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punishandenslavesuckers · 7 years

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She has no throne. Girls without thrones should not have knights, but hers won’t go. Princess Zelda – the girl who killed Calamity – would love to fade into legend, but Link’s bought a house, he’s fighting off monsters, and he’s selling giant horses to strangely familiar Gerudo men. She’ll never have any peace now. (ao3)

(chapter one) (chapter two) (chapter three) (chapter four) (chapter five)

They depart the Rito Village – albeit with some apologies for the structural damage to several rooms – and some notion of heading south toward Tabantha where, as Link promised, there was the possibility of dragons. They’re almost a mile along when a shadow cuts a swift but massive path across the road before them. They look up just in time to catch the sudden, high-speed intercession of a mostly recovered Mishi. He lands with a massive backdraft directly in front of Zelda’s horse, hitting the ground hard enough to kick up dust and mini cyclones. Luckily Maru is long accustomed to bizarre happenings and barely nickers even when a giant bird person appears from the sky. She just stops and snorts, offended.

“Wait!” Mishi says. He’s breathless, frazzled. “I didn’t want to miss you!”

Zelda, thrilled, dismounts to meet him in the road. “Mishi! You’re looking much better!”

The color in his plumage is brilliantly dark and glossy now, his eyes bright, feathers ruffled with emotion. Standing directly in front of her, he’s about half a head taller than her, wearing Rito archery gear, a breast-plate engraved with his clan crest, and a massive long bow clipped to his spine. Above them, the sun’s begun to track across the morning sky and – for a moment – Zelda feels herself pulled by anachronism. She’s been on this road before. Stood like this before. Facing a man like this before wearing armor like that before.

Zelda can feel Link behind her, waiting.

She roots herself in the present. Mishi, not Revali, touches her forearms lightly, cupping them in the massive curl of his wings

“I couldn’t let you leave without thanking you.”

“No thanks necessary. Just… stay away from the eastern wind temple. There’s old magic there and that’s probably what..” She swallows. “I’m very glad you’re doing better, you know. We were worried.”

“Thanks,” he says. He reaches up and un-snaps a cord from his neck – a feather and stone pendent, a white arrow-head affixed with thin blue-black plumes. He carefully places it in her palm. “Carry that with you, priestess. On my family’s behalf. If you ever need help, you’ll have it from me and all my clan. You and your allies.”

Then, quite before she can do anything except stammer, Mishi puts both wings over her shoulders – warm, dark, and heavy.

“I won’t forget it, Zelda.”

He, gently, bumps his forehead against hers. Then he steps back… and takes off, straight up, launching skyward with such force the gale he leaves in his wake kicks up a spiral of wind – tearing her hair up into a weightless whirl as Zelda stands, laughing, shielding her eyes from the sun to watch Mishi rocket through the atmosphere. He cuts a sharp arc toward the mountains, tearing away on an unstoppable trajectory beyond the foothills and into the highlands. She presses her fingers, curled around the totem, to the smile on her lips and for a moment she lives in that rising heat, like warm waters on a tide, rising within her.

Then she ties it around her neck and mounts up again.

Link signs, ‘He’s fast.’

“Just like Revali,” she agrees. Then she blinks, hard, beset suddenly by a heat of tears. She clears her throat. “Draga’s upset with us.” She nods to the shrinking silhouette in the distance, largish and moving at a fast canter. “He hasn’t done that since the mask incident. He didn’t even want to talk about looking for dragons in Tabantha and that—” she makes a face – “is probably a bad.”

Link signs, ‘You think it’s because I punched him?’

She shoots him a look. “Don’t be smart. Why did you do that, anyway?”

He shrugs.

“Do you ever think about what you do?”

He shrugs again, more deeply.

Zelda shakes her head. “I think, before, you tried much harder to hide that kind of thing from me.”

He wrinkles his nose. “Not really. I wasn’t this reckless before.”

She blinks.

Link’s still watching the road. Zelda studies his face, but his expression is neutral and unconcerned. He pats Epona fondly and fishes for something in his shoulder satchel. She waits. Oh. He’s eating a snack. That… that was it. He just said that and now he’s back to riding. Zelda tries to look less worried while her former knight escort chews on a bit of dried apricot and hums to himself, content to set a steady pace beneath the cold morning sun. He’s wearing his hood up, lazy, letting Epona pick her own path down the road while he guides mindlessly with his knees. Zelda slowly looks away so she can frown privately at the back of Maru’s ears.

Eventually, Link takes not of her silence. She hears a short whistle. When she looks up, Link’s arching a brow at her like he’s been trying to get her attention for some time now. The sun’s moved in the sky. Draga is still pacing about a quarter mile ahead of them, so he’s still mad.

Link’s face asks before his hands. ‘What’s wrong?’

“What did you mean when you say you aren’t as reckless as you were one-hundred years ago?”

He gives her a funny look.

‘I meant what I said,’ he signs.

“Yes, but…” She stops.

It’s a clear day, but the Hebra cold leaves breath visible. There’s a thin layer of snow on the foothills not far above them. Link’s still staring at her, cheeks red, brow drawn down, half a question on his lips that never quite becomes. Then, slowly, a dawning blankness moves into his face and sets fine lines of dread across the interior of Zelda’s lungs.

Then Link just faces forward again and says nothing.

Epona tosses her head a little so he leans forward to run his hand across her neck and Zelda makes a detailed study of Link’s hand as he smooths it over Epona’s downy hide. At some point, Link let a stable girl to braid her mane into a loose series of rows and knots that allowed her to thread several bouquets worth of mountain flowers into it – trapper bells, apple bloom, and violets mixed with wisteria. They’ll wither by the end of the day, Zelda knows. He’ll have to comb and pick the dead plants from Epona’s mane and she thinks of him one-hundred years ago – his old war horse, tacked for battle, meticulously groomed and saddled.

“Is that… silent princess?” she asks eventually, pointing at a flower behind Epona’s ear.

Link glances at her. He’s lowered his chin a little, so the lip of his hood shades his eyes. She has to watch his mouth to read anything from the way he nods instead of speaking. Zelda, carefully, leans from Maru’s saddle so she can lift the flower from Epona’s mane. Zelda sits back properly again. She spins the blossom between her fingers then, on a whim, she slides the stem behind her ear, arranging it into a fetching angle at her temple.

“There. How’s that look?” she demands, swiveling at the hips to face Link.

He gives her a very small smile and thumbs up.

“Useless. I’ll ask Draga.”

‘He’s still mad,’ Link signs looking a little offended. She can see his eyes now.

“I didn’t punch him. You did. And he got the best of you in that fight, by the way, I hope you don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“What? No, he didn’t.”

“Bye,” Zelda says, kicking Epona into a canter.

“Hey!”

They race to catch up with Draga and she loses the flower before they even get there.

“Link, do you want to go back to Zora’s Domain?”

He glances at her.

The fire crackles, the scent of roasting fish rising warm from the small travel-sized skillet, the oils popping softly. They’re seated in the shade by a small creek near the road. Link is halfway through the motion pinching herb into the pan and he squints at her instead of giving it the attention it needs; he’s finicky about how things are salted or flavored. Damn. She should have waited until after lunch to ask that question. Ruining a meal with personal questions. She intended to ruin the afternoon generally with personal questions, but ruining food as well… that was just unnecessary.

“Sorry. Never mind.”

Link finishes sprinkling herb and dusts his hands on his pants. Then he turns to crouch facing her. Oh no. He’s giving her his full attention. Which isn’t to suggest he doesn’t usually, but rather that she wishes he wasn’t doing that right now because her question in retrospect seems presumptuous. Link folds his hands between his knees, his elbows on his thighs. Oh, Goddess. He’s giving her his full undivided attention. Link’s full undivided attention, among other things, has brought down giants.

Presently, it’s just making her deeply anxious.

“I only ask because… we’ve only been back the one time. Now that the shrines aren’t working, it takes so long to travel and I just wonder if you wanted to make some time to go there and…” She gives a helpless shrug. “Visit?”

Link thinks about it. Then signs, ‘Do you want to go there?’

“Well, it’s comforting you know.”

Link eyes her steadily then signs, ‘I’m fine.’

“I know Bazz and Gaddison have asked you to come around. Are you afraid they’re going to group hug you to death?”

“Terrified,” he says calmly.

“But, Link, all joking aside. Do we need go back?”

Link gives her a look.

Draga, who is no longer actively avoiding their physical presence, looks up from where he’s seated nearby – back against a log, reading a book. It’s much warmer now that they’ve dropped elevation but he’s still wearing full Snowquill gear and a scarf. This does nothing to detract from the vague sense of dangerous he exudes when he eyes them over the coils of said scarf.

“Zora’s Domain is on the other side of Hyrule. You know that, right? We could not be farther away, presently.”

Zelda glares back at him. “Yes. I know. I am aware.”

“Just checking.”

“I’m sorry, but don’t pick a fight with me just because you’re grumpy.”

“I’m not. I’m saying Zora’s Domain is far away.”

“Bravo. Geography. You know I was the Princess of this land once, right? I might know where things are located.”

Link, visibly uncomfortable, laughs nervously. “Can we not?”

Draga shuts his book. “Why do we need to go to Zora’s Domain?”

“Maybe that’s personal,” Zelda says, folding her arms. She lifts her chin slightly. “Maybe it’s none of your business.”

Draga looks at Link. “Why do we need to go to Zora’s Domain?”

The Hero of Hyrule, Hylia’s chosen hand, embodiment of the Light, glances quickly toward the creek like he’s wishing it were much deeper and he could throw himself into it to avoid this conversation. But he can’t and Draga’s sitting forward now, draping one arm over his knee, his book dangling between his fingers as he narrows his eyes. Draga’s right cheekbone is still bruised. He didn’t let Zelda heal him and seems to have used just enough first aid to close the cut there, but nothing else. Link still has a split lip and scraped knuckles.

“We don’t,” Link says.

“Zelda is making a face. I don’t believe you,” Draga counters.

Link glares at Zelda who wasn’t aware she was making any face whatsoever and tries to stop having a face immediately.

“I’m fine,” Link says.

“Why,” Draga drawls, “did you assume I thought there was something wrong with you?”

Link tenses.

Draga just stares, calmly, waiting.

“I’m sorry I hit you earlier.”

“Thanks, but that is not what I’m talking about right now or why I’m asking.”

Link signs, ‘It’s no problem.’

Draga signs, carefully, ‘L-I-A-R.’

“Leave it alone,” Zelda starts to say.

Draga interrupts. “But since you brought it up – why did you attack me? You’re crazy, but that was rude. You’re not usually rude.”

“I’m not crazy,” Link says calmly.

Draga rolls his eyes. “You’re reckless but you’re not rude. So why did you do that?”

Link’s mouth thins. Then, “I don’t know. Just felt right.”

“Hitting me felt right?”

Link shrugs.

“Are you sure you’re not crazy?” Draga sighs, a little dramatically, seemingly ready to abandon this line of questioning.

Then Link repeats, quietly, “I’m not crazy.”

And then there’s a long silence.

Draga, who was clearly not trying to dig at a nerve, seems mildly unsure what to do upon realizing he’s found one. Zelda, who was not aware that was a nerve to dig at, blinks. Link, who seems to realize what he’s just done, freezes. Luckily that’s when the fish he left in the skillet starts smoking and then bursts, somewhat improbably, into flames. Small miracles. Draga points. Zelda yelps. Link, noticing the sudden flames, grabs the handle on reflex and promptly burns his hand. He hisses, then tries again with a towel whereupon he just flings the whole pan into the creek where it ricochets off a rock and disappears into the shallows on the opposite bank.

Zelda stares.

Draga, dumbfounded, says, “You lost your pan.”

“Damn it,” Link says.

He inspects his burned hand. There’s a bright red band bisecting the centre of his palm.

“Here,” Zelda says, standing up. “Let me see.”

“Don’t,” Link snaps.

Zelda stops exactly where she is, boots rooted suddenly to the ground. Draga doesn’t say a word but Zelda can feel him… settling on her peripheral. Link flexes his hand a few times, furling and unfurling his fingers as the burn darkens, flushing with heat. She’s pretty sure it’s going to blister. She’s certain it must hurt. He looks over his shoulder at them and Zelda isn’t sure how to describe the specific notion that Link’s eyes get bluer somehow, intensify with his temper, even though that cannot be true. When he looks like that… huh, she thinks of the Wolf on the road.

“So there’s a demon in your shadow,” Link says, looking at Draga.

Draga, who was nowhere near that topic of conversation, stares then slowly allows the violent change of subject. “Yes, we established this. Are you getting that pan or…?”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“Of course, it bothers me, but you get used to it.”

Link turns around. “Do you want us to try and get rid of it?”

Draga laughs, then seems to realize Link is serious. “That’s a notion, but no. You can’t break the tie with this demon. It’s too ancient even for you two. I admit, there is a wildness to you both that defies the laws of convention so nothing is impossible, but unless you exhibit some control over what you do I can’t imagine you breaking a curse this powerful.” Draga tilts his head. “No offense, Link, you’re strong. What power you possess, it tends to wipe out what stands before it, but you act in instinct. Do you even know how you did what you did back in the Rito Village?”

Link says nothing.

Zelda cuts in, “I could try though. The entirety of my inherited magic is fashioned for sealing malicious power.”

“And you used most of it against the Calamity,” says Draga evenly. “And what practical application has there been from your study of sorcery at the Hyrulian high court? Any at all? Or do you, like Link, draw on some unspecified knowledge at the time of necessity?”

“That may be true,” she says, ignoring the sting of that – the implication that years of prayer and study have amounted to nothing so much as book knowledge, “but how can a single dark spirit be more dangerous than the Calamity Ganon?”

“I don’t believe it is more dangerous, just more subtle. Zelda, your power is a hammer.”

“And that won’t work because…?”

“You cannot kill what you cannot reach. The demon isn’t… here. It’s on the other side of the veil. The demon tribe does not exist on this plane until they choose to do so and they needn’t present themselves in our world to do harm.” Draga gestures to his bruised cheekbone, the place where the monster laid a gash open during the fight. “Again, what you saw was a shadow on a wall. The real beast is… bigger.” He hesitates, like even talking about it sets him on edge. “But this is all beside the point: I have protections afforded me by my family. So long as I do not engage in pact magics, I am safe.”

“You’re sure?” Link says.

“After two decades of living with it? Reasonably.”

Zelda frowns, moving to take a seat on the log he’s leaning against. “Your basing this off the fact it… simply hasn’t tried anything historically?”

“No,” Draga says quietly, “I’m basing it off the fact my sisters worked very powerful magic to protect me before they died. Generations of my family have fought endlessly to break the curse and they’ve come the closest to doing it – to limiting its scope. It would dishonor their efforts to expose others needlessly to the danger now. So… I thank you, but pick a different battle. This one is mine.”

“So fight all the battles that aren’t close to us?” Link demands.

Draga looks at him. “Why are you so eager for a fight?”

“I’m not.”

“You’re being rude again. Are you going to fight me now?”

“Of course not.”

Draga narrows his eyes. “Okay, what you actually angry about? Because it’s not my curse. You’ve been in a mood since we left the Village this morning and you were fine before then so what is it? Because I think I’ve humored you long enough about something that is, actually, deeply personal so either respect my wishes not to be your next battleground or tell me what’s actually wrong.” He folds his arms. “If you can do that, maybe I’ll consider letting you help. Your choice.”

And Link, rather precisely caught, looks away.

After a while, Draga sets his book aside and moves somewhat laboriously into a crouch.

“If you’re not going to get that skillet, then I’ll do it. You’ll just be irritated about it later –”

“I don’t remember things,” Link says, cutting him off.

Draga stops. He processes that, then calmly, “I thought you said you’d recovered most of your memories.”

“Some,” Link murmurs. “Not most.”

“And that bothers you?” Draga asks.

He doesn’t quite smile. "You get used to it."

If Draga resents his words being echoed, he doesn’t give sign. “This is the first I’ve heard of it. Is it the first Zelda’s heard of it?”

And Link looks at her. She’s fighting back the knot in her throat because he looks so tired in that moment.

“I knew,” Zelda cries, hands clenching tight in her lap. “I thought it was… Link how bad is it? You never talk about it! You remember so much. We talk about the past all the time. I… I sensed that you’d remembered our time together. What do you mean you don’t remember things? What’s missing? Was I wrong?” She stops when Link folds his arms and looks away, a slight visible pain moving across his face, then sliding back into unreadable calm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He doesn't answer.

“We can go back to Zora’s Domain,” Zelda says, desperately now. She stands up, hands clasped tight, pressed against her stomach. She feels nauseous. Dizzy. “They remember you from before I knew you. You said before that they helped you get things back. You have so many friends there. They would certainly help you. Please, you don’t have to… pretend everything is fine. We can stop. We can go back. Just talk to me.”

“I don’t think it will help.”

“Why?”

He shrugs.

“Link, no. Tell me why.”

“I always…” He tries to go on, but his next words stick and die. He says nothing for a moment, as though he’s not certain about continuing at all, but Draga is waiting and Zelda is waiting, trembling with the silence, so he signs, ‘I always assumed I’d lose my mind. So, it’s not a priority.’

Zelda says nothing.

Then, “What?”

Draga, who is probably catching only a handful of Link’s sign, looks sharply at her.

“You’re not going to lose your mind!” Zelda cries.

“What?” Draga echoes.

Link’s completely emotionless as he, wordless, lays it out in gesture and sign. ‘I already did once. It’s not unreasonable to think it’s likely.’

“Why would you say that?” Her voice is starting to crack. “What do you mean…?”

‘I don’t know. I have a feeling. My instincts tend to be good. That’s all.’

“How long have you felt this way?”

’Since the sword chose me. Draga is right: I have no control over the power inside me. It's going to eat me alive.’

Zelda covers her mouth with one hand, shaking.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know how.’

“I don’t understand what he’s saying,” Draga says tensely.

“Link…” Zelda hesitates to see if he wants to speak for himself but he gives her a small permissive nod. “He's saying he has no control. That... the magic itself is going to drive him insane and...” She looks desperately at her once knight and partner, who calmly waits for her to translate the massiveness of his admission into plain words. “…because he lost his memories once already, it's accelerated the timeline. He thinks he will lose his mind and that it’s going to happen sooner rather than later. That's why he's pushing about the curse, because he thinks it's going to get worse.” Tears are brimming in her eyes. “Link is that right?”

He drops his gaze.

He nods.

And Zelda, barren of any other instinct in that moment, shakes her head. Slowly at first, then hard, until her hair is in her eyes and her heart in her throat and she can’t – she can’t –

She dashes across the short distance, hitting Link in the chest, palms first. She hears him grunt softly with the impact. Her hands close on his tunic. She can feel the scale mail beneath it – a token of his childhood friend, hand-crafted to fit him. His eyes are wide. She can see every organic fractal of blue in his irises and the faint scar at the top of his forehead where his hairline starts. He got it from a riding accident when he was ten. His ears are pierced because Zora give jewelry so casually as a gift.

His hands close over hers. She can pick out a myriad of pale scars on his fingers – a history of learned violence she was never witness to. She doesn’t know the stories in the callouses. She doesn’t know the topography of his lost history, mapped out in implication only and gone now in the wake of the Calamity. Her fists ball up in his shirt and she pulls at him so she can drop her forehead against her fists and breathe.

“You could have told me,” she chokes. “I wanted…. I wanted to know that.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, aloud but so softly it could be lost in the breeze. “It was easier to pretend.”

She draws back, lifting her eyes. “How could that be easier?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, just turns from her, so her hands slide from his breastbone to his shoulder. When he continues not to answer, she moves behind him and (after a hesitation, intense, all encompassing, white hot) loops her arms around him, tucking her arms around his ribs, her hands lacing over his chest. She lies her cheek against that back of his neck. His hair tickles a little. He smells like the floral bar soap from the inn. Her heart is slamming in her chest – rabbit-quick and afraid.

“You can tell me.” She swears it to him, but still the silence stretches. “Please. Please, just tell me…”

“You didn’t know me well enough to tell the difference.”

Zelda nods, just once, then presses her face against the slope of his neck, feels his hand close over her inter-locked fingers. Squeezing tight. Like an apology or to keep her from pulling away in the aftermath. She’s not sure. She’s not sure about anything. She's not sure he could have hurt her more if he drew his blade across her arm – letting blood from her veins like venom from a bite. His hand tightens until the bones in her fingers ache and she, acting on impulse, mouths ‘it’s okay’ against the nape of neck until his hand relaxes.

“Link,” Draga says, when it's clear Zelda can't go on, “do you want my opinion?”

He waits for Link to nod.

“In Gerudo teachings, magic use of any kind always carries some measure of madness. An attitude of risk. The greatest danger to any sorcerer is the possibility of losing themselves to the powers within them – The Thousand Voices. The Sea of Lives. To lose yourself to any of these is to fall to abomination and possession. It’s what killed my family and what stands in my shadow... so when you tell me you’re afraid to lose yourself, know that I hear you, but also know that I have some notion of the signs.”

He lets that settle for a moment.

“When you say you’re going to lose your mind, do you mean you’re going to lose yourself to the Sea or that your memory loss has made you a different man?”

“Both,” Link says quietly.

“One may not have anything to do with the other, you know.”

“I dream about drowning in twilight and a moon that falls time and again, infinitely.” Link’s hand tightens on Zelda’s again, his shoulders set. “I dream about falling so far from above the clouds that I can barely see the earth. In the dream, I’m another person. When I wake up, I feel that I don’t have enough of myself left to keep them out. One has to do with the other.” He shivers. “I’m… afraid of losing my mind again. It’s like dying…”

“Look at me,” Draga says. “Link. Look at me. You embody the soul of the hero, yes, so you have many lives lined behind you. Maybe they tell you how to move. How to fight. How to employ magic you’ve never learned or a tactic you’ve never tried. Maybe, in moments of battle or fear, you see a window into a section of their lives, but I don’t believe they will consume you.”

Link's looking at the creek, not Draga.

Link says, “Why not?”

“Because those lives are yours, in some degree. They’re behind you. Like memories. You’re troubled because you’re beginning to see memories that are not your own when your own memory has been so dramatically reduced. You were wounded in battle, Link. You lost parts of yourself. I won’t say that I know whether you will ever get those pieces back, but even so the man you are now… he’s far too stubborn to fall to the men that came before him.”

“None of them lost to the Calamity,” Link murmurs.

“None of them had to come back from losing.”

“I can’t control it.”

“Such is wild magic. It’s not for you to control, but it’s intent is not your destruction. You can stand in the eye of the storm and direct its trajectory, Link, simply trust that you’re unmovable.” And when Link does not look at him, Draga moves forward and with two hands takes his head into his palms, fingers curling around the back of his neck, thumbs hooked behind the line of his jaw and when Link doesn't pull away, he guides his eyes up. “Listen to me," he says. "You are not insane. Even if every hero before you was utterly mad, you are not and you will not be."

Link exhales. "Why not?"

"You have Zelda. You have me.” He searches Link’s eyes, shakes his head. “I do not see the signs in you. So, you won't be lost."

Link doesn’t move. Doesn’t relax.

“Do you believe me, Link?”

Zelda can smell copper, taste it, like a coin on her tongue.

Link exhales, slowly. “I believe you.”

“Good. Then we should get back on the road.” Draga lets Link go and moves to pick is book up from the grass where he left it. “There are dragons at Tabantha Bridge. Or was that not true?”

Link turns in Zelda’s arms. Before she can react, he cups her face in his hands and presses his mouth to the plane of her right cheek. He says something, soundless, against her skin. ‘Thank you’ perhaps or… or something else. She freezes. Her entire face flushes, but as fast as he does it, he stops. He steps away, moving past her toward the creek where he starts to wade across the shallow water, hunting for the skillet. Zelda can’t explain why her lips, not her cheek, seems to ache from contact (or lack thereof) and the shiver that runs down her body ends somewhere in her stomach.

Draga turns around, slinging a satchel over his shoulder. “Gerudo country isn’t far from here. We have time to slow down before we head that way.”

Zelda rubs her cheek. “Yes, right. Of course.”

Link’s plucking the lost pan from the water.

Draga’s looking at her. “Are you alright?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yes. I’m okay.” She pulls her hair back. “Uh, thank you again, Draga. I… I appreciate it. I think Link needed to hear that.”

“You two need to talk more,” he says quietly. “I mean what I said – he’s safe but much of that has to do with you. Isolation is the fastest way for the Sea to take a soul beyond the shore.” He moves toward the clearing where the horses are penning beyond the trees. “I may not always be here. You need to be sentinel.”

Zelda hops the log by their rest site, chasing him down.

“Draga.” She catches his arm, pulling him around to face her. “If you leave Link and I, who will be your sentinel?”

He says nothing, just peers down at her, eyes unfathomable and green. He’s so tall he casts a shadow over her. She waits.

“I’ve been alone since I was fifteen, Zelda. I’ve had seven years to work out how to protect myself by myself. You needn’t worry about me.” He smiles a little. “But I appreciate it.”

She lets him pull away to check the tack on his horse.

“Okay,” she says to herself.

Behind her, Link is putting out the fire and packing up. Draga is patting Arbiter. She stands there, aware of them both, and silently over and over she hears Draga saying, ‘I may not always be here. I may not always be here. I may not…’

They board their horses at Tabantha Bridge Stable a full day later.

It’s a quiet and somewhat isolated outpost perched almost directly on the cliff besides its namesake – narrow arch of wood planking and rope that tenuously spans the dizzying plunge of Tanagar Canyon. So deep is the fissure in some sections of the country, the bottom vanishes into a deeper, darker layer of cloud and mist that seems it could very well be the migratory path of draconic beasts. Tabantha Bridge is the only permanent bridge linking the plains of Hyrule Ridge to the snowy region of Hebra and therefore, an essential waypoint for merchants and travelers of all variety.

They take day packs and hike out to the far edge of the canyon at the foot of Mount Rhoam, far from the bridge itself, and set up a comfortable spot for themselves on a wide jut of stone overlooking the canyon course. Zelda lays down several blankets within minute Draga has produced alcohol from a deceptively small flask that tingles when Zelda takes draft from it. She suspects, somewhat, that it’s enchanted in the way Link’s travel satchel is enchanted and carries far more than its dimensions should allow.

So, getting increasingly more drunk, they watch the color leech from the sky.

Turns out Link isn’t a talkative drunk.

After quite a few long draughts from the flask, however, Link does discard all sense of personal space. So he’s presently trying to climb on Draga’s back and Zelda – eating a small bag of candied fruit – makes absolutely no move to help. Link keeps saying something about ‘higher ground’ as he clambers their giant friend the way he might climb a rock face. Draga doesn’t seem amused. He pries at the smaller man with little success, Link clinging, tenacious as a limpet. He gives it up until Link is literally sitting on his left shoulder, squinting across the plains with the attitude of a mountaineer surveying the country.

Draga sighs and loops a hand over Link’s knee to keep him from tipping. He eyes the impetuous Hero of Hyrule with a long, calculated stare that is surely counting down to the moment he flings Link into the dirt. But he makes no move to do so. His hand on Link’s thigh is so large that his fingers very nearly encircle his leg just above his knee.

“I could throw you like a shotput,” Draga reminds him.

Link says, loudly, “Don’t be a drag, Draga.”

The Gerudo gives him this look like Link’s immediate future as a human bolo is forthcoming.

“Are you certain the dragon comes this way?”

“Yes,” he says.

“When?”

“Very late at night. Or very early in the morning.”

Draga promptly torques to the left and flings Link to the ground next to Zelda. Zelda, still eating candied fruit, moves the bag out of the way so it doesn’t get crushed when Link rolls onto his back and lies there, a little red-faced, on the blanket. Draga takes a seat at the far edge of the blanket, the small campfire to the side casting relief on the three of them, the full moon laying silver highlight across the grassy slope up Mount Rhoam. Link points at the moon and signs.

‘I keep thinking it’ll turn red.’

Draga looks up, stunned. “The blood moons have stopped now that Calamity is gone.”

Zelda tilts her head. “Yes. You didn’t know that?”

Draga runs a hand through his hair, the wind ruffling some of the shorter bits. “I did, I just now realized that’s directly attributable to you two.”

Zelda does a little half bow/wave combo. Link gives a thumbs up.

“I take it back.” Draga lies back on the ground, lacing his fingers behind his head. “It’s not that impressive.”

“We probably should not be drinking if we’re trying to spot a dragon,” Zelda points out. “I’m already sleepy.”

‘They aren’t dangerous,’ Link signs.

“Wake me if dragons show up,” says Draga, closing his eyes and with a soldier’s immediacy, falls asleep.

Zelda prods the sole of his boot with her toe and gets no response. Link laughs, but silently, shoulders shaking a little. Zelda sits up so she can crawl over and peer down at Draga who, yes, appears to have completely dropped to sleep in the span of one moment and the next. She satisfies herself that it’s so by mock lunging and waving her hands inches from his face. Nothing. She sits back on her heels, examining their friend’s sleeping face. In consciousness, Draga’s neutral expressions are somewhat severe, lending him a default mien of someone vaguely irritated, just on the verge of a scowl. In sleep, the edges smooth away; you might notice his eyelashes are a little long, or that his hair curls where it get loose from the braids and clasps. Zelda has to resist a small, familiar impulse to smooth his hair flat where it’s sticking up.

She catches Link in the corner of her eye, signing.

‘I think we can break the curse.’

Zelda, glancing warily at Draga, signs back, ‘We should respect his wishes.’

Link sighs and flops back down, running his hands over his face. He signs, from his back, ‘We could fight it.’

Zelda moves to kneel beside him, leaning over her fallen knight so she can sign down at him. ‘I don’t know how to fight it.’

Link tilts his head. He’s so much smoother with his hand signals. ‘I think you did pretty well.’

She gives up on sign. “I didn’t know what I was doing. It was just… in the moment.”

Link grins. ‘You shouted down a demon.’

“I did not.”

He shrugs, makes a lazy one-handed gesture that translates, thereabouts: ‘I liked it.’

Link’s still grinning. His smiles linger longer, stick more easily when he’s tacky with liquor and slower to rein in the translation of emotions to body language, like drink gums up the gears that tell him to be stone before the eyes of others. A breeze rising from the valley ruffles Link’s bangs slightly. He’s a little more slack than usual, a warm fluidity born of drunkness and, she thinks, happiness. He’s been lighter since their talk at the creek. Quicker to smile and take to a joke. The firelight’s putting little strands of gold into his hair. He smiles up at her.

Zelda is not sure how it happens, or what part of her mind goes into automatic movement but the impulse – always there, vaguely, unformed and unexamined – comes to the forefront of her brain and asserts control. She places one hand on the blanket by Link’s head, bracing herself so he’s beneath her, looking up at her. He watches her, curiously, and begins to mouth a word. Lips parting on something, a question maybe or –

She kisses him.

Her lips find his just as his voice finds his throat. The vibrato comes across his teeth, settles in the bones of her face and it’s so unexpected she jerks back immediately, as if shocked. Link stares at her, half braced on his elbows in the attitude of rising, eyes wide in the dark, his lips still parted on whatever he was going to say before she put her tongue in his mouth and caught his voice against the back of his teeth. He can’t seem to get it back – rendered all again mute by her.

“I’m sorry!” Zelda covers her mouth with her hands. Horror possesses every fiber in her body and knots them up. “I didn’t – I’m sorry! I’m drunk! I didn’t mean that!”

Link sits up very slowly, expression… odd. His lower lip is a little swollen. She shakes her head, whispering.

“I don’t know why I did that.”

He keeps staring at her.

“That wasn’t fair. Oh. That was stupid. I don’t… I guess…. I thought it was funny what you said. Shouting at demons. Oh… that’s not very funny actually.” Panic. She’s panicking. Link’s all blue-eyed and pale and just staring at her and she’s losing her mind right in front of me so of course she rejoins, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It seemed like a good idea! Oh. Why do I keep letting Draga give me alcohol?! Just because I stole his wine that one time and suddenly it’s, like, a challenge of some variety I honestly… I don’t…”

Link is still staring. Zelda gives up entirely and covers her face with two hands, peeking between her fingers, because that will somehow make this less horrible.

Voice muffled, she whispers, “I didn’t ruin things, did I?”

Link stares. Then, “What?”

“You know… by doing that. Did I… ruin everything?”

Link again, says, “What?”

“Did I break it?”

“It?”

“Us.”

“What?”

They might both be a little too drunk for this.

“You know!” Zelda flaps a hand. “With the kiss.”

Link stares.

Then he promptly bursts into laughter.

Which, given how appalled she is, seems almost offensive – him amused in the face of her utter mortification and crisis. Link falls over on his side and lies there gasping, hair in his eyes, just lost in laughter. It occurs to Zelda that she’s never seem him laugh like that – that he’s very, very different when he’s breathless and smiling and loud even in a passing moment and in this passing moment, Zelda’s heart seems to constrict in her chest. Suddenly, she’s very glad she decided to kiss him if for no other reason than this.

Eventually, Link stops laughing.

Zelda lies down on the blanket facing him, smoothing her hair in annoyance.

Link signs, carefully, ‘You can’t break us.’

“Can’t I?” she whispers.

He looks at her. Then says, calmly, “No.”

And she doesn’t know what to say, so she says, “I might sleep this off and miss the dragon.”

Link shakes his head. He signs, ‘It’s a dragon.’

“Technically, it’s a spirit.”

‘You’d going to miss seeing a DRAGON.’

She shrugs, closing her eyes. “We have time.”

go to chapter 6...

#botw #legend of zelda #legend of zelda breath of the wild #zelda #link #ganondorf #loz fic #interim update #interim #in which the cycle starts over again immediately #and link and zelda #thought the fight was finally over #lol #no #mostly platonic destiny shit #until its not #rae writes #raewrites

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margarethx · 3 years

Text

I feel like one of the reasons why Sam and Bucky work with each other so well as a duo in is the fact that they are at the same (or almost the same) level of importance when it comes to the MCU. They are in a similar position as characters.

Let me explain...

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Before tfatws Sam Wilson was a character from the background. He is important for the overall storyline, but he’s not at the front of any movie. Even in ca:tws he was less relevant to the plot than e.g. Natasha. He’s necessary and there is a significant reason he’s there at all, but at the end of the day it’s a Steve Rogers’ movie. Not Sam’s. And even if calling Sam a sidekick is most of the time insulting - at least within the MCU - he kind of is a sidekick. That’s the role he has in the narrative. There’s a main hero (Steve) and a guy who follows his lead to help (Sam). Of course Sam has his own life and issues that have nothing to do with Steve, but we don’t even know them at this point. And here we’re looking at Sam through the lense of the Captain America movies.

Almost every scene with Sam before tfatws was connected to Steve. Sam joined the fight in ca:tws to help Steve. He was in AoU, because Steve invited him to Stark’s party. He was in Civil War, because Steve asked him to join the Avengers and he wanted to help Steve with finding Bucky... Similarly, Sam had his own opinions in Civil War, but we only hear them when it’s relevant to Steve’s story. (When Sam and Rhodey argue about the Accords they stand behind Steve, because the scene is about him making the decision.) Even in Ant-Man, where there is no Steve at all, Sam mentions him after Scott left. Etc, etc. You get the picture.

And the same goes for Bucky.

We only see him in ca:tfa where his story is intertwined with Steve’s. When Steve gets his ass kicked before he got the serum. Or when they go to the Expo. Or when they fight during the war. Even when Bucky is saved by Steve it’s less about him being finally free and more about Steve finding his friend again. In ca:tws their meeting is told mostly from Steve’s perspective. It’s a film about Steve facing the Winter Soldier not the other way round. And later viewers don’t see Bucky’s life as a fugative untill the moment he becomes important to Steve’s storyline again in Civil War. And so on and so forth. It goes like that basically from Bucky’s first appearance in the MCU to the last scenes of Endgame.

When Steve and Bucky are fighting on the same side Bucky’s role could also be described as: “a sidekick”. Just like Sam’s.

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And I honestly believe that this is the reason why pairing Sam and Bucky together makes so much sense. Even if you put aside the obvious chemistry between the characters and their actors it just works for them to join forces in multiple scenes.

Both of them walked in Steve’s shadow before they got their own show. Not because they’re less interesting as characters or because Steve’s storyline is better, but because Steve is one of the main heroes in the entire MCU while Sam and Bucky were always orbiting around him in a way. And we, as the viewers, learnt very little about them outside of the stuff that was important for their relationships with Cap.

Why do we know about Sam losing Riley? Because Steve also lost someone who fell to their death. Why do we see Bucky killing Stark’s parents? Because it’s a movie about Steve’s conflict with Tony (mostly) and it’s just one of many things that makes the conflict worse. I’m not implying it’s unfair to the characters or something (even though I’d love to see them having more sceentime in general)... It’s just the role they serve in a story, because someone has to be in that position for the narrative to flow. You cannot make every character “the main one”. That wouldn’t really work.

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But then... When Sam and Bucky are together we suddenly see much more about both of them outside of their connection with Steve. It’s almost like destiny how they always end up in close proximity. They seem to naturally gravitate towards each other ever since they’ve met. And it looks like taking them away from a big, important character (Steve) makes them shine brighter. Most of the little moments they shared became iconic at some point when they were just allowed to exist together.

And again... I’m not saying that I don’t enjoy seeing their interactions with Steve, because I do. Especially Sam’s. But it very often feels like they interact with each other because it’s important for the progression of the plot. When Steve talks with Sam it’s often about their next mission, or how Sam helps him with something, or to show that Steve has difficulties with adjusting to the modern world. And when Steve talks with Bucky (at least after ca:tfa) I always feel like there should be a narrator’s voice talking over a scene, telling me: “see? they were friends in the past, before the war... this is important! pay attention”.

Meanwhile, when Sam and Bucky interact, some scenes just... happen for no purpose. Like they interact, because they want to, not because the script told them to. There’s absolutely no plot-related reason for showing Sam and Bucky sitting in that tiny car in Germany. Or for showing them standing together in Infinity War when Thanos attacks.

What the two of them have is completely different from what they had with Steve in the past.

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To be honest, it always bothered me a little how Steve never really did anything for Sam (freeing him from prison where Sam landed for helping Steve doesn’t count). It’s always Sam making Steve feel better and standing by his side. So it’s a very glaring contrast, when we got to see a whole separate montage where Bucky visits Sam and helps him fix the boat that was important to his family. Or when he casually throws a shield with him for practice, asks Sam if he’s okay, and brings him a new super-hero suit even though Sam never even asked for these favours or suggested that he needs Bucky’s help.

And I know that some people won’t like what I’m about to say, but Steve and Bucky really don’t act like they are particularly close to each other most of the time (especially after their first movie). I believe that they were friends before everything went to shit, but after ca:tws? Not really. They cling to that label, because of their shared story and because Steve cannot let go of the past, but they just... don’t act like they are friends anymore. It’s like they both changed too much and don’t know how to deal with that. So they don’t. It’s like Steve is only attached to some past version of Bucky that no longer exists and the new Bucky doesn’t fully match his expectations. Sam on the other hand has no expectations at all. He builds his relationship with Bucky from the fresh foundations. The creators don’t need to bring back some shared memories from 70 years ago to prove that these two have a strong connection. They just show them doing stuff together. The argument about The Big Three? Petty revange over a car seat? Discussing music tastes? Having “sleepovers” and giving each other slightly mean, but harmless nicknames? Discussing mental health? Having staring contests? Watching goddamn sunsets? That’s what people who are close to each other do.

And that’s why these two simply... work.

It’s not just implied or explained in a flashback. “Look, viewer. They are friends. I know they don’t act like they are, but trust me. They went for a dinner a decade ago... offscreen.” Sam and Bucky even refused to call themselves friends! They’re a couple of guys (allegedly). And yet I still know they like each other very much from the way they interact, speak about each other, or look at each other.

And I really think that one of the main reason’s why it works like that is because they’re both equally crucial (or irrelevant at times) for the story. Both are just as (un)necessary for the plot to move on. Sometimes they are very important and sometimes the plot would easily work without them. ca:tws could’ve happen without Sam. Civil War could’ve technically happen without Bucky if they put more emphasis on the Accords. There were both certainly unnecessary in Infinity War or Endgame. But there’s no way the events in tfatws would’ve happen without both of them being there together. Sam might’ve never taken the shield and become Captain America if it wasn’t for Bucky. Bucky would’ve spent countless years trying and failing to make amends and never finding peace if it wasn’t for Sam. The fandom likes to focus on only Bucky, but you wouldn’t get this much content about him if there was no Sam to share the story with him.

Because they just fit together perfectly.

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Last disclaimer (because I really don’t want people to get the wrong impression): I actually like Steve. And I like Samsteve (romantically or platonically). Platonic Stevebucky is alright too. But it just kind of... pales in comparison when you see what Sam and Bucky have. Most MCU relationships pale in comparison if I’m being honest.

#i don't know if anything i said makes sense #sam wilson #samuel thomas wilson #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes #steve rogers #captain america #captain america sam wilson #the falcon #winter soldier #white wolf #sambucky #sam x bucky #winterfalcon #tfatws #caatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #mcu #marvel

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hotchnisslovechild · 3 years

Text

Hotel, Motel, Holiday Inn

Rating: E Fandom: Big Shot Pairing: Marvyn Korn/Holly Barrett Word Count: 7900 Tags: 18+, Explicit Sexual Content, Only One Bed, Sharing a Bed, PWP, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Dirty Talk, Post S1 Summary: Away at a team camp, Holly and Marvyn have to share a hotel room.

AO3 Link or read below!

It was a 2-hour bus ride to Westmont College. Well, for Holly and the girls that is. Marvyn decided to drive to the team camp separately. He loved being with the girls and Holly, but 2 hours on a small bus all together? He would much rather enjoy some “Marvyn Time” and drive by himself. It worked out well that way actually; Holly and Marvyn needed their own car to drive to and from campus back to their hotel nearby. The girls were staying on campus, all paired up in dorms. Staying in dorm rooms was a hard pass for Holly and Marvyn, mostly Marvyn. Holly wouldn’t have minded staying in a room on campus but given the choice between sleeping on a hotel-quality, queen-sized mattress or a dorm-quality, twin-sized mattress, she’d pick hotel every time. Marvyn just flat out refused to sleep in a dorm. He loves hotels. Hell, he tried to live in one until his daughter moved in with him. People change his sheets and make the bed for him. There’s complimentary breakfast. What’s not to love about hotels?

Holly could not wait to get off the bus after those 2 hours. One thing about teenage girls is that they love to gossip. Holly witnesses it every day at school, but none of it really ever pertains to her. These girls usually just chat about boys and other girls, but Holly’s ears always perk up when she occasionally overhears the girls talking about their teachers to one another. It’s fun to hear what they think about her colleagues, but sometimes she fears she’s the subject of gossip amongst these girls when they are anywhere else in the school that isn’t Holly’s classroom.

That fear came true on that bus ride when she overheard the girls whispering at the back of the bus. The subject of those hushed words? Holly and Marvyn. It was a big bus, but not big enough. From the front of the bus, Holly could hear just about every word those girls whispered back and forth to one another in the back.

“Emma told me they go out for drinks and dinner all the time,” Destiny murmured to all of the girls leaning into the bus walkway.

“But isn’t she like his only friend?” Louise joked, getting some giggles from the other girls.

“I’m thinking they are a little more than just friends, if you know what I mean,” Samantha mumbled.

Mouse smacked her knee from the seat across from her. “Sam!” she gasped.

“What?” Samantha asked, “You don’t think those two could be hooking up?”

“I’d prefer not to think about that,” Mouse answered, hating the idea of her coaches doing it with each other.

“Guys, what if they are in the same hotel room for this camp?” Olive suggested, feeding into Samantha’s theory. “Maybe that’s why they didn’t want to stay in the dorms.”

Destiny let out a loud gasp at Olive’s suggestion and proceeded to be slapped and shushed by Louise for being too loud. They would all be dead if Holly could hear their conversation.

They had no clue that Holly could actually hear everything they were saying. And she was mortified. Her and Marvyn? What was it with these girls and starting rumors about who’s she’s dating? First, it was Felix, now it’s Marvyn. Sure, she goes out for drinks and dinner with Marvyn a lot. So what? Friends can go out for fun. Not only are they friends… they are colleagues. It’s always been strictly platonic and professional between them, and Holly plans on keeping it that way.

When they finally arrived at Westmont around 9PM, she helped the girls find their dorms and settle in while she waited for Marvyn to get there. Once he got there, Holly said goodnight to the girls and told them they need to get up for the scheduled team breakfast at 8AM in the main campus dining hall.

Marvyn didn’t even bother getting out of his car to say “hi” to the girls once he got there. He texted Holly telling her to walk out to his car, and to hurry up so they could get settled at the hotel.

Holly didn’t say a word during the 10 minutes it took to get to the hotel. Her face was still hot from overhearing the girls suggest that she and Marvyn were a thing. She could feel Marvyn’s curious gaze on her in the car, but she avoided his glances by staring out the window, thinking about a certain thing the girls unknowingly put into her head. Her stomach tightened as the thought of sleeping with Marvyn consumed her mind for the duration of the drive.

Holly started to second guess everything Marvyn did for her. When they got to the hotel, Marvyn rushed to open the door for Holly and get her suitcase out of the back seat. Is that what friends do? Is he just being nice? Holly asked herself, feeling like she was going a bit mad.

Walking up to the front desk, Marvyn greeted the receptionist. “Hi, I have two rooms booked under Korn.”

Holly watched as the woman behind the front desk punched keys on her keyboard. The receptionist started typing faster than before, almost frantic. Holly had no idea it was that hard to find a room reservation.

“Hmm,” the woman started, “I don’t see a reservation under that name. Could it be under a different name, perhaps?”

“Are you sure? Did you spell it right? It’s K-o-r-n. Korn,” Marvyn said, growing impatient. He just wanted to go to sleep. They had a busy few days coming up with the camp, and he needed to be well-rested if he was going to beat all of the other Southern California basketball teams at the camp.

“I’m afraid I don’t see a reservation for you, Mr. Korn.”

“Marvyn, don’t you have the confirmation in your email? You can pull that up on your phone,” Holly suggested, hating that they were causing the receptionist any trouble.

Marvyn pulled up the email confirmation on his phone and held it up to the clerk. “Here’s our confirmation number and reservation details. We have two queen-sized rooms. Three nights.”

The woman pulled the phone toward her, taking a closer look at the email. “Sir, I think there has been a mistake.”

“How could there be a mistake? The confirmation and details are right there,” he snapped, pointing at his phone. Holly elbowed him for snapping at the poor young woman.

“These reservations are for the Holiday Inn Express in Ventura. You’re at the Holiday Inn Express in Santa Barbara.

Holly looked at Marvyn in disbelief. Ventura was almost a half-hour away. She didn’t want to have to drive all the way there and have to commute 30 minutes to and from Westmont for 4 days.

“Well shit,” Marvyn muttered under his breath. This is why he doesn’t stay at anything less than 5-star hotels. This never would have happened if Holly just let him book two rooms at the Hotel Californian. But no, they were “too expensive and luxurious” for only staying 3 nights and spending most of their time at Westmont.

“Do you have two rooms available here?” Marvyn finally asked the woman.

“We’re pretty booked up. I’ll have to check what rooms we have available for 3 nights.”

“You better have some rooms because—”

Holly elbowed him again, sending him a glare that could kill. She turned to the clerk. “Thank you,” she said sincerely, “We’re sorry to cause so much trouble.”

“Oh, you are no trouble at all. It happens more often than you would think, “ the receptionist said as she typed away on her keyboard. Her face sunk. “I’m sorry but all we have available for three nights is one room. It should have two queen beds, but I’ll have to double check—”

“We’ll take it,” Marvyn interjected. He didn’t want to be standing in that lobby any longer. And he certainly did not want to drive all the way to Ventura.

“Marvyn,” Holly turned to him concerned, “We can’t share a room.”

“Well, you can find a ride to Ventura because I’m sure as hell not driving all the way over there.”

This was exactly what she didn’t need right now. She could hardly look Marvyn in the eye after hearing the girls speculate about them being in a relationship. How could she share a room with him? Everything about this was just mortifying.

She sighed. “Fine. I guess it’s not that big a deal” She took one of the keys the woman set out in front of them.

Holly’s jaw dropped to the floor when Marvyn opened the door for her to walk into the room. She could not believe what she was seeing. Was there seriously only one goddamn bed? Just when she thought this couldn’t get any worse.

“Now you have to be fucking kidding me,” Marvyn said when he finally walked through the doorway, carrying both of their suitcases. “I thought she said it would be two queens.”

“Well, you did cut her off and take the room before she could double check,” Holly retorted, clearly annoyed. She walked further into the room, setting her purse down on the polka dot armchair. The room was fairly big and had a great view of Santa Barbara.

Marvyn followed her into the room, still dragging their luggage along. Holly could still hardly look at him, so she busied herself with looking around the room.

“Did you want the bathroom first?” Marvyn asked coolly, breaking the awkward silence that settled in the room.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind. I need to wash up after sitting on that old bus for 2 hours. I’ll be quick,” Holly said as she opened up her suitcase to grab her pajamas and toiletry bag. She practically ran to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

She set her bag and pajamas down on the counter and took a deep breath. How does he seem so unfazed by the giant bed-shaped elephant in the room? Holly thought as she stared at herself in the mirror. The fact that the receptionist “gave him the wrong information” seemed to affect him more than the fact that they were sharing a room and possibly sharing a bed. That is, if he doesn’t do the gentlemanly thing and offer to sleep on the floor or the chair. She sure as hell wasn’t sleeping anywhere besides that bed.

Holly was prepared to be in the comfort of her own room, so all she packed for nighttime attire was a pair of skimpy blue sleep shorts and a tank top. That would have been fine had things gone as planned and she had a room to herself, but Marvyn was going to be seeing a lot of leg, a lot more than would be considered appropriate. She shoved the thought out of her mind and got changed.

After she finished up washing her face and brushing her teeth, she knocked on the door. “Are you decent?” she called out from the bathroom.

“Yeah, you’re good to come out,” Marvyn responded. Holly took a deep, sobering breath as her hand hovered over the doorknob. She wished she could tell herself it’s just one night, but it’s three nights. He’ll take the chair or the floor, I’m sure, Holly tried to reassure herself.

When she finally mustered the courage to walk out into the main room, she’s stopped dead in her tracks upon seeing Marvyn. It took everything in her not to stare at him perched on the edge of the bed dressed in green boxers and a plain white undershirt that hugged his torso. She averted her gaze and quickly crossed her arms in front of her as she walked to her suitcase, a failed attempt to hide her hardening nipples. She wished she could blame it on the cold air in the room, but it’s really just from seeing Marvyn so… undressed. She hated the girls for putting the idea of them together in her mind. Yes, he’s a very attractive man, but she’s never thought about him in any sexual way. Now, it was nearly all she could think about, thanks to the girls. She was in deep shit.

And Marvyn was completely fucked. He hoped she didn’t notice him practically gawking at her when she came out of the bathroom, his eyes caught on the sight of her hardening nipples through her thin tank top. And those shorts. They were sinful is what they were. She was showing off more leg than he could handle. He was used to Holly wearing tight athletic clothing at practices and games. He knew she had a great body. But seeing her so bare made his mind run wild. He watched as she bent forward to put her clothes back into her suitcase. Her shorts were so damn small he could just barely see the black lace panties she was wearing underneath. He tore his eyes away. What the fuck is the matter with me? He scolded himself, thoroughly disturbed by his sudden sexual urges for his friend – his colleague. Now half hard, he finally excused himself to the bathroom.

I’m a man. I can’t help it, he repeated to himself over and over as he stared at his reflection. He couldn’t go back out there like that. The best he could do was will his erection away. There was no way he could discretely “take care” of it with Holly just several feet away.

He brushed his teeth and splashed his face with cold water, trying to distract himself from images of Holly’s legs and the swell of her breasts. As much as he wanted to sleep on that damn bed, getting in bed with her was no longer an option. He would have to offer to sleep on the chair or the floor.

Still half hard, he sucked in a breath before exiting the bathroom. He saw her sitting up on the right side of the bed reading a book. “I’ll sleep on the chair,” he announced.

“Are you sure?” Holly said out of courtesy.

“It’s either that or the floor. Which do you think I should choose?”

“Whatever will hurt your back less, old man,” Holly joked, the banter coming back to them both easily, temporarily distracting them from the sexual tension that’s built between them in just one night.

“Don’t make me share that bed with you,” he said with a cocky smirk.

“Sleep on the chair. Maybe you will snore less sitting up.”

“I don’t snore,” he countered, slightly offended by her assumption.

“Yeah right. Just sleep on the chair. Keep the snoring to a minimum.” She went back to reading her book. She silently cheered that he offered to let her have the bed to herself. After her inappropriate thoughts about him that night, she wasn’t sure she would be able to keep her hands to herself if he hopped into bed with her.

He grabbed a pillow from the bed and tried to make himself comfortable in the big polka dot chair. “Am I good to turn off the lamp?” Holly asked once it seemed Marvyn got in a comfortable position.

“Yeah,” she heard him grunt as he shifted once more.

Close to 30 minutes went by of more shifting and grunting from the chair on the other side of the room. There was no falling asleep with how noisy he was being. She couldn’t tell if he was genuinely uncomfortable or if he was trying to get her to pity him and offer to switch places or let him sleep in the bed with her. “You good over there?” she whispered into the darkness of the room.

“Just fine,” he responded, feigning sincerity. It was probably the most uncomfortable chair he had ever sat in. It was lumpy and stiff, making noise with every move he made. Not to mention, his cock was still hard, his mind ridden with inappropriate and unprofessional thoughts of Holly

Holly hated what she was about to say next, knew she was probably going to regret it, want to take it back. But she really needed some good sleep tonight, so she went for it. “Just come sleep in the bed, Marvyn. You are driving me nuts with all your moving around.”

“You’re just trying to get in bed with me, aren’t you?” he teased, knowing that would push her buttons.

“Shut up, Marvyn. We’re both adults. We can share a bed without it being weird. Unless you would rather sleep on the floor?”

He didn’t even respond. He got up from the chair, holding his already sore back. God, am I really an old man? He said to himself silently, thinking about Holly’s joke from earlier.

“Just don’t hog the covers,” Holly said as she turned her back to him. She felt the mattress dip beside her, and a twinge of panic rose within her, her heart started to race. She hadn’t shared a bed with a man in a very long time. And it’s been even longer since she’s gotten laid. She shook the thought out of her head. She was absolutely not getting laid tonight. She was in a bed with Marvyn for Christ’s sake. He’s both a friend and a colleague. They couldn’t afford to ruin that. And did she really want to fuck the same man that Ms. Goodwin has? God, no.

Marvyn was wide awake. The twitch of his cock in his boxers was starting to get somewhat painful. He really shouldn��t be this goddamn horny; it had only been a couple months since he and Maggie were having sex. Granted, they only did so a few times. It took a lot longer than he expected to get past 2nd base with her. Something about “wanting to take it slow” and “doing it right”. Oh, he wanted to do it all right. Maggie was the first woman he’d been with since his ex-wife, and making the bald man cry each night wasn’t as satisfying as he hoped it would be. He wished he could fist himself right then and there, desperate to get rid of his uncomfortable and awkward hard on.

Holly also lay there wide awake, the silence too loud to even think about falling asleep. Desperate to get rid of the suffocating silence, she spoke, “This is so cliché, isn’t it?”

“What is?” Marvyn asked, genuinely unsure of what she was talking about.

“The whole two co-workers forced to share a bed thing. I thought this type of shit just happened in books to get the two main characters together,” she said matter-of-factly, not realizing until after she finished her sentence just how suggestive it was.

“Don’t get any ideas, Coach Barrett,”

“Oh, please. As if. Goodnight Marvyn.”

“Night,” she heard him whisper. Finally feeling relaxed, she dozed off to sleep to the sound of his breathing.

Marvyn woke just a few hours later, feeling pressure on his thigh. Dazed and confused, he looked up at the alarm clock next to his head, a green-lit 3:00 AM staring back at him. He turned back to see what was pressed up against his thigh. Lo and behold, Holly had thrown her leg over his thigh while they were sleeping. Pft, “as if” Marvyn silently mocked her words from earlier. His arm was trapped under her waist, ghosting over the swell of her ass. He instantly regretted lifting his other hand up to rest on her thigh, as he almost instantly got hard again.

They were hardly under the covers anymore, having kicked them off in their sleep. In the dimmed light coming from the streetlights outside, Marvyn could watch Holly as she slept. She really was a beautiful woman. He was surprised she hadn’t found anybody after her divorce. Any man would be lucky to have her. Not only was she incredibly good-humored and down-to-earth, but she also was just fucking sexy. He’d never really looked at her that way before that night, but it was hard not to when her breasts were practically falling out of her tank top and her shorts left next to nothing to the imagination.

He was abruptly shaken from his thoughts when he started to feel movement beside him. Not just any movement. No. The beautiful blonde woman beside him had started to rock her hips into his thigh. This can’t be happening. She has to be dreaming. I have to be dreaming right now Marvyn thought in a panic.

Her movements against the bare skin of his thigh grew faster, and she let out a soft moan, almost too quiet to hear. He started to feel how wet she was through her shorts. Marvyn’s heart was about to beat out of his chest, as he felt his cock twitch for what seemed like the millionth time that night, just aching to be touched. He had no clue what to do. Was he supposed to wake her up? Let her unconsciously get off on his thigh? There was no right way to go about it.

Holly slowly slipped into consciousness. She assumed the dream she was having must have been great based on how wet she was, slowly rocking against the thigh pressed firmly between her legs. It felt too good to stop. She tilted her hips back, seeking more friction against her clit. She sighed at the sensation. She became aware of the hands splayed on her lower back and on her thigh. The hardness pressed against her inner thigh then caught her attention.

Holy fuck! She thought frantically, suddenly remembering she went to sleep next to Marvyn last night. Before the panic set in, she felt the hand on her back move lower, resting firmly on her ass, which was only half covered by her sleep shorts. She nearly gasped when the hips underneath her began to rock into her thigh. She pressed her forehead against his shoulder as she continues her movements.

They both knew the other was awake, but they didn’t say a word, and they didn’t stop; they just kept grinding, getting each other off. Marvyn squeezed the swell of her ass through her shorts, his hand strong and firm against the silky fabric of her shorts and her soft skin. His fingers moved towards the edge of her shorts, daring to go further. She began rocking into him a bit harder, which he took as permission to go further, letting his fingers slip beneath the fabric of her shorts and run across the smoothness of her skin. His thumb brushed the lacy fabric of the black thong he got a sneak peek of earlier. He slid his other hand up her thigh to palm her other cheek, starting to guide her movements into him.

They stayed like that, grinding into one another for a good few minutes until Marvyn grew impatient, he had to touch her, feel her. He slowly moved his hand down her thigh, stopping at her knee which rested on his waist. Lifting her knee off of him, he encouraged her to spread her legs for him. Sliding his hand down her inner thigh, he turned his head to whisper in her ear. “Is this okay?” he asked, not wanting to push.

“Fuck, yes. Please,” she begged with a whisper. Just fucking touch me already! she wanted to yell at him.

He slid his hand past the waistband of her shorts, lifting up her tank top to rub the taut skin across her stomach, finally resting his hand on her breast, thumbing her rock-hard nipple. He was driving her insane. She lifted her hips, a silent beg for him to touch her where she needed it most. He took the hint, trailing his hand back down her stomach, tight and coiled with anticipation. His movements became hesitant, worried about taking things too far, ruining their relationship as they knew it.

She felt his hand stop just above the waistband of her shorts. She wondered if he was unsure about touching her or just being a tease. Hoping it was the latter, she lifted her head up to whisper in his ear, “Don’t be such a tease.”

“Are you sure about his?” he asked innocently.

Hearing the nerves in his voice, she reached her hand up to rest on his, squeezing his hand to assure him how much she wanted this, how much she needed this. She guided his hand below her waistband. His hand ghosted her core through the fabric of her panties. She slid her hand up his arm to feel his biceps. He had great arms. She ached to see if his chest was just as toned and firm as his arms.

He could feel the heat of her through the thin lace fabric covering her core. Judging by how wet she was already, Holly clearly wanted this just as much as he did. The soft sighs in his ear egging him on. A rush of confidence coursed through him, realizing just how much of an effect he had on her by barely touching her. Hell, she was gasping and grinding on him in her sleep. Which could easily be from having not gotten laid in a while, but Marvyn would rather think it was because of him entirely.

He always prided himself on being particularly good at sex. He got a lot of practice in college; girls practically threw themselves at him. And he and Caren had a pretty fun and adventurous sex life for most of their marriage. He knew his way around a woman’s body: how it worked, how it reacted, how to manipulate it. And in that moment with Holly, he wanted to cherish every inch of her body, to pay attention to each subtle detail of her enjoyment…for hours.

It surprised him. This sudden sexual desire for his colleague – his assistant coach, technically his subordinate. They did do everything couples do, besides sex of course (until now). They went out to dinner, got drinks together. They trusted and respected each other, wanted the best for the other. If he had this close of a connection with any other woman, Marvyn was sure he would develop feelings for her. But this was Holly. They worked together. They were friends, yes, but their relationship was professional and strictly platonic. Whatever mentor/mentee, co-worker relationship and friendship they had was a whole lot more interesting for the both of them than some dating scenario. He always figured a crude, yet expert sexual encounter would ruin what they had together. But now, he wasn’t so sure. He wanted her. All of her.

His earlier hesitation quickly disappeared. He swiftly dipped his fingers beneath the lace of her underwear, ghosting his fingers over her wet center, teasing her. Her breath grew jagged with anticipation. His touch was a mere whisper on her skin, but it made her thighs tremble. There was no holding in the gasp that escaped her when he swiped through her slick with his deft fingers. He found her clit with his middle finger, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles, eliciting a breathy moan from her.

The position they were in wasn’t exactly comfortable, at least not for Marvyn. His right arm was still being crushed under her, and him lying on his back beside her wasn’t the most ideal if he wanted to give her the best finger-fuck of her life.

She was pleased when he moved to hover over her, basking under the weight of him above her. He was so much bigger than her. He was practically engulfing her.

“I want to see you,” he whispered, reaching to turn on one of the bedside lamps. It illuminated the room just right, not too bright, not too dark, just light enough to tear away the shadows on her cheeks and restore the glimmer in her bright blue eyes.

His right hand, still half-asleep from being under her for so long, moved to hold down her hip, keeping her still. She could already feel the bruises forming from how tight he was gripping her. The thought of him leaving a mark on her sent shockwaves of excitement through her.

He slid his other hand out from her sleep shorts, moving once more to set up on his knees. He brought his hand to Holly’s mouth, still wet with her slick.

“Open,” he directed, pressing his fingers against her lips. She obeyed, opening her mouth, and sucking on his fingers covered with her own arousal. She flicked her tongue against his knuckles, tasting herself, faintly, and feeling the roughness of his skin. He groaned and dragged his hand down to rest on her neck. No pressure. No real grasp or hold. But it stole her breath just the same.

He hadn’t even kissed her yet, something about that step feeling far too intimate. Somehow kissing her would be too far for Marvyn but rubbing her clit and letting her suck on his fingers isn’t too intimate.

Eager to feel his lips on her, Holly moved from fisting the bedsheets to fisting Marvyn’s t-shirt, pulling him down toward her. He kissed her then. It was heated, passionate, intimate. His hand still rested on her neck, his other gripping her hip, pushing her into the mattress. His tongue prodded at the seam of her lips, eager to explore her mouth.

That kiss may have been the best she’d ever had. She ran her fingers through his hair, using her grip to pull him closer to her, deepening the kiss. She lifted her hips up into him, searching for the friction her clit was craving. Her movements matched perfectly with Marvyn as he shifted his hips into hers. He was wedged between her legs, hot and hard, exactly where she wanted him. He'd be able to thrust into her right now if they weren't wearing clothes. Why the fuck are we still dressed? Holly screamed silently in her head.

The heat of his body on top of her was electrifying. She fisted his t-shirt sleeves in an attempt to keep him there, addicted to the feeling of being trapped underneath him.

His lips traveled down her jaw. He tilted her head to the side, giving him access to kiss her throat. She melted under him, a loud whimper escaping her. His mouth left a trail of hot, wet kisses down her throat, across her shoulder, and along her collarbone. Being kissed had never felt so perfect, so hot.

“You won’t be needing this,” he said, lifting her top over her head and throwing it somewhere off the bed. She loved seeing him take control like this. Outside of the bedroom was a different story. She hated when he belittled her, undermined her, told her what to do. It was infuriating. But in the bedroom, under his touch, she’d do nearly anything he asked of her.

He took hold of one of her now bare breasts, the textured skin of his thumb circling her nipple made her shudder. He lowered his head to give her other breast some attention, taking her nipple in his mouth. Her hands flew to the back of his head, holding him against her, never wanting him to stop.

“Marvyn,” she sighed. It was the first word she had spoken in nearly 10 minutes.

He continued in his path down her body, kissing down the taut lines of her stomach, setting tiny little fires across her body.

“You won’t be needing these either,” he repeated, tugging her sleep shorts and panties down her incredible legs. He couldn’t wait to be between her perfect thighs, tasting her, exploring her.

“Please,” she whimpered, guiding his head down where she wanted him most.

“Patience, Coach,” he teased. She felt him smile against her inner thigh as he kissed her there. She changed her mind. He was infuriating in bed too. Such a fucking tease.

Without warning, he licked her bottom to top, stopping at her clit to suck on it, humming into her, making her jolt as if she’d been shocked.

“Fuck!” She bucked her hips into his face. He grasped her inner thighs, pushing her in the mattress, holding her still, and spreading her further apart for him. He slid his tongue between her folds, tasting her wetness, before he found her clit again, locking his mouth around it, sucking hard. Her body almost caught on fire when he slid two fingers into her, pumping into her slowly. She had never been eaten out like this before. She had no idea it could feel this fucking good. Her ex-husband would do the bare minimum, never really caring if she got off or not. He didn’t explore her like this. He didn’t take his time with her the way Marvyn was, learning what she liked, noting every move that made her squirm and moan. She was sure Marvyn had to have watched some sort of online how-to video or something because there was just no way this man could use his tongue and his mouth so skillfully. He devoured her cunt like it was his birthright, as if he'd been programmed to put his mouth precisely here and there and lick her till she screamed. And he was clearly enjoying it too. He was moaning for fucks sake.

His name fell from her lips once more as she lifted her hips to the rhythm of his licks, seeking release. “Patience,” he repeated himself. He slid his fingers out of her, replacing them with his tongue. He felt the suck of her cunt on his tongue as he fucked her with it, imagining how incredible it would feel around his cock, which was still strained against the fabric of his boxers, leaking and painfully hard. But this wasn’t about him. At least not then. He wanted to make her cum, feel her release around his tongue and taste her before he fucked her.

“Okay, Holly,” he breathed against her, “You can let go now.” He dove back into her, placing his thumb over her clit and rubbing concentrated circles. He lapped at her folds and brought his other hand down to finger her.

“Marvyn!” she cried out desperately. The stimulation was almost too much. The pleasure was intense, earth-shatteringly so. It consumed her entire body from head to toe. Heaven and torture at the exact same time.

“I know. I know. Just let go for me,” he encouraged. She whined when he pushed another finger into her and curled it, reaching for the spot inside her that he knew would send her over the edge. He continued sucking and flicking at her clit, showing no mercy as he tore her apart, fucking her with his hand and mouth until she was screaming his name and banging her thighs against his ears. Her desperate screams did nothing to halt his movements as he guided her through her orgasm before pulling his fingers out and snaking his tongue into her, tasting her release.

He came up for air, finding her breathing heavy, eyes closed, with her head thrown back into the pillows. When she managed to catch her breath and regain a semblance of lucidity, she lifted her head to watch him begin a trail of wet kisses down her inner thigh. It was obscene. The sight of him between her legs, his chin dripping with her arousal. When he caught her gaze, he couldn’t help the smug smirk that graced his lips, satisfied with the sight of her almost completely wrecked without even fucking her yet.

He rose above her again to slot his mouth against hers. She let his tongue enter her mouth immediately, sucking her taste off of it. He trailed kisses across her cheek to her ear, sucking and nibbling on it for a short moment. “I want to feel you on my cock.”

“What the hell are you waiting for?” she asked breathlessly. He lifted himself off the bed, and she whimpered at the loss of his weight on top of her.

He was still far too overdressed, so he pulled his shirt up over his head. She lifted herself up on her elbows, getting a better look at the show he was putting on before her.

His cock still ached inside his boxers, heavy and hard, desperate to be inside her. When he finally set it free from its confines, it sprung straight up. She gasped at the sight of it, a flicker of nervousness flashed across her face. She had figured he’d be pretty well-endowed. He’s Marvyn Korn. Always bigger and better than everyone. But it was intimidating. She hadn’t been with anyone in a long time, and none of the toys she used at home did justice to the size of him.

“Protection…?” he said suddenly, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“I’m on the pill. I’m clean. Do you have a condom?”

He nodded and turned to walk toward his suitcase, giving Holly a nice view of his perfectly tight ass. He pulled out his wallet, fishing for the single condom he left in there from when he was dating Maggie.

“What are you? 17? Keeping a condom in your wallet?” she laughed.

“Ha. Ha,” he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes at her. He took his time opening the foil package and sliding the condom down his impressive length.

“You better hurry up. You should never keep a lady waiting.” When he looked up at her, he saw her leaning back against the pillows, legs spread, touching herself. Marvyn nearly came in his boxers at the sight of her rubbing her own cunt, still swollen and wet. She was fucking beautiful.

“Did I say you could touch yourself?” he asked, crawling back onto the bed. Her fingers continued to move in practiced circles around her clit.

“I didn’t realize I needed your permission,” she challenged boldly, lifting her head slightly to look him in the eye. The look of lust and anticipation in her eyes went straight to his cock. He stroked himself through the latex barrier of the condom as he knelt between her thighs, trying to give himself some relief.

Her movements came to a halt. He watched her in awe as she brought her own fingers up to her mouth, licking them clean, humming a soft moan at the taste of herself.

“God, you’re filthy,” he commented. He rubbed the tip of his cock against her clit.

She’d had enough of the teasing, enough of the waiting. She wanted him inside her so fucking badly. “Just fuck me already,” she pleaded, reaching up to run her hands down his hairy chest and abs, confirming they were just as perfect as his arms.

“Filthy and eager,” he noted aloud.

“Marvyn, I swear to God—” He thrust into her without warning, and she cried out his name. Holding still inside her, he let her adjust to the size of him. The way she felt around him was unreal. She was hot, wet, and so fucking tight. He moaned as he felt her cunt squeeze his cock as she willed her body to accustom his size.

He leaned down on top of her, smothering her body with his own. “Fuck,” he groaned in her ear, “You feel so fucking good, Holly.” He sucked lightly at the skin on her neck, tasting it’s the sweat that started to bead up there.

“Christ,” she groaned, throwing her head back, clinging to his back, leaving crescent-shaped marks on his skin from her nails, “So fucking… so big… so good,” she panted out incoherently as he increased the pace of his hips.

“You like getting fucked like this?” he grumbled in her ear, bringing his right hand to rest on her throat, not applying pressure, but making it known he could if he wanted to.

“Yes,” she managed, almost too quiet for Marvyn to hear.

“I like you like this. Taking my cock. Not putting up a fight,” he voiced lowly, biting at her ear.

She loved the dirty talk, but she hated how much his words turned her on. She lived to put up a fight, never one to accept being demeaned by someone else, especially a man. But having Marvyn so big and strong and sexy on top of her, dominating her, it was incredible, something she could only dream of.

She whined when he pulled out of her. He flipped her onto her stomach, gripped her hips, sure to leave bruises in the shape of his fingertips. Her arms were splayed in front of her, and her cheek pressed against the hotel bed sheets as he dragged her hips up to meet him. He positioned himself at her entrance, pushing her legs apart so she was wide open for him. He slammed into her. The sound of his low groans and slapping of skin on skin was so obscene it nearly forced her them both to come undone.

“Marvyn,” she breathed. He just barely heard her.

He fisted her hair, pulling back just hard enough so that she was looking back over her shoulder at him. “That’s it,” he praised, “I love the sound of my name on your lips. I love hearing you lose it for me.”

“God, Marvyn,” she gasped in between moans, loving the verbal praise, wanting more.

“You take me so well,” he grunted, “Like you were made for me, for my cock.” The words rolled out of his mouth before he could even register what he was saying. But he watched and took note of the way a smile crept to her lips and the way her walls clenched around his cock with each word – she got off on it. This new discovery egged him on. He pulled her body up against him, holding her to him by the base of her throat. “Fuck, Holly. I don’t know how I’m supposed to ever stop fucking you,” he growled in her ear.

“Then don’t,” she panted matter-of-factly. Her answer surprised him. He wasn’t expecting her to even respond to him with anything besides a moan. The implications of her response made his head spin. Did she want to do this again? He thought to himself hopefully.

Her head fell back on his shoulder. She brought her hands up to grope her breasts, tweak each nipple between her fingers. “I need you to touch me,” she begged.

“Ask. Nicely,” he growled, punctuation each word with a thrust into her swollen cunt.

“Marvyn,” she let out a sigh so sexy it would put a fucking pornstar out of business, ”Please touch me. I’m so close.” She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling a familiar coil tighten in her stomach.

“Are you gonna cum for me?”

“Yes, Marvyn, for fuck’s sake, touch me. Please. Let me cum all over you.” She was desperate for release.

Satisfied with her desperate pleas, he released his hand from her throat, moving it down to rub circles over her clit. When her legs began to shake, Marvyn fucked into her with a new urgency.

She cried out, screaming his name, her orgasm ripping through her with an intensity she had never experienced before. Her body went limp, relying on him to hold her up against him. His hand was still rubbing her clit as he fucked into her sensitive, overstimulated cunt. She hissed, pushing his hand away, the electric shocks pulsing through her body were just too fucking much.

“Come on, Marvyn,” she encouraged with what little energy she had left. “You fill me up so good. Please cum for me.” As dominant as he was with her, he got off on the praise too, his hips slamming into her harder and sloppier, chasing his own orgasm.

“God, Holly. The things… fuck…you do to me.” He was so gone, the feeling of his impending release leaving his brain fried.

“Show me, Marvyn,” she whispered huskily, “Please. For me.”

His head fell back, biting his lip to fight the loud groan that wanted to escape him. He paused deep inside her as he climaxed. He nearly blacked out; the force of his orgasm stronger than he’s had in a very long time.

He held onto the condom as he slowly pulled out of her. He got up from the bed, his legs unsteady, and walked to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. He eyed the clean washcloths on the bathroom counter as he was walking out, grabbing one and wetting it a little in case Holly needed it to wipe herself off. Ever the gentleman.

But when he walked back into the room, he found Holly already fast asleep. Not wanting to wake her, he left the small towel on her bedside table. Before turning off the lamp, he took a moment to study her face, blissful, beautiful, and glowing. After turning off the light, he climbed into bed next to her. He kissed her temple before turning on his side to let sleep claim him.

When they both woke to their alarms a few hours later, things were…somewhat awkward between them. They danced around each other as they got ready for their day of camp with the girls, neither of them wanting to have that conversation, wanting instead to pretend that what happened was just some crazy sex dream for the both of them in order to avoid dealing with how it changed their relationship, their partnership, their friendship.

Holly looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, traced her fingers along the bruises he left on her hips and her neck. Dear God, he left fucking hickeys on her neck. She covered what she could with what little makeup she had brought on this trip. The girls won’t even notice, she thought wishfully.

They did in fact notice. Not only did they notice the poorly covered-up marks on her neck, but they also noticed the slight limp in her walk when she arrived to the camp with Marvyn.

“Looks like you guys owe me 10 bucks,” Samantha bragged to the other starters sitting at the table for breakfast.

“How do you even know they did it?” Louise questioned.

“Well, she did do a pretty terrible job at hiding those bruises on her neck,” Destiny commented.

“Wait, he left bruises on her?!” Mouse said a little too loudly, genuinely concerned.

The entire table shushed her.

“They’re hickeys, Mouse. Duh,” Samantha said. “Those two definitely got together.”

“She is kinda limping a bit, not gonna lie,” Destiny observed with a laugh. Louise shushed her, slapping her on the shoulder.

“I kind of hope you’re right, Sam,” Olive chimed in, “It’s kind of cute, like right out of a movie. Coach and assistant coach fall in love…”

“Bang in a hotel room while away at team camp,” Destiny continued, met with another hit on the shoulder from Louise.

“Guys, look,” Samantha whispered urgently, nodding her head towards the breakfast buffet.

The girls all zipped their heads around to see what Samantha was pointing at. They watched as Holly and Marvyn stepped through the buffet line together, side by side, with Marvyn’s hand resting on Holly’s lower back.

“How much more proof do you need?” Samantha asked. “Pay up!”

#CAN U PPL PLEASE WATCH THIS SHOW ALREADY #if no one's gonna write harvyn smut #THEN I FUCKING WILL #STREAM BIG SHOT NOW ON DISNEY+#THANK YOU #pitbull lyric for the title as i should #big shot on disney+#big shot series #disney+#harvyn #holly barrett #marvyn korn #harvyn fanfiction #harvyn fic #holly and marvyn #my fics #my gifs

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ilovebeing-weird · 3 years

Text

Have a Coffee

Chapter-3

Chapter-1 Chapter-2

So, people who like angst. There won't be much angst here. I hate it! There would be hurt/comfort at best. This is going to be a fluffy story. And if I get anything wrong in the airport scenes, it's because idk how they work. Never been to an airport.

"Flight 204, to New York, from Air France will leave soon. Passengers please board the plane. Flight 204....." The voice was heard from the speakers

"Queenie, it's our flight. Let's go." Marinette called Chloe, who was busy fighting with a person, because he didn't recognise her and it's 'ridiculous, utterly ridiculous'

"Hmph, you better keep up with the celebrities. I am the Chloe Bourgeois. The only daughter of Style Queen, Audrey Bourgeois. The person who has her own amazing business. The best friend of cocci-"

"Chlo!" Mari put her hand to prevent her from speaking more than necessary. "Our flight, let's go."

"Oh"

"Je suis désolée Monsieur." (I am sorry sir)

"C'est bon." (It's okay)

"Let's go Chloe."

"I can't wait to go to New York! It's gonna be sooo much fun! I am so excited" Adrien squealed heading towards his seat

"When are you not excited?" Kagami asked rolling her eyes at her boyfriend's behavior

"Don't put your cloudy shade over my sunlight." Adrien said dramatically, in response Kagami again rolled her eyes.

"If you think I am such a rain cloud, why are you dating me?"

"Because I love you, Duh!"

Kagami's face went as red as a tomato.

"Aww, you're blushing!"

"No, I am not."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I am not."

"Yes-"

"Guys as cute as you are, can we just please move." Luka said moving to his seat

"Sorry Lukes."

"Luka-bear, window seat is mine."

"I know Bee."

"Mari, you get the aisle seat. And Lu you'll have to sit in the middle." Chloe pointed to everyone's seat

"Yes Queenie!" Marinette saluted

"Perfect, now I will sleep for hours, I need my beauty sleep after all. If I will get dark circles it will be ridi-"

"RIDICULOUS, UTTERLY RIDICULOUS" All of them yelled

"Melody, your soul mark is in English, right. Maybe you'll find your soulmate here."

"Oooooh"

"Yeah, probably. My luck is not that good though."

"Don't lose hope yet Marinette, who knows maybe something good will happen."

"Maybe"

"The flight is ready to take off, passengers please wear their seatbelts. The flight is ready to…"

"I think we should get seated." Kagami took her seat "And Mars, don't worry, you will find your soulmate soon. It's destiny."

"You're right. It's destiny."

They all got seated, and Marinette was dying from lack of her coffee.

"I need my coooooffeeeee."

"No, sleep."

"Coffeeeee."

"Mel, for the last time, Sleeeeep!! Please."

"But I don't wanna. I have work-"

"That can wait. I am sure your clients will understand. And even if they won't I am sure you're ahead of your schedule." Marinette opened her mouth to say something but closed it again, it happened for a good three minutes before she gave in.

"......fine."

"Good"

"but you are working as my mannequin later."

"If it gets you to sleep."

"Why are you obsessed with making me sleep?"

"Because I care." Came his soft reply.

~After 5 hours~

"Marinette~ Where are you?~" A maniacal voice was heard

"Marinette! Answer me before I come there! Guess I will have to teach you another lesson!"

"Why don't you just die, you stupid piece of shit?" A punch

"Why are you even alive?" A kick

"You're nothing more than a waste of space." A push and marinette fell to the ground

"Nobody ever loved you, and nobody ever will! You don't even have a soulmate!" Marinette tried to say something, deny it, tell them that she had one, but she couldn't "And your "friends" they just hang out with you for pity!"

"I can't even believe I was friends with you!"

"You're nothing more than a jealous bully!"

She tried to do something, anything! But she wasn't able to, it was almost like she was bound by an invisible force.

"I hate you! I can't believe I was besties with you! You are just a liar and a bully!" Another kick, it didn't hurt. Not more than their betrayal.

"Asshole!"

"Bitch!"

"Slut"

"Waste of time!"

She sat there, listening to them. All of their insults, she didn't care. Not anymore.

"Guess I will have to put an end to it all, huh? I feel sad, you were a good playtoy." Her da-, no Mr.Dupain said, and the knife came down, she was screaming but no sound came out

"Marinette!" Huh? She didn't die?

"Marinette!" Adrien, she recognized the voice

"Marinette!" Marinette woke up with a shock

"What happened?"

"You were screaming and thrashing in your sleep."

"Oh, I had a nightmare." Adrien wiped her tears, she'd been crying? She didn't know.

"Wanna talk about it?" No she didn't, it will make it all real. It would bring flashbacks and she would have a panic attack.

"Not really." It was good that Adrien respected her wishes and didn't push it. "How long till we reach?"

"Uh, it's been five hours, so I am guessing three hours more. You wanna eat something?"

"N-" Adrien cut her off

"You know what? You do want to. You will obviously deny it, but I am not gonna let you starve."

"Why are you all like this?"

"Like what? So caring and such good friends? You deserve it."

"I hate you, each one of you."

"Aww, you know you love us! You looove us"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Mari rolled her eyes. She knew she loved them, they knew she loved them. They all loved each other, platonically obviously. But, there was a part of her which always wondered if they hung out with her just because they pitied her. They wouldn't do that, right?

Would they?

Finally almost eight hours passed, she had eaten and now she was working on some new designs while her friends slept peacefully.

"There has been a technical issue, the flight would land right here, in Gotham. Passengers are required to please wear their seatbelts and not panic."

WHAT!? The flight had to make an abrupt stop at Gotham at all of places, the fucking CRIME CAPITAL!! Oh no, oh no, OH HELL NO! This is a disaster, this is a disaster, a disaster. Wasn't luck supposed to be on her side? Did the miraculous mean nothing?

She quickly wore her seatbelt and checked all of her friends' too before waking them up.

"Umm, guys, there has been a technical issue, the flight's gonna land now, so you may wanna wake up." It didn't work, the formal and polite option didn't work "GUYS WAKE UP! THE FLIGHT'S GONNA LAND RIGHT NOW IN GOTHAM!" That worked! It jolted awake all of them.

"Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous!!"

"You've got to be kidding me!"

"In the fucking crime capital?!"

"Maybe it is destiny." Marinette gave Luka a weird look that said 'are you crazy or something?'

"Maybe you will find your soulmate here."

"Of fucking course. In the crime capital. Maybe my soulmate is a criminal too, huh?"

"Don't be such a pessimist Mari, there are good people too in Gotham."

"So any idea what we wanna do?" Marinette asked once they were out of the plane.

"Let's order a cab to New York?"

"Yeah, let's do that. Let me check the cabs… There's no cab available for where you wanna go….. " Blood drained from Adrien's face as he read that.

"So, we are forced to stay in Gotham?"

"Kinda"

"Well what should we do now?" Luka gained their attention

"Let's go shopping!!" Chloe, obviously, cheered "Before either of you deny, Kags, you need new clothes, no offense, but you really have a bad fashion sense. Luka-bae, I need you to carry my bags. Adri-kins, Kags need you. And Mari-bear, you have a good fashion choice." Luka and Adrien sighed, guess they have to carry their bags forever.

"I don't know Chlo, I really need some coffee and have to do some work. I guess I will go to a café instead." Marinette said sheepishly

"Hmm, if you say so." Marinette was genuinely surprised that she let her off the hook. Usually she would be dragged with them. "You can send us your location and we'll meet you there in two hours?"

"Sounds like a plan."

"Okay, bye, don't have a overdose~"

"Bye queenie!"

"Now let's find a café with an internet connection and quiet environment." She quickly searched all the café near her, fortunately the nearest café was within walking distance.

She walked for ten minutes before she reached the café "coffee and joy" apparently this café has amazing coffee and the batfam, mostly Red Robin, always comes here. The atmosphere was good, not too crowded but enough for it to be good.

She walked inside, it was good. As soon as she walked in she was greeted by the fragrance of coffee. The circular tables had plants on the side, couples were talking and chattering. There were families enjoying themselves, and a person who was typing away on his computer, huh, he almost looks dead. Well, who was she to judge, she was sure she looked the same while she was working.

She went to order. The workers there were happy and cheery. Weird, this is Gotham. Aren't people supposed to be gloomy and annoyed here? Well, Paris, the supposedly city of love, the people there are--the ones she knows the rest she is sure are good--are evil. She is not even exaggerating.

"Hi! How can I help you today?" The worker, she learnt the name was Sam, asked her.

"Hey can I get a black coffee with…..eight espresso shots? thank you!" The worker looked shocked, obviously anyone would be shocked if someone ordered this much caffeine. She muttered something that she couldn't quite make out but it sounded like 'there's three of them' . What did she mean by three of them? Eh, whatever.

"What name should I write on the cup?"

"Marinette." Marinette, the only reminder of her fam- the people she lived with. The name that was given to her by her grandma that she loves dearly. At Least her grandparents are good people.

"Okay, why don't you wait and I will call you?"

"Sure" She went to the table in the corner. So she would not grab any attention but will be able to go to the counter easily when called.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tim was having a sucky day. Firstly, he was almost late to the meeting because Bruce thought it was good to let him sleep in. Fuck you Bruce! I don't need to sleep. Then Alfred banned coffee. Why? Because apparently he had a little too much coffee. Thirdly, his brothers were still obsessed with making him sleep, he already slept last night!

"Ughhh" Tim groaned, luckily his favourite café was just around the corner. He would go and grab some coffee there and work in peace.

Upon entering the café he was greeted by the sweet fragrance of coffee. Oh, how much he loved it. If he didn't find his soulmate he would marry coffee. Bruce wouldn't have a problem, right?

"Hey Sam!" Tim greeted the always cheerful barista

"Hey Mr. Drake. Your usual?"

"Yep."

"It will be ready soon!"

Thanking her Tim made his way to his usual table and took out his laptop to go over the meeting details. After a minute or so grabbing his coffee and feeling alive again Tim started working on the documents. He was so lost in his world that he didn't realise someone coming in. Only when her name was called did he realise that.

Out of curiosity, Tim looked at her, and what he saw was something he would remember forever. That woman was beautiful. He knew that it was wrong, he knew that he had a soulmate, he knew he should wait for them wherever they are, but he also knew that he felt a connection with her, he also knew that he had to take his chance. So that's what he'll do.

Waiting for a while to gather some courage and thinking about what to say. He started to make his way to her. Only to be stopped by her sad expression, she was angry, mostly sad looking at her laptop. Huh, looks like she's not having a great day. He decided that he will go to her with coffee, after all what was something that coffee couldn't solve. He ordered two coffees for them, he knew that her order was the same as his.

He took a deep breath and made his way across the café to her and offered her the beverage in his hand. "Having a rough day?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marinette was relieved that she got her coffee. She hasn't had any since morning. Why does the world have to be sooo unfair to her!? Opening her laptop she found some new commissions…..and some emails from her old class. Can they just suck it and move on? How childish can anyone be.

She knows that she shouldn't be but she was sad looking at it. She was just about to delete them when a voice startled her.

"Having a rough day? Have a coffee, It will make it better." Marinette being Marinette jumped at the voice.

"Ahh! You scared me! Wait a second….. You are my soulmate! Thanks for the coffee by the way." As soon as their hands touched there was a golden glow around them, a welcoming glow.

"Hey, soulmate. I am Timothy Drake-Wayne please call me Tim."

"Hey Tim, I am Marinette. Nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine, Marinette." Tim kissed her knuckles to which she responded by blushing.

@legodetectivemalsblog

#have a coffee #timinette #timari #soulmate au #maribat #marinette dupain cheng #tim drake #weird writings

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feralrunaway · 4 years

Text

Rat

Pairing: August Walker x teenage OFC (platonic)

Word count: ~1.5k

Warnings: homelessness, cursing, crime, implications of abuse, implied murder, August’s disdain for religion

A/N: I’ve never written for August before, so I hope I do this justice. This story takes place after MI6, several different timelines. Please heed the warnings before reading, thanks!

——————

Their eyes connected across the dark, crowded club.

A nostalgic smile touched her perfectly glossed lips, the slightest mirror of which ghosted along his rigid features, only for both to disappear before anyone could notice. A secret smile. An acknowledgment.

...mankind is drawn to his self-destruction like a moth to the candle.

A decade of transformation. Of skills honed. And yet the depth of connection over shared experience remained.

*A rooftop entrance. A door ajar.

Accessible once, and he hoped still. A place to lay low until he could reestablish contacts and repair his identity. One of the few places he could recall that even his trusted associates knew nothing of.

The lock had clearly been picked, alerting him to his safe house having been compromised. Not by the authorities, no. But by the lump of diminutive human lying under a pile of dirty blankets in the attic.

A cocked gun. A warning. The bored, disinterested girl shifted to sit under the blankets and stare petulantly in his direction.

“I found it first, Scarface. Get your own squat.”

It took a lot to surprise August Walker. But this live grenade of teenage attitude glaring daggers at him was enough to qualify. Her eyes briefly absorbed his expensive, if disheveled, clothing, danced over the gun in his hand.

“Are you a fucking cop?” she stood slowly.

August chuckled darkly, but the inherent threat in the sound was not perceived by the adolescent occupying the loft hideaway belonging to him. Was she brain-addled?

“I suggest you scurry along, little rat.”*

“Fuck you.”*

It is the first step toward the ultimate brotherhood of man.

Her mentor. After all these years, he hadn’t changed. Well, the scars were mostly gone. Only a slight puckering remained next to his right eye, easily concealed by an errant curl. But the same man occupied the expensive suit. Money had its uses. He had taught her that.

* A desperate time. A questionable meal.

“You got this where?”

She rolled her eyes as well as any youth.

“It’s clean. The grocery on main puts their overstock out every week.”

“You’re eating out of a dumpster.”

She scoffed. “So are you if you want to eat tonight. Never hurt me before. You’re free to come up with your own shit, moneybags. More for me.”

“What if I were to propose a solution beneficial to us both?” he eyed the slightly expired food and week-old produce. He had no intention of a recognizable face and bounty on his head making him settle for scraps. “Earn your stay in my safe house.”

She did well. Better than he had anticipated. He watched her walk down the street, charming a clothing shop clerk while nimble fingers pilfered this and that, changing both clothing and personality before his tracking eyes at each stop she made, until suddenly he gazed upon a simple, bookish young adult simply shopping for groceries for her family at home.*

His prodigy. A quick study. With a few lessons of her own to teach him.

*A midnight ambush. An unexpected out.

The rat was long gone before even August managed to divert himself safely away from the house. It had been a small team. Nothing he couldn’t halt with a few well timed fists. He was the Hammer after all. But now his hideaway had been compromised. And they had picked up his trail.

It was difficult, if not nearly impossible for a man his size with such distinguishable scars to make his way down a city street while avoiding pursuant agents from every angle.

A small hand tangled in his shirt. A barely pulled punch. Her finger to her lips, she tugged him down through the open manhole.

Filthy, stinking tunnels. Narrowing, narrowing until his broad shoulders barely squeezed through. Until finally they opened up into the broad arched chorus of entries leading to any path of their choosing.

“Welcome to the underground, old man. Pick your poison.”*

Today, mankind has been handed the opportunity to escape his destiny.

August worked best alone. He had never understood what kept drawing him back to her. Why the presence of this feral spitfire of a child was tolerable. Perhaps a mutual understanding of the true evils operating in the world.

*A special day. A present with meaning.

“It’s my birthday today.”

“Oh? And how old are you now?”

“Fifteen.”

“…how long have you been on your own, rat?”

“Maybe a year and a half now. I’m not sure. Don’t get all sympathetic, old man. It’s better this way, trust me. I do just fine on my own.”

She needn’t understand that he felt no pity about it. He could relate. He knew the type of things that would cause an adolescent to take a crack at life on their own. It didn’t take much searching to discover where she had come from. The child of a pastor, the kind that spit vitriol about sin and promised fire and brimstone. The kind of man that hid his own abusive deeds and indescretions behind a pious front.

Any belief in a spirituality with no other proof, other than the cravings to project one’s self over the rational thinking of the others must be eradicated.

Two days later, August was gone, only leaving behind one thing.

She read the headline of the newsprint again and again.

“Local church up in flames, two missing. Officials continue the search.”

Under the headline, in elegant, efficient script:

Happy Birthday, Rat.*

...by averting disaster, they serve to delay a peace that can only come through an inevitable baptism of fire.

“I miss the Phantom of the Opera look. You should have kept it.”

“There is benefit in being inconspicuous, as I recall you saying once,” he murmured, eyes indicating the siren red dress and dripping diamond jewels framing her delicate face and body.

She laughed, loud and genuine. “There is also benefit to be had in boldness, as you and your devilstache well demonstrated to me.”

*A back alley altercation. A job gone wrong.

He hadn’t seen her in two years. Now he watched from above as she evaded multiple assailants. Ducking and twisting, the little rat managed to slip through their grasp time and again. Her small frame and wiley nature worked to her benefit. Until it didn’t. One punch to the gut saw her laid out, winded, one man hovering above her and another with a gun trained to her head.

August had seen enough. Four quick shots and they were down. He sauntered down the stairs and over to her prone form.

“Scarface. Perfect timing, you handsome bastard. I’ll just be on my way.” she was winded, but no less crass.

“Not a chance, Rat,” he pulled her to standing by the nape of her neck. “There are a few things you need to learn.” He held out a hand. She leaned forward, spitting several sparkling diamonds into his open palm. “The first being that blatant theft never leaves you an out. Learn your exchanges and plan for them well before extraction. When you have another party interested in the payload, you have well-financed protection.”

He secretly reveled in her education in hand to hand combat. He always preferred fists to weapons, whenever possible. Her squirrelly evasive maneuvers were intriguing and useful, evidence of her time on the street, filching whatever she needed a day at a time. But if she were to ever be overpowered, she had a long way to go.*

The suffering I bring you is not the beginning of the end. It is the beginning of a greater mutual understanding through common suffering.

Neither looked at the other as they observed the room. Watched for their mutual target.

The comfort of working in tandem was welcome. She rarely utilized the assistance of others. There was, after all, only one man she had ever trusted.

*A romance gone wrong. A late night call.

“I need a place to lay low for a few days.”

“How did you get this number?”

“I met a man once who wore sin on his upper lip. He taught me a few tricks.”

August smiled at the other end of the line.

“I will send you the address. You will send me his name.”*

Here I will emphasize clearly that the judgement upheld against us will be one of human hands, not of a god or other wordly being.

Both of their gazes fell to the intended target as he broke away from the crowd.

“My buyer won’t be happy if I let him go.”

“Will we finally find ourselves at odds over this transaction, Scarface?”

“Hardly, Rat. Now scurry along. This one belongs to you.”

With that, he set down his drink. He walked toward the exit, fully trusting that this would be a job well completed.

And so, the cycle continues.

Casting one final glance in her direction, he realized that the unfamiliar sensation he always felt around her, that drew him like a moth to the candle, had a name:

Pride

(Nov 27, 2020)

#August Walker #rat #daughter walker #taming the cavillry #feral

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batfamscreaming · 3 years

Text

Playlist Masterpost

because i make fucking a+ playlists okay. Please check out playlists 'from' fandoms you don't follow because they're arranged by Vibe and so you may find stuff with left-field appeal.

TWEWY Playlists

Garbage Songs - the main playlist, for when you want to know the musicians made a Choice. Sometimes that choice was to feel the music in your eyeballs. A playlist for a very specific brainspace.

Gotham (fucked up if Josh) - short playlist about either a very fucked up city, or a fucked up city's god.

Batman Playlists

Batman Vibe Playlist - The platonic ideal of Batman. Save one person and save the world, even if that person is also yourself.

Stephanie Brown's Innermost Thoughts - a character study on how to let a gurl have a good ass time.

Tals - a character study on how your dad is a misogynistic cult leader and the only guy you really feel safe with emotionally can't reciprocate but you're gonna try to handle it as best you can. Maybe you need some female friends.

Current Sad Bruce Playlist - Living with crushing existential dread? Same! Playlist to be angry and sad about it. Cling onto life with spite if you must, and with hope if you can.

Questionable Bru+Dick Songs - when you would die for them but the relationship can't ever go back to what it used to be. Also when only love songs describe your relationship even tho the intention is platonic.

The Greatest (Dickbats & Dami) - sometimes you see someone else in each other, and that's okay. In saving yourself, maybe you can show someone else how.

Cymbalina - v1 (trans and fucking furious. Tw for suicidal ideation songs) and v2 (trans and more able to breathe) From trans bruce au.

Legend of Zelda

Regular LoZ Playlist - gentle world, gentle goddess, and the certain knowledge that it will have to end one day. At least for a while.

Zelda but Funky - it is your destiny to Fuck Their Shit Uuuup. (short only because of how long it takes to find songs that fuck appropriately)

Dangan Ronpa

Despair - i know exactly why a class of highschoolers wanted to destroy the world. i know exactly why no one took them seriously until they did.

ENOSHIMA. - extremely short fucked up character study playlist. Mostly short because god, it's hard to find songs the right amount of Intentional Malice and existential despair.

Gay Shit

Aaaayyyy

Unfortunate NightMight Songs - just in case you want to be extremely sad about two old gays who saw the end of the world, and one chose the world, and the other wished, just for once, that he wouldn't.

Those 80s Superbat Kids - youth pop superbat au where Clark and Bruce meet each other in highschool

Cymbalina - v1 (trans and fucking furious. Tw for suicidal ideation songs) and v2 (trans and more able to breathe.)

Kidster -> (gaster interpretation) - decay exists as an extant form of love.

Monsterfuckers Inc - my magnum opus (if the kidster and garbage playlists didnt exist, anyway). Love songs for monsterfuckers. I want to make a cover CD of this and market it 100% seriously.

#playlists #music #beatext #links #music recs #if you respond to this post..... i will love you forever ok someone please talk music w me #batman #twewy #bnha #queer #dangan ronpa #drv2

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pillage-and-lute · 4 years

Text

Thicker Than Water (Part 1)

Post-mountain, heavy angst with a happy ending Geraskier, featuring platonic Yennskier and Yennalt. + immortal Jaskier and Ciri getting the family she deserves. PG-13? (Mentions of but no actual sex, brief mention of familial abuse, very very minor character death) This first bit is mostly just Jaskier’s sad reflections post-mountain.

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Ao3 link HERE

{AN:This is me (an adhd person) writing Jaskier as adhd, based on my experiences, but my experiences with adhd are not universal, but some of you may recognize Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria. Also, because it’s never explicitly stated in the fic, feel free to headcanon him however you like.}

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Jaskier never got an apology after the mountain. He’d never gotten the rest of the story from the others either, but after everything it didn’t seem all that important. Maybe it never had been.

Twenty-two years.

It wasn’t so long, not when Jaskier knew he had an entire lonely eternity to look forward to. But to be fair, he hadn’t known that twenty-two years ago. He hadn’t even known it last week. It turns out having a very pleasurable liaison with a high priestess who had just so happened to be the mortal vessel for a minor goddess, has its perks. He’d seen her in a bar three nights ago and she’d bought him a cup of milk and asked him how immortality was going.

Of course, he’d thought she was joking. He was pretty heavily into his sixth? seventh? pint of the evening. It was strong stuff and she’d bought him milk to sober up. He just told her his skin care must be working and she explained that, yes, it was, his skin looked very nice, but no, that wasn’t why he still looked twenty-three.

Then a fan had bought him some rather nice gin and after that he doesn’t remember the evening. He hoped he’d bid the priestess goodbye.

He’d been drinking more lately. Jaskier had never actually had much of a head for drink, preferring to sip a light wine than down things more akin to paint thinner. Now, though, well. It was the mountain, wasn’t it? He’d never taken rejection well. Oh, sure, a potential lover turning him down was one thing, admittedly it stung, but he would never force unwanted affections, and he’d always had a mobile heart, ready to fall in love with someone new. Criticism on his music? That depended, the reasoned, encouraging criticism of a good professor was fine. Nothing else was. He poured his heart and soul into everything he sang, even if it was just a nonsense song or a ditty plucked out on the road. Having it criticized cut straight through him, especially by those he cared about.

The hurt ran deeper though. The youngest son of a minor noble, with two big, strong, fighting brothers and one sickly but pretty younger sister, Lotte, he’d always been a bit of an odd duck. His brothers had heckled him, but they hadn’t been home often. His father had beat him, but that pain at least was only physical. His mother ignored him. That had hurt. It still hurt, when he thought of it. Lancing through him like a knife of ice. And then Lotte, who had loved his stories and music, had died. A fever took her suddenly in the night and after that Lettenhove held no more light for him. So he left and his father was happy to see him go.

Some things you bring with you. His family had never given him any gifts, but left him with a lifetime of baggage. Their voices in his head telling him he was never good enough, a weakling, a burden. A shit shoveler.

Sometimes a much smaller voice, that sounded a little like Lotte piped up. He was good at music. He brought people joy. But it was so much weaker than the constant barrage of hate.

And now Geralt.

Jaskier wanted to believe that Geralt didn’t hate him, that twenty-two years of grunts and silences meant at least a glimmer of friendship. But how could it? Jaskier’s own family hadn’t wanted him, and here he was, forlorn that after he’d inflicted himself on Geralt for two decades he’d finally been thrown aside. Like the garbage he always had been. He tried not to let himself think about it too much, but somehow the thoughts always found him. Usually at the bottom of a bottle. Or three.

There were no doubts in his mind about Geralt. Jaskier could never believe Geralt a cruel man, not after years of watching him fight dreadful monsters for less coin than chimneysweeps earned. Years of him patiently bearing the worst of people and cleaning up their messes and saving lost baby birds. Jaksier never would have believed it, if not for the testimony of his own two eyes. Geralt had scooped the downy thing up in one massive hand and examined it with such tenderness in his honey-gold eyes that Jaskier wanted to cry. A part of him wished, if only for a moment, that he was the bird, to be cradled in a strong, gentle hand and be the focus of such attentive care. He didn’t wish to be the bird later, when it died. Lost, injured baby birds often do, and Jaskier had played a sad little tune as Geralt buried it carefully.

A man, a witcher, who buried and mourned a baby bird, was not bad. Not a monster or cruel, although sometimes a bit unkind.

At the bottom of bottles and pints Jaskier wanted to hate Geralt, wanted to think him a monster, a butcher, he even wrote it into his songs, a garroter. He couldn’t do it. He found plenty of room to hate himself though.

Every sore point in Geralt’s life, at least those within the last two decades, had indeed been Jaskier’s fault. The banquet? Jaskier had insisted, practically dragged Geralt into a messy political situation, even if it looked like a party on the surface. The djinn? He’d provoked a sleep deprived Geralt and then pouted like a child when his singing was mocked. For Melitele’s sake he’d called Geralt butcher when they’d met. He wondered sometimes why Geralt hadn’t left him to the tender mercies of the djinn. He knew why.

Because Geralt was kind. Not a gentleman, not with the talking to his horse, and the growling, and the (admittedly not that bad) smell. Not a gentleman, but a gentle man.

Geralt had been kind enough to put up with a troublesome bard. A bard who, young and green as he’d been in Posada, would have had his neck slit by bandits or thieves before his twentieth year. He’d pitied Jaskier and let him stick around, putting up with him as no one else had. Not his parents or his brothers, not Valdo, his first love, who’d subsequently cheated on him and laughed at his tears, not even his various dalliances put up with him. A night of pleasure was all he could offer, out the door (or window, or over the hedge) in the morning, lest he burden them with his presence too long and be stabbed by their rejection. Everyone had their breaking point though, and Geralt had reached his after twenty years, as well as a breakup, a dragon man, and Jaskier asking to run away together all within twenty-four hours.

That left Jaksier, lost in a forest with no money and only sad songs to sing, which don’t bring much coin in a world that already knows enough sorrow, two months after the dragon hunt.

Things were bad. For Jaskier and everyone else. He had no money for warm clothes or new boots, and winter was fast approaching. Nilfgaard’s soldiers were looking for him, they stormed everywhere, searching for the White Wolf and his charge, or anyone who might know something. Cintra had fallen, and it’s lioness with it, and Jaskier could only hope that the child surprise, whose name day banquets he’d missed not one, had met her destiny at last.

He hoped his destiny wasn’t skewered on the end of a Nilfgaardian blade.

He couldn’t go to Oxenfurt. They’d look for him there, and he had too many friends whose lives he would endanger as well. Here, on the road, he was anonymous. His fine clothes were dulled with dirt and wear, and his hair was longer, curling at the ends and bout his ears as it was wont to do when he went without a hair cut. He hadn’t shaved in a couple days either. Jaskier hoped he looked dashing, but he suspected he just looked scruffy.

He certainly didn’t look like the famous bard Jaskier, herald of the White Wolf, though, so perhaps it was all for the better.

And then, in the middle of a forest, with the first frosts of autumn on the ground, he met the amethyst eyes of a sorceress.

Fuck.

#geraskier #fanfiction #post-mountain fix it #not yet though #they haven't worked through their emotional trauma yet #tw: alcohol #adhd Jaskier #the witcher #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier

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sokkagatekeeper · 3 years

Note

I think with zukka it’s the exact opposite as soulmates like in every way these two should’ve never even met let alone connect but they did and they do and they balance each other out in so many ways... them being together isnt fulfilling some serious destiny them being together is being able to let their guard down and being who they were never allowed to be: youthful, and playful... essentially when I think of zukka I think of laughter and the heaviness one’s heart feels when they’re nearly overwhelmed with happiness. No fate, no destiny, no titles... just being.

i think that in order to break down what sokka and zuko’s relationship means in relation to soulmates especially interpreting this relationship as romantic, we need to start with the basics. get ready for a long and probably pretty wordy ride.

let's start with the meaning of the word “soulmate” specifically in fandom. the most common perception of a soulmate in fandom is that your soulmate is quite literally the other half of your soul, meaning that without this romantic interest you are somehow incomplete. now, what the hell is a soul? according to my dear friend google, a soul is “the spirit or the essence of a person, and the part of the person that makes them who they are and will be even after death.” is it even possible to split a soul in half? well, in my opinion everyone in fandom is essentially insane, so i’d rather say that no, it is not possible for a soulmate to be the other part of your soul, or for another person fictional or otherwise to complete you as another person, fictional or otherwise (when it's fictional, a soulmate can add depth and nuance, maybe?? but not complete. what the fuck does complete even mean). i have a more interesting interpretation of the meaning of a soulmate at hand, specifically because my first language is spanish: the closest thing to the word “soulmate” in spanish is alma gemela, literally “twin soul.” i believe it is much more interesting to interpret a soulmate as a person whose soul is a mirror to yours, or a reflection. a complement. the notion that someone is perfect and made for you romantically is essentially full of shit and a very lazy mindset, but anyway.

if we’re talking about being destined to meet a person, or being different faces of the same coin, or stuff like that, then of course this is a thing in fiction. aang and zuko and katara are definitely soulmates in terms of being destined to meet and change each other in a meaningful and earth-shattering way. the concepts of destiny and fate are not only an actual thing in atla, but also very prominent and loud in themes and narrative, and in the mindsets and beliefs of the characters themselves; it heavily influences their actions and approach to other characters, especially zuko. from his perspective, zuko’s dynamic with aang throughout the show and in general (meaning before and after he joined the gaang) is in part shaped by his sense of morality, and in part by his belief that his destiny is somehow intertwined with aang’s (he was right, of course), similarly to how katara approached aang (too, as a beacon of hope) or even how she saw zuko as a definitive enemy (in contrast to how sokka saw zuko as pretty much a fool and a recurrent inconvenience) aang, katara, and zuko’s dynamics with each other are all somehow related to destiny, the general concept of soulmates as a mirror of your soul, whether consciously or unconsciously. this is part of what makes them the central thematic trio and the heart of the show.

knowing all this, let’s go back to sokka and zuko. in short, as i’ve said before, to each other they are just… some guys. to elaborate, to sokka, zuko was just 1) some guy in the way, another inconvenience that occasionally got in between him and in his business with the avatar, whom he didn’t respect at all and didn’t think of as an enemy, 2) just some guy to be wary of for all of the aforementioned reasons, and 3) some guy, but cool and nice and a friend, possibly a love interest?? idk we’ll see!! meanwhile to zuko, sokka was 1) some guy in the way, another inconvenience that occasionally got in between him and in his business with the avatar, whom he didn’t respect at all and didn’t think of as an enemy, 2) some guy, who is amazing and cool and he will break into a prison with him because why not?? so we can safely say, while there are direct parallels between them and are definitely connected in some spiritual way (as are all of the gaang, in my opinion!!), sokka and zuko themselves do not know that. the weight of being meant-to-be in their relationship is nonexistent, and i definitely agree that they can relax around each other in that sense, especially zuko (who believes in destiny therefore i mention him a lot, in comparison to sokka who does not believe in destiny therefore doesn’t carry the weight of anf his relationships being shaped by it which. they arguably are, as it is a story that was predefined, but that’s for another day). it’s been talked about that the most compelling thing about sokka and zuko’s relationship revolves around the concept of choice. the boiling rock is the only life-changing field trip that zuko was initially denied, but insisted on going anyway. he decided to go out of pure selflessness, solely to help sokka, in contrast to him being quite literally required to go as aang’s teacher/to prove himself and get katara off his back (as well as other subconsious reasons, that, too, for another day). zuko went with sokka because he thought he was dope, and as we all know zuko cannot do anything half-way so he decided he would die for the guy (valid of him, by the way). their entire relationship is just subversion after subversion after subversion.

it’s also related to sokka being just some guy, not only as he believes himself to be but also how sokka is pretty much the fourth part of the thematic triangle that aang katara and zuko have going on. he balances each of their pure hearts and idealism with a sharp mind and bitchy but useful pessimism. sokka being just some guy to zuko’s deuteragonist is the thematic equivalent of sokka being a main character and suki being a secondary character. it works because the weight of universal forces just isn’t there, and it works better than (in my opinion!!) katara and zuko or (to a lesser degree) aang and katara being romantically involved for the same reasons.

and anyway. when it comes to fandom interpretation, it’s very easy to think of every parallelism/symbolism as a sign of two characters being meant to be together romantically, or whatever. and while it is fun, most parallels (at least among the gaang) are mostly to show how the characters are able to understand and connect with each other whether romantically or platonically (and the destiny in fiction thing i’m too tired to talk about again), so the parallels between sokka and zuko are not entirely irrelevant to their romantic potential — people are also quick to think every parallel/trope/catchy line about their relationship is shallow and stupid and soulmates suck anyway!! and therefore i’m asking you all to calm down and find a middle ground. not every parallel/trope/etc is romantic and not every parallel/trope/etc is dumb and irrelevant. when it comes to the infamous “prince and the fool” for example, some people take it as the ultimate proof of their love and some think it’s utter nonsense and a cheap version of the zvtara’s moon/sun dynamic. and both of them are wrong!! “the prince and the fool” is in fact pretty much like “the wise and the brave” of katara and sokka. it is merely a descriptive of the way they act with each other, the way their differences balance each other, the way they contrast each other, etc etc. they do work as descriptive on their own, but not as well as they work when put together; yes, sokka is wise, but how wise? what is the standard for him to be considered wise, or even the opposite? sokka being wise works in terms of aesthetic, character, dynamic, etc etc, only if katara is being brave right besides him. zuko is a prince, sure, but what else is there? what is the alternative? you can call sokka a fool (and you would be wrong, by the way) but what does that word alone bring to his character?

to conclude, i believe the thing about sokka and zuko’s relationship is that there’s nothing definitive to it by universal order — or rather, while it might exist, it's definitely to a lesser degree than other relationships in their lives, therefore the characters themselves don't notice it and there's no pressure to fulfill any prophecies; they just are, and they just do. you can have a passionate and true love without it being the sole meaning of your existence, or your sole motivation and priority in your life. it’s clear that in case they were romantically involved they wouldn’t even be the person they love the most (as it is very clear the person sokka loves the most is katara (!!!), while zuko’s is probably iroh?? idk). i believe the best part of a romantic relationship between sokka and zuko is that they are just some guys, maybe not to the universe but to each other. if they have to choose each other as they do, if they just get each other as well as they do, who care about each other a shit ton even if not any more than their other friends and family but just a little differently, while they aren’t canonically soulmates the way aang and zuko or aang and katara are (while the potential is there) i’d go as far as to say they are some sort of kindred spirits. i think it all depends on how you define soulmates, really.

#i hope this makes sense #and isn't overly pretentious #bc i'm actually writing a soulmate au for the zukkaweek and i mention these thoughts an awful lot #what does it mean to have a soulmate?? what does it mean to your own identity???#at what point do you stop being your own person and start being part of another person??? idk many ideas much 2 think about #analysis #asks #anon #n #zukka #atla

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seventhscorpio · 3 years

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If you're part of the Destiny fandom, what do you think of Eris and Drifter? Personally, I can't see it, but I see a lot of it here (still don't know why)

What made you ship it?

It’s funny because I started Season of Arrivals with that strong mindset of “don’t let yourself be dragged into another enemies-to-lovers token ship” and then I did just that, let myself be dragged into another enemies-to-lovers token ship. I know I have a type™ (that type being unlikely matches which start as love/hate but then grow into this odd comfort and trust and bonding over partnership and similar experiences), and I just can’t help myself indulging in it, can I.

Tbh this match can be a silly frenzy because haha they’re calling each other names that can be a shade away from flirting, but I do see a deeper connection here, or at least a possibility of it. They are so vividly different on the outside, and bump heads over stupid things, but then a deep conversation kicks in and you start to see these little similarities that grow and grow. They’ve both been hurt and scarred and abandoned, they have trust issues and are paranoid about people dying on their watch, and seeing them rattle each other’s cages about the minor things but have this quiet understanding when it comes to serious business (Whispering Slab loretab my beloved) is a fun dynamic I’ve always enjoyed. I don’t mind seeing that connection as either platonic or romantic, I write them both ways (depending on my mood, mostly), and idk I just have a soft spot for these long-silences-things-unsaid-quiet-understanding relationships in fiction.

What are your favorite things about the ship?

That it’s a slow climb towards trust. I like to think of the growth of their bond (again, either platonic or romantic, both apply), how they start off as *eyeroll* and slowly, slowly crawl towards something that is comradery and understanding and care. How they’re both closed-off and hiding behind masks, and honesty slips through the cracks in little gestures with more than one interpretation, how they don’t realise how much care there is between them until they’re knee-deep in it.

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

Idk what is an unpopular opinion by now, honestly? I’d say, I see that ship as based on that arduous climb towards trust and comfort and care, little cracks of understanding and vulnerability that shine through more and more. They seem like polar opposities but when shit hits the fan they actually work together in an amazing way you know what BL cutscene I’m talking about huh and are great partners and that gives me these *emotional tickles* inside when I think about it.

#destiny 2 #mine #eris morn #destiny drifter #eris/drifter

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botwriter · 4 years

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OH RIGHT OKAY here’s my thought spew from age of calamity. major spoilers inside obviously, read at your own risk!! also it’s super long and mostly here for my own reference for when I eventually write a fic lmao

i’m literally just throwing this all out here so it might not be in any discernable order

first thing I guess I wanna talk about is Zelda’s characterization; it’s much the same as BOTW in the beginning, which makes sense. It’s very interesting to have seen how she reacts when Link gets the sword. I wrote her in BOTW: Rewritten as feeling quite behind or inferior compared to Link, since he already had his power and his sword, and she was still struggling to find hers... and that’s exactly what happens in AoC!

After abandoning her father for dead - oh right this scene okay hang on

when the King says to Link “You are the Princess’ chosen knight. I’m sure you’re aware of your duty” or something along those lines, we suddenly see what is probably the most emotion animated onto Link’s face anywhere in these games. He is being ordered by the King to keep her safe, not to fight for the kingdom. Of course it’s a fair argument that keeping Zelda safe is fighting for the kingdom, but that really just ties in with Link’s destiny super well - despite all the pomp and circumstance, despite his bowing whenever the King is around, he isn’t loyal to him. He’s loyal to Zelda, and Zelda alone, and he only needs that reminder once. It’s in his soul to keep her safe, no matter the cost, because if she’s safe, there’ll always be hope. (Nevermind all the angsty bullshit about him being Hylia’s chosen knight and strung along like a puppet because she knows that he’ll always act selflessly in Zelda’s best interests, no matter what.)

anyway yeah that just hit me.

ANYWAY after abandoning her father for dead and running away the following quests have her being even more self-deprecating and by this point it was starting to get pretty old; we’ve already seen the “everything I did was all in vain/my friends and father are dead” sad bullshit once before and seeing it again was... I mean it just doesn’t hit quite as hard, but I did appreciate the extra delving into Zelda’s character, motivations, and general handiness when it comes to tech and building - she isn’t the holder of the triforce of wisdom for nothing

so riiiiight around the time when i was about to be like oh for fucks sake zelda get it together, Impa said it for me (which was appreciated; Impa’s character did a really nice job of grounding the viewer whereas having just Zelda and Link before was a pretty one-sided affair in botw) and then, things changed.

thanks to the destiny changing egg, the champions weren’t dead, their descendants/future champions came to their rescue - a moment I legitimately freaked out at - and there was hope for Hyrule. Finally, add to that her father being alive, and we suddenly had a Princess Zelda who believed in herself and who was capable at not just wielding her triforce but leading an endless number of troops from across the continent into battle.

Her character snapped into place just as it did in botw, but we actually got to see her take advantage of it this time. This game had plenty of missions in which Zelda had to be protected, or had to be helped, despite the fact that she can fight; but by the end of it, they took the “damsel in distress” trope that Zelda has always been burdened with and they completely flipped it on its head. They gave us what we were used to and then they snatched it away.

I really did like that it was her desperation to save Link which once again activated her triforce; you can’t tell me these two don’t fucking love each other okay get out of my face

but for real, I know there were flashbacks there to her dad “dying” and there was guilt and her probably realising that constantly being ushered away or running away is obviously not working, but for someone whos life is so valuable and who is made horrifyingly aware of that fact over and over and over again - to potentially throw herself at death’s doorstep - is a Big Fucking Deal. She doesn’t activate the triforce of wisdom because she thinks it’s the smart thing to do, and it’s certainly not a last ditch effort like it was in botw - she could have definitely let Impa run her away from the danger - it’s because Link is about to die, and she loves him, and she’s finally letting herself (or having no choice but to) feel it, maybe for the first time.

and yeah you can argue that it’s not love or that it’s just platonic, that’s fine, I really have nothing against ppl that don’t like zelink for whatever reason and I appreciate that nintendo makes it so it can be read either way. but aoc having the same mechanic as botw did for her getting her sealing power back... was like, really nailing it in. And some of the cutscenes definitely help with that!

okay uhhh what else

please show us zelda’s mom

please show us link’s parents???

whomst is astor - they really just had this nobody show up with no backstory being like “I WAS CHOSENNNN” and then nothing happens with him. he doesn’t have the triforce of power. to be honest at no point do we even see it. the final ganon battle looking more like ganon was really nice but I would have appreciated some sass or some talking there, because that’s really what I crave in final battles like that. I don’t want to cut down some mindless beast. it’s not satisfying.

kohga and sooga were really cool to have in there; confused on kohga a little cause don’t you fight him post-calamity in botw? they did some amazing things for both of their characters, so I was really hoping to have sooga as a playable character too and I found myself confused when just kohga showed up to pledge loyalty to zelda. I understand that they probably still needed some sort of yiga boss for other missions but like... eh..... I want Sooga damnit. also if he’s one of kohga’s “lackeys” and also spoke shit both to astor’s face and behind his back, it’s safe to assume he’d join the Good side... yeah. oh well. did hyrule warriors ever do DLC? maybe that’ll be a thing

the music fucking slapped, holy shit, holy shit, the music was amazing.

revali being even more sassy towards link was fantastic but also INTERESTING because since link doesn’t even have the sword yet, it’s like... kinda... fair?? that he has no clue why this random kid soldier is here to help out. and of course he ends up developing a bit in his character to acknowledge link later on. I think it’s good to remind ppl that revali is quite young afaik?? so him having a rivalry with link kinda makes sense, based on his already-established character of being quite cocky and sure of himself (which botw dlc taught us doesn’t come without it’s fair share of intense insecurity, self-doubt, and practicing until he’s exhausted). i love revali’s character. I love revali. protect him.

okay I don’t know what else to write I should probably go work on blooming in adversity LOL

EDITING TO ADD CAUSE I JUST REWATCHED THE SCENE, but the fact that Link’s triforce is awakened by a desperate desire to save Zelda; and she’s reaching out for him at the same time (maybe she almost gets hers at the same time omg) was fucking incredible yep can’t wait to write it that’s all im gonna say

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rhaenyratargeryn · 3 years

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Tagged by @binaryeclipse

How many works do you have on ao3?: I have two accounts— because I have two longish fics on hiatus on one and I felt guilty posting other things djsjxjsjs. So in total 14!

What’s your total ao3 word count?: 169,751

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?: Agent Carter, Fallout: New Vegas, Detroit: Become Human, Cyberpunk 2077, Destiny 2, Loki series and The Wayhaven Chronicles.

What are your top fics by kudos?:

1. Continuously, Without Interruption (pwp) (CP2077)

2. The Ostensive Fumblings of Being Human (DBH)

3. Honey, I’m not much of a dancer. (but for you I’ll try) (Agent Carter)

4. Exit Wounds (CP2077)

5. A concession (Loki series)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?: yes I do respond to comments even just to say thank you!

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?: no angst ending only happy unless you count the ones people are waiting for me to update

Do you write crossovers?: nope!

Have you ever received hate on a fic?: no, I did get some very critical comments on a chapter of my DBH fic which ended in me pulling and rewriting the chapter… the story was better for it but that shit HURTED.

Do you write smut? If so what kind?: mostly of the pwp with feelings variety. I don’t get very kinky and if I can’t visualize the characters being intimate I just??? Cant write it. Sometimes I write indulgent and very explicit porny fics and sometimes it is very emotional and less slutty LOL. Ive written a TON of porn for the Obey Me fandom on @belpheroo

Have you ever had a fic translated?: yes! Someone translated Cont., Without Interruption into Russian and I think someone started working on translating my DBH fic but have not seen it posted.

What’s your all time favorite ship?: currently it is darklina, which I have never even written for. I also enjoy reylo and ATTEMPTED a fic and ultimately gave it up. I’m a huge fan of interactive fiction and x reader fic so— my fav ship is my self insert with my fav character?! LOL

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?: My agent Carter fic… I just can’t get back into that mindset. I’m worried my last chapter of my DBH fic will go the same way.

What are you writing strengths?: I’ve been told portraying romantic and platonic banter/chemistry and that I’m good at invoking all the senses in scenes. Makes them feel tactile in the readers mind.

What are your writing weaknesses?: 🙃 finishing. I always have the ending preplanned and everything follows a flow and an outline and then I start daydreaming my next project and move on before things are done.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in your fics?: I don’t do it very often or I cop out by italicizing the words and saying what language they are speaking. I included some Japanese in one of my CP2077 fics but it was like— one word sentences.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?: on ao3 it was dragon age 2. That fic has since been orphaned!

What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?: ehhh I’m not sure. I like a lot of my TWC fics especially the one titled “Sense”. My DBH fic holds a special place because I spent so much time on it.

Tagging: UHHHH idk who all has an ao3 account in my mutuals?! CONSIDER YOURSELF TAGGED— feel free to @ me as your tagger so I can read your answers!

#tag meme #tag game #ao3 tag game #pls be mindful of tags and ratings on the fics I linked

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found--family · 4 years

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watchnotes for 15x16:

🎶 ..If I didn't care more than words can say.. If I didn't care, would I feel this way? If this isn't love then why do I thrill? And what makes my head go 'round and 'round.. While my heart stands still?.. 🎶

Rooster's Sunrise motel 🐓 *rubs hands together for impending meta*

Travis kinda reminds me of Dean 🥃

looking forward to the meta on Gwen's wardrobe.. 👀

no other show does funky-fugly motel chic like SPN does 😂

*HEAVY SIGH* yet another Cas-absent episode w. lazy 'splainer writing 🙄 Sam thinking that Cas just "bailed" is OOC + Dean's "Cas just being Cas" like.. REALLY?!? they've done this scene a dozen times over the years and it always grates on my sanity 🤬

HOWEVER: i can buy Dean wanting to keep The Thing™ a secret for now (as long as we get hints at his reasoning) + *delighted squeal!* Dean checking the text from the Cas mid-drive 😅 Cas wants Sam to know, it seems. i hope Sam finds out by the end of the ep 🤞

what IS on your Bucket List, Dean? 👂

KID!CHESTERS! 😍 (wardrobe!meta = 🙏)

kid!Sam looking @ college stuff, he just wants to be normal 😭💔

reminded how much i love the fact kid!Sam had an "imaginary" friend that turned out to be a Supe #ZannaAreFriends 🤗

Kid!Dean projecting onto kid!Sam 🥺

🎶 it's THE SCORE™ 🎶

kid!Dean knowing how to hack a 90s vending machine 🍫😎

so the MoTW takes on the visage of its victims?

facing one's fears in order to heal #Relevant

monster grabbing a kid trying to steal candy.. hmm..

kid!Chesters working the case w. other kids 👏 why didn't we have this content year's ago??

"You've changed, Dean" .. and not in a good way 😖 (reminds of Billie 13x05)

it's an interesting ep so far: the case being mostly in flashbacks w. older!Dean not believing in a present-day-monster. i think they've done something similar a few times but not exactly.

"This ain't the friggin' Goonies" and yet..

"Let's Boggle™" 😅

kid!Dean being nervous + posturing on a hunt *nods solemnly*

107 (room key) x 2 = 214 (room) 🔑🤔

Dean being confronted by his dead kid (monster) self 👏

also: that camera move where Dean seems to shrink as he goes to his knees + kid!Dean looms over him.. 🎥🏆

is it a revenge-killing thing?

this is the 3rd episode in a row w. focus on Fingers 🖐️

Second Chances™

*Jack's* neon sign in the bar over Dean's shoulder as they discuss a case w. dead kids 💡

way to scar kid!Dean on his first unsupervised hunt, but it's insightful: the Worst/Scariest Thing™ wasn't the monster itself but what it did, the sight of the damage done 😢

kid!Dean "shoved it down the ol' memory hole" and "had nightmares about that [dead kids] for the longest time" reminds us of what Sam said in 15x14 about how "ignoring your trauma doesn't make you healthy" 😔

kid!Dean keeping the visual horror to himself to protect kid!Sam 😭

SAM: We used to keep a lot secrets from each other. DEAN: 😳 (Jack)

BILLIE! comin' in w. sound logic #Priorities? 📋

another Star Wars ref by Dean for compilation gifsets 🙃🛸

UHOH 🌎 Chuck's done deleting other worlds + shit's about to hit the fan

Billie lays it out plain (i love her): Jack chose self-sacrifice for Dean's freedom + hopefully forgiveness; even if Cas finds A Better Way™ to defeat Chuck, Jack would probably refuse. Dean's anger is playing a big role this season. 👀

Sam reflects on Normality™, how his wants/view changed since childhood because they help people.

can't help but see Billie as being on Destiny's side ie. somewhat The Enemy whose plans never quite work out: the Soul Bomb™ in s11, Ma'lak Box in s14, even Rowena's "death" saw her survive in a way. She speaks of adhering to Chuck's Book™ ie. what is already written/fate, reminding us of Writer!Chuck/the absence of Free Will 🤔

Dean is willing to let Jack sacrifice himself ☹️ which is why he hasn't told Sam ☹️ because he knows Sam would want to help Cas find A Better Way™ (which is the synopsis for 15x17!!!) 👀

DEAN: I want Chuck dead, I need him dead. (he's being selfish because it's personal, letting his anger drive him. If TFW 2.0 is going to win Dean will have to deal w. his anger before then). 😠

another Ring for season 15 💍 and more heart/power symbology ❤️

LoTR ref from Dean 👏

Gwen + her bong in the store room 😂

"You have changed, Dean." .. in a good way; being truthful about being scared 💗 not that he thinks it's a good thing, but Caitlin does: "What do they say about getting older? You tell the truth more because you know that lies don't make anything better." (i think we all know where this is leading..) 👀

hug Hello + Goodbye; platonic, despite kid!Dean initially crushing on Caitlin. Trauma + truth overshadows things. 👤

kid!Dean being truthful w. kid!Sam in the end (not about the horrors of the hunt but about Life™: he "doesn't know" about Sam+college but he no longer shuts the idea down; says they make a good team in any case) 👨‍👦‍👦

Dean comes clean to Sam - rather than him finding out from Cas that he's been lying - about Jack and the fact Cas told him, not Billie. It's A Good Thing™. #CharacterGrowth 🌱

.. what's not a good thing is the resulting argument shining a light on #AngryDean not caring about the Ethics™ of Billie's plan (hello callback to season 6 Castiel) and saying they "don't get a choice" #WhatHappenedToTeamFreeWill ??? 😧

Sam lashing out @ Dean = YES. GO SAM GO. 😡 ... 🥺

BONUS: 15x17 promo has Dean + Jack working together! 👏

#spn 15x16 #watchnotes #somewhat salty #mia castiel #15x16 #thoughts #s15

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hecohansen31 · 5 years

Note

Can I request something for mean daddy Roman? He went with you while you were helping Peter pick clothes for a date and He's mad because you called Peter cute even though it was a platonic gesture.

(A/N): Hello there, lovely!

I just… had a small heartattack once I read this ask, because… BITCH MEAN JEALOUS DADDY! ROMAN IS MY THING (I hate jealous boys, like if I ever ended up with a possessive boy… boy bye, but I can make an exception for Roman, he is my.. exception, excuse me while i cry because… he isn’t real).

(Santa Claus can I get him in my stocking? You can save on the clothes).

But seriously, thank you sweetie and sorry for taking so long (I also changed it a bit, because I had an idea for it, I hope you won’t mind, but if you do mind it, let me know and I’ll rewrite the ask!).

WARNINGS: Daddy! Roman (Slight Mention of DDLG relationship/Dom-Sub Dynamic), Choking and Slapping, Oral Sex (Male Receiving), Unprotected (Mirror) Sex (please stay safe… get those condoms and don’t pop children and STDs!), Rougher Than Usual.

Your relationship with Peter, unlike the one you had held with Roman, went back on older grounds.

When he had first come in town, you had been one of his first friends, mostly because you came from the same social class, hence you had many more things in common with him than with Roman, who you low key hated not only for the arrogance he constantly showed, but also because your father had been unemployed from the White House.

You had also slowly matured a crush towards Peter, although you were well-aware (or at least you were now) that you would never have a chance, as long as Letha was around.

Still you had managed, back in the time, to go on a date with Peter…

… for which you had been stood up for Letha.

You still remembered trying to call Peter, the phone finally him picking up just to release tiny and breathy moans and you had just ended the call rather quickly, waiting, in an extremely ‘emo’ way (you had to admit it) outside your house, meanwhile it poured rain outside.

And in that atmosphere, you had spotted Roman, looking around dazed and confused.

By that time, your relationship with the Godfrey brat had grown closer, although you would keep on using a façade of sarcasm and irritation, whenever you had to talk with him.

But you hadn’t been simply able to actually let him just drench himself.

You had rushed into the rain, well aware that you were also getting pretty drenched, pushing the boy for his shirt inside your house.

‘What the fuck were you doing here, idiot?’ you had asked, meanwhile you had disrobed quickly the catatonic Roman, who just looked like he had gone through some pretty rather heavy shit and made you question whether the coke had (finally) gone to his head.

“… I… Letha… Peter…” he mumbled, although his eyes wouldn’t still focus and didn’t follow the movements of your fingers, making you actually wonder if the hospital should be involved, but chose to avoid it because there was a light shade of sadness in Roman’s eyes, that couldn’t be cured with any medicine.

‘They kind of fucked us over’ you mumbled, pushing a rather fluffy towel through Roman’s hair, meanwhile he just pushed his head onto your chest, kind of trying to get comforted “What if we screw them over’

That phrase got something to act into Roman’s face, and before you knew it, he had gotten himself out of his catatonic state, looking up at you, a new emotion in his beautiful changing eyes: attraction.

Chills went down your spine, but they weren’t unpleasant, and you hadn’t felt anything like that since ever…

… and maybe it was the burning rejection you had received by Peter and the slight brewing attraction you had started feeling towards Roman, definitely something to do with the duality of hate and love.

You ended up in bed together that night and that had started a long story of hook-ups which benefitted you and Roman.

But you were pretty sure that simple ‘hook-ups’ didn’t stay in each other’s bed even the morning and that they got breakfast in there (you usually did it, since Roman would just collect something that could be eaten on the go or get some maid or butler to get something for you both).

After Letha’s death and Peter’s disappearing (with whom you had stayed as a friend, even through he teased you about your ‘relationship’ with Roman, saying ‘it wouldn’t last the summer’) you had been the only one who had stood there for Roman and even though he had pushed and pulled onto the link you had together… you had eventually grown into a semi-healthy relationship.

It wasn’t sex anymore, but Roman still hadn’t said those three words.

Not that you were expecting it to happen, mostly when he would look at you like the entire world for him ended and began with you and Nadia.

Your friendship with Peter had, also, resisted the distance and, although Roman hadn’t been happy of his return in city (you knew all too well that he didn’t know how to feel about Peter possibly meeting Nadia), you had immediately welcomed him back with open arms.

What you didn’t understand and couldn’t know was Roman’s jealousy towards your friendship.

He had had a crush on you since the moment you had joined their group, although he hadn’t acted up onto it: you were the only girl who treated him like he was less than the shit under her sneakers and he couldn’t help but find you beautiful with your sweet determinations and concealed gentleness.

You had never seemed to want him.

He knew all too well of your past crush onto Peter and he couldn’t help but be jealous of the way your relationship had started and processed: it was lighthearted and gentle, soft and pretty full of laughs, meanwhile yours with Roman was heavy and many times it was more an off-relationship, than an actual one.

(It was his fault most of the time but…).

So, he didn’t like you hanging out with Peter, since his return.

‘He abandoned us when we fucking needed him, how can you forgive him so easily?’ he had snarked out at you at dinner the previous night, when you had suggested helping out Peter with his mother’s bail.

‘He had his own things to deal with…’ you had tried to reply, meanwhile you had raised your glass of red wine to your lips, barely able to wet them with it, before Roman stormed out of the dining room, screaming:

‘We fucking had our own things to deal with, too!’.

Still Roman’s bad mood hadn’t stopped you form trying to hang out with Peter, like that day, when you had taken him into one of the stores that sold Roman’s expensive suits, to get him one to wear in court for his mother’s case.

The clerks had been pretty amicable, although they had looked at you with a shred of suspect, and you had had to explain that the shaggy man beside you was a friend of your family, needing a suit for an important business event.

And when you had gotten out your own credit card they hadn’t spoken anymore, preferring to take Peter’s measurements than to actually discuss you, the futurde Mrs. Godfrey according to anyone.

You just sipped champagne, meanwhile you and Peter judge badly the uncomfortableness of each jacket, passing a rather entertaining evening, before you both went to different roads, you deciding to shop a bit more, meanwhile Peter went back to Destiny’s apartment, thanking you for the little break from the heavy life he was going through.

“Ahhh, Petie you are my best friend, you can always come to me when you need it” you said, meanwhile hugging him tightly, and he smirked in your shoulder.

“Won’t Roman be pissed?” he asked, jokingly, getting a rather unamused smirk from you.

“Since when do I let Roman boss me around?”.

That night you had come home rather early, sending home the entire staff, thinking that cooking might help you a bit, alongside wanting to cherish ‘the asshole of your life’, before you checked onto Nadia, who was sleeping peacefully and softly stirred in her sleep, just to cuddled into your hand.

When you were descending the stairs, you felt the door open and went to welcome your lover, just to be welcomed by a disgruntled expression and tight lips that didn’t speak for the entire dinner, something which made the entire experienced rather awkward, but you knew better than to confront Roman on his childish behavior.

Your day had been rather peaceful, and you didn’t want to ruin it because Roman had a ‘lover spat’ with Doctor Pryce.

You waited for him to talk to you, meanwhile you were getting ready with all your lotions and treatments, meanwhile Roman turned around, trying to focus his attention on a dossier he was examining, but his eyes kept shifting on you.

“My day was good, thank you for asking” you mumbled as you started brushing your hair, not trying to turn to face him “… I am glad to hear yours was nice, too, goodnight to also you, Roman”.

“My day wasn’t actually nice, and you know why?” Roman’s eyes were staring into you from the mirror “… because my pretty girlfriend, the only one for me, decided to ditch off with my ex-best friend, who I told her to avoid”.

“Since when are you the one who decides who I can hang out with?” you retorted, pushing your hair in a loose braid, perfect for sleeping, meanwhile you simply brushed a bit of your lavender oil onto your neck, since it always seemed to relax you “It isn’t like I do that with you”.

“Oh, then you will be ecstatic to know that I’ll invite Bella at lunch tomorrow”.

He knew exactly where to hit you, that vicious piece of shit.

It wasn’t a secret that you disliked his secretary Bella: she was a pretty thing, who didn’t mind flirting with Roman like he hadn’t a girlfriend and she was definitely different from Peter, who knew you were with Roman and wouldn’t try a move on you.

You just shut up, not wanting to fight with an obviously annoyed Roman till he knocked some sense in himself, but when you turned around to get to bed, you found him next to your mirror, looking at you so intensively that you knew this wouldn’t be over soon.

“… would you like if Bella came to lunch, with your daddy, little girl?” he pointed each words with such a tight tone that you knew exactly what he was doing, only heightened by the way he pushed his grip onto your chin to make you look up at him.

“You are a fucking moron” you spitted out, exiting the grip, and moving to turn around, but this time Roman reached out for your neck, gripping it softly, but firmly and you knew that your words had hit the mark.

“… such a bad word for such a little girl” he mumbled his tone having softened relatively but this didn’t mean it wasn’t threatening anymore “… maybe this is the reason why I like Bella more than you”.

You reached out a hand in the front of his pants, and although you knew you would be punished because he hadn’t given you the permission, you cupped his bulge through the loose sweatpants he went to sleep in.

“… could Bella make you feel so good, daddy?” you shot back, before your hands gripped him tighter, following the outline of the bulge with your palm, before you pushed yourself to lick a little strip over his pants “… could she, daddy?”.

Roman honestly looked like he was already losing your mind and you smirked at him.

But then Roman’s hold tightened, effectively stealing your breath and you already knew that there would be a light sign of his hand on your neck, tomorrow.

“Since when are you the one who asks questions, little whore?” he asked you, your eyes meeting perfectly “… are you this talkative with Peter?”.

“Why don’t you ask him?” you almost expected the slap hat followed your brattish comment.

It wasn’t mean to hurt you, it was more meant to sting your face to bring you to focus definitely onto Roman, who sent you a rather harsh look, although you realized that he was simply toying with you.

“Stop fucking talking back to me” he pointed out each word and made you back down into the mirror “… I wanted to be nice with you, but you don’t leave me no choice”.

And he pushed up your chin with his index and thumb, tilting it lightly up so that you could look at his face, and more importantly his disappointed eyes.

You didn’t talk, knowing that your little stunt had pushed you too far and had you tried to talk back more, it wouldn’t have gone to your favor.

Roman seemed to appreciate your control onto your biting lips, gently slipping a hand to caress your stinging face, before his finger gently traced the outline of your lips.

“This is better, but I think that you now need to earn your forgiveness, little one” he gently suggested, caressing your hair, meanwhile he used them to move you closer to his bulge till your face was smashed, almost uncomfortably against it “… what do you say, when this happens, sweetheart?”.

“I am sorry, daddy” you mumbled, meanwhile your hands went obediently behind your back, Roman smirking at that sight, meanwhile he eased his sweatpants, showing that he hadn’t worn his boxers and you soon were face to face with manhood “… let me make it up to you”.

Roman smirked and allowed himself into your mouth, letting you play your game with languid strokes of your tongue and your lips gently teasing him with kisses, but he had soon enough and he pushed you by the hair to choke onto his cock.

You had just the time to relax your throat before Roman set up a maddening pace and you were just able to cover your teeth with your lips, trying to gain some balance with your upper body, meanwhile Roman did his bidding, using in your mouth in a shameless way.

He pushed your head up so that your glossy eyes could meet his, smirking at you, pleasure coursing through him thanks to your expert gestures, and soon his eyes closed giving in to pleasure and much more violent thrusts, although the rhythm slowed, but it didn’t mean that you were allowed to breath more.

Roman didn’t warn you when he came, although you felt it as your mouth fell onto his balls, teasing them to get a breather from the ruthless rhythms of his hips, finding them tight and hard, and just the right amount of pressure onto his slit was enough for him to let go.

Your mouth was soon full of salty taste and some even dribbled out of your mouth as Roman relieved yourself of the heavy weight of his cock, still hard, although he had cum already.

He didn’t even bother to clean his seed from your lips, and just turned you around, making sure you were watching the mirror, as he slipped into you pushing the nightgown to your waist and pulling your panties to the side, some kind of animal urgency to have you, shining in his eyes.

It was a bit painful at first, although you were sinfully wet for having worshipped your lover on your knees, because of the sudden thrust Roman delved into you, hitting further than he usually did, wanting to leave a mark with the way he stretched you.

“Fucking tight like a little virgin…” he mumbled onto your ear, onto which he lowered, making you feel the unnatural coldness of his chest , his short hair lightly tickling your shoulder, meanwhile an hand came to your chest kneading roughly your breasts “… I am so fucking lucky to have a cunt like that… am I not, princess?”.

You just nodded, pleasure finally overcoming you, as Roman’s thrust became more settled and organized, hitting that point inside you, meanwhile his rough hands over the silky material of your expensive nightgown made thrills appear onto your back.

“… and aren’t you lucky to have a cock that fills you up so good” he shot back, pointing each word with a sharp thrust, making you almost bump into the mirror, hadn’t his hold onto your waist been that strong to stop you “… aren’t you, little one?”.

He obviously wanted an answer and hadn’t you been well aware that you had already broken every rules, you would have sassed him out, but some part of you honestly thought that you just couldn’t resist him anymore, mostly when he was doing it almost reassured his position in your life.

“Fucking lucky, daddy” you mumbled in high pitched moan, opening your eyes to the beautiful image of your bodies entwined together, your mouth opened in a moan of ecstasy, meanwhile Roman was looking darkly at your body and before you knew it…

… you were lost, in your own little climax, closing momentarily your eyes, till you felt suddenly Roman’s cold skin, completely against your back, making you both lose your balance, tumbling down off your mirror drawer, both of you laughing as soon as you realized the absurdity of the situation.

“We are too old for this” you mumbled, meanwhile he pushed himself out of you, making you moan softly, his semen exiting you and slightly coating both your stomach and legs.

“… absolutely” he retorted, helping you up, settling your body in a more comfortable position “…shit we certainly don’t have the energy anymore”.

You just sent him a look as if to say ‘you just had me suck you off and then fucked me onto my mirror drawer, so shut the fuck up, you old man, you fucking still got it’ and he simply smirked, gently wiping away some your mixed juices from your thighs, tasting it from his fingers.

You simply moaned due to your sensitivity and this unlocked something in him, finally realizing that he might have overreacted a bit, gently pushing you into his arms, meanwhile he laid you softly onto the bed, letting you out of your clothes, before he moved to collect something to clean you up.

And once he was done comforting and cleaning your body, peppering it jokingly and much more softly with kisses, he finally slipped you in your most comfortable pajamas.

When you were settled, he gently cuddled next to you, smirking softly and blowing a gentle kiss onto your forehead

“I am sorry for being jealous of Peter, it’s just…” you gently turned to him, bringing him in a soft kiss, the first of the night, before you grabbed with enough force his face to make him grimace.

“… just settle your problems with him” you mumbled, before your lips lingered over his, in a teasing matter that got him almost a kiss, before you turned around, smirking sassily “… goodnight, daddy!”

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