please. I need you next to me. Just tonight.” You shouldn’t be so worried about getting this man into bed with you, but now that he was here in front of you and it was so close to happening, you felt you might cry if he denied you.

You watched his back muscles rippled as he tensed and tried to relax. He turned wordlessly and walked to the opposite side of the bed, setting his holster down and climbing into the king-sized bed with you. “Go to sleep Princess.”

The drugs had to be prescriptions, not that you really expected a member of an organized crime family to just take a regular aspirin when they were in pain. “Is the oxy working yet? It should start soon if it hasn’t.” You hummed your assent as you squirmed down into the bed and tried to keep the smile from your face as you reached over and turned out the lamp. You took a deep breath and shut your eyes, savoring the heat that quickly built from having two bodies under the covers of your bed, ignoring the slightly annoyed sigh from the other side of the bed.

“Be quiet Min, I’m trying to rest,” you said softly and a soft dry chuckle cut through the silence as you let sleep take you.

Yoongi’s POV

Yoongi listened to the soft sounds of your breathing as they lengthened and deepened, the pain pills having done their job perfectly. If only he could have done his job in such a manner. He had been given a job: to keep you safe, and he took it seriously. Even if the one assigning his work was an abusive piece of shit. Yoongi let out a sigh, glancing over at your figure in the dark to make sure his huff hadn’t disturbed your slumber. It didn’t. You were still laying there, eyes closed and unaware, your face turned towards him to afford him a view of what exactly your father had done in his absence.

He felt his teeth grind against each other as even in the dark, he could make out the near black bruises covering your neck in the clear shape of hands, a bloom crossing your smooth cheek as well. Even your chin and jaw were dark from bruising; evidence that your father had held your face to force submission. It had worked. He opened his mouth and stretched his own jaw to try and stop himself from continuing to grind his molars down to nothing in rage. He didn’t know if he would ever be able to forget how you looked and how he felt when he entered the office, watching the blood drip onto the floor. How he wanted nothing more than to simply pull out his gun and lodge a bullet into your father’s knee before proceeding to swing the butt of his gun down onto him until he shattered every bone in the pig’s disgusting face.

Until he begged him to stop. Until he begged his daughter to tell Yoongi to stop.

The daydream made Yoongi smile a full gummy smile and chuckle for the first time today. He would stop when you told him to. If you told him to. Now that he knew your father had put his hands on you before this, he wondered if you would just let him continue until his mania at seeing what had been done to you was sated. He knew it wouldn’t be until he heard your father’s death rattle, knowing it had been at his own hands.

You stirred slightly to readjust in your sleep, drawing his attention back to the present as you moved closer to him in the bed and he sucked in a breath. Even beaten and bruised you affected him. Even carrying you in that elevator down the hall as you clutched onto him. He had been spiraling down into violence but as soon as you grabbed his jacket, he knew you wouldn’t withstand even him raising his voice to anyone without shattering. You were normally so fierce and seeing you broken made him want to tear apart this entire society you both lived in, even if it was all either of you had ever known.

It was then he had decided he would be what you were asking of him with your sobs and how you clutched onto him; he would be as gentle as could be and give you whatever you needed tonight. Tomorrow he would begin the undertaking of dismantling your father piece by fucking piece.

He had watched over you after you passed out; you had woken up briefly for him to get you to take pain medicine once before you actually were able to speak to him. Before you asked him to stay with you. He wanted to pretend it didn’t make his icy heart crack, the way you tried to explain and justify his presence. He would never ask you to in this kind of situation. When Yoongi returned to his room, he attempted to steel himself for a night of sitting in that uncomfortable chair, and a sleepless day tomorrow. He had gone more than twenty-four hours without sleep before.

But when your eyes, even if they had started to become glossy and dilated from the drugs, began to run over him, he had to try and think of every unsexy thing he could fathom. You had just been fucking violated and just with one look he felt the blood travel away from his brain and pool below his waist. Why did he think he would be able to wear sweatpants while staying with you? You destroyed every semblance of self control he had. He still hadn’t forgotten your teasing in the elevator prior to this shit show.

Then your soft drowsy voice had called out to him just as he had regained his mental fortitude and continued to the chair. You would be the fucking death of him and he didn’t think he would really mind. Now, as he laid here in bed with you trying to ignore the fact that you were shifting closer to him in your sleep, seeking his warmth, he closed his eyes. He had anticipated the pure fury of tonight keeping him awake, but instead it was the fact that he could feel your breath on his neck, that if he turned his head back to you he could still make out your absolutely gorgeous feminine form from under the blankets. The dip in your waist and the curve of your hips, sloping into your soft thigh. Yoongi’s eyes shot open as he let out a soft hiss as he felt his member stiffen in his sweats, one large hand reaching down to palm himself, and he willed his hard-on to disappear.

He dropped his eyes again, confident he would get his bulge to go down without waking you, and as he tended to it, a soft small hand reached across his middle, making his forehead furrow. He tried to take a steadying breath, and tried to not imagine that the events of last night weren’t the reason he was in your bed. That you had just invited him to bed because you wanted him there, not for security but because you wanted him as a man to share your bed and body. That he could roll over to face you, slip his own hand up that oversized shirt and rub soft circles into your skin before slipping his hand down in-between your thighs.

Yoongi felt his cock twitch and himself harden further, forcing another deep breath in and out as he circled back to try and think of grotesque things to make his longing subside. You at least had stopped wriggling in the bed in an attempt to get closer; he was thankful for that. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and tried to calm his heart and regulate his breath to make it possible for him to drift off.

This was going to be a long night.

#bts suga #bts ff #bts x reader #mafia!bts #bts gang au #bts imagines #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #btsxarmy #License to steal

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icouldntfinditsoiwroteit · 3 years

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The remarried Empress and the adopted child Part 5

"He did what?" Zaida gulped as (F/N) glared at no one in particular.

"The Emperor asked the Empress to look for a lady in waiting for Lady Rashta, but after she was unable to convince any noblewoman he caused her of divulging the rumors of Lady Rashta being a runaway slave," Zaida repeated as fast as she could as she felt (F/N)'s glare hardened.

"You have to be-" But before (F/N) could express her dismay her door was opened and there stood her father.

"Emperor," Zaida bowed her head as he came into the room.

"Emperor, what brings you here?" (F/N) greeted.

"I believe you've already heard about what the Empress did?" (F/N) had to use all of her self-control to maintain a calm demeanor at her father's words.

"I've heard about you asking the Empress to look a lady in waiting for Lady Rashta,"

"She is unwilling to help so I will ask you to take over the search," Her father said, not beating around the bush.

"I'm afraid that I won't be able to," (F/N) said after a second of willing herself to defy the Emperor.

"Pardon?" (F/N) remained as still as possible under her father's glare.

"If the Empress was unable to convince any noble-woman to be Lady Rashta's lady in waiting I don't see what I could do differently, it would be a waste of time," (F/N) explained.

"The Empress clearly has a grudge against Rashta, she is the one who spread those rumors,"

"And how do you know that?"

"Because Rashta is her love rival," (F/N) remained silent, astounded at what her father was saying.

"You compare my mother, The Empress to runaway slave?" (F/N) asked in indignation before she could really think about it.

"Rashta is not a runaway slave!" The tone that the emperor took made (F/N) realize that she had stepped out of line so she took a deep breath to calm herself down.

"Even if it is just a rumor, people believe it and that is what matters,"

"As long as people believe these rumors, it will be impossible to get her a lady in waiting," (F/N) explained as she kept her eyes glued to the window.

"So I will not waste time in a futile search," (F/N) then walked back to her desk to continue with her work.

(F/N) ignored her father until he left, clearly furious of not getting his way that it even made (F/N) to take a moment to catch her breath, having defied her father and gotten away with it really had shocked her.

"My lady, do you wish for me to bring more tea?" Zaida talked for the first time after the Emperor had left.

"Yes," (F/N) managed to say even as she felt her throat tighten.

Zaida understood that (F/N) wished to be left alone, so after she brought the tea she opened the window to let air in and gave (F/N) a shawl that would prevent her from getting cold and left the room.

*Oh gods, I messed up,*

*What got into me, I just defied the Emperor,* Thoughts of this kind flooded (F/N)'s minds as she began to breathe harshly and could feel her tears begin to come out.

*Stupid, stupid, how could you be so damn useless and stupid,* (F/N) admonished as tears began to pour without control.

Even if (F/N) was spiraling in a void of despair she made sure that she remained as quiet as possible during this kind of moments, it's not like it was difficult for her anymore, but what she didn't expect was for someone to knock on her door.

"Your highness, is everything alright?" Alius voice asked from the other side of the door.

(F/N) stopped breathing for a moment as she kept trembling, not being able to know what to do, she wouldn't be able to compose herself in time and it would be evident that she had been crying because of her makeup.

"Your highness?"

(F/N) tired to say something to make him go away, but she couldn't as a sob came out instead, luckily not loud enough to be heard but ALius knew something was wrong, he would come in sooner or later.

"Your highness, I'm coming in," Alius said as he entered through a small crack of the opened door before he closed it.

(F/N) turned away to try and hide her disappointing behavior, or what she thought it was.

"(F/N)!" Alius whispered in worry as he noticed the state that she was in.

Alius was beside her in less than a second.

"What happened, are you alright?" He asked looking her over.

(F/N) simply looked him in the eyes and he understood what was going on, after all, he had gone through an episode of this kind before, he pulled her into a hug, whispering small reassurance as (F/N) cried silently for what felt like hours.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Alius asked when (F/N) had stopped crying but they both remained in the hug.

"I thought that after all this time, it wouldn't affect me anymore," (F/N) whispered.

"We'll leave it behind, don't worry, your alright," Alius reassured as they remained like that for a few more minutes before they parted, knowing that someone would check on them at some point.

After this days passed like a blur as (F/N) remained buried in work and sooner than later the New Years ceremony was upon her, this only gave her even more work but it kept her away from the Emperor for a while since due to all the work, the little time they had to either dine together or just be together had been reduced to nothingness not to say that (F/N) had been actively avoiding him.

But even if (F/N) wanted this wouldn't last, as soon enough the guests that she alongside the Emperor and Empress had to welcome into the palace.

(F/N) had stood beside the Empress, not expecting this greeting to be anything different from all others.

"Make way for Prince Heinrey from the western kingdom!"

*I wonder if he really is as handsome as the rumors say?* (F/N) wondered as the carriage arrived and the door of it was opened.

*Being the first in line for the throne of the western kingdom and supposedly devilishly handsome, has made him the center of many rumors,*

*But the rumor of his cruelty going in hand with his great beauty makes me guess that it is only born out of jealously,* (F/N) though as Prince Heinrey came out of the carriage.

*Although the rumors of his handsomeness are quite true,* (F/N) thought as he approached.

"Pleased-" The Empress began to greet but stopped when the prince kneeled in front of her and took a gentle hold of her hand to kiss it.

"It is an honor to meet you, my queen,"

(F/N) couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in surprise.

"It is an honor to meet you as well, Prince Heinrey," The Empress continued her greeting while taking her hand away.

"I hope you will get plenty of rest before the new year's ceremony, please enjoy your time at the palace, I'm sure it will be to your liking,"

"It is already very much to my liking and very beautiful as well," The prince said with a dashing smile.

*Is he?* (F/N) thought with suspicion as Prince Heinrey was escorted to his room.

(F/N) soon returned to her duties but as rain began to pour with no sign of relenting she had already finished all work a while before, so she remained bored for a while until a thought struck her.

*I could pay the Empress a visit,*

*No, I wouldn't want to bother her,*

*But it has been a while since I last saw her,* (F/N) thought for a while until her wish to visit her mother won over her worries and went to her mother's room.

As she stood at the door, she hesitated for a moment before finally knocking on the door to ask for permission to enter, when she was given the green light she entered and saw an unusual sight.

"Is that a bird?" She asked at the sight of her mother drying a soaking bird.

"(F/N), how nice of you to visit and yes it is a bird,"

"I didn't know you owned a bird,"

"He isn't mine," She explained as she beckoned for her to sit beside her.

"Who's is it then?"

"I don't know,"

"Oh, a secret admirer then?" (F/N) asked curiously.

"Perhaps," Navier smiled fondly of the bird.

"May I know what they wrote to you?"

"They want to make a bet,"

"To see which one of us can guess the identity of the other first," Navier explained.

"What is the prize?"

"I don't know, I actually plan to ask, but I won't let Queen out in the pouring rain," Navier explained.

"His master let it out in such a bad storm??!" (F/N) asked worriedly.

"What an irresponsible master," (F/N) said after her mother confirmed it with a head nod.

They were both interrupted when the Queen squawked in indignation.

"Although it seems that Queen thinks otherwise," Navier said as she sighed in defeat.

"But what brought you here tonight, have you been alright?" Navier asked.

"Yes everything is alright, I just wanted to visit you, since we haven't been able to really see each other," (F/N)'s eyes darted around the room as she explained, but Navier didn't seem convinced.

"Are you sure, you have been unusually stressed,"

*Wha-how did she notice?*

"A child can't hide things from their mother," Navier answered as if she knew the question that had formed in (F/N)'s mind.

"It's just the New Year's celebration, nothing to worry about," (F/N) assured but slightly winced when Navier sighed.

"Don't push yourself, everything you do is always more than perfect," Navier assured as she pulled (F/N) into a hug into which (F/N) melted into immediately.

"Thank you...mother,"

#the remarried empress and the adopted child #the remarried empress #navier #sovieshu #rashta #reader insert #(F/N)#OC #fem reader

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astaroth1357 · 4 years

Text

Demon Brothers (Minus Asmo) at Their Worst Pt. 2 (Satan, Beel, Belphie)

This is still a lot darker than I usually post so please take the warnings seriously. Soft content will probably return after this because being real? Pain hurts and writing pain kinda hurts too. I like my life fluffy because it helps me unwind, you know? For any of you who dwell in darkness, here is my humble offering. I hope you’ve enjoyed because that would make all the effort worth it in the end. Will I go this dark again at some point? Maybe. Suggestions will always be appreciated, but know that it’s not an area in my comfort zone.

Check out the Masterlist for more.

Warnings: THEIR SINS HAVE BEEN TAKEN TO AN EXTREME (AND ALL THAT IMPLIES), Abusive/Controlling Relationships, Yandere-ish, Violence, Gore, Cannibalism, Angst, Regret, Suicidal Thoughts

This is all for the purposes of fantasy and in no way an endorsement for these behaviors in real life. Be nice (and smart) with your lives, my friends.

Intro: Maybe the MC should have known better. It should have sunk in a long time ago that they were in incredibly risky territory... They should have remembered that these men, though they call them friends, family, and perhaps even lovers, are still demons at their heart and core. Each of them are the embodiment of some of the worst behaviors man has to offer... MC, there are some people you just shouldn’t date, even if they love you, and now you suffer the consequences...

Satan

If there was any one flaw people could point to with Satan it was his temper. Truly something befitting his sin, it burned white hot and could ignite like a flash fire.

It was the MC who came in and finally brought him a bit of peace. Sure, he could still get mad, but for once he felt like he relied less on his facade. He felt like he could actually be relaxed and not let his anger control him...

But Wrath is more than just anger. It’s irrational. It’s undiscerning. It’s… spite. So. Much. Spite.

That’s why even after the storm of rage within him quelled, Satan was far from the perfect lover.

He just couldn’t seem to let things go... Anything that the MC did, every little thing he disapproved of, he kept on a running tally. He didn’t like himself for it but he almost couldn’t help it. Every misstep had to be admonished and every jab had to be repaid. Maybe not right then… But he always had his way in the end.

For small things, it was annoying at best. Being the knowledgeable man he is it’s fairly easy for him to lord his superior intelligence over people, the MC included. If they just went along with him and the boat would stay righted...

For larger things, the cracks begin to surface. No one likes a know-it-all telling how to live, after all. But Satan never cared to hear their complaints. He knows what’s best and he would “kindly” remind them of this by bringing up every mistake they’d ever made before. Any insult they lobbed, he had three waiting to counter.

It was all just repayment. If they wanted to hurt him, then he should get to hurt them back shouldn’t he?

If someone had reminded him that relationships aren’t transactional then maybe he’d have seen the problem sooner… If someone had intervened and told him he was actually being far from fair, he might have rethought his position... But no one else saw those warning signs. It was just Satan being Satan. Wrath made flesh.

He was legitimately shocked when the MC finally cracked one day. They were in yet another argument (one where he was winning) but he just had to throw in one last dig. One final insult to the pile... One more mistake they had made...

It was genuinely just a reflexive move that sent the MC flying against his bookshelves after they lunged at him. He didn’t think, he just acted and tossed them back with full force. He’s a demon though, so it wasn’t exactly pretty.

Seeing their crumpled form on the ground sent his mind into a panic... What did he just do?? His brothers came rushing in and accused him of throwing them in anger, but for once he had a clear head! Or… so he thought...

While the MC’s body recovered, their bones mending and blood vessels repairing, he realized that he hadn’t been thinking clearly at all. It was nothing but spite that drove him to cause them so much mental pain… A spite from within him that he’d let hurt even the person he loved most…

Satan shut himself away from others for a while. He felt defeated... Even after thinking he had a better handle on his anger, that he had grown into something more than the sin that made him, he was only ever acting on his Wrath to start with…

His breakup with the MC was painful but in his eyes well-warranted. He just couldn’t stop himself from hurting them...

Beelzebub

Beel is always hungry and that’s practically a universal law by now. There’s always an empty pit in his stomach just looking to be briefly satisfied by food of any kind...

It’s that brief satisfaction he chases like a junkie does his high. Sometimes he can’t even control his body’s need to devour, he’ll see food and just lunge for it. He’s a Glutton and it’s no secret.

Yet the MC made that pain he felt just a little more manageable. He couldn’t explain it, but they just made him less hungry... And for that, he wanted to protect them forever.

Unfortunately, it all happened in the one place they should have been the safest. Right there next to him in bed, their body pressed against his while his arms held them close. Nothing should have hurt them there, not a single demon would have dared to try…

...so why did it have to be him...?

He was having a terrible nightmare. He felt the ever-present pain in his stomach getting worse and worse. It was as if he could feel it in his very bones just this empty, gnawing, festering need to eat and consume whatever he could to make the pain just go away and-

He woke up to their screams.

Belphie had him pinned before he could process what had happened. All he could hear was a wail of pure agony from across the room and he could taste…

Meat. Metallic… Raw… He swallowed without thinking. But once he saw the source, it made him feel truly sick...

MC had left the bed and was crouched against the farthest wall, a blanket in their hand desperately trying to apply pressure to their shoulder. The blanket was soaked with blood…

A deep, lacerated bite wound lied underneath.

He had tried to eat them…

His other brothers were in the room in record time while Belphegor screamed at him. Questions of “What happened??” “What’s wrong with you?!?” “How could you!?” all leapt from their mouths.

He didn’t have an answer. He couldn’t believe it himself. He wanted to wash his mouth out with gasoline then never open it again… sew it shut for all he cared…

His brothers just might have murdered him that night if the MC hadn’t intervened, still wincing from the pain. Maybe they saw his tears and took pity…?

They tried to reassure him that they knew it was an accident. They said they knew he’d never hurt them on purpose, even as the blood soaked through their shirt… But for some reason that just made him feel worse. Why couldn’t he just control himself like everyone else could…??

Even after their wound was treated and started to heal over he began to keep his distance from them… He couldn’t stand to risk them getting hurt again and he couldn’t trust himself not to do it. If they tried to reach out, he’d pull back. If they approached, he’d back away…

Honestly? It’s better this way...

Belphegor

Belphie could say that the MC did far more for him than just getting him out of that attic. They changed him... or more accurately, they helped him heal. There were just some things about him that even they couldn’t change...

If someone wanted to know what made him so tired, they could point to his sin. But Sloth does more than just make him sleepy... he was a lazy bastard too.

It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t expect everyone else around him to still give him 100% anyway, the MC especially. Truly, if there were ever four words to describe a relationship with Belphie they'd be: all take, no give.

It wasn’t that he was uncaring, it was just that he always seemed to want more than he was willing to give back... The MC’s time, attention, interest, and love all had to be for him at the drop of a hat but they could never expect him to do the same…

Of course, being lazy is one thing… but Belphie was manipulative, too.

He knew all manner of ways to get people to do things for him, even if they don’t want to. His favorite weapons against a reluctant MC were charm, flirtation, and guilt tripping… so much guilt tripping…

Say no to him and suddenly they must not love him enough. Or maybe they just don’t care, huh? He’d had a long day at RAD, his brothers were driving him crazy, and all he wanted was just this one little favor from them. Just one little thing. Was really too much to ask?

Never mind that his “little favor” would just be one of a thousand that came before it or that when they asked for small favors in return, half the time he was either asleep or couldn’t be bothered.

Never mind how used they felt as time wore on… unappreciated and exploited no matter how much they showered him with love...

Any time they brought it up, he'd just act disappointed with them. Like, somehow the problem wasn't that he was asking for too much but they just couldn't keep up. And he was so damn persuasive he actually had them believing it for a while... But only a while.

Now, Belphie did love them. He loved them a lot, actually, almost as deeply as he does for Beel or did for Lilith... And that's why it stung So. Bad. when they said they wanted to leave him.

Breakup? With him? Why?? He honestly thought they couldn't be happier! They showed that they loved for him time and time again so why did they suddenly want to leave? Without them he'd start feeling all alone again...

So he asked, well. No. Actually he shouted.

He couldn't let them leave, not after he'd come to need them...! They did so much for him after all, couldn't they see they were his world? His heart? His everything??

He thought that he could still convince them not to go but they wouldn’t listen... He tried being charming, then he tried pleading... when those didn’t work he made a few threats then-

Beel's fist slamming into his cheek is what tore his hands from their neck after he went through a Complete. Meltdown. He had never seen his twin so mad at him before…

Beel had him by the collar, shouting about how he had been running the MC ragged and how terribly he had been treating them… Belphie didn’t believe him at first but it slowly started to hit him.

His slothful entitlement had made him so selfish… He not only asked the world of them then took them for granted, but it also blinded him to his fault in the whole thing... He wanted them to be his everything but he just wouldn’t accept his responsibility to be a good boyfriend to them in return…

Their shouting had apparently alerted the whole house and his brothers came in to investigate. The amount of anger that filled the room when they saw the MC curled on the floor, gasping for air, could have fueled a thousand Satans...

He didn’t want to keep away from them. He wanted to apologize and actually try this time but his brothers wouldn’t let him. He had hurt the MC twice now, so he just couldn’t be trusted… As far as they were concerned he could never be left alone with them again but the way MC avoided him too probably hurt the worst of all…

Maybe he should have never gotten that second chance after all...

Link to Part One: Lucifer, Mammon, and Leviathan

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me satan #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #im so sorry beel #i feel slanderous #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios

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ragingpancake · 3 years

Note

McShep prompt: no regrets?

Thank you so much for the prompt! @gingerpolyglot I really appreciate you sending this to me!

The pain in his shoulder radiates outward until his whole arm feels like it’s on fire. They need to operate, to clean up the mess of splintered bone, fragments of bullet, but he refuses to let them put him under, not yet. Not when Ronon, Teyla and Rodney have yet to come back through the Gate. It’s only because he’d lost consciousness at some point or another that he’s here, pacing the gate room despite the way each painful step threatens to bring to him to tears. No one is talking, refusing to give up whichever Marine it had actually been who had dragged him through the Gate, leaving the rest of John’s people on the other side. Likely because they knew the soldier wouldn’t escape unscathed for ignoring the single, most important rule: we don’t leave people behind. It was meant to be a routine mission. A quick return to M5-X385 to check in on the Zamains and make sure they were settling in okay to their new settlement. It’d been fine at first, a cake walk really, until some faction of the old Zamani militia, pissed at being removed from their previous plant (despite the fact that it was, you know, showing signs of the beginning of an actual ice age), showed up. Their weapons were primitive, but effective. A bullet had caught him in the shoulder and while bullets had never taken John down before, the damn rock that conked him on the head from the damn trebuchet definitely had. He never would have left them. Never.

Ronon and Teyla, they could take care of themselves, John knew that. But Rodney… Rodney, who was never meant to be a soldier, Rodney who, most days couldn’t even get a handle on his own P-90… Rodney, who John had sworn to protect at all costs and not because he was honor bound to do so, but because… well, because it was Rodney, was still out there. He trusted Teyla and Ronon with his own life, trusted them with every single person on this base, but… But. Rodney. “Dial the gate, Chuck,” he snarls up to the control room, yanking the sling that Keller had fitted him with temporarily from around his neck and he has to bite back a strangled cry at the way it jostles his arm. He somehow manages to keep up that stoic façade, despite the pain, despite the worry gnawing away at his stomach. “Disregard that command, Chuck,” another voice rings out and John turns, glaring daggers at Colonel Carter. “I said dial the gate!” Sam takes the steps down into the Gate room two at a time, closing the distance between them, her own jaw set. “I let you convince me to allow you to remain out here until they get back, John, but I’m not letting you do this. You’re in no condition—” “They’re my people!” He bellows, “and if you think for one second that I’m going to—” The gate sounds, loud and echoing in the Gate Room and Carter steps back, pulling John with her. “I’m reading Teyla’s IDC!” Chuck calls down and John whirls on him angrily. “Lower the damn shield!” The moment it’s down, the trio comes running through the event horizon, followed closely by the marines Carter had sent in as reinforcements. Once everyone is through, the shield reactivates a split second before the gate dies and John realizes he’s been holding his breath. It comes out in a whoosh as he pushes through the small crowd, good arm gripping Rodney’s shoulder and it hits him in this moment that he could have lost Rodney and he thinks his knees are maybe about to give out when the scientist turns to him, blue eyes wide as he pulls John in for a bone crushing hug. “Oh thank God! I thought you died!” And John can’t stifle the cry that tears from his mouth this time as his shoulder explodes with pain. When he goes to his knees, Rodney follows him, careful to ease him down as Keller weaves her way through the group, medical team right behind her with a gurney meant for John. “I—I shouldn’t have left you,” John rasps as hands grab at him, but he pushes them away, eyes never leaving Rodney’s. “You went down so fast and, and, and there was blood and—” It’s Rodney’s hand this time on either side of John’s face. “I thought you died,” he says again and it’s too much in this moment, with the way Rodney’s looking at him and John can’t breathe and--. “Colonel,” Keller says urgently. “This can’t wait any longer. We need to get that shoulder--.” He doesn’t hear anything else though because he leans forward, shoulder be damned, and crushes his lips against Rodney’s. He savors it for about a half a second before he feels a prick in his arm and everything starts to go sideways. “Sheppard—” Rodney says as Keller’s team manhandles him onto the gurney and John can only watch through hazy vision as Teyla and Ronon help Rodney to his feet, Ronon’s hand clamped firmly on Rodney’s shoulder as if to keep him from chasing after him. I’m gonna beat the shit out of him later for that, John thinks, but it’s the last thought he has before darkness claims him. --- He wakes up in the infirmary and unsurprisingly, he’s not alone. Ronon’s sitting in the chair next to his bed, legs propped up on the edge while Teyla is at his feet, hands rubbing his ankle through the blanket. Rodney’s up somewhere near his head and John can feel the weight of his hand on his good shoulder. “’Thought you were gonna sleep forever,” Ronon says, dropping his feet and letting his chair tip back on to all four legs. “You should not have delayed your surgery, John,” Teyla admonishes gently and he wishes that they would at least wait until he’s fully awake before the

lectures start. “Yeah, but if he hadn’t, the whole Gate Room wouldn’t have gotten that show.” John blinks at Ronon maybe a little dumbly as Rodney’s cheeks pinken slightly. “Wha’—” John clears his throat. “What show?” “Oh, you know, the one where you tried to make out with McKay in front of everyone.” “Ronon,” Teyla chastises, but he grins at John. “Clearly, it was some sort of mixed reaction to the adrenaline decrease and, and, and probably blood loss,” Rodney explains and John can read it all over his face, even slightly high, that he thinks there has to be some reasonable explanation other than the fact that John just wanted to kiss him. Plain and simple. That he’s wanted to for the longest damn time, maybe since the first time Rodney showed him the Puddle Jumpers. The problem was never Rodney, it was always John, too emotionally stunted and stupid to act on what he wanted until he thought he might never get it again. “We don’t need to keep harping on it and embarrassing the Colonel,” Rodney huffs but he slouches down in his chair a little miserably. “No regrets, McKay,” John says, and he would shrug like it was no big deal if he thought he could move his shoulder without puking all over his team. But it has its desired effect because Rodney sits up so quickly that he very nearly drops his tablet. “I—what?” “Well,” John amends, feeling his eyelids growing heavier by the moment, “maybe just one.” His head lulls to the side and he gives Rodney a lopsided smile. “Probably shoulda done that sooner.” And Ronon laughs out loud, clapping his hands together like this is the best thing he’s ever heard. “Told you!” He crows. “I told you! You owe me a beer!” Teyla rolls her eyes but she does so with a smile as she rises, swatting Ronon’s legs. “We should leave you to rest, John. I am very glad that you are alright.” Ronon is still grinning broadly, even as Teyla ushers him away, but not before he claps Rodney on his shoulder roughly. “Did you… do you mean that?” Rodney asks, oddly quiet and John doesn’t know when his eyes closed, but he has to open them again to squint up at Rodney. “S’it alright with you if I do?” “Oh, yes. Of course, I just, uh. It’s just that… which is to say um, you’re youand I’m me and I just uhh… can we perhaps try again? Sometime soon? For scientific reasons, of course.” “Rodney,” John murmurs. “Hmm?” “Shut up.” “Right. Yes. Shutting up now.” It lasts for all of two seconds. “Really though? Are you sure? You literally just outed yourself in front of the entire expedition and, and, and—” “I know,” John says and he’s so close to falling back asleep. “Still. No regrets.” “Huh,” is the last thing John hears before the darkness claims him once more.

#mcshep #askbox prompt #sga fic #fandom: sga #stargate atlantis #sga #john sheppard #rodney mckay #john sheppard/rodney mckay #teyla emmagan #ronon dex #ronon is a little shit #and teyla is lovely as always #gingerpolyglot

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winterandwords · 3 years

Text

It looks like my brain is taking some time off doing things with words. This honestly almost never happens. I'm ✨obsessive✨ about writing to the point where it often sometimes becomes A Problem™

So, this used to drive me crazy with frustration. I'm a very push-through-it kind of person. This is also A Problem™ and one that I'm actively working on for reasons of physical and mental health. Before, I would admonish myself for not trying hard enough, force myself to do the thing, be utterly miserable, and ultimately end up despising every fucking word I wrote when my mind and my heart weren't in it.

Now I'm trying this new thing where I don't do that and I think about how I got here. I've been working on Project Frequency non-stop for a while, even though I didn't fully intend to get stuck into it just yet. I published a short fiction collection on my website. I finished the last revision on Project Storm way sooner than planned after it came back from my editing folks (still needs proofread, but sooooooon!).

Within the last few weeks, I also started creating regular writing-related content for Instagram, which has included making artsy fartsy microfiction videos where I read things with my own fucking voice OMG. This is legit one of my favourite forms of creative expression right now and I'm learning so much. I gathered three years' worth of microfiction into categories for future posts. And I completely overhauled my entire website.

My mental health has been not amazing. OK, that's a massive understatement. My mental health has been an explosive catastrophic disaster because of stuff relating to serious trauma that I don't want to talk about here. I fell apart in a full-on breakdown kind of way, which is not something I do very often because I live in a perpetual state of denial and dissociation and like to pretend I don't because it makes me feel like I've got my shit together better than I really do.

I contacted a trauma support centre that specialises in the very specific context of my trauma. I realised I wasn't ready to go through that whole process yet and cancelled the initial outreach assessment. Then I felt like a weak piece of shit and hated myself a bit. Then my close family and a very good friend helped me understand that this was an act of self-care and boundary setting and sometimes first steps have to be taken a number of times. So it's OK. Sort of. And I'm doing way better at dealing with the mess in my head with the support of people who love me. And I'm extremely lucky to have those people.

My chronic illness/disability stuff has been a pile of fuckery too, but the more manageable kind of fuckery. Except I've been really struggling with mobility aids lately because I'm basically going in cycles of fucking up my lower body by not using them, then fucking up my upper body by using them. So I found a truly epic rollator/wheelchair hybrid (swear to god, this thing is cyberpunk AF) that is everything I need and actually possible for me to operate even when my stupid hands are being stupid, and now we're trying to work out how to afford it and hopefully I'll be able to get it within the next few months.

Now that I type all that out, I'm not quite so much like "Why am I not feeling creative right now? It's a mystery!" I am burned the fuck out and profoundly exhausted on every level. And I'm doing that new thing I mentioned at the top of this post. I'm accepting it. And I'm letting myself rest. And I think it's good.

Anyway, I just wanted to check in and say hi and I miss you all and I'm still lurking even if I'm not posting as much. Love love love. PS. Sorry if I've missed any tags lately. Please keep tagging me. I don't usually suck this bad at keeping up <3

#the shit in my head #chronic illness #disability #mental health #writeblr #writeblr community #writer #writers #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #tumblr writers #writers community #writing #am writing #writing community

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mimik-u · 4 years

Text

Gloves, Ch. 1

Summary: There's a reason that Yellow Diamond doesn't take off her gloves.

A/N: The other day, as a part of my 100-word drabble word series for SU, I fulfilled this prompt, which required me to question what might be beneath Yellow Diamond's gloves. The headcanon I came up with intrigued me, and inspiration to write a seven pt. fic was thus born. Between school and other creative projects, I'm not entirely sure that this one will get updated regularly, but I do have a fairly firm outline in mind, so I hope the wait between chapters won't be too long! Enjoy!

AO3 Link

“Blue?”

“... yes, Pink?”

Though the other Diamond barely looks up from her screen, Pink Diamond can tell that she’s listening from the way that her long chin slightly inclines in her direction.

Good.

Because she has an important question to ask.

Attention is hard won from the likes of Blue and Yellow Diamond, so even half-victories are still victories that have to be capitalized upon with immediacy. Pink lightly hops upwards from her own throne to the arm of Blue’s, floating downwards into an expectant sitting position, happily ignoring the fact that her elder flicks away her screen with a sigh that filters visibly through her nostrils. If Blue was really annoyed, then she’d just have her Pearl usher her to her chambers... but tellingly, the imperial command never quite comes.

Pink takes courage from this implicit sign and forges ahead in a rush of breathless words.

“Why does Yellow wear her gloves all the time?”

It’s an observation that has increasingly captured her attention as the years have marched on with seemingly zero deviation in pattern.

Yellow Diamond never removes her gloves.

Pink wears gloves, too, but they’re nothing like Yellow’s—so stiff and armor-like, as inflexible as their wearer. Plus, she pulls hers off from time to time so she can feel flowers on her fingertips… their soft, delicate petals... those spiny, fragile leaves. Yellow, in stark contrast, never goes anywhere without hers—even when she joins the Diamonds in the pool on extraction cycles, even when she retires to her chambers at the end of a long day. Exceptionless in most things, so intransigent and firm, it’s no great surprise that the elder Diamond adheres to her own chosen mold, but still…

Even Blue Diamond lowers her hooded veil.

Even White Diamond occasionally unpins her cape.

Blue frowns thoughtfully, subtle lines striking themselves beneath her eyes as she peers downwards at Pink. There’s a look of calculation in her gaze, a sense of measurement, as though she’s already weighing how much she can get away with not saying.

“Have you ever asked Yellow about them directly?”

Pink briefly considers lying, but then thinks better of it. While she might get away with an occasional white lie to Yellow, Blue and White are far more discerning in their judgment—White especially.

(Sometimes, she swears that the matriarch can read her mind.)

“... not really,” she bites her lip. “I just assumed it would be rude to ask a Gem about her appearance modifiers...”

“And so you settled upon asking another Gem about someone else’s appearance modifiers,” Blue observes, a certain wryness in the slight tilt of her lips.

“Something like that,” Pink confirms, not entirely abashed. “I just figured that you would know, and that would save me the trouble from having to pester Yellow about them.”

But Blue’s expression recoils to its former solemnity again as she immediately shakes her head, her hair shifting heavily with the movement.”

“Yes... please do not do that, Pink... not unless she brings it up... Yellow—“

But now it’s Blue’s turn to be hesitant; she doesn’t blush, not in the way that Pink blushes—so furiously, all of her emotions scribbled across her face—but her cheeks aren’t as coolly colored as before, taking on a tinge less like her hair and more like the facets of her gem.

“Yellow what?” Pink asks insistently, pressing her momentary advantage. As subtly as she can, she leans forward a little bit on her blue perch, like an organic avian preparing for flight. “Please, pretty please tell me, Blue. I won’t tell Yellow that you told.”

(Probably.)

(Likely.)

(It’s a tossup of probability, really.)

“You’re being facetious, Pink,” Blue admonishes quietly, glancing away. “This is a serious matter that deserves the utmost respect.”

And though Blue is almost always serious, Pink instinctively intuits that Blue has rarely been more serious than in this conversation, which had begun so innocently, with errant curiosity. When she faces Pink again, her expression has returned to its usual placid coolness, but her fingers are interlocked in her lap, woven into a rigid temple that bespeaks far more about her feelings on the situation than the studious coldness of her eyes.

Pink cowers beneath the weight of this silent gesture, leaning backwards on her makeshift seat.

“Sorry, Blue,” she mumbles shamefacedly and hopes that the apology is sufficient. She doesn’t want to go to her chambers for the rest of the cycle. It’s so rare that Blue allows her to accompany her for the day.

Thankfully, though, the other Diamond seems to accept her contrition as sincere, nodding slowly, the ice melting from her eyes in degrees.

Pink can’t help but wonder at these microscopic exchanges, so subtle but undoubtedly there—who knew that gloves could wring such excess of emotion in the nigh emotionless Blue Diamond?

“Yes, well,” she says, each word doled out carefully, with all the air of internal constraint, “I can give you the basics... but as for the rest, you’ll have to wait until Yellow is ready to tell you—if and when that ever is. She doesn’t like to dwell upon the matter... even with me... perhaps even especially with me...”

Blue trails off, an aching concern seemingly troubling her brow. Pink think she’s know why. Of the four Diamonds, Blue and Yellow emerged from the same supernova some hundreds of thousand years ago, sharing atoms and stardust and precious intimacy in a way that has always made Pink feel a little lonely. They’re bound to each other by far more than simple affinity, tangled, intertwined, and enmeshed.

Naturally, any breach between them doesn’t settle right in Blue Diamond’s gem.

Pink forces herself to be patient, to allow the other Diamond to find her words again.

“But that is no matter,” she finally says—rather unconvincingly. “I know enough… I know how it began.”

“And how is that exactly?”

Blue’s arctic gaze settles upon the younger Diamond again, and there’s sadness in her eyes, ancient and unfathomable depth.

It strikes her suddenly, with all the force of blow, how much older than Pink that she is.

That they all are.

White and Yellow and Blue and all the very stars which surround Homeworld in their bright and intangible embrace.

“It begins as we Diamonds all do,” Blue whispers, reaching upwards to glance her fingers across her gem. “As entities with nearly infinite power, inexplicably constrained within the boundaries and volatilities of our emotions…”

Pink’s immediate confusion must show in her face because the other Diamond immediately clarifies, frowning softly.

“Which is to say, think about your own powers, Pink—how, at the height of your emotions, they can inadvertently manifest in strange ways…”

“Like, a few cycles ago”—Pink can’t help but smile—“when I accidentally made those pebbles come to life.”

She’d cried on a few decorative rocks—upset that she couldn’t accompany Yellow to her Jungle Moon colony—and within mere seconds, they were animated with life, growing arms and legs and expressive faces, clumsily moving around on her vanity, knocking things over.

Now, they live in her chambers, parroting the words she says.

“Yes, precisely,” Blue nods approvingly, in that way she only does when Pink manages to get something right. “The general theory—according to White—is that when we Diamonds feel any strong degree of emotion, we generate those emotions into tangible consequences, whether we intend to or otherwise…”

Pink tilts her head curiously. It’s hard to imagine any of her three elders showing a “strong degree of emotion.” In their own ways, each of them—White, Yellow, and Blue—are so meticulous in their chosen facades, bearing their regality on their faces with a modicum of control that they often scold their most junior Diamond for lacking.

But Blue is perceptive in this front, too, her frown slowly shifting into the slightest, most incremental of smiles.

“Constraining yourself, learning to manage your emotions, will come with time and age,” she promises gently. “But it is essential that you learn this lesson sooner rather than later because, well, there are some consequences of our feelings that we can rationally accept, and others…”

“Not so much?” Pink guesses astutely, beginning to have a burgeoning idea of what this entire story must be about.

“Aye,” Blue Diamond affirms with a measured nod of her head. “Aye… Yellow Diamond’s powers are electric, you know. When we were younger Diamonds… when we didn’t have all that much possession over ourselves and our emotions and everything in-between … she couldn’t touch anything without hurting it.”

The finality of the statement bruises the entirety of the throne room with its magnitude. Pink stares upwards at the other Diamond with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“What?”

“You must understand, Pink,” Blue returns emphatically, her voice strained beneath its own quiet urgency. “Yellow then was very much like she is now—stoic, temperamental, quick to action and reaction—but all of these qualities were amplified by her youth and relative impulsivity—and so she was nigh constantly creating her own energy. It pooled in her fingertips. It sparked in her eyes. It electrified her entire body. When she was frustrated, she could barely touch a screen without short-circuiting it. When she was furious, she could destabilize an entire court of innocent gems. Even when she was happy, joyous after conquest or battle or victory… she couldn’t even touch—“

But Blue Diamond stops short, her breath hitching.

It only takes her seconds to recover, to regain at least the semblance of composure across the smooth facets of her face, but Pink isn’t entirely naïve.

She knows that the completion to that self-interrupted sentence must have been me.

“After one especially harrowing incident,” Blue continues, closing her eyes against what appears to be a painful memory, “she tasked a group of Bismuths to forge special gloves for her that would insulate her powers more efficiently. The gloves helped. Absolutely. She could lean her hand against a pillar and not char it to dust… and since then, of course, she has become more… practiced in tempering her emotions, so much so that I have a sneaking suspicion that the gloves are less functional than they are habitual… but still, she wears them…”

Blue doesn’t say anymore, but the implicit completion to her speech needs no articulation to be known.

And she’ll continue to wear them.

Forever.

For time immemorial.

Pink Diamond scarcely knows what to say, how to process this terrible truth, how to feel.

Silence presses upon the cavernous throne room like the weight of a palm sinking downwards and downwards still, and she can’t help but stare downwards at her own gloved hands, wondering if they, too, have the capacity for engendering such violence.

She hopes not.

Stars, how she prays.

“What was the turning point?” She dares to ask when the quietude gets to be too much, the invisible hand too oppressive.

And yet, her own voice is quiet.

Solemn.

Terribly afraid and equally curious.

The oxymoron twists the gem in her stomach. She half-wants to know and half-dreads the answer.

Thankfully, though—(disappointingly?)—Blue Diamond shakes her head firmly, her brow lowered sternly over her eyes.

“That is not my story to tell.”

#bellow diamond #blue diamond #yellow diamond #pink diamond #s: steven universe #mimiku #hisoisoaihdfhidhfiofhsio #do i have time to be writing a seven pt. fic #no #am i doing it anyway #yeah #gloves

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canyouhearthelight · 3 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 140

And here we have the last chapter of the Food Festival! This is one part I was pretty excited to write - The Closing Costume Party. I wouldn’t have been able to get this one squared away without @baelpenrose and @charlylimph-blog... Both of you caught a few things I didn’t that kept it from making sense from a reader perspective. So thank you both, very much.

I growled softly to myself as I twisted my arms behind my back to pull on my costume. Normally, I was more than flexible enough, but the amount of leverage I needed right now just wasn’t happening unless I was willing to seriously dislocate something. Dropping my hands, I frowned as I jiggled my arms a little to work feeling back into my elbows.

“You really should have fitted this sooner than now,” Conor laughed against the back of my head as he pulled the laces tight on the blood-red corset. Getting one made while laying low and avoiding Hannah had been a nightmare, but it was going to be worth it. I just knew it.

“You just wanted to see me try this entire costume on sooner,” I joked as I felt everything fit snugly - but not too tightly - into place.

Maverick flicked a lock of my hair over my shoulder and positioned it just-so. “It’s not his fault that you couldn’t fit this over your scrubs and have it work for tonight.”

“Who wants to see a corset over scrubs?” I scrunched my nose at the thought while smoothing my sleeves and adjusting my collar. “So far so good?” I asked, slightly louder.

As a credit to their maturity regarding the matter, both men looked me over earnestly before glancing at each other. Conor finally broke the silence. “Aren’t the slits in the skirt a bit… high?” Maverick whispered in his ear, and an expression of utter comprehension glowed on his face. “Oh! That’s… Love, that’s clever.”

I grinned hard enough to cramp my jaw. “Thank you.” Despite how daring the outfit looked, there was exactly zero chance of any wardrobe malfunctions more serious than a hole in my stockings - a near-indestructible nude bodysuit under everything made sure of that.

“Your turn, now,” Maverick insisted, eliciting a groan from Conor, who he had turned toward while brandishing eyeliner.

“Isn’t it bad enough I let the two of you do this?” He gestured at his hair, which was styled within an inch of his life and would sustain an EF4 tornado with minimal loss of glitter.

“Nope,” I popped, still smiling as I sat down to put on my boots. Parvati and Hannah had envisioned tonight to be a sort of return-to-our-roots in a very feral, primitive way, complete with costumes. “We’ve been imagining since before we could cook,” Hannah had pointed out. Between that and the multiple hints that I wasn’t capable of costuming myself, I had gone a bit more over the top than I had originally planned. Hence the corset, the boots, Conor’s hair… although the leather pants the guys were wearing had been decidedly Maverick’s idea and I resisted the need to fall at his feet in gratitude.

Once we were finally costumed, we managed to arrive just-fashionably late to the last hurrah of the Festival. I don’t know who gaped harder - us at the party, or the people who managed to recognize me when they saw me leading the men in. Parvati’s incredible, winding mural was noticeably weathered and patchy, giving the overall atmosphere a post-apocalyptic feel. The only noticeable lighting came from the braziers, and deep, almost subsonic music thumped in my chest, driving my adrenaline just high enough to overwhelm my anxiety.

My nose led us over to the first stall of the night, the smell of charring meat fitting the tone. Per a previous discussion around our costumes, I did not reach for anything but instead Conor took my portion and fed it to me - his idea, this time, though Maverick had readily agreed. It was just enough to set off a few murmurs before I heard a familiar laugh cut through the air.

“Councillor Reid!” Jokul’s voice crowed, turning our heads his direction. Warmly, he clasped my hands when offered, trembling with the laughter he was trying to suppress. “This is an unexpected but pleasant surprise.”

I took a moment to take in his fur trousers and tunic, with rough metal covering vital areas. “The dirt is a nice touch,” I offered, squeezing his hands in greeting. “And Ivan! Well done, sir!”

Ivan rubbed the freshly-buzzed back of his head and grinned. “He actually already had the furs, I just made the armored parts.”

“I meant all of it,” I admonished softly, waving at his work throughout the event.

“Antique, yeah?” Conor asked, gesturing to the furs both of them were wearing.

To his credit, Jokul scoffed. “Absolutely not. Quality synthetic.”

“Don’t let Hannah find out.”

A silver brow arched high enough to impress even Tyche. “Who do you think I commissioned?”

“Clever boy.” I winked at Ivan, eliciting a grin.

In response, Ivan did a runway-twirl, his fur kilt flaring just slightly. “What do you think, Councillor? Can I pull it off?”

With the cheekiest grin my soul could ever manifest, I stared him down. “I think I am the wrong person to ask that.” Even in the dim light, I could see Jokul’s face turn bright red.

“I smell goat,” Maverick interrupted, entirely off topic and completely unabashed.

Ivan’s nose twitched. “Oh, you’re right!” Sniff, sniff. “And it’s on a spit! Let’s find it before it’s gone!”

With that, he snagged Jokul’s wrist and dragged him less like he was an easily two-hundred pound man and more like he was a kite. When I snickered, my former enemy leaned over and murmured “I like the chains, very nice touch.”

I shook the wrist that connected to Conor’s belt and whispered conspiratorially. “Your idea, really. You were so convinced I was leading the entire Ark like this…”

He had the decency to snort. “Seeing it in reality, I was a complete idiot. But it’s quite poetic, and I like it.”

“Poetic?” I asked as I tried to keep pace in the six-inch heels I had elected to wear.

“Are they chaining you down, or are you leading them by their gonads? Or, perhaps, are they saving you from yourself?” He gave a very pointed look at the delicate chains going from the shackles on my wrists to the links attached just above Maverick’s and Conor’s hips.

“Saving me, definitely.” My confession was unashamed and completely sober, the result of the primal music and smells surrounding me.

“Gods agree, someone needs to.”

I didn’t have time to argue before we arrived at the source of the enticing smell - a Jamaican barbecue vendor, who had oxtails, saltfish, and…

“Grilled goat!” Ivan crowed triumphantly. As he started handing out portions from the dancing, grinning vendor, he raised an eyebrow when he noticed that the portion he tried to hand to me was intercepted by Maverick first, and then fed to me rather than feeding myself.

“Not my idea,” I managed around an insanely delicious bite. “Swear.”

“Kink tomato,” he insisted, holding up his hands.

Conor almost choked laughing. “Not our kink either, mate. Just set dressing for the Queen over here.” Taking another bite, he winked at me.

“Ah, Conor’s idea then,” Jokul nodded sagely before erupting in the closest thing to a girlish squeal I could imagine coming from him. “Miss Harper, we’ve been looking for you!”

Shit, I thought to myself. I hadn’t thought of what Charly would say when I discussed this idea with Conor and Maverick, and I was just realizing it was a monumental oversight. Plastering a smile on my face, I turned in the direction Jokul had shouted -

Only to be confronted with what looked like a fox with antlers, a rakish Anansi, the Queen of the Dead, a blind healer, and… a walking shrine? I wasn’t sure what exactly Arthur was dressed as, but I could clearly identify a shabby tweed suit, his sword, a tome that I hoped was faux-moldy, breastplate, shin guards, along with various tchotchkes that looked like they came from high-schoolers and were a bit too beat up to be faked.

“Arthur, what are you?” I asked. Where anyone else would find it rude, I knew my bluntness would be either appreciated or ignored entirely.

“The Ghost of Classes Past.” He swept into a near-Shakespearen bow, gesturing at the bits and bobs that adorned him. “Humans protect, and we mourn those we could not to ensure they live on in memory.” The thump of the music did not change, but his costume gave it a sepulchral tone, like a dying heartbeat.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, the antlered fox bounced familiarly before looking at the Queen of the Dead. “You did a fantastic job on their costumes! They look amazing!” Her antlers were, of course, somehow illuminated from below, but damn me if I could figure out how.

Despite the fact that I knew damned well that Tyche wanted to erupt into laughter at the suggestion, she managed to, quite impressively, tamp it down to a savage smile of silver fangs and blood-red lips. Flapping a hand at myself, Conor, and Maverick, she gave her bell-like fake-laugh, fully in character. “Oh, I had nothing to do with this. Darling Sophia and her merry toys conceived it all on their own. This is the first time I’ve even seen it, darling.” She turned to me, tipping her chin down in respect. “Well done, dearest sister.” Tyche was on peak display, with kohl lining her glowing grey eyes, a black bodysuit covering her from collar to feet, fitted vest and cardigan vest, all partnered with a skirt that could be ten inches thick or ten miles of ribbon - who knew with all the darting and layers? Not me, but I was surely impressed with what looked like ten miles of black feathers flowing from her waist to her hips.

“Why, thank you, Your Majesty.” I swept my leg back in a daring curtsy, forcing Conor and Maverick to smother their laughter at Jokul and Ivan’s faces.

“Ma’am! Ma’am ma’am ma’am!” Charly demanded as she pulled me upright. “You blushed at the concept of kink night, and here I find you leading your men around by their hips!”

I tossed my hair and winked at Jokul. “They aren’t being led, they are saving me from myself.” To Charly’s credit, I did look one deep breath from embarrassment - a black dress with red trim, sliced from floor to ribs and collar to navel, over what appeared to be just fishnet stockings and cavalier boots. The only thing, visibly, retaining any sort of deceny was the corset sealing me in the dress. To go with it, I sported chunky, silver cuffs chained to both Maverick and Conor. Ducking in, I whispered, “I probably will have to be cut out of this bodysuit, no worries on me flashing anyone.”

“Ooooo… well played, madam, well played,” she cheered, twirling me around, forcing both men to pivot with me, laughing, before giving me a very concerned look. “How fucking tall are those?” This was clearly directed at my heels, which she was staring at like a shark presented with a steak.

“Six,” I admitted. “But I did pointe ballet for a little while, so… This isn’t that bad.”

Maverick ducked into the center of the circle we formed. “They’re a full size too big to allow for swelling and she has the toe boxes lined with impact foam.”

“How the hell else am I supposed to wear these things?” I asked with a glare that had him standing ramrod straight and barely restraining a laugh.

Tyche, to her credit, patted my shoulder. “While sitting. Or, if you have to stand, with a platform in the toe.”

“No shit,” I hissed, setting the mummified healer doubling over in laughter. “But I’ve done enough damage to my feet, thank you, so… there may be foot braces involved.” One of which was currently digging in just in front of my heel, which I made a mental note to pass on to the development team.

A thick, French accent set me shaking my head when it came from the very-not-French looking mummy. “Well played, Sophia. The sling and calf brace design I saw recently get approved by medical?”

I groaned as I realized that of course this was Antoine. Life and Death, forever partnered. “Yesssss,” I hissed. “Grey created the design.” I unzipped one boot down far enough to roll it below my knee, exposing braces above and below the kneecap before running further down. “The weight is distributed throughout the leg, before terminating across the front and back of the arch of the foot, to even out the pressure.”

I could almost see numbers whirling beneath the six-foot-plus candy-pink bowler hat. “That… sounds like it might actually be comfortable,” Coffey intoned. I couldn’t help but grin at the tilt of his hat and the feather arching behind him.

“More comfy than actual heels, yes,” I admitted before deflecting attention as far from me as possible. Which, considering how much weight was normally put on the ball of the foot in heels like this, wasn’t a lie…. “But we aren’t here for this! We’re here for food!”

Cheers erupted, and we set off dragging each other to what bits we had discovered. The theme of the night was firmly set around protein, grilled if possible, with wicks of smoke dancing through the flickering light along with the thump of the music. Some were spicy, others unexpectedly sweet. As I laughed, and ate, and sweated, and danced, I could freely admit that there was exactly zero percent chance that I would have imagined this in my wildest dreams. And even better? I could enjoy every second, every smell, every beat of the music. I made a point to wink at each camera I could spot, to the point that, first Tyche, and then everyone else felt the need to comically push down my thumbs-up and cover my face.

Clearly, Parvati and Hannah, who I hadn’t seen all night, were monitoring what they would later discover to be a flying pass on their final exam.

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#the miys #found family #humans are weird #science fiction #aliens #apocalypse #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #earth is space australia #post apocalypse #post post apocalypse #original science fiction #original sci fi #original writing

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 4 years

Note

I'd like to see how you think Vinca would admit she has feelings for MC, as if she couldn't take it anymore and admits to being in love with her.

“So you didn’t come to nag at me? At all? You’re just… just going to sit there? Silent?”

As she had done for the past hour, Vinca thoroughly ignored you. Never mind the fact that this was your shop, during your shift. You had gotten accustomed to Vinca hanging out here, to her snark and jokes and intense gaze, but today she was…

Weird.

“I like this silence,” you muse, tinkering with the price tags on some of the bikes. “I feel like I can actually think, for once. It’s amazing what not being insulted every second does for your humor. Didn’t think I’d ever feel peace with you on the same room.”

The silence stretched, thick. It irks you, makes you shift uncomfortably.

“Then again, having you like this is just so weird. Did something happen? Something must have happened. Was it Laz again? What did he do?”

You turn your head just slightly. Vinca jerks her head to the side, blue eyes as hard as little diamonds, staring into the door so hard you’re afraid it’ll burst into flames.

Did you just catch Vinca staring at you…?

“Okey, what’s up? You’re creeping me out.”

Vinca was the sort of person to run you over with her opinion or thoughts, never afraid of the consequences, her pride a stubborn shield. It didn’t make sense for her to hesitate, to keep silent.

“If you don’t tell-”

The bell jingles. You sigh, standing up, going to greet the costumers. It’s a little boy, vibrating in place, eyes darting around everything offered in the store. His mother walks in a moment later, giving you a small, apologetic smile.

As you help the boy decide what bike he likes the most, your gaze wanders towards Vinca again, catching how fast her gaze drops towards her phone.

You’re so kicking her out for creeping you out later. Once you finish your shift, you might coax what’s troubling her so much with some ice cream and that movie she likes.

“Will I faster than mum’s car with this, miss?”

You blink down, a delighted smile spreading over your face. “What?” You giggle, crouching, too focused on the little kid to notice how Vinca reacts to the sound, eyes snapping towards you, wide with wonder. “Oh, I don’t know. How fast are you?”

He puffs out his chest. “Faster than The Flash!”

His mother gets this blank expression, probably recalling some sort of accident. You recognize it well enough – it’s the same expression your mom always gets when she talks about the pot incident you had had when you were small.

The next few minutes are spent lightly teasing the boy, his mom admonishing him from running around so much, and a successful purchase moments later.

“Remember to drive safe!” You shout, just before the door closes.

“He’ll probably crash,” Vinca huffs, somewhere behind you.

“Oh, so now you’re talking?”

When you turn, your first thought is that Vinca probably is sick and that’s why she has been acting so weird. After all, how else would you explain the red tinting her cheeks, spreading down her neck?

She’s a full-body blusher, huh, you muse, momentarily distracted.

Hold on… full-body… Blush? Wait, Vinca is blushing?

“Is everything-”

“You’re- You’re good with kids.” She interrupts, gaze wandering.

“Not really, he was just…” Your eyes narrow, catching the way she’s moving. Slow. Uncertain. “Don’t change the topic. Why are you-”

“Shut up for one second, okay?” She snaps, back to her usual self. You blink, confused but not startled, used to her abrupt change in humor. “I just.” A pause. Her eyes flick towards you, and she takes a deep breath. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

“I’m in the middle of my shift-”

One snap of her fingers, and a demon materializes near the counter, expressionless.

“You have to be kidding-”

Her hand snaps towards your arm, claiming it in a vice-like grip. Vinca proceeds to drag you out of the store and into her car, occasionally adjusting her grip and making it gentler, and you only sigh and follow her, deciding do keep silent for now.

Seems like we’re getting that ice cream a bit sooner.

Curiously, Vinca doesn’t head to that ice cream parlor you usually frequent, choosing instead to lead you out of town. The place she wants to go instantly clicks in your mind, memories of a fight – the fight where you had first learned of demons’ existence – flashing behind your eyes.

“Are you going to perform another ritual?”

“No.” Vinca says, dryly. “I would never do something to hurt you.” There’s a pause, but you don’t make any comments. You can tell she’s not quite done talking. “When… when I did it the first time… the ritual, I mean. And it- when it didn’t work out, and you got hurt – cursed with being Dorran’s vessel, I felt so… miserable. I’m not any better than him. Considering how I acted, and all.”

“Hey, you helped me get exorcised. That must count for something.”

“I could have done it sooner.” She huffs. You can see her eyes darken, lost in memory

You shrug. “You were desperate, back then. And you’ve changed a lot. You actually care about me now, for one.”

Her lips thin. “Yes.”

That makes your thoughts skid into a stop. You expected her to huff, glare at you, and say something similar to ‘don’t let it get to your head, pipsqueak, you aren’t that important’.

But Vinca doesn’t look like she’s going to add anything of the sort, so you just stare at her, mouth agape.

“Did you just admit you care about me?”

You see her take a deep breath, feel how her grip tightens against the steering wheel. Her gaze is locked on the road, resolute. “Is that too hard to believe?”

You begin to say yes only to clam up when you detect the edge on her voice. “I’m just… surprised. You don’t usually admit how you, uh, how…”

“That’s going to change, starting now.” She says, guiding the car to a gentle stop near the abandoned factory where everything had transpired. She motions at you to get out of the car and heads inside at a brisk pace. You fumble with your seatbelt and hurry to follow.

The shadows loom, threateningly. Your gaze is drawn towards the center of the room, the traces of a circle barely visible. “I’m listening, then. To everything you have to say.”

You join her, sitting just a few meters near the entrance, backs against some boxes left there a lifetime ago. Vinca closes her eyes and sighs, deeply, and you only watch her. Watch the arch of her back, the knives on her dress glinting against the pale beams of light that manage to sneak through the windows.

“Just a heads up, but I didn’t expect this.” She finally says, after minutes of silence. “I thought I had better tastes.”

“In… what? Abandoned factories?”

“No, in- agh, just listen. I used to think you were someone I’d enjoy breaking, you know? In the show.”

“Oh yeah, I remember all your challenges.”

“But you turned out to be tougher than you look. And smarter, too, even if you sometimes make dumb decisions. Like following me to an abandoned factory minutes before a ritual.”

“I didn’t know you were going to-! But okey, yeah, fair point. It was a bit stupid. I should have called the cops on you.”

“Right, well. And then you powered through Dorran’s manipulation – I have to hand it to you, that was pretty badass. And throughout it all, you’ve… I used to think you were after me because you wanted an adventure. I mean, I’m hot, I’m rich. What more is there to love? But-” She throws you significant glare when she sees your mouth open, and you obediently close it so she can continue, “I understand now that it was never about the adventure. You just… wanted to get to know me. Not Pride, just me. Not the woman involved with demons, and not the woman involved with ghosts. You just wanted me, as I am, imperfect. And you never… you were never pushy about it. I could see it in your eyes, how you were connecting the dots about everything, but you never used it against me.”

“I never would have,” you mutter, gently. Vinca’s breath comes out in quick puffs of air. She’s visibly nervous, twirling one of her tiny knives between her fingers, her blush beginning to spread over her chest.

“You… somehow, you… I’ve felt it before, you know. Flings. Something destined to shatter when the other person can’t put up with me anymore, but with you, it’s… it’s different. I don’t feel like it will shatter. You keep me on my toes but I never feel like I will fall. You make me feel alive when all I want is to hide myself from everything. Somehow, I…I’ve come to love you. I’m honestly impressed, pipsqueak. I really thought I had better tastes.”

“What can I say?” You shrug, trying to be smooth but failing because your heart is thundering against your ears, your voice too soft out of the sheer wonder you are feeling right now. “Doing the unexpected is my passion.”

“You are too damn dorky.” Vinca hisses, turning her head just slightly. “I am ashamed of myself for loving- for falling in love with someone like you.”

You reach for her, and she lets you guide her so your eyes meet, sparkling blue against warm chocolate. You inch a bit closer, feeling her warmth envelop you. “Didn’t you just say I’m impressive?”

“I’m taking it back.”

“No can do, Wren. You fell in love with me despite, or should I say because, of my dorkiness. I’d say your bitchiness and my dorkiness complement each other quite nicely.”

Vinca groans. You can feel the vibrations of her voice travel down your hand, making you smirk even more, leaning closer, closer-

“Why did it have to be you?” She laments, but closes the distance despite it all, her movements intense and sure and glad. You can feel the heat of her skin, of her blush, pressed against yours as she quickly takes control of the kiss, pushing you backwards, curling herself around you.

Happiness surges inside of you. You smile into the kiss, melting against her.

You’ve both come a long way. This place, gray with memories of a fight, quickly takes on another meaning. One of acceptance, of overcoming challenges that kept both of you rooted into the past. With Vinca, you feel like you can finally leave it all behind.

#Anonymous #answered #vinca wren #swm vinca #lovestruck #lovestruck swm #sin with me #swm #lovestruck vinca #fluff #touching thursday #vinca x mc #lovestruck fanfiction

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takerfoxx · 4 years

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The Owl House, Season 1, Episode 16, “Enchanting Grom Fight,” First Impressions!

Y’all been waiting for this one. I’ve been waiting for this one. It’s time! It’s time! It’s Vader GROM time!

So there’s been a recent trend in the colorful fantasy kids’ cartoon I’ve been watching, in that there’s a prom episode, and it somehow gets gay. She-Ra did it. Kipo did it. And now The Owl House is doing it.

And I am HERE for it!

...I didn’t see the nightmare monster coming though.

So...yeah. I thought this episode would center around the dance and flustered moments between Luz and Amity. Maybe a botched confession. Maybe a big misunderstanding. Instead, we get a gladiatorial battle against a horrific monster that will bring your worst fears to life.

Cool!

Honestly, this episode’s main focus turned out to be about fear. Luz’s fear of disappointing her mother. King’s stage fright. Eda’s fear of not being able to save Luz from her own recklessness. And Amity’s fear of being rejected.

By Luz.

Yeah.

I guess it’s no surprise that Amity is my favorite character. And I gotta boast a little that I had her completely figured out just from a couple clips I had seen before starting the show. She’s a talented child who comes from a privileged family, but thanks to those privileges she has to live under the thumb of her overbearing and prejudiced parents, forced away from her real friends, made to hang out and try to impress people she doesn’t even like, and is in constant fear of not living up to those unfair expectations.

And maybe it’s because of that, but she finds herself drawn to someone who is her exact opposite. Luz is a free-spirited renegade with no natural magical talent who constantly ignores society’s rules and expectations and does what she wants, hangs out with whoever she wants, and to Amity’s frustration, somehow keeps getting away with it and excelling regardless. Luz is the living admonishment of everything Amity’s parents instilled in her.

Furthermore, despite Amity’s initial treatment of Luz and her long bullying of Willow, Luz still keeps reaching out to her! She doesn’t shun or push her away. Sure, she’ll call Amity out when she screws up, but she doesn’t get rid of her. Instead, she makes Amity take responsibility for her actions but still stands with and helps her do it! No wonder the poor girl’s so smitten.

But meanwhile, Luz has problems of her own. She is lying to her mom, and it makes her feel awful. Sooner or later the gig is going to be up, and she’s going to have to come clean about who she really is and what she’s been doing and...

Ah. Coming out metaphor, I gotcha.

Though I guess it’s the found family fan in me, but while I’m sure that her mom means well, she STILL sent her daughter to what is basically a G-Rated conversion therapy camp! Like, that’s...really not right! At all! So, it’s hard to really be sympathetic toward her.

But anyway, as expected, both are overwhelmed by their own fears, but manage to overcome them and defeat the Grom by combining their respective talents.

Through THAT dance.

Yes.

Though I really gotta ask, was there ever a reason WHY a single student had to face the Grom alone each year? Eda was all set to jump in at any time with no mention made of why she had to stay out, and there seemed to be no reason why more than one person couldn’t take the thing on. I mean, why couldn’t the Emperor’s coven just show up to give it the smackdown each year?

Anyway, will Luz ever realize Amity’s feelings for her? Will Amity ever find the courage to be honest with her? How will that go? Luz has been pretty boy crazy so far, but bi characters do have a strong precedent. I hear it doesn’t happen this season, but from what I can tell, most of what’s set up hear is laying the foundation for season two, so we wait and see.

And who is writing those notes to Luz’s mom? Eda?

#the owl house #luz #luz estrada #amity #amity blight #grom #lumity #demon king #eda #eda the owl witch #Camila Noceda #enchanting grom fight #reaction

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decennia · 3 years

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anything? 🤔

any ideas for val x ernie? ernies reactions to her, the hufflepunks reaction to them, who asks who out, who kisses first, and so on???

Val and Ernie are my OTP, my ride or die, sink or swim.

Ernie only took notice of Valeria during fourth year.

He always knew of her, but he never knew her. All he knew was that she was pretty, and a Slytherin, and he figured that combination meant she wouldn't bother wasting her time with the likes of him.

The first time he noticed her — actually stopped, and sat, and took notice of her because everything he actually knew about her was based off assumptions he'd made based on previous interactions with Slytherins — it hadn't been some Great Event™ where time stood still while he watched her glide down the stone steps in her velvet gown for the Yule Ball (though when he had seen her for the Ball, his heart stuttered, and he forgot how to function his lungs for a good minute).

No, this had happened during what Ernie thought was going to be a normal Slytherin-Hufflepuff transfiguration lesson.

It was all theory that day. They were learning about... By Merlin, he couldn't remember.

Probably because he'd been partnered with her.

Or, more specifically, she'd partnered herself with him.

In an effort to strengthen house relations, Professor Sprout had suggested to all the teachers that they should implement more "teamwork" into their lessons.

Which was all well and good, only no one wanted to pair up with him.

It was no secret that Ernest Macmillan was well and truly the worst transfiguration student Hogwarts had ever seen. So, crestfallen, he watched as Althea joined Kieran Alvarez, and as Sue side eyed the Emerald Trio in contempt, before deciding Draco Malfoy had at least half a braincell to get her a passing grade.

And every other Slytherin avoided him like the plague.

And then, he was enveloped in the scent of perfume, subtle, beautiful. He looked up, curious, to find Valeria Rutherford, easing herself into the chair beside him, her bag dropping unceremoniously to the floor with a thud that might've been loud if the blood hadn't been rushing in his ears.

"I think you have the wrong seat," he managed to stammer out.

"No," she said, quite simply. She never looked at him. "I'm right where I need to be."

He struggled between openly staring, and avoiding even a glance her way the entire lesson. They worked in quite pleasant silence.

He was so nervous, he knocked over his inkwell, poor thing.

Val didn't say a word, she just handed him a monogrammed silk handkerchief from her breast pocket, and continued working.

His ears flamed, and he thought he'd pass out with embarrassment as he mopped up the ink.

No sooner had Professor McGonagall uttered her dismissal was Valeria Rutherford gone, the only indication that she hadn't been a dream being a scrap of ink soaked silk and that trace of perfume still lingering in the air.

He wouldn't shut up about her for days.

Sue had been ready to kill him after the first hour, but it took four days for Althea to crack.

Especially when he snuck into their room at five a.m., after having remembered something else about her he liked.

There was a lot.

And Ernie was observant.

"You know what else I like about Val? Her socks. Did you see them? They were velvet. Velvet socks! Who has velvet socks? Valeria does, that's who. Magical!" "ALTHEA, I SWEAR, IF YOU DON'T LET ME JINX HIM, AT LEAST LET ME GET ONE GOOD PUNCH." "Shh, go to sleep, I'll get you some earplugs tomorrow, Sue. Ernie... If you know what's good for you, leave before I find my wand."

But in spite of everything, Ernie couldn't get three words out to Valeria.

At least not without becoming a stuttering mess.

Sue and Althea — having rediscovered their better natures during their waking hours — were quite supportive of Ernie. Never pushed him to speak to Val, only gave him a subtle head's up she had entered the room so he wouldn't suddenly choke on his own tongue (you'd think that it would be quite impossible, having spent your whole life successfully avoiding it, but it happened so often to Ernie in Val's presence, the Hufflepunks developed a whole secret sign language to give him fair warning).

Val asked Ernie out first (officially).

Unofficially, Ernest Macmillan had attempted, and failed, to ask Valeria Rutherford out about fifty-eight times (Hannah had been keeping track; she shared a room with Sue and Althea, and was consequently privy to any and all declarations of love made at dawn).

He'd barely managed to stammer out the words "hello Valeria would you-?" (four words, a new record) before she smiled and said, "go to the Yule Ball with me."

It hadn't been a question.

Which was good, because Ernie wouldn't have been able to answer, he was rendered utterly speechless.

She stood, gave him a kiss on the cheek (he would later swear up and down the room that it had been the corner of his mouth, even though Althea, Sue, Hannah, and Justin had all been witness to the very chaste kiss. "Ern, it was closer to your ear." "Yeah, well, that's hot too!")

Ernie was the first one to kiss Valeria properly.

It had been the end of the night for the Yule Ball, and Ernie was walking Val back to the Slytherin common room.

Poor lad was so nervous, he was practically vibrating.

He attempted small talk, but the stutter was back. He cursed himself under his breath, he'd been doing so well that night, having managed to make it through without fucking up once, and now, there he was, dissolving in the echoey silence of the corridor. He hated the way his voice garbled and bounced around him against the stone.

He'd been so great earlier. He'd even managed to make Valeria laugh! And if he thought his crush was bad before, it was absolutely devastating now.

"This is me," she'd said. Her voice sounded nice in the echoey silence of the corridor, he decided.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," she'd laughed again, and he was prepared to defenestrate himself, because no music would ever match that sound, and nothing would ever consume him so deliciously as the way she made him feel, looking at him with a small smile dancing across her lips.

"Are you sure it's not another lap around the castle?"

Her response was a light chuckle, and then she leaned in.

For a hug, he would realize too late, as he stuck out his hand awkwardly for a handshake.

Her movements faltered, and brief confusion was chased away by humour as she accepted his outstretched hand and gave it one firm shake.

"I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" She'd grinned.

"Yeah," he'd choked out, ears aflame. No, he thought. You will never see me again because I'm about to take on the Whomping Willow in hand to hand combat.

He'd promptly spun on his heel and began writing his will in his head. To Althea, I leave my broomstick. Sue, she'll get my Chocolate Frog Card Collection—

Valeria had been halfway through the Slytherin password when Ernest Macmillan had returned.

She'd faltered, surprised, and suddenly his lips were on hers.

He was a good kisser, which always came as a surprise to people.

His chest was heaving when they broke apart, the thrill of her thrumming deep in his bones.

"Sorry," he heard himself say. He wasn't stammering any more. "I just wasn't going to let myself ruin tonight."

He then planted a gentle kiss to the back of her hand before leaving her there, a swagger in his step, and elation fogging his brain.

When he rounded the corner and disappeared from her sight, he'd broken into a sprint, whooping for joy. He'd even hugged Professor Sprout on his way back to the Hufflepuff common rooms. Through her laughter, she'd admonished him for running in the hallways, but he couldn't hear her, because he was on another plane of existence, because he'd kissed Valeria Rutherford, the most beautiful girl in the world, and she'd kissed him back.

Sue and Althea had stayed up for him this time.

Even Hannah had groggily pulled herself out of her slumber to hear about it.

And after he was done, dopey grin on his face, he fell back onto Althea's bed.

He realized he was wrong; there was one thing that could consume him as deliciously as the way she made him feel. It was her kiss.

#valeria x ernie #deadass otp #this is so long omfg #i went too hard #they're the only ship i sail #listen i came to have a good time and i'm having the best #valernie is the best thing in my life #no thoughts #head empty #just them #i wanted to write more but i thought it would get way too long #ernie macmillan #fic: afmie #oc: valeria rutherford #fic: amortentia #friends oc

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ladyfawkes · 3 years

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[I know what you're thinking -- and the answer is NOPE. THIS IS NOT A REPOST. THIS IS THE ACTUAL THIRD UPDATE (count 'em, THREE!!) in less than a month!! WOOPAH!!!] Tangled Just Before Ever After Chapter 4: Down the Hatch Current word count: 10103 Chapter 4 Summary: How in the world does Eugene answer Rapunzel's question??? Can the author manage to eek out yet another chapter from within the Tower??? WILL OUR COUPLE EVER GET BACK TO CORONA?!? S0ooOoo MANY qUeStiONs!!11!!

Eugene gulped hard several times; the silence stretched a bit too thin between his forthcoming answer and Rapunzel’s question. Eugene could feel that old standby instinct of wanting to lie through his teeth threatening to take over. But this was Rapunzel before him…. And this much he’d learned by now; if an honest woman confronts you about your past hookups, you should level with her. Though Eugene would've told Rapunzel whatever she wished to know, no matter when she chose to ask. After he’d been exploited for so many years by the likes of Stalyan and the Baron, Eugene had reached a breaking point fairly early on where he couldn’t bring himself to seduce the innocent anymore. He’d never liked doing that in the first place since it made him feel cheap, sleazy, and just all-out gross. Even grifters had to draw the line somewhere. It was yet another reason why he’d left Stalyan.

Eugene also knew that if he had to start running interference regarding his past during his first day as Eugene Fitzherbert the gentleman ….then he’d have to keep lying forever afterward….just like Flynn had. And Eugene was simply tired -- no, exhausted -- from all of the running, running, running. Flynn Rider had been on the move ever since he ditched the orphanage before his 10th year all those years ago. No more running, Eugene resolved. Even if leveling with the princess means she wants me out of the picture, so be it. She deserves to hear the truth from the source.

“Rapunzel….” Eugene began delicately, “the short answer to your question -- I’m sorry to say -- is far too many. But I’m requesting that we put a bookmark in that answer; we’ll circle back around to finish it.” Eugene nearly lost his nerve to continue after seeing the crestfallen look in Rapunzel’s eyes. He instead busied himself by locating the ring-shaped pull embedded in the trapdoor of the floor. After tugging on it, he noticed it wouldn’t budge. Without prompting, Rapunzel volunteered further information, explaining how when the princess was still little, Gothel always made her go up to the loft before she opened the trapdoor for her trips away. The crone never wanted the girl to figure out how to operate it. Thus Rapunzel said, “But you’re good at finding your way out of places. I figured you could make the mechanism work -- even without having seen Gothel’s trick to unlatching it.”

No sooner had Rapunzel said the word “unlatching” when a sharp click-THUNK issued from the floor. “Found it,” announced a smirking Eugene, as he moved the toe of his boot off of the otherwise camouflaged mechanism. He couldn’t help feeling a little smug after having effectively outthought that diabolical dead woman….again. The young man repositioned himself to again tug the metal ring and sure enough, the trapdoor swung open this time.

“After you,” said Eugene, gallantly gesturing Rapunzel down the next set of stairs.

“If only I had met you sooner,” Rapunzel said wistfully, as she shook her head. She’d tried to find that hidden mechanism in the floor for years. Eugene had discovered and figured out how to disarm it in mere seconds.

Eugene could not help his contrite chuckle. “Rapunzel, if we had met sooner -- even one year earlier, I doubt I ever could’ve left this place the first time. But it would’ve been for an entirely different reason.”

“Oh, yeah?” Rapunzel challenged, an unexpected edge to her voice. She folded her arms and demanded, “And what’s that?”

“Well, for starters,” said Eugene, his voice becoming far more subdued, “you never would’ve reached the fateful decision to enter a trust agreement with the kingdom’s most disreputable scoundrel. I mean….how could you?” Eugene pondered softly. “Especially based on the faulty info you’d been given about the world in general, you wouldn’t have had a reason yet to take the chance on our deal. Gothel’s control freakishness….hadn’t yet pushed you to the brink. Instead, she would’ve come home, you would’ve had no choice but to tell her that you’d caught me breaking in, and….well….”

“Don’t say that,” Rapunzel abruptly cut him off, abandoning her walk down the stairs, instead rushing over to grab Eugene’s free hand. “Don’t you ever say that,” she admonished, eyes wide. “Even if you had remained a perfect rogue stranger to me, Eugene Fitzherbert, I never would’ve wanted that old crone to hurt you on purpose. And especially not like... this,” finished Rapunzel, once more stretching her palm and pressing it against the jagged bloody tear in his doublet. A renewed ember of hope sparked inside him. And before he knew it, Rapunzel was apologizing, of all things!

“I….I’m sorry I put you on the spot that way regarding, ah, any prior relationships. It wasn’t fair of me to throw something like that on you so suddenly.” Meekness overtook Rapunzel and she looked at the floor, absently tracing out an invisible half-circle with her big toe. “Besides,” she confessed, “I only did it to distract you from my own awkwardness. But….but you kept…..insisting I should tell you what was bothering me since you are trustworthy.” Eugene was swift and carefully set the trapdoor down with the hinge open outward. He also briefly removed and set down his satchel.

The anxious young man went directly to Rapunzel with open arms but halfway through the motion thought that perhaps he shouldn’t, because Eugene didn’t want her to feel obligated to reciprocate. So the keyed-up man kept his fingers curled into his palms rather than reach out, and he kept his arms from raising above waist height. He was half-frozen, trying earnestly not to telegraph what he truly wished to do.

Eugene’s own thumbs must’ve betrayed him, though, as they involuntarily flexed, splaying outward from his balled fists. Rapunzel approached him and briefly gazed into his eyes with a hint of smile behind her own. She proceeded to lean over and take each of his hands, in turn, and tenderly kiss each errant thumb, in turn. Yet any embarrassment Eugene felt over her keen perception would soon melt away. For the princess took his left wrist and placed his arm over her right shoulder, took his right wrist and guided his arm around her waist, and then she mirrored the gesture with her own arms around him. The pair had briefly stopped their world to oh-so-carefully melt deeply into each other. After some time, they briefly broke their embrace. Rapunzel drew her arms in and criss-crossed her upper body with them, tucking in right up against Eugene’s chest. This allowed the sweet young man to attentively draw the princess into himself so tightly, nearly tight enough for him to wrap his arms around her twice as he buried his entire face into her silken hair. Each time they embraced….Eugene was simply floored with just how perfectly they “fit” one another; she could nestle comfortably and flush against his own shape, creating a head-to-toe highway of warmth and love.

Eventually, contented humming issued from Rapunzel’s throat. “I’ve never felt this safe before,” she murmured in awe, her face still pillowed against Eugene’s chest. “Nobody’s ever held me like this before either.” This realization had moved the princess to tears. Eugene leisurely placed a ring of popcorn kisses around the crown of her head in effort to soothe. “Dearest Sunshine of mine,’ he whispered into her hair, “I can promise you there’s so much more where that came from…..” and he was able to draw her imperceptibly closer into himself.

Soon moisture pricked the corners of his own eyes, for Eugene had a similar epiphany to Rapunzel’s. In all his years of relative isolation on the run, Rider never once allowed himself to partake in anything on this type of intimacy level. He’d always been keen to its existence, though. And he knew it was so much deeper and more meaningful than sex. And being the secretly sensitive person Eugene was, it was something he furtively craved but couldn’t bring himself to put that type of expectation upon another human being, knowing the unfavorable lifestyle he led.

And here this fractured thief managed to get caught up within a perfect healing ray of sunlight….and she was willing to take him on along with all his demons, even without knowing the full story in advance. And boy, did he ever have more than his fair share of demons. In spite of himself, Eugene had to say it again. “Sunshine…..I don’t deserve you.”

He immediately heard a tiny huff of impatience from her. “Eugeeeeeene,” Rapunzel overemphasized with mild vexation, “deserving or not, I’ve chosen you. You are forever my new dream. So….so start acting like it….please?” she implored, gazing at him with wide-open concerned eyes. Even her pep talk to him had proven about as rough and tumble as dandelion fluff.

“For you, Sunshine.” Eugene caressed her cheek. “It’ll be a struggle for awhile….but I will no longer speak of ‘deserving to have you.’ I shall instead focus on ‘building new dreams with you’.”

“Thank you,” Rapunzel said gratefully. “It….just….hurts me to see you thinking so much less of yourself due to circumstances now beyond your control.” She slipped her hand into Eugene’s own. And it was that moment he finally found an opening to finish what he started.

“Circling back to the bookmark in our conversation…. Rapunzel…. Ever since the first time you chose to address me as Eugene, everything...the past few days...has been unlike anything I’ve ever felt or experienced with any woman before. It’s all new….all of it. So many firsts already. Nonetheless, you still have every right to ask me about whomever I’ve been with prior to when we met. And while I do intend to eventually tell you about those encounters -- if that’s what you want -- you should also be aware that for me, Eugene Fitzherbert, it’s still a little too soon to openly discuss much of anything just yet. But I will try for your sake, if that’s what you need.” He briefly bowed his head, his eyelids automatically sliding shut.

Rapunzel was so fleet-footed that Eugene had not heard her change positions to where she grabbed his satchel, immediately encouraged Eugene to open his eyes and to help a struggling Pascal who was now lugging a forgotten cast-iron frying pan, and she started down the steps at long last. That was….abrupt, Eugene thought to himself. If Rapunzel was perpetually so talented at keeping him on his toes, then he’d best get himself some better boots -- and soon!

“You okay?” asked Eugene, just to make sure. He grabbed the brass ring of the trapdoor and just before he closed it…..he looked around the Tower one last time. He knew that he should feel the most ominous and terrified that he’d ever felt, especially upon glimpsing his own bloodstain on the floor. But something…..someone was protecting him. And even though he was neither superstitious nor believed in ghosts, once in awhile he would privately allow himself the indulgence of conjuring up invented people and imagery from his past. Fleetingly an image of who could only be his mother comes to mind; it was her spirit that must’ve been shielding him from the worst of today’s trauma, he decided. Thank you, he mouths the words to a seemingly empty Tower, pulling the trapdoor tight shut forever.....

“I’m more than okay,” Rapunzel replied enthusiastically, as she made her way down the dingy spiral staircase. “Who cares about past relationships when you can tell me about all of those firsts you just mentioned instead?”

Eugene almost -- almost -- laughed aloud with relief. Here he had been so worried about past relationship questions when Rapunzel instead wanted to be told all about the present. Three days, and this was the only thing he’d come across so far in which Rapunzel was anything like any other woman he’d met. And Eugene was more than happy to indulge her need to know just how special she had become to him and why.

A/N: I hate to do this (haven't done it here before) but I'm getting next to NO feedback and the same goes for reblogs. If you enjoy my writing, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE -- even if you write no review--reblog this?? It's the only way this story goes out anywhere. It's an author's life blood. You all know how isolating and ridiculous tumblr's stupid search algorithm is.....

#tangled fanfiction #my fanfiction #Rapunzel + Eugene #TJBEA #RTA #rapunzel's tangled adventure #pascal the chameleon #Frog #Tangled the Series #TTS #OTP #fanfiction romance

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