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idreamofplaid · 4 years

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The Promise

Square Filled: Cowgirl

Characters: Sam x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Sam has lost Dean to hell, and the grief seems like more than he can bear. The only comfort he has is the reader and her love for him.

Word Count: 1897

A/N: I am reposting this because the first time I posted it I was dumb and didn’t put it on my Kink Bingo Masterlist and now I cannot find it on my blog no matter how many searches I do. I’m not tagging anybody this time. You’re probably tired of my tags by now anyway. I’m determined to black out my kink card and I’m an eleventh hour kind of girl

Created for @spnkinkbingo

Sam refused to let you come with them. He wouldn’t budge, and Dean backed him up on it. Neither of them wanted you to see Dean get dragged to hell. That left you alone in the motel room to wrestle with your emotions, and you were having a hard time dealing. You fought to keep the tears that stung the back of your eyes from falling.

This couldn’t be happening. The life of a hunter was the stuff of nightmares. You’d grown up knowing that. You had been raised in the life just like the Winchester boys, but this was something beyond what a hunter was expected to endure. You were losing a friend, a brother.

Dean hadn’t warmed up to you immediately when you’d joined forces with them. Even Bobby’s recommendation wasn’t enough to bring you into the fold. Dean was wary and cautious. Doing what he did, it was wise to be that way. Only when he saw the way you helped Sam through his grief for Jessica and brought a smile back to his little brother’s face, did Dean accept you.

Once a person had Dean’s loyalty, or his love, it was an unwavering thing. You’d been with him when Sam died. That almost tore you apart because you were falling in love with Sam then, but for Dean it was worse. He couldn’t accept losing Sam, so he’d traded his life for him.

For months, Sam had tried to find a way to get Dean out of this deal but couldn’t. Now Sam would face a future knowing his brother was in hell so he could live. Helping him move on after losing Jessica was one thing, but losing Dean? Losing him like this? You weren’t sure that was a pain that could ever heal.

There was a bottle of whiskey on the table. You’d gone to the liquor store in a desperate search for anything that might help. So far, the bottle was just sitting there. You resisted the urge to down a few shots because you knew you had to hold yourself together for Sam. You had promised Dean you would take care of him. The look in his green eyes told you that Dean knew you loved his brother even if you hadn’t said it, and he was counting on that love.

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You jumped when you heard Sam’s key in the lock. The man who walked in the room looked shocked and broken. You rose, steadying yourself with a hand on the table, caught in the painful haze of what was happening. You walked to him and took his hand. “Sam, come sit down.”

He let you lead him to the bed. Sam sat, staring straight ahead, his eyes not focused on anything. “He’s gone. He died in my arms.” You brushed Sam’s hair from his eyes. “I couldn’t stop it, Y/N.” He finally looked at you. His warm hazel eyes were shining with tears. “I couldn’t save my brother.”

“Sam, you did everything you could.” You took a deep breath. “Here. Let’s get you out of this jacket.” You pulled Sam’s top layer from his broad shoulders and down his long arms. “Do you want to take a shower? Get some sleep?” Maybe he would find some comfort in holding you, feeling you beside him.

Sam hung his head and ran his hands through his hair. “That’s not going to change anything. I failed.”

You scooted as close to him as you could and put your hand over his where he’d dropped it on his leg. “Sam, Dean loved you more than anything or anyone. He knew there was nothing you wouldn’t have done to keep this from happening to him.” You moved your hand to his cheek and rested it there. “I know it too. There is no better man than you, Sam Winchester.”

The look in his eyes now wasn’t broken or empty. They spoke of a deep longing, a longing that had everything to do with holding onto what was important when you knew it could be taken from you. Sam dropped his head and broke the connection.

Your voice was a whisper. “Sam, what was that?” You hadn’t moved. You were still close enough to feel him breathe.

He shook his head. “Nothing. Just something I shouldn’t have been thinking.” He stood, careful not to let his eyes meet yours. “I’m gonna get that shower now.”

When Sam came out of the bathroom, he was wearing gray sweats and a white t-shirt. You could smell the fresh scent of the soap he’d used. His body was clean, but the things he’d seen couldn’t be washed from his mind. You poured some whiskey into one of the glasses provided by the motel and offered it to him. “It might help you sleep.”

Sam stared at the glass for a second before he took it and sat on the edge of the bed again. He looked down into the amber liquid and swirled it in the glass. “Dean was always there for me. Even when we were in different places, I knew he always had my back.” Sam watched the whiskey moving around in the glass for a few more seconds then downed its contents with a quick turn of his wrist and once again focused on his now empty glass.

You didn’t try to fill the silence, just let him feel what he was feeling. It felt like your heart was breaking too. Watching him suffer through this ignited all the same emotions in you that you were almost sure you’d seen on Sam’s face earlier.

You took the empty tumbler from him and put it on the table behind you then walked back and stood before him. You reached for his hand, and he looked up to you. You made your voice as gentle as possible. “Sam, do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?”

Sam nodded silently, then wrapped his arms around your waist, and lay his cheek against your stomach. You combed your fingers through his hair understanding his need to hold what he still had close to him. He held you tight, and you whispered to him in the dim light of the room. “I’m here, Sam. I’m with you.”

Sleep didn’t come easily. You lay in the dark for a long time listening to the sounds of Sam crying. When he finally quieted, and his steady breathing told you he was sleeping; relief flooded through your body. At lest for now, he wasn’t in pain. You kissed Sam’s cheek, put your head on his shoulder, and fell asleep beside him.

You didn’t know how much time had passed; it was still dark when you woke up to the feeling of Sam’s lips on your neck. He was kissing you open mouthed and nibbling gently. You reached for the back of his head, and your fingers tangled in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. “Sam?” He stopped and looked at you. Just enough light from the parking lot spilled through the crack in the curtains to allow you to see his eyes. They were filled with pain, longing, and something you weren’t brave enough to name just now.

Sam cupped your face in his hand. “I need you, Y/N.” He moved to kiss you, and you didn’t stop him. It was a kiss filled with the kind of need and passion that was born of a desire to feel whatever life would allow you. You kissed him back silently telling him everything you hadn’t said. Nothing would ever happen that he had to face alone as long as he wanted you with him and allowed you to love him.

When Sam pulled his mouth from yours, you didn’t open your eyes immediately, and when you did Sam’s were still closed. He lifted his lids slowly revealing the deep green and honey swirl of his eyes. You started to reach for the hem of his shirt, but stopped when your fingers touched it. “Sam, are you sure you want to do this?”

Sam took off his shirt. “I’m sure.” He was waiting for a signal from you. “Please, Y/N. I can’t lose you too.”

“Sam, you will never lose me.” You let your palms begin to explore the planes of his chest while you looked into his eyes. “You’re everything to me.” Sam rolled you on top of him. You could feel the hard length of him through the cotton of his pants, and you reached down to stroke him.

Sam deepened the kiss; he circled his tongue around yours and moaned into your mouth. You could feel the growing wet spot on the front of his sweats. You kissed along his jaw to his neck and sucked the sensitive place beneath his ear before you spoke into it and told him, “Take your pants off for me.”

Sam removed them while you did the same with your leggings and tank. When you were both completely naked, you took his weeping cock and guided it to your entrance. He gasped when you sank down on him, taking him all the way in. Sam dug his fingers into your sides. It didn’t matter if he left marks on you; you wanted them. You braced your hands on his stomach and rolled your hips. Sam thrust up into you and closed his eyes tight.

He moved faster, and you got louder making the sounds you’d imagined making with him. Sam took hold of your hips and started to lift you up and down on his cock controlling the rhythm. It bordered on painful, he was so big, but you only encouraged him more. “Yes, Sam. Yes!” You put a hand under your hair and lifted it while you rode him.

Sam flipped you over, staying inside you while he did. He hooked his arm under one of your legs and lifted it, allowing him a deeper angle. He pushed against your cervix with every thrust and dragged across your g spot. You started to pant as you got closer to coming. When you did, Sam was right behind you yelling out his own release. You felt it, hot against your walls.

Sam let go of your leg he was holding, but he made no move to pull out. You kept your arms around him, reluctant to let him go. He grew soft inside your body and finally collapsed on his back beside you. You took deep breaths trying to ground yourself. Sam was breathing just as heavily next to you, and it was the only sound in the room. His breathing finally slowed, and you raised yourself up to look at him.

The corners of his eyes were wet. You softly kissed his cheek, scared of saying the wrong thing. His voice was thick when he spoke, and it wasn’t just the after effects of the sex. “Stay with me.”

You lay down on him with your head on his chest and your leg draped over his. “I’m here, Sam.” He held the back of your head cradled in his palm and put his face in your hair. You turned your head enough to kiss his chest. It was a promise that you would stay with him and be by his side through everything, no matter what happened.

#spnkinkbingo #sam angst #sam smut #sam x reader #sam oneshot

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

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Omertà👄9

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (fingering, fucking, bondage, knifeplay, paddling); tags to be added throughout series

This is dark!Bucky and dark! Loki and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father was a bookie and taught you everything you know about numbers. After his death, you were taken on as a bookkeeper for Loki Laufeyson, resident crime boss in Manhattan. But can you keep your place in the background when a man from Brooklyn threatens to drag you to the forefront?

Note: This has no plot. Haha.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You never truly expected Loki to take your advice. In fact, you suspected he had made his mind up prior to your arrival at Diablo’s. The offer, despite your forebodings, was accepted. The casino would only add to your mounting work and you didn’t see your days getting any shorter. Really, you had little hope of time that was your own.

After you left the underground club, you were silent as Thor and Loki parted for the night. The latter warned the former to stay away from the strip club and trouble. You doubted Thor would listen. Loki led you to his car without a word, merely pointing to the passenger seat as he opened his door.

You said nothing as he drove. You knew he wasn’t taking you home even before you noticed the divergence in his path. You didn’t expect him to. You knew he had something planned but with Loki, it was impossible to ever guess at what.

You’d never been to Loki’s place; never even thought to imagine it. As you saw it, he was either attending to his business or lost in a void. You imagined he thrived off his innate malice and needed little for human delights. Like a vampire or cursed immortal. But Loki was human and you knew all too well, flawed.

His building was lavish. You could guess as much from his finances. He spared little expense in his own comforts but his frugality ruled his business. He pulled into a finely kept garage below the tower of penthouses. You gripped your purse handle. Long ago, you’d grown used to being alone with the man but there was something much more unsettling about this circumstance.

He got out first as you tarried. You had no particular impatience to see the night through. He led you to an elevator and hit the button with his long finger. Inside, he was pensive as he bit his bent finger and his green eyes stared at the doors. When they opened, he reached for the accordion grate and unlocked it, sliding it to let you through.

You marvelled at the interior and tallied up each grandiose statue, painting, and carefully placed piece of furniture. It seemed he kept the best antiques for his own means. No chips, no scratches, and their authenticity could not be doubted.

You strode by the console table just to the left of the elevator. It’s curled feet bespoke the twenties, maybe the thirties. The marble top had been replaced, you could tell, but it was not too lustrous to offset the bronze framework. You tapped your fingers on its surface, a short row of books lined between bookends in the shape of curled asps.

You felt a tug on your purse as Loki’s shadow darkened your vision. He took your bag and set it beside the thick copy of Leaves of Grass. He crossed his arms as he took a step back and huffed. His cheek twitched and his eyes flared. He tutted and his long lashes batted.

“Well, you don’t think I brought you to admire the decor?” He taunted. “Do you think I’ve so easily forgotten your offense? So easily forgiven?”

You crinkled your brow and shifted your weight on your heels. You folded your hands and turned away from.

“I don’t… Why are you doing all this?” You uttered. “If you mean to leave him behind, what does it matter?”

“It isn’t about him anymore,” Loki’s heels clicked on the polish floor. “Darling, you made it about you.”

You spun back to him, surprised to find him within inches of you. You stumbled back and caught yourself.

“I didn’t want any of this.” You hissed.

“You chose this life,” He smiled. “You knew what it would entail, one day.”

“I tally your expenses,” You scowled. “Nothing more.”

“Clean hands cannot last long in this world,” He was quick as he grabbed your wrist. “Now you have a clear choice. That man, he wants his thrills but would he keep you as I have, hmm? I doubt he’d maintain the bounty after he tired of you. Why, today, you didn’t even see his face as you--”

“Is that what this is? You think I want him?” You sneered as he drew you closer.

“It isn’t about what you want,” He purred as his other hand went to your waist. “Your desires would land low on the roster. No, this is about what I want. About my empire. You would undermine it with some rodent from a downtown brothel.”

You looked away and bit your tongue. It was hard to disagree with him. You’d been found out in less than a day and what would it do to have others aware of your perceived disloyalty? Even if he did have a point, he had done enough. You could taste your lesson still; repugnant on your tongue.

“You’ve already made me suffer--”

“Suffer? That was nothing,” He wrenched you so that your elbow jolted painfully and your toe painfully dug into the floor as you righted yourself. “I would have every right to see the bounty fulfilled myself.” He pulled until you were forced to follow him. “But, fortunately for you, darling, there is much more fun to be had. For me.”

He dragged you down the hallway, twisting your arm painfully each time you fell behind. You gritted your teeth as he pushed open a door and shoved you inside. It was just a finely arranged as the rest of the penthouse.

The large king bed stood amid sleek ebony posts and its wide expanse was clothed in silver silk. The centerpiece to the mosaic of the room lit in the city’s lights through an entire wall of windows which stretched from ceiling to floor. The glaring scape of New York gave you vertigo as the drop mirrored itself in your stomach.

Loki brushed past as the door closed with a click. You watched him unbutton his jacket and hang it from a hook in the shape of a snake’s head. His aesthetic was in the least consistent. He cracked his knuckles as he turned back to you and worked at shedding his stiff vest.

“Since your listening skills remain so unrefined, we must pay special attention to those, mustn’t we?” He mused as he let the waistcoat fall onto the armchair in the corner. “So, you can start by first--” He raised his hand as your lips parted. “Well, that’s the biggest obstacle. That mouth of yours. I wouldn’t mind gagging you at all, darling.”

You clamped your lips shut and went rigid with anger. You’d done it the night before and you’d do it again. Just get it done and over with… though that had barely worked with Bucky. He had only taken his time.

Well, Bucky also didn’t have a bounty on you. In fact, he had nothing on you anymore. That fact was little solace now.

“Now, you keep those precious little lips sealed and get undressed,” He commanded as he strode across the room. “You will have about a minute, darling.”

You watched him cross to the carved dresser along the far wall. He opened the top drawer and paused to peek over his shoulder at you.

“Fifty-seconds,” He warned.

You tore your eyes from him and focused on yourself. You slipped your heels off and set them aside. Your arches ached but you didn’t expect the sliver of relief to last. Next you removed your shirt, the fabric dragging along the tender bruises along your neck and shoulders. You shimmied out of your tight skirt and left both atop his vest.

“Twenty seconds,” He intoned from behind you.

You unhooked your bra, your fingers clumsy as you kept your back to him. Then you rolled your panties past your thighs and the slid to your ankles. You stepped out of them and kicked them into your hand. You dropped them atop the rest of your armor and spun to face your foe.

Loki’s eyes glimmered as he beckoned you to the end of the bed. He gripped a length of rope in one hand as he watched you near. He stopped you between him and the bed and his hand travelled along your collarbone and traced the marks along your neck. He shook his head.

“Does he think to mark you as his?” Loki snickered. “We must make it clear who you belong to, darling.”

He twirled his finger in the air and you blinked. His jaw tensed and you turned slowly. You kept from hanging your head and stared at the regent headboard. He grabbed your arms and drew them back painfully. You grunted and he bound your elbows together so your chest was forced out. He tied them tight and your shoulders strained terribly.

Next he wound the rope around your forearms and wrist, your arms held together in an agonizing pose. You sucked in your lip to keep from whimpering. He tugged on the ropes, testing them and let you go. You pushed your head back as you tried to ease the pressure on your shoulders and back.

His long fingers stretched along your hips and he inched you back. He pressed himself to your back and you felt him inhale the scent of your hair. He released you quickly and came around you. He reached to his belt and nimbly unsheathed the slender knife there. Your eyes rounded and you fought to hold back your nerves. You had seen what he could do with a blade; you did not wish that upon any.

“Don’t worry, darling, we just want to make certain you remember who you belong too.”

He turned the knife so it was flat against your shoulders and dragged it along your breast. He flicked it so the point was at your nipple and traced around it cloyingly before he continued lower. He pressed enough to dip the flesh but not to slice as he brushed over your stomach.

Along the top of your pelvis he paused and smirked. He lowered himself to his knees and his eyes made the torturous descent from your eyes to the blade. He pushed a little more and you felt the skin split. You hissed as he slowly etched into your flesh. You couldn’t help the pathetic noises which slipped out between your teeth.

It seemed an eternity as he cut into you. The hot blood seared along the knife’s work and you closed your eyes as you bit into your lips. A taste of metal on your tongue. He finished and stood. You raised your head and made yourself look at the knife as he held it up. Your blood faint on the silver.

“Now, I think it will be obvious,” He didn’t clean the knife before he slipped it back into his belt. “Hmmm?”

You peered down at the coils of the snake marked in your skin. You were numb to blood but the sight almost made you sick. To see your body branded so permanently. To see him stamped into your form so completely.

“Some of my best work,” He marvelled. “Now, I know you’re stronger than that, darling,” He pushed your chin up. “And we’ve still much to go over.”

He winked and left you facing the bed. You didn’t move. You didn’t dare to. When you sensed him behind you, your entire body went rigid. You felt the leather along your ass just below your hands. He laid a careful slap there and a sharper one on the back of your thighs. You grunted and barely kept from falling forward.

He smacked you again with the leather paddle on your thighs. He rounded you and swatted the front of your legs three times as you winced and choked on your voice. He continued to circle you, each time laying a strike across your flesh. You thighs and ass were left raw and fiery.

When he tossed the paddle onto the long bench that faced the palatial windows, you let out a shaky breath. It wasn’t over, not even close, but you weren’t sure you could’ve bared much more of the leather bite. As he came close again he removed his tie then his lithe fingers moved to the buttons of his pressed shirt.

He stopped as he came before you and untucked the tails of the shirt. His eyes searched your face then explored your body and all he had already done. You were trembling and you knew he could see it, but he could also see the obstinacy in your clenched jaw. He gave a low snicker and pulled his shirt down his arms.

He was slender but toned, his slim figure lined with visible muscle. You stared blindly ahead as the blur of his body moved away from you. You heard the buckle of his belt, the whisper of his zipper. You didn’t close your eyes, as badly as you wanted to.

He came up behind you and his hands ran across your shoulders and down your arms, picking teasingly at the rope. He gripped your shoulders and shoved you. You stumbled and fell helplessly onto the bed with a violent bounce. Your legs hung off the end and he quickly flipped you. Your head snapped back and you were left dizzy.

He grabbed your ankles and lifted your legs. You squeezed them together as you felt his cock prod the back of your thigh. Your heart hammered in your ears and you bent your knees as you tried to kick him away. He slapped your ass viciously as your weight rested heavily on your bound arms.

“You have to make everything so fucking difficult,” He snarled and pinched you cruelly.

You struggled with him as he fought to wrench your legs apart. When he did, you turned your head, unable to look at him. His fingers delved along your folds impatiently. He felt around and you were ashamed of your obvious arousal. He chuckled and dipped his fingers inside; one, then two, then a painful third. He forced them to their limit and you shuddered.

“Tight,” He remarked as he worked his fingers in and out. “Darling, you’ve been keeping all this from me.”

You hissed through your teeth as he withdrew his hand. He rested your feet to his shoulders as he lifted your ass and dragged his cock along your cunt. You wiggled and whined. If you closed your eyes, you saw the coloured lights of The She-Wolf but if you kept them open, you drowned in the hopeless black and silver of this new prison.

He pushed into you, just a little, and gasped. He pressed your legs together and hugged them against his left shoulder. He impaled you entirely, the added pressure of your closed legs made you sputter. You choked on your spit as he held himself inside of you.

His arm clung to your legs, your back curled painfully, as your arms throbbed beneath you. His other hand grasped your hip and he pressed his thumb to the snake carved there. You exclaimed and he thrust sharply. Once, twice, three times. You could barely withhold your cries.

He took a breath and paused. He smeared the blood over your pelvis and he growled.

“Look at me.”

You held in a sob and turned your head straight. Your eyes met his and he smirked. He rutted into you suddenly, so hard and fast that your body jostled atop the mattress. Your eyes watered as your walls pulsed around him and your core thrummed. You pushed your tongue between your teeth and panted.

He sped up and you lost all control. Your eyes rolled back and your lips parted in a weak moan. Your legs tried to bend against him and your entire body buzzed as you came. You were drowned in sheer delight, only reaching the surface again as the clap of flesh echoed in your ears.

You were stunned and startled. By him, by yourself. He forced you further up the mattress as he climbed up on his knees. He didn’t slow as he pounded into you deeper and deeper. His lewd purrs seeped into you and turned to hedonistic snarls. You’d never heard him sound so… vulnerable.

His hips slammed against your thighs as his thrusts turned frantic and harsh. He threw his head back and slipped out of you suddenly. He continued to thrust against your folds, his cock rubbing against your cunt as he came.

He stilled and sat back on his heels as he caught his breath. He pushed back the strands of black hair which had fallen across his shining forehead and sighed. He took a breath and stood as he kept hold of your legs. He rolled you onto your stomach and dragged you back so that your knees hung over the edge of the bed frame.

“Say my name,” He grabbed the rope around your elbows and kneaded your ass with his other hand. “Say it!”

“Loki,” You cried out as his fingers slipped lower and teased along your entrance.

“Again,” He continued to play with you.

“Loki!” You hollered.

“That’s it,” He poked his fingers inside. “Keep it up, darling.”

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blankdblank · 4 years

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Hobbit Soulmate Pt 29

“I told you,” Lee said making you roll your eyes inside the taxi that was called for the both of you and a string of colorful apartment buildings you were approaching not very far from the studio at all. “That one’s my building.”

“Not bad.” You said and climbed out once parked as he paid. To the door he led you unlocking it to let you in flashing a quick wave to the woman in the office who returned a flinch of a wave and looked you over. Anxiously you smoothed your fingers through your hair laying over your chest in entering the lift another couple exited grinning to the assumed new neighbors they didn’t recognize. “Maybe I should cut my hair when I get back.”

Lee, “Up to you, I love your hair, if it helps.”

Smirking at him you said, “I don’t mind changing my hair. Nearly every role I’ve had till the Selkie one had me in a wig to hide my curls. Even Darkness Falls had me straightening my hair. Let me keep the color though. And the Ring just played up my hair to make me look crazy.”

Down a grey wood lined hall he led the way to one of the last apartments he unlocked and let you inside. From the front hall the laundry was closest to the door with the kitchen behind that open and facing the carpeted living room empty. Past that were the twin carpeted bedrooms with large windows and decent sized closets separated by a shared bathroom. “Nice, really nice,” you said eyeing the un-inflated air mattress still inside the box left in his chosen room, the larger one.

“Told you,” With a nod he said, “They have some flyers downstairs for some of the vacant apartments if you’d like to send them to Richard.”

“Sounds good,”

With a grin he looked you over and said as it drooped, “You really didn’t want this job, did you?”

“It’s a great show, from the little I know about it. Just so used to being ambushed with mystery roles lately I suppose. I’m glad, Rich will be happy I can get paid to be out in Canada too. Suppose the reads will eat my vacation time up.”

“It won’t be that bad.” You nodded and he said, “Let’s go drop by the office, they’ll be glad to hear someone else might want to rent here, might even show you a few more layouts.”

“Oh yes, just what I need. More raised hopes like the guard who I now have lied to on staying home for months.”

Lee smirked at you, “The past two reads have been in New York, come on, you get your days off still.” Stealing a quick hug drawing you along to the door to show you out again. The woman was busy to not be able to show you open rentals in waiting for another couple who made an appointment already, but shared all the possible info on what would be required to rent here and saw you leave her sight. While waiting for the food you ordered at a restaurant Lee watched you use the payphone on the wall to call the airport to confirm the next flight time to New York. From which you sighed once hung up and walking back you flashed him a grin, “Five hours, they will have our tickets ready for us at the desk when we get there.”

“I’m sorry. You can drag me around all month if you like in payback.”

Shaking your head you said, “Maybe we could find a second hand shop nearby. Find you some chairs at least. Possibly some pop up tables.”

That was the plan and post meal conveniently fifteen minutes from the apartment you found a shop and in a chuckle at your own insistence a pair of round lounge loveseats in charcoal grey Lee relented accepting your help in decorating his place. To go with those a set of three triangle tables in a trio of heights enabling tucking them under the largest was added to the mix and the giggling shop keep took your answer of being able to carry the purchases home yourself as a chance for her son to earn his daily pay by using the shop truck to help you take the purchases on the short drive just a few blocks over.

Down to the bustling corners of town you hadn’t been in far too long once again that favored shoe shop welcomed you with milling familiar Queens from the club you dropped in on when in town all flashing waves from their seats a bit busy mid adjustment of their choice of shoes to come greet you just yet granting you a free path to the Queen you wanted. “Jaqi Pear!” Dolly again smiled and hurried around the counter having just come out from the back office there to the bell and gave you a tight hug, “There you are! I saw you in the papers with Lee at that premier. I cannot stand horror flicks but Madi has promised to watch it for all of us and show how amazing we all know you were in it.”

That had you giggle and say, “Not sure how amazing I’ll be for her, I was told not to blink at all in my later scenes.”

Still she looked you over asking, “So, I know you haven’t worn through those shoes yet.”

“No, I was wondering if Lucy and Cher was free.”

That had her gasping, “Your hair?”

You nodded, “They want it to about boob level, when it’s straight, so I figured try to cut it now so in January I could possibly have them help me lighten it to brown.”

Dolly, “For a role I hope, your hair is perfect already.”

“Thank you. Ya, Lee got me wrangled into a tv show up in Canada, last minute of course their main girl dropped out so they needed another crazy lady for his baby sister.”

Dolly nodded her head calling out, “Madi, watch the shop!” Taking your hand to guide you two shops over past a dress shop to a hair salon, half with Queens fixing their wigs on stands secured to vanities and the other half with those working their outgrown natural hair in actual salon stations. “Lucy, Cher!” The two ladies giving tips to a young Queen in training for her first pageant fell silent and smiled seeing who she was bringing to see them with Lucy flashing the purse you had given them on her day to use it still in pristine condition.

“Hello our lovely Lady Pear!” Cher said leading the way to you in the open walkway between the split of the stations. Bending to claim a hug of her own followed by Lucy’s.

Lucy, “What brings you to our little corner?”

Dolly, “Someone needs a haircut.”

Their jaws dropped and you said, “Show starts filming in January, but I figure we could cut it now, see how they like the length when it’s straight before worrying about dying it.”

Cher smoother her fingers through your hair gently easing it straight, “How long?”

“Boob level, roughly when straight.” You said holding your hand to where Tracy had pointed out the original girl had hers. “Which straightening it will be-,”

Lucy cut you off, “So much fun, we have been dying to get our hands on those curls. What color did they want it?”

“I was thinking deep brown, I didn’t tell them but I have a stunt double role afterwards where I’ll need to go blonde,”

Cher, “How blonde?” You pointed at Dolly and they both went, “Ooh,”

Dolly, “Your eyes will be stunning with platinum hair.”

“I figure lightening from brown to blonde will be easier than all in one go.”

Lucy, “You are right there.”

Cher smiled guiding you to her empty station, “You just relax, and let us work our magic.” A few snaps and rings were removed with a group of straighteners brought over to help straighten the sections of your hair that was divided up to ease the job. All over still a bit irritated and puffy the sheets of hair settled around you and in the reflection a bit closer to your elbow the hair was cut for a first look over sure to spring to your shoulders once curled again that the group carefully inched up a bit more to a more playful length in the front sloping down in the back to ensure when curled at least you could still tie it back.

“Thank you, so much.”

Lucy smiled saying, “They will love it this length, plus you still have so much hair to play with still, and when you are ready for that color let us know. We will find the right shade for you.”

Cher, “And don’t you dare bring out any money, you don’t pay here for some trimming.”

“It took over an hour-,”

Cher, “Nope, not a peep, now you go and show off your new length to the streets, and you better strut your stuff.”

…

Lee was stunned to say the least, but liked that it still had some give to it and couldn’t help but laugh seeing it curly again in a poof angered and looming barely to your shoulders relaxing a bit over the evening while he was off to a late shift on a temp job for some spare cash. Papers were signed and in two weeks the first read was held with a check of the length the Producers and Director approved of before introducing you to the rest of the cast. 65k an episode was contracted thanks to your lawyer who ensured to add the clause on completing filming of each episode, not just those that are broadcast as Fox was finicky on dropping shows in the past. Thankfully Lee had also landed that clause in his due to his agent’s diligence on the fine print, not on contract speaking levels with Tracy you just hoped she’d taken care of that detail as well as her parents were in producing so she had that foot ahead in the business.

Right away melting into the scripts offered your focused furrow was smirked at and focus approved by all as sign for those you didn’t know that you would do your best to help this show do well. October bled into November, which had you on the bus out to meet up with the wardrobe crew to give the various outfits a try granting them time to tailor then to fit you better.

December had crept up on you and before you knew it from your bed you sighed to the sound of the intercom buzzing trying to tear you from your relaxation with lifted foot bouncing in the air plopping down for you to get up at the next buzz. “I hear you,” you muttered and crossed the apartment to your intercom you hit the button to say, “Hello?”

“Hey Jaqi, thought you might want to get our nails done before the premier.”

Wide eyed you asked, “Jen?”

“Yes,” she giggled into the intercom.

“Um, let me just change,”

Though when you turned your head you heard her say, “Ok, oh.” The door opened beside her and you heard Lee say, “Sorry, um,” the sound cut off and Lee hit the button saying, “She’s on her way up Jaq.” With a point of his hand she nodded and smiled thanking the stunned Lee on his way to lunch with his brother glancing back on her path to the stairs wondering why the star was here as you hadn’t mentioned anything to him the night before.

Shaking your head you hurried to the closet to find and bounce into a pair of jeans covering your panties with just a baggy tank top on you grabbed a bra to slide through the wide open sleeves. The hooks were secured at the knock on your door and you trotted on your toes across the chilly floor wiggling your arms into the straps in time to unlock and open the door grinning for the smiling actress. “Hey, sorry,”

She shook her head walking past you in your step back to let her in, “No problem, thought I might catch you off guard. Nice building.”

“Thank you,” you replied without a giggle guiding her towards the bedroom where the sound of the Green Gables film series was still playing. “You’re not thirsty are you? I think I have some sprite left if Lee didn’t drink it all yesterday.”

“Lee?”

She asked and you glanced back at her from the closet putting on your socks, “The guy who let you in, we went to school together, best friend, lives downstairs.”

“Ah, so that’s how he knew to send me up.”

You giggled and asked, “You know many other people in this building?”

Giggling back she said, “No,” her eyes focusing on your curls asking, “You cut your hair?!”

“Oh, ya, I got a part on a show with Lee, up in Canada, but they want my hair straight, so it’s about past boob level where they want it. Waiting on dying it till January for the filming after the premiers are through.”

“Well I think it’s cute,”

You giggled saying as you grabbed a warm grey sweater sent to you from Richard in his hatred of not being able to see you just yet, “It’s still angry with me. Cute or not.”

A belt was added and she said, “Hair can be so petty sometimes.” In a glance around the room she asked, “Is your heater broken?”

“In a matter of speaking,” you said exiting the closet to turn off the film once your heeled boots were added knowing it was too cold outside for converse, “Someone stole our new furnace off the delivery truck, so the company is sending a new one. Heat is down till tomorrow night, possibly.”

That had her chuckle, “I don’t mean to laugh,”

“Oh no, you can laugh. Every time the landlord buys something from the designated company it ends up stolen. I think they just don’t want to admit they can’t meet the original shipping date. Don’t have many overthrowing delivery trucks no matter how shabby the place may look.”

“This is not shabby. My first apartment had bullet holes to let in the cold.”

“Firehouse on the corner and police on the other with an army recruitment place three doors over, nope, dad was sure this place was bullet free zone. Not to mention he’s friends with the landlord. So he technically has an ear to the ground out here.”

“How is your dad?”

“Good, helping with my new cousins. One of them had to have a surgery,”

“Nothing serious I hope.”

“Oh no, they had this weird little cluster of cysts on their lower back. Thought it might be a tail at first but turns out the twins who used to be triplets had little bits of their brother they ate on their backs,”

She giggled and covered her mouth, “Sorry,”

“Don’t be, the little cannibals were caught red handed. Nothing harmful, gave full scans that was the only hidden pockets the triplet was in. Given the all clear, just their mom is still a bit weirded out about it.”

“Understandably.” With a grin she waited for you to finish grabbing what you needed and walked out with you excited to take you to the high end salon she had booked the private back room to for the pair of you. A gesture in a good day to hang out before her final leg of press the week before the premier when it would be all in front of cameras and divided between required splits from the group for questions, photographs or otherwise.

“So I watched The Ring,” That had you giggling at her finger poking your arm, “Girl you did not blink once!”

“They told me not to, said it would be creepier. And it creeped the nice lady I worked with in my asylum scenes and Naomi especially when she came to talk to me.”

“It is so good though, creepy but good. I did not know you could go that far on that end of the broken scale.”

“Oh yes, got the creepy side out and this next film should show off my lovely depressed side too.”

“I can’t wait, got my invite to the premier, thank you.”

“You are very welcome, you and the guys from the Lord of the Rings all split up the rest of my tickets for the France, London and New York premiers.”

“So what’s this new show about, can you say?”

“Well,” you giggled to yourself drawing her eyes to you in a quick glance. “I work in a gift shop at Niagara Falls, deliberate underachiever since getting my degree, and I start hearing animal figurines talking to me, try to get me to help people around me.”

“That-,”

“It’s so weird but it’s got one of the wittiest most sarcastic bits in a tv script I’ve been given.”

“Oh well if it’s a comedy then that’s good. Who’s putting it out?”

“Fox is behind it.”

“Ooh, nice hear they pay well.”

“Just about passed out hearing how much my lawyer got me.” She looked at you as you said, “65k an episode. I mean it’s not the most, my supposed love interest is getting near double that since he’s been in a few successful films and is better known in Canada. But still, that’s so much money.”

“They must have good hopes for it.”

“Hopefully, if not they worked in a clause I get paid per episode whether or not they get aired or not.”

“Very nice.”

“Yes,” you giggled, “Lawyer is also my grandparents’ and he no doubt is firmly reminded not to let me get dropped into the bin contract wise.”

“Good thing too, we should all have our grandparents choose our lawyers and watch over them. Do us all some good.”

“Didn’t help when they looked into Fox and saw they tend to drop projects all the time by the second season.”

“Ya, tv shows can be like crap shoots sometimes. Why I switched to films and my own music as quick as I could.”

“I do like films better. Even if they flop they feel safer. And you don’t have to worry about too many rewrites.”

“Any new projects?”

“So far there’s a small bit I have in a reshoot out in England, just a few lines for comedy and so far that’s it. Richard’s agent said there’s a few jobs possibly circulating to ask about me when they get their boat together to send out official asks. One would be with Richard, so that would be fun.”

She chuckled and asked, “So where is this mystery man hiding at?”

That had you giggling again. “He’s got a job, they’ve been catching up out in Europe for a few shots before they switch to Canada. Last I heard he had two flights and a train to catch. So just me and my adventures out and about through town to keep me busy. According to everyone I’ve worked with who meets him I mope.” You opened the front door for her and she led the way down the stoop to the waiting suv she opened and hopped into.

Up behind her you climbed in and closed the door ignoring the few flashes from the shivering cameramen who clambered back to their cars to follow you both. “Managed to slip most of the others a couple miles back, not bad just the five of them.”

“Oh no problem. Had some cameras at the airport on the way back from the premier. Apparently a woman thought I was Milla Jovovich.”

She giggles, “Did you have to sign anything?”

“She shoved a magazine at me.”

“Did you do the squiggle?”

“Yes, I couldn’t tell how the name was spelled so first letter squiggle was my go to. That ever happen to you?”

“Oh yes, when I was starting out. Some people didn’t even know my name they just recognized my face not knowing from where and then tried to read my signature to thank me. You get some crazy names when they do that.”

“I bet.” After a moment you asked, “So I guess you’ll be at the Daredevil premier then?”

Her smile split wider, “I don’t know, depends where I am. It’s out when?”

“’04, I think. Ways off.”

“We will see, either way I will be watching it and keeping my eyes peeled for you.”

“Ooh, hope you buy the tape you might need that freeze button.”

“Can’t be that bad,”

“They cut it into two films, then scattered me in random extra bits in Daredevil cuz I got pushed to the Elektra film and even that isn’t guaranteed by the time they finish filming the rest of it around, Jennifer Garner and the other main six. I know I’ll be a Stewardess at least, and I’m drinking in a cafe, twice.”

“Well there you go, can’t just leave it to Ben and the other boys for the whole film, need some gorgeous ladies in the mix.”

“Sorry,” You huffed brushing your hair from your face, “They decided to split it right when I got hurt on that wiring stunt and ended up in a boot. Just bit petty.”

“I nearly broke my foot in Gigli, really don’t look forward to seeing that scene. I get it, others just get to watch the film but we can pinpoint ‘oh that was the day my foot got fucked up’ or ‘I had such bad cramps that day’ or ‘what the hell did they put in my food I’m supposed to be eating in that scene’. I swear sometimes they hide stuff in my food to throw me off. Had a salad once that tasted like cinnamon. Just drove me crazy when they said they didn’t.”

“They put hot sauce in my soup on one of the Lord of the Rings scenes. Was inching close to a cold coming up on a week I’d have to run nonstop and some of the Maori guys said to eat a bunch of peppers and hot sauce and just, oh I was about in tears. And the stomach pains after, I can eat it but their sauce just comes back with a vengeance.” Making her giggle, “I’ve had Indian food more forgiving than that.”

“Yes, certain peppers even have me on my knees. You have to learn your limit early. Did it help at least?”

“With the cold ya, and boy did they brag on it.”

She chuckled and at the fancy salon you eyed the glass walls no doubt sport for those passing by along with the cameramen and after a quick smile your way she led the way out and waited for you to hop down and close the door to follow her inside. A shift of your coat over your side unbunching it from under your arm and up your hand went to brush your curls back that only fell back into your face again thanks to the chilly breeze the cameras would absolutely hate waiting through. Inside the door already the waiting hostess stood blocking the path farther saying in an eerily calm yet nasally voice, “Your private room is ready.” On her heel she turned and Jen smirked to you at her double finger wag over her six and a half foot high apparent shoulder towering over you and similarly curvy and petite Jen to her waif like self. “This way please.”

Holding back the urge to mouth her words and mock her off kilter sway you simply lowered your hands tapping your fingertips under the base of your sweater to your shifting thighs on each step taking in the shop along the way with plenty of eyes fixed on you both. “There you are little Madame!” An exuberant voice sounded and all six foot five of the lanky beautician in staggering five inch heeled boots similar to yours but in bright yellow stood and strut his way over to your side making you giggle at his hand extending that yours laid inside to be patted by his free hand, “I am, awestruck. I watched your show on Broadway, and you earned every ounce of that Tony you tiny ferocious thing you.”

That had you giggle again. “Thank you.”

“Then what do I see you go and do? Repping Miss Queen Dolly’s shoes on that carpet and stage, you are striking, you put her on, the, map.” The final three words accentuated with brief pauses for sassy head swaggers before he turned popping his hip in a centering pose almost before guiding you to the pedicure station on the end that was clearly his for his long legs.

“Queen Dolly’s shoes?” Jen asked pausing at her station beside yours unzipping her raised boot to be put in her rolling cart to house them and her socks.

Turning your head you said, “My grandparents sent me a car to take me shopping for the Tonys and I got turned out of Loubiton and so I went to a friend’s shoe shop, Queen Dolly.”

Your beautician raised his foot pointing to his shoe, “Nearly had to cut a bitch for these.” Spreading Jen’s smile as you giggled removing your first boot and sock you tucked inside it to remove the second still up on your toes. “Queen Dolly and her friends look after me. Helped me my first year when I fell down some subway steps in winter and since, so I couldn’t think of anyone else’s shoes I wanted to wear knowing I’d have to go alone.”

He lifted a finger, “You little Madame made our lives with just flashing those heels on those steps to the stage, and you should have heard the screams through the clubs and our block when the article came out and you named her shop! Now it is the top of the top over those two bit amateur Borodin Brothers shop on 32nd, you know I bought some boots there once and the zipper tore clean off?! Then those assholes made me buy the damn boots like it was my fault they fashioned them together with paperclips.” Up he helped you into the chair and began to roll up your pant legs saying, “You have lovely feet for a dancer. I have trained in ballet, and it is not easy to get your feet like this, you must live in salons.”

“No, I just learned how to do it myself. Salt soaks and pumice scrubs and lotion soaks under socks. Heater is spotty at best and I hate calluses. Bruises are hard enough. Sort of my spoil me time. And my Mate gives the best foot rubs I’d hate to scare him off.”

That had him laugh, “No you do not.”

Jen smirked saying as she settled into the chair beside yours, “I think we should go shoe shopping after this.”

Her beautician smirked saying with a point of his own, “Straight to Loubiton, go wave your cash in their smug faces.” Then he asked, “What color are you wearing to the premier Miss Jen?”

She answered, “It’s this lovely sort of plum color with a metallic sort of finish to it.”

“Ooh, nice,” he replied and looked through his selection of nail polish for a few options for her.

Yours asked, “And what ensemble will you be killing it in?”

“Well it’s black, but with a gold lace accent on the top over a ribbon belt.”

“Ooh,” the men said together.

“So I was thinking maybe a light gold or a pale yellow?”

He nodded and smiled at you, “I think I know just the color.” On his own while you soaked your feet once back with the color of his choosing he asked, “Please tell me you don’t perm that fabulous hair.”

“Oh no, all my curls here.”

“I am so glad of that,” he said brushing his own long curly ponytail back over his back reaching to his belt. “We need some more curls flaunted on the red carpets. And I did love me the good screams watching the Ring, but I was beside myself hoping those were real curls and not forced then run ragged on you in that film.”

“They thought teasing them a bit would make me look more disturbed.”

Jen’s guy scoffed, “The staring did that plenty for me.” Making you grin to yourself in your gut settling down again at your feet.

Their conversation drifted off while Jen shared the rest of her travel plans for the week including press she was scheduled to bounce all across the country to drop in on top tv shows making her ask, “Are you booked for shows for your film?”

“Through Europe mainly. Three in England, a morning and two evening shows, sort of a Letterman vibe.”

“None over here?”

“I did get an email from Good Morning America, they said they would let me know if one of their zoo shows had to cancel. Something about a film they were asked to lend a monkey to.” At her frozen expression you giggled, “I’m bigger in England it seems. Sir Ian McKellen drops your name you get noticed. Not to mention the rumor mill I apparently stirred up over this film. Apparently I heard from Richard’s brother there is now an elephant and a team of hippos in it that are trained for some musical number. If there is it’s news to me.”

She chuckled and said, “Well maybe this premier will change things for you. Make them take notice. We are friends after all I will not hesitate to name drop if I have to.” You giggled again, “Gotta stick together.” Looking you over she asked, “So I’m still not going to be able to meet Richard?” That had you giggle again and cover your face a moment as she said, “Because me and Natasha are just dying to. He looks so nice in those pictures from your other premiers you took him to. Surely he can’t be worth hiding-,”

Lowering your hands still giggling you said, “I will see what I can do. He’s been up to something the only times he’s radio silent is when he’s planning something. Last time was this sweater he mailed me and the time before that he dropped in on me in Texas sharing he was hired as my costar for the new film. So it varies in size.”

“Least it never grows old that way.”

“No it does not,” You giggled out. “Even when we’re at the same place he’s always coming up with dinners or little adventures. Even his dad took us on a tour of the nuclear plants out there one summer.” You caught her eye saying, “His dad used to work at one and it was their summer vacation destination, tours of all of them. Helped to keep him humble.”

“Wow, so his dad worked on nuclear plants and yours worked on oil rigs.”

“Yes, just call us the energy wonder kids couple. His brother does on occasion.”

“How do you surprise him then?” She asked with a smirk making you roll your eyes.

“After the winter break we first met in when I was back to New York I left him one of those day to day calendars with notes and pictures through it. And some sheets since he hadn’t made his bed past tossing old clothes on it.”

“Aww, so sweet.”

“He’s a moper too.”

“Which flower is it you’re allergic to again?” Your guy asked with a pair of bottles in his hands.

“Lavender.” You replied with Jen looking at you while he smiled and bent to grab a yellow bottle on the bottom of his cart.

“Then you miss Madame are going to smell like honey. No one asks for this one and I can not tell you how many people want to smell like different types of flowers. Just about makes your eyes cross by closing time.”

Jen’s smiles saying, “Just got some peach you asked for, love the smell.” He said smirking after stealing another sniff of the scrub for feet and legs.

She smiled saying, “Thank you.” And looked at you asking, “Is that like a severe allergy?”

“Um, I can be around it, for a short time but I know in the other horror film I’m in they washed the nurse costume with lavender and I had to soak with salts to keep from breaking out and to soothe the few rashes I got. Usually I only go to spas when my grandparents plan it and they always call ahead on the restriction.”

“That’s good, I got a cousin whose kid swells up from lima beans, odd allergy. Just actually got a call from her they’re planning to head to the Alamo in the spring, he is obsessed with it.” After a moment she asked, “Have you been?”

“Oh ya, raised in Texas. Sort of required by some. School had a field trip there and to the River Walk. Pretty fun, expensive but fun. Our bus almost got towed actually. The bill for the parking lot got stuck in the slot on the unmanned pay station and it tore in half and by the time the driver came back with a new bill from the bank nearby the tow truck came for its second towing round of the day.” After a moment you asked, “Is it the cowboys he likes? Cuz there are tons of cowboy museums in Texas.”

“He loves cowboys, his dad actually took a work trip to Texas and found a few he’d like.”

“Fun phase, cowboys, then again I grew up in a ranch so I never really grew out of it. Part of why filming in New Zealand was fun, all those horses.”

Jen’s guy asked, “Like a real ranch? Like you rope cattle and all that?”

“Rodeo is a staple back home. We mainly have sheep and horses, one of my uncles runs the bull breeding on the other end of our property. They tend to like it quieter and our donkeys like to agitate them.”

Your guy asked, “You have donkeys too?”

“They’re one of the best guards for sheep. Make tons of noise if they hear anything and they have hooves hard enough to bash the hell out of any coyotes or mountain lions that try to sneak up on the little fluffy guys.”

Jen, “You have mountain lions?”

After a giggle you replied, “Not like pets but they come down sometimes from the peaks to try and scope out our herds. Normally steer clear though after their first scare.”

“So you could just get mauled? Out of nowhere?” She asked.

“We have guns and bows if they do get close, but they don’t generally attack people out of nowhere, more likely to take on the cattle.” Again you giggled at their wide eyed stares, “It’s not as dangerous as it sounds. It just comes with the territory, gonna raise animals you got to be ready to protect them.”

Jen, “You miss the ranch?”

“Sometimes. I can always go home, it is nice not having 4 am chores and jeans without mud caked on them. Do miss the free supply of firewood and fish though. Have our own woods we clear of fallen branches and ponds to fish in. Saves a bundle of you stretch it right.”

Jen, “That sounds nice, little place it in the middle of nowhere. Grow old on some land of your own.”

Her guy said, “Long as I can have some buff guys to keep on hand for some tilling I am all in girl.” Making you giggle with her as the conversation shifted to this ranch film the guys tried to explain rather vaguely to try and figure out the name of the guys lead in it lasting through the leg and foot massage and finish of your pedicure. Foam sandals were given for the walk you were helped down to tenderly step over to the nail station for the second half of your pampering as your feet rested under the lamps above the foot rest.

A bit more the guys asked about favorite films and actors they couldn’t name blending through to the final addition of three fake clear gems on your pinky fingers in a flower design with a tiny black leaf painted on before the final wait to dry under the lamps. Carefully socks and boots were added again with hugs traded as Jen insisted to cover the nail outing then eased her arm through yours saying, “Let’s go find you some shoes.”

Red bottomed with straps ankle to the ball of your foot in a strikingly tall heel the black pair sat on the shelf just above your reach and while Jen had two aids helping her to inspect her own choices the same man from before the Tony’s came over with a creeping grin. “Might I be of assistance?”

“Do you have those in a six?”

His eyes followed your finger seeing the shoes from the year prior soon to be taken down to be replaced by a newer style after not selling too well and he said, “Let me check.” Hurrying off exhaling softly in a calming way in his guess you didn’t remember his turning you away before. For a deal you accepted the pair and brought out the cash for them ticking up his brow a moment seeing you were buying your own shoes while Jen was getting most of hers for free in hopes she would wear them out somewhere in front of cameras. She could have just added your pair to hers but he had to appreciate that even in the big haul of shoes sent out to the way of cameras instead of possible future sales there was still cash in hand. With hold of the bag he eased your pair into you sat back by Jen helping her to wade through her twelve choices for the five she settled on for the upcoming press stops and premiers she had outfits already for each.

Pt 30

Hobbit – Soulmate - @evyiione, @deepestfirefun, @rhaenaatargaryen, @anastasialovers

X all Rich. A - @abiwim, @deepestfirefun, @thestorybookmistress

X Lee P - @tigereyesf

All –

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore, @mariannetora, @shes-a-killer-kween, @ggbbhehe4455

#Richard Armitage x Reader OC #Lee Pace x Reader OC #Jennifer Lopez #Nail Day #Trip to and from Canada #New Apartment tour #Furniture Shopping #Hair Cut #Salon #Shoe Shopping

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kittensjonsa · 4 years

Text

For @jonsa-creatives' Jonsa event of anniversary of Queen Sansa's coronation.

How could I miss out on my take on such an iconic TV moment? 👑

Summary: Jon returns to where he truly belonged.

Following a bit of canon verse, post S6 reunion by the fire, and scenes behind closed doors after Sansa's coronation.

Rated M for the obvious. *bows, from yours truly*

(Note: I tried though I still cannot do/read canon verse fics because S8 was traumatically bad, I’m still grieving. Only great thing out of it was Queen Sansa and Northern Independence. Consider this a small fix it closure. :-/ )

The Return

Jon..

The wind chill remained deep in her bones. The leather of her makeshift cloak that draped across her chest callous and taut in her grip. She hears the cry of a wolf not far behind. Her legs, somehow still her own, plod heavily in the snow.

The true north.. The wildlands..

Jon had spoken of this place many times. How it was vast and cold, beautiful and free.

Come back. Come back to me. Come home.

As if the winds had heard her, it howled in response. Sansa hears howling and laughter, then came the screams. Screams that were familiar, she had heard them before. Screams that mirrored her own.

“Your Grace!”

Sansa gasped for air desperately, fearing it was her last. Beads of sweat pooled on her forehead as Sansa sat up from under the covers. The guards had burst through the door, faces fraught with concern and searched the room immediately.

“Are you all right, Your Grace? We heard.. screaming,”

The screams were hers, after all.

“I.. I am all right. A bad dream, is all.”

The guards looked at one another and retreated. “Shall I… call for the Maester?”

Sansa shook her head. It was another nightmare, just like the last, and no potion strong enough could make them go away.

They always return.

“No, no one is to bother the Maester. I will see him tomorrow morning. Please.. as you were.”

It all seemed so real. She was there, feeling the dampness sticking to her skin, soaked through her worn boots. The scent of snow, sharp and crisp, still deep in her lungs. The mind has a strange way of coping with pain, Bran once told her. I know why. Why she kept returning to those lands in her dreams.There was only one reason and it was because she wanted to look for him. To bring him back.

Jon..

Sansa laid down again. A bad dream. That was all. She sighed, raising her left hand again and stared. Sansa's eyes fluttered close once more, as her fingers brushed against the raised sliver of skin, tender as if it was still healing. It was a day she would always remember. How could I forget.

“What happened? Are you hurt?” Sansa heard the door close from behind her.

Sansa placed a new bandage as another had soaked through. “Nothing. Just an old wound. Pay no mind to it. Although, could I have some water to wash?”

The splashing of water comforted her. As the footsteps that slowly approached. She was safe, finally. No one would hurt her here, for now.

“Here, let me take a look at it.” Jon's hands were warm as he reached out for hers. The tightening of his jaw tensed his grip.

“Did he.. did he do this?”

Sansa watched as Jon lightly ran his fingers along the scar. It was a deep wound and the slightest touch still burned, but the pain was nothing, remembering how she had endured far worse.

“No. From a piece of wood. In the river, when I..”

When I escaped. Ran as far as my legs could carry me through the woods past Winterfell. When Theon led me to the river.. where we decided we deserved better.

The pause was enough. Jon clasped her hands in his and with his other hand, seized a dagger from his side. Sansa watched on, curious and dazed but realised the moment he let go.

“Jon.. wait.. what are you doing?”

A grunt and a gasp as dark drops of blood dripped onto the floor, Sansa's hand was now wet with blood. Jon had her bandage removed and placed the bloodied hand over her own.

“Now, we both have scars. You... You're not alone.”

Sansa stared at their hands as their bloods mingled.

“Jon.. why would you do such a thing?”

Stunned, Sansa flinched slightly as he squeezed his grip and turned to her. His eyes were dark even against the brightness of the fire.

“You're here now.. and you're real. This will be ours to remember. Right now at this moment, that you've come here. To Castle Black. To me.”

Relief washed over him, especially now seeing his own blood, warm and wet. He was still bleeding, like before. He was still living, flesh and blood indeed.

“And you're right.”

Sansa's eyes finally met his, their hands still joined.

“About what?”

A deep sigh left his body, feeling the weight he had been carrying become heavier.

“We're taking back Winterfell. We're taking back our home.”

Jon…

The crackling of the fire was soothing to his ears but it wasn't enough. It failed along with the collective white noise of snoring and grunting of the wildlings he had grown used to. As well as Tormund's boisterous laughter and off key singing every once in while whenever they made camp. He hadn't slept for days and tonight in particular.

Sansa…

Jon rubbed his eyes, coaxing them to slumber - but a rough patch of skin brushed against his face, sending a tingle down his spine.

Sansa.

The mark was permanent, it had been years now and still it stood out, as the day he made it. It was still soft to the touch, a deep gash line now held together by new skin.

He often thought of her, of Winterfell. He missed his home and he missed her especially. He had left her one too many times and this time for good albeit against his will. He only wished her well and happy that she was home finally, safe and ruling in her rightful place.

“Winterfell belongs to my sister, Sansa.”

He had said that once, to someone and meant every word.

Cousin Sansa. Ruling in the North. The best one yet. Winterfell was Sansa’s heart and soul and there was no one better than her to look after it.

Come back. Come back to me. Come home.

Jon blinked. He hears her, her voice a faint whisper as if she was sat next to him. He wanted to, with every fibre of his being. Winterfell was still home, even though he had lived many years away from it. And tonight, the need to return home was something he could no longer ignore, try as he might.

“The Queen in the North! The Queen in North! The Queen in the North!”

The chants were deafening as Sansa looked on around the hall. These were her people. People who loved the North as much as she did and fought for it. How could she not look after them? Father and Robb would've done the same.

The crown had rested heavy on her head. It was forged with care, with love and fealty from those who mattered. Sansa stared at the carved precious metal now in its place, sat on a pillow in front of her, resting for the night.

The moments replayed in her mind again. All of the North were gathered for her, to welcome their new Queen, of a free and independent kingdom. All but one. One she missed dearly, one whom she wanted so badly to be in the hall, seated by her side.

It was her wish to rule Winterfell together. As King he once was and her as Queen. She would not be here if it wasn't for him. The void in her grew stronger as the day went on.

“She's the best they could ever ask for.”

A flood of tears came over her without warning. Sansa clung on to her vanity for support.

“Oh.. Jon. Jon...”

Body wracked with sobs, Sansa peeled off her robe and crept under the furs for the night. Loud cheers and singing could still be heard down below, celebrating the North's freedom from the Seven Kingdoms.

She had truly done it. Truly free after centuries, no more heeding the call of any kingdoms, they were their own sovereign.

Sansa inhaled deeply as she blew out the last candle and shut her eyes. She would attempt to sleep once more. This time in peace.

Jon.. come back. Come back home.

A small creak. Sansa turned and thought she saw the door rattle in the dark. A silence followed and Sansa turned back again towards the window.

Drunk guards, maybe. Perhaps the ones she had released from their duties that night. They refused at first but it was an order from their new Queen that they dared not defy. There is no need for guards tonight, she was safe. This was Winterfell, her own Winterfell now. No one would dare. I’m their Queen now.

“Shhh..”

A hand clasped over her mouth.

No. Oh Gods. No.

Sansa screamed. But only a muffled whimper escaped as the warm palm covered her face. All of the horrors that she once encountered, flashed before her very eyes. Sansa gasped for breath as she tried to scream once more.

But.. That scent..

It was all too familiar.

“Sansa.. shh. It's me.”

Sansa squirmed as another hand snaked around her back, enveloping her. The hold wasn't a firm one but tight enough that made her realise that somehow, she'd felt this before.

“Jon..?”

Sansa clawed aimlessly in the dark. Her hands finally found their bearings on a furry cloak, heavy and thick and as she went further up, Sansa could feel her heart almost burst.

The curls. Unmistakable. Soft ringlets filled her hands as she brushed against them and without a second to waste, hauled the body towards her.

“Jon...?”

A hand softened its grip and gently stroked her hair in the dark.

“Sansa.. it’s me.”

Jon. He came back. Sansa pulled him closer again, tightly as she could against her barely clothed body.

“Jon.. I.. I called for you. Did you hear me?”

Jon took a deep breath, drinking in her scent as he held on tightly.

“You did. I heard you.”

Warmth pooled at her neck, feeling his face nuzzling her skin. Sansa turned around, her hands still clinging onto fistfuls of his curls.

“Let me see you.. Your Grace.”

Sansa did not want to let go but she needed to see him. Look and touch him, that this wasn’t all a dream. Leaping out of her bed, Sansa scrambled to light the nearest candle she could get her hands on.

And there he was. Standing right before her, in all his black leathered glory. Wearing the cloak she made him. He looked every bit like how she remembered him, as the day they said their goodbyes.

“Jon.. it really is you..”

Jon smiled, the pouty sad smile he was so good at and once more, Sansa fought back her tears.

Jon went on his knees and bowed his head. “Your Grace, pardon my absence on your coronation day. Will you forgive me?”

Sansa nudged him gently to rise. “There is nothing to forgive.”

Their eyes finally meet and it was a moment Sansa would treasure till the end. Though the chill filling the chambers was getting too cold to ignore once Sansa realised she was only in her nightclothes.

“Jon... you.. look the same. A little ragged perhaps.” How comforting, that nothing much has changed.

Jon smiled as he sighed. She was beautiful. More now than ever. And her hair, radiant still.

“Come here and sit with me. Tell me, how you've been? Are you well?” Sansa asked quietly as she led him back to the warmth of her bed.

“Aye, as well as I can be. Nothing's changed in Castle Black. Ale's still shite,” Jon chuckled, still holding fast onto Sansa's arm. His eyes stayed on hers, taking in every second at how they beamed beautifully with joy. Though for a second, they wandered further below as the small but bright light caught onto every curve of Sansa's. He hadn't seen her like this before and it embarrassed him - chastising himself for stealing into her chambers in the dark of night like a fiend. But there could be no decree, no law that would stop him from seeing Sansa. Not tonight.

Her special day. One for the history books. He had it in him well enough how he wasn’t supposed to be here. Banished into exile meant everywhere else, even the North. No one could know he was here, except Sansa. She called him to her, in the first place and he heard her. He needed to be near her. A need so strong, he'd risk his life. She was worth it all.

“I wanted you here. Oh I wanted you here so much.. I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Sansa. I had to come.. and see you.”

“You did.” It was a joy Sansa could not contain, seeing Jon here in the flesh, though she could hardly believe it. Don’t be a dream.. please.

“Are you real? Are you really here? I've had so many nightmares lately… I just-”

Jon pulled her closer again once more, this time their faces almost touching, his hand cupping her face gently.

“It is me. This isn't a dream. I am here. And so are you.”

She had to know. Sansa needed it to be real. I have to..

“Jon..”

His lips were soft and warm. His tongue slick and welcoming as she pressed her open mouth on his. He is real…

“Sansa... You.. must-”

She wanted more. Yes, I must. Sansa's hands grabbed onto the straps of his cloak and coaxed his hands to her bosom, heaving as her mouth hungrily drank from his.

The small flame flickered as Sansa helped Jon remove his furs. The doublet was next.

Hearts racing, Sansa and Jon locked their gaze onto one another, both knowing already what will come next - ready to dive in head first into this debauchery.

Sansa tugged at the laces that held her nightclothes together. It did not take half a second for it fall off her shoulders, leaving her bare before him.

Taking off his under clothes in response, Jon sucked in a breath as they both faced each other, naked and wanting. Missing each other was too light a term, it was more of a deep, low burning desire that had grown more and more with each passing day of being apart.

“Sansa...”

Sansa reached out for Jon to come closer. “Jon... Hold me.”

Butterfly kisses peppered her shoulder. Slowly, Jon went lower and Sansa closed her eyes, committing to memory every touch lavished on her.

Sansa let out a small whimper as his lips nibbled on her belly.

“Jon..”

His hands crawling up as his head lowered, grabbing a handful of her breasts, feeling Sansa quake from every graze of his fingertips.

“I need you..”

She hissed as Jon finally reached her spot, moist and waiting.

“Then.. have me,” Sansa whispered as Jon's fingers squeezed the insides of her thigh. So close.

Jon kissed and nipped at the ripe heat of her flesh, his fingers parting the tender folds of a place he never thought he'd be.

Another hiss and a soft groan. Soft, long legs gently closing in around his head as his mouth greedily laps up bits of her.

She tasted heavenly. Warm, wet and inviting. He would take his time, devouring her bit by bit, inch by inch till every part of her body was etched into the very depths of his soul. His teeth pulled and nipped, his tongue delving deep in and out of her folds, how he could go on forever.

How he wanted to take her. This could be his last day on this wretched earth and he would not change a single thing.

“Unnhh... Jon..”

Sansa bit down on the back of her hand, struggling to keep her cries down. Jon groaned, his hardness growing as Sansa quivered in his hands, writhing in his arms as the sharp volts of pleasure shocked her body.

Yes, this was exactly why he wanted to come home. They had taken far too long for both of them to get here but the wait has made it all the sweeter.

Jon crept up to Sansa, desperate to see her face once again, to watch her as he takes her, finally.

Sansa sighed as Jon's hard flesh rubbed against her bare thighs and rested precariously between her thighs. Her dripping entrance in wait of an embrace, a long awaited reunion she yearned for. It was time.

The pain of desire proved too excruciating.

Take me. Take me now.

“I've returned home for you, Sansa,” Jon whispered, his eyes focused and unblinking. Sansa could only nod. No words were needed.

“And now.... now I'm going to fuck you till kingdom come.”

#jonsa #jon x sansa #queen sansa coronation anniversary #jonsa au #queen sansa event

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writingwife-83 · 5 years

Text

Accidental Research, ch 7- A Conclusive Study in Marriage

Sherlolly Appreciation Week, day 7- Favorite HC

“Don’t even think about it.”

Sherlock’s brow lifted. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes you do. You were thinking about how long till Anderson returns to the morgue and whether you have time to kiss me.”

He smirked. “If we bother discussing it, of course there won’t be any time.”

Molly lifted a warning finger as she saw him take a step closer, clearing her throat as she heard Anderson returning. Sherlock rolled his eyes and motioned for her to follow him.

“You! Keep working,” Molly instructed Anderson gruffly. “We’ve got to get some supplies out back.”

They’d barely rounded the corner before Sherlock had her in his arms, pressing a kiss to as much of her mouth as he could manage around the inconvenience of the mustache.

“Mr Holmes, that is quite enough,” she whispered. “You cannot take these sort of risks!”

“I agree, but these two months have been absolute torment!”

“It’s been six weeks.”

“Actually, it’ll be seven weeks tomorrow, which is very nearly two months.”

Molly laughed, shaking her head as she caressed his face. “It’s endearing, the way you can’t endure this process.”

Sherlock very intentionally dropped his voice to a low rumble, leaning in to whisper in her ear as his hand perched on her waist.

“And you can?”

Pulling back to see her half lidded eyes staring back at him with pupils blown wide, he gave her a smug little smile.

Molly licked her lips, squaring her shoulders in an attempt to maintain composure. She gave him a somewhat playful glare.

“The fact is that you and I both need to endure if we want to do this right.”

Something hit him at her wording, like a bolt of lightning, and suddenly...he knew.

Sherlock grasped her hands, staring at her intently. “What if we already have?”

Molly’s expression was definitely one of confusion. “Pardon? Already have...what?”

“You said we needed to do this right. Well, what if we already have? For us! Perhaps for us, courtship has long since been done and over with!”

“Holmes, do be serious,” she laughed.

“I have never been more so,” he replied, and by the shift in her features, she was beginning to believe it.

“Marry me,” Sherlock added, soft but insistent. “Come to the courthouse with me this evening. Or tomorrow.”

“Wh-what?” Molly stammered, her jaw hanging open and cheeks getting pink. “Marry you?!”

Sherlock paused, pressing his lips together in thought for a moment. “Forgive me, I forgot the question aspect. Don’t think I’ve forgotten your instructions after that case some months ago,” He cleared his throat. “Miss Molly Hooper...will you marry me?”

Molly lifted their joined hands and kissed his knuckles. “Holmes, you know I want to marry you. But...rushing off? Just like that?”

“Just like that!” His eyes brightened with the thrill of it, and if he wasn’t mistaken, he saw that light reflecting in hers as well. “What more do the two of us need to know of one another? How many more weeks and months of agonizing chaperoned dinners at the Watson’s?”

Molly snorted a little laugh.

“Have we not learned more about each other even before courting than most do after two years of these silly little rituals?” Sherlock dropped his voice. “I know I want you, I know I want to make you happy, I know the rest of my living days will be better having you with me,...and I know I love you.”

Molly swiped at her eyes. “Good heavens, I never thought I’d be proposed to while looking like this.”

“Well?” he prompted, peering at her, feeling on the edge of his seat. “What do you say?”

She drew a deep breath and released it, smiling at him. “What else can I say but that I echo every one of your sentiments. I love you too, so so dearly. And yes...let’s get married.”

~~~~~~~~~

Molly rolled over, squinting at the unrelenting sunshine streaming in through the uncovered window. She wasn’t the only one offended by its intrusion.

She smiled to herself, hearing Sherlock curse softly under his breath before standing from the bed and pulling the drapes tightly together, once again wrapping the room in the comfort of darkness.

When he climbed back under the covers, she shifted over, sliding an arm over his middle and letting out a contented little groan as she settled her cheek against his chest.

“Forgive me, I didn’t think to shut the drapes last night,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her rumpled hair.

Molly tilted her head up, lifting a brow at him. “I can’t imagine what else commanded your rapt attention before falling asleep.”

“Oh, can you not, Mrs. Holmes?”

Molly let out a little squeal of laughter as she found herself very suddenly shifted to her back as her husband’s lips descended to the side of her neck. Not just anywhere of course, but the exact right spot. Because of course it had taken Sherlock Holmes less than three bloody days to pinpoint what turned her to absolute mush in his arms.

“Mm, that’s right...now I remember,” she murmured.

Sherlock left the side of her neck, instead bringing his lips to hers, slanting one way and then the other, kissing and releasing over and over again in a teasing little dance. Unable to endure a moment more, Molly’s fingers threaded into his hair, closing in a fist as she brought him in for a much more substantial kiss. All evidence taken into consideration, he seemed to very much appreciate her initiative.

Molly smiled inwardly, thinking she might just be learning how to turn him into mush as well.

As quickly as their passion had ignited though, a blanket was thrown over the flame when they both heard footsteps on the creaking steps up to 221B.

Sherlock inclined his head a bit, still hovering over her as he listened carefully. After a moment of subtle noises, followed by then descending footsteps back down the creaking steps, he turned back to his wife and smiled.

“Just Mrs. Hudson, bringing the morning post and tea.”

“Ah,” Molly breathed in relief. “I admit some tea sounds delightful.”

“Ask and you shall receive!” Sherlock proclaimed, pressing a kiss to her forehead before throwing his dressing gown on and leaving the bedroom.

Molly stretched languidly in Sherlock’s- well, their bed. It still felt unreal and almost as if she were doing something wrong, having spent the past three nights in this bed with him, doing things that made her blush to remember. But she kept reminding herself with a smile that this really was now her bed, her husband, and the celebration of their new life together.

Sherlock returned quickly, balancing the tray of tea and the post.

“I believe Mrs Hudson is taking things a bit too sentimentally, since she’s included flowers on the tray.”

“I think that’s sweet!” Molly leaned in and took an appreciative sniff as he set it down on the bed.

As she poured the tea, Sherlock was silent for a moment, sitting next to her and thumbing through the post.

“Anything interesting?” Molly asked, taking the first warm sip.

Sherlock didn’t respond at first, his eyes riveted to one particular envelope. Finally, he grinned, holding it out to her.

“Actually yes. It seems you’ve received your first post. And I do believe it’s someone who has decided to send us, and especially you, a gift.”

“Really?” Molly cocked her head. “I thought only your family and the Watsons and Mrs. Hudson knew.”

“Yes, that’s right. This gift is, strangely enough I believe, from my brother.”

“Oh! How lovely of him.”

“It is, yes,” Sherlock agreed, nodding and handing the envelope over.

Her eyes first took in the name written meticulously on the front- Mrs. Molly Holmes.

Sherlock set the post aside and scooted over as Molly opened it up and took out the paper to begin reading, seeing that the heading read, “a gift, dear sister.” She began scanning the words, barely getting through the first paragraph before clasping a hand over her mouth. What she read was far too good to be true.

“Can this really be?” Molly questioned in ecstatic disbelief. “I’ll be working at St Bart’s hospital? Really me!”

“Congratulations,” Sherlock replied softly, giving her a little kiss on the cheek.

“Did you do this?”

He pursed his lips. “Not exactly. But a few days ago when we decided to marry, I did go to my brother and explain that living as a married couple would make your current professional situation considerably more difficult. I told him this was a concern of ours, and if it was possible to remove that concern completely, starting married life might be much improved. I suggested that perhaps he try to speed things along regarding your employment.”

Molly’s smile spread slowly, and she managed to carefully place the letter from Mycroft and the tea tray aside before leaping back onto the bed and practically tackling her husband back against the pillows, sprinkling words between kisses.

“If I thought...I couldn’t love you...more than I already did...I was wrong! And I definitely need to thank your brother!”

“In a very different way, I hope.”

Molly laughed, curling up against him, her hand comfortably nestled inside his dressing gown and atop his heart.

“A week ago I never would have believed this would be my life,” she whispered.

“It does all seem rather sudden I suppose,” Sherlock admitted, his arms locking around her and fingers nestling in her undone hair.

“Though...in a way I feel as if we’ve been building up to this for quite some time. Even before we knew it. As if the evidence was slowly gathering around us until suddenly it all just pointed to one undeniable conclusion.”

“Undeniable indeed,” Sherlock agreed, turning to kiss her soundly.

One kiss led to another, and then another, and very soon they sunk back down into the world of pillows and covers together. Both husband and wife found they were in complete agreement, albeit nonverbal, that despite a conclusion having been most certainly reached...there was always plenty more research to be done.

#sherlolly #sherlollyweek2020 #TAB au #victorian sherlolly #THAT’S A WRAP!#it’s been fun!

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intervieweird · 4 years

Text

CARAVAGGIOVAGABOND:

“ I UNDERSTAND YOU. ”

Daniel lays on the bed, four fingers of whiskey full, plied with a fifth of vodka and the stirrings of something frothy in his stomach. He figures he’s got enough booze fermenting in him to make a brewery.

He puts out his butt in the ash tray, burnt to the filter and bland as the scratch in his throat. Everything else in the room swims as he stirs; a blurred wave of neutral tone and unexpressive landscape paintings.

But not those eyes. Those eyes stay right where they are.

“Yeah?” He asks, pleasantly slurred and sluggish, moving his limbs mechanically on the bed to turn and face the creature watching him from the chair. He feels good now. Real good. Warm and tingling all the way to his toes, though the way his brain is having trouble keeping up with his eyes tells him he’s going to feel it in the morning. He just can’t mix his spirits like he used to. “And how’s that?”

caravaggiovagabond: @intervieweird cont. from [x]

The dimly lit, unspectacular hotel room isn’t exactly Armand’s usual preference, but currently he’s given little choice but to follow wherever his current obsession leads him. Tonight, that just so happens to be by his bedside, the young man lying charmingly inebriated across the bed.

To see Daniel in such a state is also not Armand’s preference – he would much rather that he was active, coherent, and fit enough to be dragged from pillar to post all over the globe. Those plans, however, are quite clearly foiled as it’s looking very much doubtful that Daniel will be able to travel even to the bathroom unassisted, never mind anywhere further afield. He dips into the mortal’s mind for just a moment, morbidly curious, but soon pulls away again, the dizzy, room-spinning stupor clouding his thoughts not at all a pleasant experience to him even secondhand.

With a sort of languid, animalistic grace, the vampire slips from the chair that he’s taken up residence in, half-crawling to the side of the bed where Daniel now faces him and crouching beside him at eye level, both arms folded on the mattress near the man’s face, his marble cheek resting against the thick, baggy sweater clothing his own forearm.

“Because we are kindred spirits,” he murmurs, cool, iron-scented breath a sigh against Daniel’s heated cheekbone, amber eyes fixed on him as one fingertip emerges from the cradle of his folded arms to prod at Daniel’s shoulder.

Armand is like a crooked creature, skewed limbs unfolding, too long. A monster. A monster crawling from under the bed and slipping under his skin like an itch. It’s a trick of the eyes, Daniel knows. Mortal eyes; eyes made of cells dying every second. He remembers what Louis told him once, how the undead moved too fast to process with the feeble chemical impulses of the human brain. Maybe it’s the old, primitive vestiges that are telling him to run, run, flight sparking in the dull grey matter, clogged with fatigue and poison.

But Daniel doesn’t run, and he wonders, distantly, why.

He turns towards death at his shoulder, a frown on his face as he fumbles for his glasses on the nightstand.

“Quit poking me.”

His vision blurs, sets, settling into a fixed image of that beautiful damned boy. Daniel peers at him, curious, and he wonders if Armand hears the catch in his throat, the fine movements of the muscles, the ache in his jaw as he feels it clench. “What makes you say that?”

caravaggiovagabond‌:

“Don’t you feel it?”

The words are barely more than a whisper; seductive, addictive, persuasive, a gentle smile twisting the corners of the boy-demon’s mouth upwards at the other’s tense reserve and slurred reprimand. He stops, his fingertip resting only gently now against Daniel’s arm as though in rebellion, staking a silent claim.

“I feel it, Daniel. Your heart sings for me.”

Armand’s sharp fingertip is removed from his arm, slender hand sliding across the mortal’s prone chest to clutch the sheets on his far side, using them as leverage as the boyish frame pulls itself effortlessly upwards. He kneels beside Daniel on the mattress, leaning over him until tangled, auburn curls almost brush his cheek, staring down at him with that frighteningly preternatural, chestnut gaze as though he’s the most fascinating specimen of human life.

His demand is unspoken but nonetheless powerful. He will be taken notice of. Daniel will listen to him.

“Sometimes you run so far and so fast that I almost start to believe you don’t want to be found. Almost.”

Does he? Does he want to be found? Sometimes, no. Sometimes he’s felt the safest in a Fresno flop house or Amsterdam bordello, red light winking at him through the vinyl slats, an unfriendly demon eye, haunting him like his own vision of the devil.

And sometimes - sometimes he’s slumped over a payphone, coins rattling like his fingers on his last pack of smokes, and he calls Armand to take him home.

And isn’t he here now? Didn’t he come? Daniel doesn’t recall the push and the pull, doesn’t remember where the knot of their tug-of-war finally crossed the mark. Armand finds him anyway, in the Waldorf-Astoria or slumming it on a bench in Hyde Park. And as far as he runs, doesn’t Daniel also let him?

“You think?” Daniel growls, scratchy-timbered and aching for a glass of water. But his hand finds its way to touch that cheek - so fucking glacial, his fingertips brushing against a cold steel hull, for all the perfect flesh didn’t give. A chill runs up his arm, to touch this thing looming over him. This beautiful, awful thing. He laughs, low and throaty. “Maybe I should buy a submarine.”

caravaggiovagabond‌:

His beloved’s short-tempered quips might be more painful to hear, were it not for the fact that Armand knows (perhaps even better than Daniel himself does) just how besotted he is. Even were it not for the promise of the Blood, he knows that Daniel could not turn away from him now even if he so desperately wanted to. Their lives and fates have become so intertwined – after all, how could Daniel turn his back on the one person who understands him more than any other?

The reporter’s hoarse laugh has a wry, little smile blooming on Armand’s face all over again, the touch to his cheek pleasantly warm. He turns his head so that those brave fingertips catch just barely on the corner of his lips, dangerously close to teeth that could rip them off without hesitation. He wonders, if Daniel came face-to-face with a wild jaguar would he try to pet that, too?

“You know I could buy that for you too if you really wanted,” he husks against the prone fingers. “But wouldn’t you be terribly lonely all the way down there without me?”

With lazy, feline grace, he topples over, rolling across Daniel to tuck in against his side, writhing his way close beside the boy and resting his pretty, auburn head against Daniel’s shoulder, pressing so tightly against the inebriated young man that he has no choice but to pay notice.

“You could just love me instead, Daniel.”

It’s a strange kind of heaven they make together.

It takes no thought for Daniel to fold around the boy in his arms, to breathe in the copper curls, the slight body crushed, crushing - against him. Armand is so slender, so terribly, deceptively delicate. It’s almost a tragedy, the two of them embracing like this in the wan yellow light, midnight minutes ticking away like so many hours of his life.

“Of course I would.” Daniel murmurs into his hair. Muscles spasm at the corner of his lips, but it’s no smile. “I’d go crazy.”

His hand tremors.

“I would. I do. You don’t need to give me anything. Except the one thing you won’t.”

He regrets immediately, pang like a hot knife cutting through his gut. His stomach cramps, a shiver twisting through him as he swallows back bile. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, he wants to say. I didn’t mean it, he wants to confess, and hold that cool body closer against him. But he did mean it, all his wretched viciousness and bitter hooch breath. He meant it, like he meant it all those times before.

“So do it. Goddamnit, why won’t you do it?”

caravaggiovagabond‌:

As quickly as he’s enveloped by the docile affections of his lover, they’re whisked away again as the age old argument once more raises its ugly head. He feels a strange, rather hollow sense of loss as the easy domestic bliss crumbles around them, Daniel’s hand shaking against him with all the bitterness and animosity that the young man can muster towards him.

Face betraying his disappointment, even though the regret underlying Daniel’s brash reaction is prominent against his mind, Armand pulls back, disentangles himself from the embrace as though it’s a punishment, sitting instead straight-backed against the headboard.

“I’ve told you so many times before, Daniel. The answer hasn’t changed. The answer will not change, regardless of how many times you ask me.”

Sad doe eyes glance reluctantly towards his companion, a frown disturbing the otherwise smooth flesh between his brows.

“I couldn’t bear to live with your eternal resentment, my love. Why can you not trust me when I tell you that this - whatever you think it is - is not what you want?”

If you loved me, you would not ask of me the one thing that I cannot give you.

“So you can bear to live with me dead? The fuck am I supposed to feel?” Daniel leans forward, coils of bedsprings protesting against the shift of weight. His feet swing over the side of the bed, barefoot on the whorls of carpet. His back is a faceless, unfriendly plane to Armand, slouched over his knees in as his head bows into his hands.

He can’t bear to look at Armand. He can’t bear that too-knowing, mournful look. Ages old.

“I’ve heard this before.”

From Armand, from Louis, too. It’s no gift, you don’t want this. But Daniel does want it. He can’t help but want it, this singing, killing blood in him. Only in drops! Agonizing, evil drops that Armand would dole out as he saw fit. And what did Armand care about agony it put him through? It’s a selfish, unjust thought. But he still thinks it.

That honeyed voice slithers into his mind, same as it always had. Daniel knows it so well now, he can hear it whispering things to him in the electric pulse of his brain, in the moments before sleep - in his dreams - in his nightmares - when he wakes. He hears it, knows its timbre, its faint accent and the way it sharpens when Armand feels pain, or rage, or the way he’s feeling right now.

“I’m tired.” He sighs. His body aches, and he’s dizzy even when he presses the palms of his hands to blackness against his eyes. And he’s tired of this fighting. Tired of hurting, tired of being hurt.

“I want to go home. Take me home, Armand.”

caravaggiovagabond‌:

In an act of uncharacteristic vulnerability, Armand stays rooted to the spot, moving only to pull his knees upwards to his chest as though trying to make himself smaller, as though wishing he could disappear altogether. He feels chilled right through to his bones by Daniel’s bitterness, the hateful burning of tears already working behind his eyes.

“You don’t know what you are asking me for,” he hisses defensively, his whole posture mimicking that of a coiled viper. “You have so many beautiful years, Daniel, and you would squander them away to become… this!”

In one whip-quick, agitated movement, he gestures towards his own being with one hand before pulling it back in towards himself, covering the palms of his hands with his sleeves protectively.

“Death is better than this, believe me; I’ve seen both and I know which one I would choose - which one any of us would choose - if given my time again.”

Face pinched with pain, he drags his sleeve across his eyes briskly where vicious red begins to well up from his tear ducts, leaving coppery stains smeared across the white cable knit, the evidence of his shame. Truthfully, he can’t even think of turning Daniel, of making him cold and distant, his stomach twisting with some strange, foreign anxiety at the idea alone. He wants to obey Daniel’s wishes, to take him home and forget all of this nastiness, but he CAN’T, the atmosphere too oppressive, choking his voice as he forces it out.

“Don’t you think I realise the consequences of my choice?”

“God damn you!” He grates, suddenly explosive. He moves with combustive, kinetic energy, hand swinging like a mallet against the bedside radio, plastic pieces imploding with a clatter against his fist and falling with a muffled thump against the motel carpeting.

“How the hell can you be what you are and tell me you love me, you son of a bitch.” He rounds on Armand, rage whiting out the image of the huddled, wounded boy curling into himself on the ruined bedspread. “What kind of sick nerve you’ve got. Maybe it was better when you let me starve in that cesspit. At least I came to terms with croaking it. Now you’re killing the both of us. So do the fucking vampire bullshit already. Put me down like a dog. Is it better now, Armand? Is it really any fucking better? I don’t want any goddamn twilight years! I want all of it! I want to be with you!”

His face is feverish, wild and glistening. For all the unsteady, gut-roiling omen of his liver, Daniel holds his ground. He boils with blown-out pupils, sweat pricking at his temples and chest and the soft flesh under his arms. “I want the blood. I want it. What’s the point without it?”

caravaggiovagabond‌:

It’s impossible to suppress an overtly human flinch as the radio goes to pieces and he can’t help but stare at the action bitterly, desperately wanting to reciprocate. One small, white hand balls into a fist, desperate to lash out, but no matter how badly tempted he is, he won’t – he could never put Daniel in harm’s way and with his preternatural strength, there’s no promising his safety were Armand to lose his temper.

“Stop it! STOP IT!”

The hoarse cry boarders on a scream, both fists slamming down either side of him on the old, worn mattress, undoubtedly adding a few more broken springs to its collection.

“How could you do it to me? Why are you doing it to me?”

Staring up at his lover balefully, he can’t stand to hold his anguished stare for long, burying his blood-streaked face in both hands, unrestrained sobs wracking his body now. He isn’t sure what’s worse – Daniel’s rage or the incessant reminder that someday, Armand will have to let him go. He isn’t ready for it; he isn’t sure he’ll ever be ready for it. And as much as it breaks his heart, the thought of cursing him for all time is still inconceivably worse.

“Why isn’t this enough for you, just as things are? Am I not enough for you, Daniel?”

Even Daniel flinches, eyes shuttering like from the flash of a camera bulb. His head turns - involuntary - for only a split second, but he feels stung; wounded by Armand’s naked despair, wounded that even this isn’t enough.

His hands hurt - every fiber of him hurts - a live wire, raw and ragged and sparking. That’s Daniel Molloy, boy-reporter: a ruined man, shorting out and burning himself up from the inside. Is this enough for you? He thinks. Enjoy before your warranty expires.

“Stop it, Jesus, you’re gonna — ” Daniel grimaces, blinking away the sight of Armand on the bed like that, so fragile and so monstrous. He isn’t sure what he meant to say, what words died in his throat as he half looks away, embarassed and ashamed by the nakedness of feeling. "Don’t you dare ask me that. Don’t you fucking ask me that. It’s not the same.”

Light pulses behind his eyes, pulls on the nerves woven through the lattice of his skull like the fistful of a careless child, and he brings up a hand to squint away the pain.

Fuck. Fuck.

“This isn’t some ‘til-death-do you-part’ bullshit vow. Don’t you have any idea what it’s like?” Daniel leans into the pain - it’s pissing him off, sharpening the edge. He offered an out - he did. And he knows it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t real; it was just some half-assed excuse, too tired for this familiar old fight. But Armand wouldn’t let this of all things die, and Daniel found his second wind. “Don’t come at me with pretty words about mortality. I’ve heard it before, from you and Louis and Keats and Neruda and Shelley. It’s all the same.”

caravaggiovagabond‌:

After everything that he’s lived through, consensually or otherwise, Daniel is the only one who, in this day and age, could possibly rip such unfiltered feeling from him – intentionally or otherwise. The intensity of this - of what they are - has such a habit of racing from 0 to 100 in milliseconds; entwined as lovers one moment and a raging war the next. And for what? All because Armand loves him more than Daniel thinks, than Daniel could ever comprehend. Even wretched and enraged, Armand could never bear to part with this and trade it for some cold, dead imposter.

“Then why won’t you listen?” he begs. “Do you think that we all say it for the sake of our hea-ealth?”

His voice, though reedy and underdeveloped, has always been so clear. Now, it is broken with hiccuped sobs and jumping like a scratched record.

“Of course I know what it’s like, I’ve been on both sides, haven’t I? And believe me, I would take death first. I would take death one thousand times before this!”

If it was so simple, if he thought that he could live with himself for it, of course he would change Daniel. But he knows that to do so would be a date worse than death. All of it, from the process of creation itself to the loss of the very essence of Daniel’s humanity… he can’t. He curls in on himself, arms coming to wrap loosely around his torso as though trying to comfort himself, the fight suddenly seeming to drain out of him and leave him helpless instead. He wipes his sleeves across his face and then leaves his wrist there to cover his mouth, to stifle any further cries.

It’s so much easier to be angry. It’s easier when Armand is angry, too. But this - this wretched, hiccoughing misery - Daniel doesn’t know what to do with this. How small Armand looks, folding in on himself in a kind of helpless resignation. Armand - giving up ? - he doesn’t know what it is, but the wrongness of it makes him angry.

How’s this any better? Daniel thinks. Living off crank and cough syrup. Not eating, not sleeping. He hasn’t seen the sunlight in weeks. This isn’t being alive. This is barely being human.

Where the hell do we go from here? It’s as much a thought for himself as a challenge, bold-faced; direct - to Armand. Where the hell do we go?

Daniel stares at him, bleary-eyed, barefoot among the broken things.

“Quit it,” he says lowly. “C’mon, just — ” Just what? Now that’s bad writing, building the suspense without fulfillment. This makes for the shittiest story. Daniel has always loved speculative fiction; worlds parallel to their own, something just close enough to see the reflection of what you know. But something different, something bigger than the awful, looming monotony of an ordinary life. It had been so goddamn simple to transcribe Louis’ words, to insert himself only in the spaces left in-between. “The boy” wasn’t really him, wasn’t really Daniel so much as it had been the world. The audience’s oeuvre into this fucked up, violent, beautiful other life he had tumbled into.

But he’s living it now, or - living alongside it. That’s worse. To be so close to feel it and never to break inside. No matter how many times Daniel might beat his fists against the shell, no matter how it fractures - how Armand fractures - he can find no purchase. And each time, he finds himself slipping, loose and unstrung, falling deeper and deeper into the void. Don’t you see, Armand? One of these days, I’m not going to get out again.

He doesn’t want to write this story anymore. Not now, not that it’s his.

“Goddamn you. So just kill me already. You’re doing it anyway. God damn you.”

Daniel’s fists clench and unclench, casting long, distorted shadows in the shitty light of the flophouse room. He sits again on the bed with the creak of the cheap metal springs, hunched and sullen next to the figure of the wounded boy weeping silently beside him. Daniel says nothing else, staring hollowly at the stain in the peeling wallpaper, imagining it resolving into the shape of a long-legged insect with fractal wings and the smell of blood.

#alcoholism //#drug reference //#caravaggiovagabond #thread: same old dance.#verse: 1980s.

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tryvyalsynnes · 5 years

Text

Hawke’s Mabari

I finally get to post the gorgeous art @lethendralis-paints made for this fic! I’m so excited to be posting the first chapter of my first actual fic in two years!!

Fenris’ consciousness ticked him awake, alerting him to something, but his mind didn’t tell him what it was. Fenris groaned and rolled onto his back, wincing, shielding his eyes with an arm. Sunlight was streaming through the holes in his ceiling.

There it was again—the noise, a barely audible scratching and faint banging coming from outside of his room.

Yawning, he sat up, swung his feet to the floor and rested his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, and then picked his leathers off the floor, shook them out, slid into the leggings and shrugged into his tunic, not bothering to fasten the clasps. The noise didn’t sound dangerous. It was probably being made by a cat or a rat.

Still yawning, he made his way down the stairs and stumbled through his gloomy greatroom, still not awake enough to see. The scratching was coming from his front door. It was insistent and repetitive—scratch, scratch… scratch, scratch—as if whoever was making the noise was pausing to listen.

“Coming,” he called, and the noise stopped. He cracked open the door and peeked blearily out.

Hawke’s massive mabari, Maric, pushed the gap wider and forced his way inside, and then turned and grinned, panting with its tongue hanging out.

Fenris examined the outside of his door. There were new, deep claw marks through greying wood and peeling paint.

Ruefully, he shut it and turned to the dog, curious. “To what do I owe this honor?”

Seeing the mabari without Hawke was unusual. The war hound barely ever went visiting; he was always either sleeping in front of Hawke’s fireplace or with Hawke. Maric was wearing kit, too. He had his armor and backpack on.

The mabari barked happily and jumped up. Fenris jerked away as the beast’s huge jaws clomped together near his cheek in greeting.

The dog took off, scrambling through Fenris’ mansion and into his room, scattering tiles and bits of mushroom. Fenris followed at a slower pace, and found the hound sitting by his armour, pawing and nosing it, his tail wagging.

“You want me to dress? To come with you?” Fenris asked, staring. “What is this about?”

The dog barked a sharp affirmative to each question, his tongue lolling out happily.

“All right, let me wash.” Fenris was fully awake. A visit without Hawke was strange enough, but having the dog invite him out had never happened before. He snatched a towel from the floor and strode to his bath.

After a quick scrub, the dog watched approvingly while he strapped on his armour, and then led the way to Fenris’ kitchen where he inspected and restocked the warrior’s pack. At the dog’s insistence, the confused elf kept adding bread and cheese and smoked meat and vegetables and apples until there was nothing left on his shelves.

At Fenris’ weapon rack, the mabari picked out a greatsword. Fenris didn’t object; he was mystified but fully engaged; each new demand was like a piece to a puzzle he had to solve. The sword was one of his favorites, a gift from Hawke, but he couldn’t help teasing a little. “Not an axe or a maul?”

The dog barked at him crossly. Fenris hooked the greatsword on his back, burning with curiosity, and followed the war hound to his next task, gathering every skin he had and filling one with fresh water.

When Fenris was properly outfitted, the mabari led the way out of the mansion and took off toward Lowtown at speed, circling back to snap at Fenris’ heels.

“I cannot run here,” Fenris admonished him. “An elf running in Hightown gets stopped by the guard.” It was true, but not exactly fair; anyone not nobly dressed stood a chance of being stopped in Hightown. Fenris knew some of the guard, notable members of the unit, but not all. He kept his head down. The dog whined impatiently but fell into step beside him.

To humor him Fenris loped down the stairs and through parts of Lowtown, only slowing to a walk in the markets. The mabari led the way to Darktown, and they ran through it together.

“Why didn’t we go through Hawke’s cellar... if we were coming here?” Fenris asked between breaths. “Surely Hawke would have... let you use the key?” The dog grumbled at him and tossed his head—no. They kept running until Fenris saw the familiar lanterns at the door of Anders’ clinic. They were lit. The mabari headed straight for the mage’s doors.

“Here?” Fenris asked incredulously, slowing to a walk. Finding out whatever the dog had planned suddenly became a lot less appealing. The war hound sensed his reluctance and woofed impatiently, jumping at the door until Fenris opened it.

Unsurprisingly, Anders was healing. The people Anders shared his space with gave Fenris wary, shadowed looks, no doubt remembering the fight the two of them had last time he had come. Anders’ patient was a surly human who had an arm in a makeshift splint and looked like a sailor.

Anders looked up and his eyes narrowed. “Fenris? Are you hurt?”

“No,” Fenris answered shortly.

“Then what—?”

Fenris gestured at the dog sitting next to him who was drooling and wagging his tail. “This was his idea.”

The mabari huffed in agreement. Anders’ staff was leaning nearby against a wall. Maric clamped it in his jaws and brought it to Anders, dropping it on the ground at his feet.

“What—no! I don’t want to play fetch or whatever, especially not with my staff!” Anders angrily seized his weapon, scowling at the slobber on it. “I’m busy and you’re in the way! Bad dog! Sit!”

The mabari’s ears flattened and his hackles rose. He snarled and barked back, spit flying and canines flashing. The healer recoiled.

Although he was tempted by the idea of seeing Anders bitten for rudeness, Fenris thought he’d better step between them. There were only a few patients in the clinic, as far as he could tell.

“We can wait. Right?” he asked the dog, holding his hands up soothingly. “You knew he might be working.”

The mabari growled. He stalked stiff-legged to a nearby cooking fire and lay down, staring pointedly at Anders.

Fenris followed him, easing his pack off his shoulders and setting it down beside the war hound. He returned to Anders and helped the mage remove the splint from the injured man. The man hissed and cursed as the healer reset the bone.

“What’s this about?” Anders sent a sidelong scowl at the dog.

Anders’ poor humor was mostly due to fatigue, Fenris saw. There were bags under the mage’s eyes. He looked unkempt and frazzled; some of his hair was flying loose, and his stubble was patchy, too long in some places. “A trip out of town, I think. He made me put together two days worth of supplies.”

“Two days? No.” Anders cast, his hands glowing with blue-white light. “No way. I can’t be gone that long.”

“You could use the break. You look like something spat up by a demon.” Fenris took a quick look at the mage’s shelves. “You are running low on reagents. Come along to gather some herbs.”

“That’s at most an afternoon’s worth of work, not two days! There’s always a risk of chokedamp after it rains, and three ships from Antiva docked this morning. I need to be here.”

“Aye, it means the pox, it does,” the sailor added helpfully, bending and stretching his arm.

“There are other healers in Kirkwall. Circumstance might make the Order allow Gallows mages to use their powers as the Maker intended.” Fenris suggested glibly.

The mage’s scowl deepened. “Don’t start,” he snapped.

“Many thanks, healer.” the sailor’s sour expression lightened into a smile. He slapped three silvers onto the cot before Anders could object, picked up his coat and left. Anders collected the coins with a sigh.

Fenris followed Anders to the next patient, a stout warrior with a lacerated lip and a black eye. He leaned his back against the cot, folded his arms and stared at the floor. There had to be some way to get Anders to agree to come.

“I could forgive some of your gambling debts,” Fenris offered. Anders ignored him. Reluctantly, Fenris added another bribe. “I’ll help process the herbs—cut up elfroot, powder embrium, boil spindleweed...”

Anders considered his proposal, holding the woman’s cut together and healing it.

“If we’re going to be gone for two days, you have to come help in the clinic for two days.”

“Anders—” Fenris warned.

“No pregnancies, I promise, I’ll deal with them,” Anders reassured hastily. “Help me make up salves for the brothels, do the laundry, pull the odd arrow, maybe a bladder stone.”

“Kidney stones too?” asked the warrior hopefully. “I don’t want to pass another one of those.”

“You might prefer it to my searching through your innards. I’m not a mage or a surgeon.” Fenris informed her darkly, and she blanched. He tried to think of a way out. “I have to work. I can’t be here for the entire day.”

“You probably won’t have another,” Anders soothed the woman, patting her shoulder. “There’s one left and it’s small, it most likely will never come out. Eat less cheese.”

To Fenris he insisted, “You spend most of your time drinking and moping. Two full days, unless you get work, or no deal.”

Kaffas.

“Done,” Fenris sighed resignedly. “I’ll douse the lanterns. We’re leaving as soon as you’re finished.”

He shook his head. Two whole days in the clinic, in the healer’s company.

It was Anders’ educated opinion that Fenris was capable of far more than Danarius had intended, and since he was a mage and Anders, he didn’t listen to Fenris’ objections.

For his part, Fenris knew little or nothing about how he had been created—only that Danarius had meant him to be a weapon—and had to admit he didn’t know what his full abilities could be. He was always becoming more attuned to his tattoos. He also had trouble looking into the desperate eyes of Anders’ patients and their families. His solution, so far, had been to avoid Anders and the clinic.

Hawke’s mabari was lying by the fire smiling at him approvingly with his tongue lolling out.

Fenris gave him a black look and mouthed, “You owe me.” The dog shut his mouth and stopped panting.

Together they went through Anders’ kit while the mage finished his work. As usual, Anders had no rations. There wasn’t a scrap of food in the clinic to pack. Fenris added hunger as another source of the mage’s foul temper. Fenris usually took care of victuals when they went with Hawke; they were a team and shared a tent, Hawke preferring the company of his better-humored friends to either of theirs. Anders had charge of their tent, a hand-held crossbow and extra blankets, and Fenris took care of their food, water, and cookware.

When the last patient had been ushered out the door, Anders picked up the tent and slung it on his back. The three of them set off for Lowtown, Hawke’s mabari leading the way.

“What are we doing?” Anders grumbled. “Are we actually going to follow the dog wherever he decides to go?”

The war hound stopped in the Lowtown market outside a butcher’s window. Sausage links lay in baskets behind the counter. The stall smelled of smoke and herbs. It was heavenly, and Fenris’ mouth began to water.

“Why are we here?” Anders leaned against the wall of the building. He scoffed when the dog pointed with his nose at a hanging carcass of a druffalo. “You can’t be serious.”

“You are carrying it.” Fenris told the dog.

The butcher appeared from the darkness at the back of the shop, wiping bloody hands on his apron. “What’ll ye have?”

The war hound peered up into Fenris’ eyes and cocked his head expectantly.

Sighing, Fenris began to guess. “Flank? Ribs? Haunch?” The dog barked. “Haunch. How much?”

The butcher leaned his elbows on the counter, sneering, looking him up and down. “Five silver.”

“That’s outrageous. That price is robbery.” Anders stepped into the butcher’s view. “It’s because he’s an elf, isn’t it?”

“It’s all right, Anders, I have the money.” Fenris muttered. He kept his eyes down and dug into his coin pouch.

“That’s not the point. How’s the hand, Moritz? One silver, thirty copper.”

“Oh, healer. I didn’t see you there.” Moritz’ tone became polite. Fenris noticed a long scar across the man’s palm when he patted the side of the carcass. “This ‘ere was meadow raised, came from a farm in the Marches. Three silver, eighty copper.”

“The forced march to Kirkwall was obviously too much for her. There’s no fat on her and you’re a thankless reprobate,” Anders snapped. “Two silver, ten copper.”

The butcher stared at him incredulously. “’Ere, listen, perhaps the cut isn’t for ye. It’s for the dog, yah? I’ve got offal and ends. Pigs’ ears and feet, fat, heart, brain, lung, liver, bones, beaks, and butt holes. Nug bits. Rat and pigeon too, naught but skin and best for soup. I’ll show ye.” He started to set baskets and trays onto the counter. Maric jumped up and barked with delight.

The butcher wrapped and tied the mabari’s purchases neatly in waxed paper and hemp string, and Fenris loaded them into the dog’s backpack. With the money he saved, he bought the three of them a smoked sausage each, and at other stalls, some sack, and pastries for the road. The war hound held an end of his sausage to the ground with a paw and tore off chunks, devouring it.

“I don’t feel so bad about losing to you at cards now. Do you always have to pay so much?” Anders bit the end off his link.

Fenris shrugged, his mouth full. Prices could be higher for elves. Some shopkeepers made a show of not wanting elven business and charged double or triple, and no one stopped them. Merrill had a sweet way about her, so she didn’t have to pay as much, but Fenris paid what was asked. Neither money nor the opinions of human merchants meant much to him, and he didn’t like haggling. If he couldn’t buy what he wanted, he usually stole it; it made up the difference. “Thank you for leaping to my defense.”

“It was unjust.” Anders took another bite. “That Moritz has some gall. He cut himself so badly last spring I nearly had to amputate. I spent an hour and two bottles of lyrium reconnecting nerves, and this is his thanks?”

Fenris shrugged again. The right to haphazardly interfere with a man’s livelihood might be a bit much to expect. He also had a suspicion druffalo meat might be more expensive than Anders supposed—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the healer eat it—but kept his peace. They’d be fighting soon enough. There was no reason to begin so soon over something so inconsequential.

Hawke’s dog paused at the north gate and waited by the fountain until Fenris had filled the water skins. They followed the mabari into the wilds and it soon became clear that Maric was heading for the Wounded Coast.

Fenris was glad he had come. The weather was fine; a cool breeze was sweeping from the ocean.

He had been right about the mage; Anders needed a rest. The mage straightened, his step quickened, and he looked ahead eagerly, smiling. The weight of his concerns seemed to fall away. “Should we be going by ourselves? I don’t fancy running into bandits.”

“We will scout, but I do not think we need to worry. We walked every path and cave with Hawke a week ago. There was nothing. There has not been much since that gang with the mabari hounds, and we killed the only dragon.”

“That’s true, and we have a hound with us who can smell out any threat.” Anders reached out and petted the dog.

The mabari leaned into his hand and woofed an agreement. He ran ahead of them on the path and off it, crashing through the scrubby brush, doubling back, sniffing the ground, leading them farther into the hills. They ambled after him. The dog was looking for something, and his manner got more urgent.

“I wonder what we are doing here.” Anders paused and leaned on his staff, watching the dog search.

Fenris hummed and nodded, offering the skin of wine he’d bought. Anders took it. Even though the healer couldn’t get drunk, he still liked the taste of alcohol.

They walked for most of the day, back and forth all over the coast. Hawke’s mabari paused often and howled. He was expecting something, but nothing happened.

Fenris killed a rabbit; Anders made them stop when he saw herbs he needed.

Eventually they got to a clearing as far up into the hills as they could get; they could see for miles in every direction. Anders’ bag was full of spindleweed and elfroot.

The hound sniffed through the clearing slowly in a wide circle, and then sat in the middle of it, dejected. He threw back his head and howled mournfully.

Anders found a rock and sat. “It appears we’re at the end of our journey. It’s a pity.”

Fenris climbed a prominence and looked around. He did not know what he was looking for, but he hoped his keen elven eyesight might serve the dog and see something, nonetheless. It seemed a shame that after so much effort, the poor animal would not be able to carry out his goal, whatever it was. The mabari chuffed sadly between howls, ears drooping.

It had been noon by the time they had set out, and now the sun was dropping in the sky. Fenris was about to step down from the rock and begin setting up camp when there was a low, angry, rumbling growl from underbrush.

He crouched and put his hand on the haft of his sword. There was something massive near them. He could see its hulking shape in the bush, but not what it was. He and Anders looked at each other.

Anders was still sitting, appearing unconcerned, smiling. The tips of his fingers winked white with a cold spell. The mabari let out a surprised, joyful bark and a welcoming whine, and his muzzle split into a wide, panting smile.

A huge war hound crept from the scrub. Her hackles were standing, and her teeth were bared in a ferocious snarl.

She was fearsome, larger than Hawke’s hound, and much meaner looking; her body was taut and rippled with muscle. A long, deep, badly-healing wound ran from the top of her head down to her jowl; whatever had made it had taken an eye. Her ears were nicked and flattened close to her skull. She growled and gathered herself threateningly, head low and tail raised, poised to spring at one of them.

“Oh, isn’t she lovely,” Anders grinned.

Maric huffed in agreement and scrambled to meet her, whining. She snapped at him angrily and he danced away from her, circling, insistent, trying to smell her. She snarled at him but Fenris could tell she was softening. Hawke’s dog was being very polite; his head and ears were down. He got his way and they sniffed each other’s bums and then she let him put his nose close to hers.

“A female?” Fenris let out the breath he was holding and stood straight. “Is this why you brought us all the way up here? So you could go on a date?”

Anders chuckled, and then he laughed and stood, leaning on his staff. “They’re well past dating.”

The war hounds looked at him. Maric’s expression was hopeful and he leaned forward, his tail wagging. The female mabari stance was less open. She kept her head down and her tail up like a standard, glaring at Anders.

“I was wondering why you wanted me along. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” Anders laughed again. “They’re fine. They’re all healthy and growing well. Congratulations.”

#fic #writing #my writing #lethendralis paints #gorgeous art by lethendralis-paints #i finally wrote it #yay #hawke's mabari

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cocomoraine · 5 years

Text

Meet Me At Chernobyl (And At St.Petersburg)

This is the result of me ignoring my studies, then watched a romance film, and got ideas.

Here’s a little drabble, and I’ve got to stop getting fic ideas from everyday things I see, hear, smell, eat, and feel, damn, I need to study. This is a short thing, just a mess of thoughts put up by me, so I may not be posting this to A03, because, yup reasons. Unless, you guys think I should? I also used tons of liberties from the ideas generated by the lovely and amazing people at the discord of hell, so thank you sm guys!

Rating: probably just Gen. Just watch out for some internalized homophobia, and talks about death. Otherwise, it's all romantic movie tropes. Unbeta’ed because this is a spur of the moment reaction. WARNING. IT'S SO EFFING LONG OMG. (3k words, I am at disbelief with my self sometimes)

Here y’all go.

Meet Me At Chernobyl (And At St. Petersburg)

1956 (Moscow)

Valery Legasov turned towards the warm coffee shop, intent on just ordering one black coffee to satisfy the employee, and prevent him from getting kicked out so he can organize his papers in peace.

Kurchatov Institute may want him, but he has to prove himself in order to officially get in. If he will not be able to pass this paper in time, with the correct answers, he might officially ruin his chance to step inside Kurchatov.

Settling in at a table near the window, Valery instantly bent down to finish his work. He didn’t notice the door of the small coffee shop he just found at random open to admit a middle-aged man, wearing a dark coat and gloves, face covered by the hat he is wearing.

Valery is within his own world, that he didn’t notice the newcomer coming towards his table.

A deep voice resounded above him. “I don’t usually deliver other people’s orders, but the coffee is so strong it would be such a waste not to give it to you.”

Valery’s head shot up.

The man, late thirties, has removed his hat, and now holding out a cup of black coffee towards him.

Valery’s jawed dropped. He stammered out excuses. “Oh god, I truly apologize, I have forgotten about that, it just I am so preoccupied with these papers I have to finish so I can…”

“Take the goddamn cup, will you.”

Valery instantly stopped talking, and took it. Placing it at the far end of the table, away from his precious papers. He blushed, refusing to meet the stranger’s eyes.

“I apologize, please, don’t let me be on your way, I just--”

Valery shuffled his papers again. He looked at the man.

“Did I?”

“You at least managed to pay for it before just sitting out here, expecting for the worker himself to serve it to you. You really are taking advantage of the working class--”

“Again, I didn’t mean to.” Valery looked for the man on the register. He waved and raised his voice. “Keep the change!”

The man nodded. The other man in front of him smiled, albeit little.

Valery took a good look at him. Politician. He might be older than me, but he still looks good, for his age.

“It’s rude to stare.”

Valery blushed.

“At least invite me to your table first.”

“What?”

The stranger looked at him, then pretty much seated himself at the table. Valery was shocked.

“Kurchatov?”

Valery was having a whiplash with everything that has happened, he can only nod mutely as an answer to the question.

“Are you a little young to be working there?”

“I am not. I mean, I am not working there, yet.”

“You are trying to get in? Impressive, especially for a man of your age.”

Valery looked at the man. There are no hint of ridicule or judgment in his eyes, only open curiosity and a little bit of awe.

“Shcherbina.”

He extended his hand towards Valery. Valery could only stare at it for a few seconds.

He swallowed. Stop being so rude, Valery. Appreciate this good looking stranger getting to know you.

“Legasov.”

“Tell me your whole name, after I place my order.”

The man stood, but Valery knows he will be back.

***

“How come I already told you mine, but you still haven’t said yours?”

The stranger’s smile fallen off his face. Valery was afraid he might have offended the man, then, he would sentence him to death by a thousand shots he is an apparatchik for god’s sakes, well, by the looks of it, but he spoke.

“Boris. Boris Shcherbina.”

“Well, Boris,” the way his name feels on his lips, “What else do you think we can talk about?”

***

They talked for almost 2 hours, Valery nearly finishing his paper, when Boris stood, take a look at his watch, and smiled ruefully.

“I have to be off. Things would go to shit down there if I stayed out longer, though I deserve it for putting up with a lot of them.”

Valery was writing the final equation, then looked up at him.

“What it is that you do, really?”

Boris smiled.

“You are a smart man, Legasov. You can figure it out. Till next time.”

The man put on his hat, and walked out of the coffee shop.

Valery’s eyes followed him until he disappeared into the streets. He took a look at his own watch. 7 pm.

I was only supposed to be here for just 30 mins.

He never saw Boris again.

1966 (Kurchatov Institute of Atomic Energy)

Valery wanted nothing more but to go home and rest, but his superior said he needed to stay, especially that some Career Party men have made their way to this event, and of course, to make sure they are on the good side of the Party, so that they will provide them the budget they need for future projects, which are all good in Valery’s opinion.

But socializing for a whole night is not made for him.

He was quietly listening to whatever his superior said to the apparatchik I forgot his name already, when someone at his back bumped him, nearly making me spill the vodka into his superior’s clothes.

Luckily, a steady hand braced the movement, avoiding the disaster.

“You need to pay more attention to yourself, Comrade Legasov.”

That voice.

“Comrade Shcherbina?”

“I am flattered you still remembered me.”

Valery ducked his head to avoid the piercing gaze both from his superior and from Boris. He adjusted his glasses.

“Memory served me quite well, despite all the work here at the Institute.”

Boris smiled. One of the apparatchiks engaged in an earlier conversation with Valery’s superior asked, “You two seems to have been acquainted. How did you meet?”

Valery was frozen, he didn’t know how to phrase his chance meeting with this man that has never left his head since last time into a more polite, and something free from insinuations, but luckily for him, Boris took the wheel.

“I just passed by him here at Kurchatov during one of my earlier visits. He does have a reputation here, so clearly, a name you cannot easily displace.”

The warmth emanating from Boris felt like a welcoming gratitude for Valery.

***

“How have you been?”

“Don’t play that game, Boris. It doesn’t suit you.”

They were talking, some semblance of being alone, at the outskirts of the function hall.

“You and all career Party men at least have an idea of almost every project done here at Kurchatov. And we are trying our best to please you all, so the support will keep on coming.”

“Kurchatov has been good to you, Valery, it seems. Looks like a road to directorship not far from here.”

“Nonsense. It will be a long time for such a daunting task.”

They looked at each other, some intensity and unlabeled emotion dancing around their eyes. Was it always been there? Since that chance meeting at a coffee shop?

Valery dropped the gaze first. He can’t do this. Not now. Not here. It’s wrong. His eyes immediately get caught around the golden band in Boris’s left hand. His brain short-circuited.

“I suppose, congratulations are in order?”

Valery sounded hollow even to his own ears. How is this even possible, it cannot be.

Boris followed Valery’s gaze. His face immediately became a mixture of forced happiness, and politeness. “Yes. I’ve married her last June. We’ve been together for almost three years, before tying the knot.”

Three years. Including that time I met you.

“Congratulations, Boris.”

Valery walked away, taking a large gulp of vodka, intent on leaving the institute, and go home, to sort whatever mess of thoughts his brain is concocting on him now.

Valery didn’t see the faraway look Boris gave to him as he watched him walk away.

April 26, 1986

Valery was awoken to the sound of his telephone ringing.

He never knew that his life will never be the same again after that phone call.

“Professor Legasov?”

It cannot be.

“Yes, speaking.”

“Professor Legasov, no time for pleasantries. There has been an accident at Chernobyl.”

1986 (Chernobyl)

They eventually found the time to talk about the two of them, in the middle of a radiation poisoned land, in the middle of both a political and international crisis, in the middle of them arguing, politics versus science, in the middle of sentencing thousands of men to their deaths, in the middle of conspiracies and buried truths, in the middle of a tragedy.

Valery Legasov gave all of the time, energy, knowledge, expertise, his life, to fix Chernobyl. Boris by his side, his rock, his friend, is he stopping there. Being his friend.

Boris Shcherbina gave everything he had, the power, the influence, all the men, equipment, lunar rovers, anything Valery needed. Valery always by his side, the voice of reason, of salvation, his friend, is he stopping there. Being his friend.

Valery has no one he can fully call his friends. Except maybe for Ulana, a woman stronger than him in more ways than one, and Boris. His Boris.

“Valera.”

The moment he called him that, Valery couldn't take it anymore. Whatever thing he held for the man in front of him now, it finally made sense, when he told him they would be dead in five years, he understood.

He noticed, he never saw the gold band in Boris’ left hand since they arrived at Chernobyl.

***

Boris wanted nothing more but to finally put a label to what he feels for the man he met at a random coffee shop in Moscow. But they are now in the middle of a disaster larger than both of them.

It shouldn’t be the place for something called love to bloom.

Yet in the radioactive wasteland Chernobyl has become, the seed was planted. And it grew.

***

Boris and Valery kissed, silently, desperately, tearfully, inside Valery’s room in the hotel. They never asked about the absence of the gold band in Boris’ left hand, or how long did you felt this way?

They never asked questions about it. For they are both afraid of the answers it brings.

***

“To hell with our lives.”

Valery and Boris were brought together by invisible forces. Twice. But now, they were brought together by the system. And now, Boris will lose Valery Legasov through it.

The truth indeed hurts more, it will forever hurt their love and both of them.

***

In the middle of a sunny, abandoned park in Chernobyl’s Exclusion Zone, Valery told Boris that he was the man who mattered the most. Boris tried to fight for whatever they have. To keep this last piece of heaven and goodness he had found. That they both found.

Realism is something Boris should’ve had since being a career Party man. He prided himself for being the voice of reason and realism to Valery ever since the start, but now, he was willing to abandon it all for what he and Valery found. What he and Valery shared. He was willing to throw it all away for them, for this.

But sooner, Boris will discover, in the most painful way as possible, that whatever he was willing to give up for them, Valery also did the same.

Twice the value over.

“Maybe we are just meant to go by one another. Always a passerby. That is what we are. Lovers in passing. Never stayed. Never truly left.”

(St. Petersburg)

The starkness of the snow falling into Valery’s face brings out the cold, but he welcomed it. The cool air around calms him and his nerves.

For the first time in a while, Valery felt calm, his breath sending up smoke into the air. He was watching the snow fall from the sky, then turned to look at his surroundings.

The people around were mostly minimal. They all go on their ways, as if all of them had a destination, unlike him. Valery is mostly here to look around, enjoy the sights, and the weather.

He felt, peace.

He suddenly bumped into a tall man, wearing a dark coat. Just by seeing the back of the man’s head, he knows, ohmygod, it can’t, how?

Boris turned, the initial shock and a little bit of annoyance vanishing in his face the moment their eyes met.

And somehow, despite the snow falling into them, the warmth came back full force, unstoppable.

***

“The city just looks wonderful this time of the year, isn’t it? I find it kind of surprising that not a lot of people are outdoors.” Valery mused aloud. One thing he learned from Boris is that, the man will listen to him no matter what thoughts he voiced out. He may not agree with all of it, but he will listen. No wonder I was so captivated by him even the first time I met him.

“Well, not all people can survive walking around in this cold weather.” Boris smiled, it made his face years younger. The effects and shadows of radiation, gone, from his face. Valery tried to estimate the state of Boris’ health just by looking at him. All the past shadows that bought him and this man down, seemed faded and not present in this time, as they walk around the city.

“It’s not that cold” Valery raised an eyebrow.

Boris turned to him, judging from his eyes, he is also looking straight into Valery, calculating or seeing the changes brought on by radiation to the scientist. But like himself, Boris could find close to nothing.

“It’s snowing, and it looks like it will continue on for a few more hours.” He held his arm out to Valery. It might be cold, but he knows Valera, he would continue on exploring, until all of his curiosities are satiated.

“Shall we?”

Valery held into Boris’ arm. People be damned. Let me have this. Let us have this.

Valery smiled. “It's not that cold, really.”

***

They walked and talked, all those things they can think of, sooner or later, the topic goes to the territory they tried to avoid back then, but now, it seems there is no running away from it.

“Did you ever find peace doing it, Valera?”

Valery smiled, never met Boris’ eyes. “I know they will do their best.”

Boris stopped walking and turned to him. “Valera,”

“What has happened, will stay that way, Borja. The only thing we can do is to go on.”

“Do you still believe we are just meant to be in passing?”

Valery suddenly felt cold, despite walking around the snow-laden city for almost an hour now, he never felt the chill. But now, it's there.

“What happened to her?”

They both know what ‘her’ meant.

Boris looked far into the horizon, the snow, and trees around them. “She stopped loving me the moment she married me. Ironic isn’t it?”

Valery’s face remained impassive.

“She told me it’s because I have changed, since that day I was assigned to the Kremlin. When I came home, after going to a random coffee shop my secretary said to me, just because I wanted to get myself coffee on my own for the first time. I changed that day, and she said I never became the same again. She married me because it was expected of us, and she wanted to protect me. At first, I balked at the idea. But all she wanted at the end of the day was the best for me. We became friends, but sooner, the work just drifted us away. She filed for divorce the day I was sent to Chernobyl.”

“I’m, forgive me, I’m sorry, Borja.”

“Don’t be, at least, now I’ve relieved you of the burden.”

They turned to one another, eyes meeting, the unspoken emotion flowing. “You don’t need to burden yourself, Valera, because this time, we are free, and we have each other.”

“Do you think it would be easy, Borja? That just because she left you, that things would be back to the way they were? We are broken men, we have seen too much, done too much. We will never go back to the way we were once then. Maybe that is the reason why we always just pass each other by, never staying, never truly leaving.”

Boris took one of Valery’s hands. It felt warm, despite the gloves covering it. Warm. Solid. Alive. As it could be.

“There is no such thing as going back to the way we were back then. You said it yourself, Valera, what has happened, will stay that way. The only thing we can do is to go on.”

We are here, and we have this place, we have each other. For me, that is enough. I can only hope that for you, it will be also.”

Valery looked at Boris. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to go. But there is no other place I would rather be.

He buried his face into the crook of Boris’ neck. We could have this. We could have each other. Maybe it’s more than enough. Maybe, we can be more than passersby this time. Maybe this time, we can both stay and never leave.

“It is, Borja. It is enough.”

***

If you catch my eye across a crowded room

I'll fall into the atmosphere surrounding you

If you pull me close just to disappear

The chances are I'd wait for you a thousand years

If you light the fuse you know that I'll react

If you wrap us in your love just to take it back

You could hurt somebody like that

#valoris #shchergasov #fic ideas #fanfic #drabble #inspired by the movie meet me in st. gallen #but happier ending #hi cocomoraine here how may i help you #cocomoraine writes

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the-irish-mayhem · 5 years

Text

Ragnarok AU. Despite his hunt for the Infinity Stones taking him far beyond Jane’s galaxy, Thor had always managed to get word to her that he was safe. When months pass without any word from him, Lady Sif arrives with a dire message: Thor has gone missing, Heimdall has been removed from his post as Gatekeeper, and the Warriors Three wonder if their king is truly Odin.

rebuild all your ruins.

Read on AO3

I. Prologue / II. Theren

“Thor is missing, and the realms are in grave danger, and you are the only person who can help me.”

Jane’s shock at seeing Sif made the worry that had been gnawing at her gut solidify into a heavy brick.

“Is he alive?” she asked, suddenly hyperaware of how warm she was. Her fingers tightened on the door knob. She thought of Thor how she’d last seen him, so broad and warm and seemingly indestructible--

Sif sighed. “We don’t know.”

“Okay,” Jane breathed, determinedly telling the brick in her stomach to kindly fuck off. “Okay. Do you--just come in,” she said and stepped away from the door, allowing Sif into their hotel room and closing the door behind her.

There was a not insignificant part of Jane that suddenly felt self conscious, like when she first got up in front of her upper division Experimental Physics Methods class to answer a question, and she felt the odd urge to straighten the rumpled covers on the beds, stow her and Darcy’s food containers, make their space somehow more than a mid-budget hotel room. This part of her, though, was not strong enough to overtake the fear, shock, and confusion thrumming through her.

Darcy was standing now, looking between Jane and Sif, and Jane said, “Sif, this is my assistant Darcy. Darcy, Sif.”

Sif stepped forward, and reached a hand out. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Darcy met Jane’s eyes before she reached out and took Sif’s hand. Darcy had heard plenty about Jane’s feelings regarding Sif--which were not disparaging thoughts, exactly, but rather more on the self-deprecating side. Jane liked to think she was past that, but old jealousy can be hard to shake completely. Especially when the object of her jealousy was standing right here, looking like she’d stepped off the catwalk and could walk on the battlefield in a blink.

“You too,” Darcy answered with an easy smile. “I didn’t think Asgardians knew how to shake hands.”

Sif smiled back, fondness in her tone when she said, “I have some friends on Midgard who helped me apprehend a criminal not terribly long ago. I’ve made a habit to visit when I can, and they’ve been kind enough to impart me with a great amount of knowledge of your customs. Perhaps you know them? SHIELD?”

Both Darcy and Jane shared a yikes look between them.

“When was the last time you were here?” Jane asked.

Sif replied, “Do not worry, I am aware of the fallout that Hydra caused. My friends were fortunately on the right side. They continue their fight against Hydra even now.”

Jane didn’t really want to get into it with Sif about associating with anyone who even brushed shoulders with a bunch of Nazis, but she figured now wasn’t the time to throw that opinion out there. (Not even remotely brushing all the news about SHIELD functioning as a shadow agency with no government oversight or accountability, and all the panic over rogue agents and Inhumans--)

“They helped me locate you,” Sif continued.

“Oh boy,” Darcy said under her breath when Jane started to think maybe it was a good time after all to talk about the Not-Nazis--

“Jane’s not super fond on SHIELD,” Darcy explained quickly. “Stealing research and whatnot. Neither of us are, especially after the Nazi stuff. Long story. Now’s probably not the time to rehash all of that.” Darcy shot a look at Jane that said maybe now isn’t the time to go into that Jewish cultural scar.

Jane knew Darcy was right, and pushed past her reluctance and asked, “Right, so when was the last time you saw Thor?”

Sif sat heavily at the foot of one of the beds. “He returned to Asgard briefly after Midgard’s war with Ultron.”

“It was more like a long weekend,” Darcy said. “But go on.”

“He seemed--” she paused, searching. “Uneasy.”

“He told me he thought something was wrong with his dad,” Jane said, “and that he hadn’t been himself since Frigga was killed.” It had taken Jane a long time to be able to share that thought without automatically completing it as was killed protecting me.

“He hasn’t been,” Sif agreed. “It’s hard to explain precisely, but I know Odin better than I knew my own father. Fandral and Volstagg weren’t entirely convinced, but Hogun agreed that not all was normal.”

Jane nodded. “Thor said that he couldn’t speak freely there.”

Sif looked at Jane quizzically. “How did Thor tell you this?”

“With this,” Jane said and produced the stone from her pocket.

Sif’s eyes widened, and she drew forward off the bed with a start. “A communication stone,” she breathed. “Thor gave you this?”

Jane nodded. “Just before he left.”

“Have you attempted to communicate with him since he went missing?”

Jane’s brow furrowed. “I thought this was only one way?”

Sif shook her head. “Communication stones can function across the known universe.”

Jane’s jaw dropped.

“That--” Her mouth worked for a few seconds but no sound came out. They can function across the known universe. “That bastard.”

Sif seemed confused for a moment before realization set in. “He said you could not contact him.”

“I cannot believe he would lie to me about this!” Jane said, suddenly steaming. “Oh my god, we could’ve been talking this whole time and yet he decided to just cut me out of his adventure like an absolute asshole. When I find him I am going to murder him.” She held up the stone. “You said this could work across the known universe, right?” Sif nodded, if a bit reluctantly. Jane laughed. “This is a quantum entangled communication device, I bet. Physicists have theorized about it for years, but-- I thought it might be, but I haven’t had the time to sit down and study it and I thought that with the restriction of one way communication ruled out the possibility but oh my god, I cannot believe this. That asshole, he is going to be in so much trouble. Oh my god.”

She turns to Darcy. “Call Tony right now. I’m going to need his help if we’re going to find Thor.”

“If it makes any difference,” Sif offered, “I don’t believe his lie was malicious.”

“I’m with her,” Darcy said, phone in hand, likely already dialling Tony.

“Why?” Jane gritted out. “Wouldn’t be the first time he left me behind.”

With the phone up to her ear, Darcy gave her a look that said she would be paying for the irrationality of that comment later, but Sif answered for her.

“Jane, he loves you,” she said, with such finality and certainty it made Jane’s temper come up short for a moment. “You are an intelligent woman. You would have to be to understand the things that you do, so think about this for a moment. Thor set off on a potentially very dangerous mission, and now he is missing, likely being held captive by an enemy of Asgard. Communications between stones like those can be traced. Not easily, granted, but they can be with the proper time and motivation.

“I do not know much about the enemies that he pursued, but I am willing to wager that they would not have hesitated to abduct the prince of Asgard’s motal lover if they knew where to find her.”

Jane’s indignation began to fizzle; still there, no doubt, but now tempered with reason, and maybe a little embarrassment. “They could just ask Us Weekly,” she said. “They seem to always have the inside scoop on Thor’s love life.”

Darcy’s murmured voice from the corner of the room signaled that she’d gotten through to Stark. And Jane truly would need his help. As far as she could tell, using the communication stone would be the only way to find Thor. She had three degrees, but none of them in quantum physics. Her specialty was the big stuff. Astrophysics. Celestial movements. Universe origins. Wormholes. She needed someone who was into the small stuff. A certified quantum physicist, and that certainly wasn’t her. (Not that Tony would be either, but she figured in the interest of discretion and ease of access, he was probably her best bet on finding one.)

“So why are you here?” she finally asked Sif. “I mean, not that I’m-- I’m not-- I just feel like Midgard is probably the worst staging area for a rescue mission, right?”

Sif chuckled. “Not the worst, but not the best; you are correct.” She sat back down on the bed, looking down at her hands. “A few weeks ago, I was sent on an intelligence gathering mission to Knowhere.” She shook her head with a soft scoff. “Whatever prompted Odin to send me there, it was based on bad information. I was compromised almost immediately, and barely escaped the planet with my life. I called for my brother, but he did not answer.”

“Heimdall is your brother?” Darcy asked, rejoining the conversation.

Sif nodded. “He always answers if able, which means the Bifrost is no longer under his control.

“So it is my sinking suspicion that Odin sent me on this mission without intending for me to return.”

Jane swallowed. “He wouldn’t do that.” A heavy beat. “Would he?”

Sif looked up, pain on her face when she answered, “Before Knowhere, I would’ve said absolutely not. But once it happened, I couldn’t help but notice all the strange things about the mission. He wouldn’t allow me to take Hogun with me. Hogun is my preferred partner for such endeavors. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I did one without him.

“Now I can’t help but wonder if he intended to split us up.” She laughed softly. “Saying such things on Asgard would be considered seditious.”

“I’m not particularly fond of Odin after he called me a goat, so feel free to let loose all the seditious thoughts,” Jane said.

Sif shook her head. “It doesn’t matter right now. I ended up on Midgard because the ship I took from Knowhere wouldn’t get me anywhere else, and of the allies I have the universe, I trusted the ones I had here the most given the circumstances. And thus, here I am.”

“And you need Jane to help you get back to Asgard,” Darcy said, “or somewhere. Am I right?”

Sif nods. “I need to find Thor. No one is looking for him,” she said. “The king doesn’t seem to care, my brother can’t send me to him, and Thor told me that if there was anyone in the universe who would be able to achieve Bifrost travel without a Bifrost, it would be you.”

“Oh,” Jane said. It was exactly the kind of thing Thor would say, and despite her lingering annoyance at him for the unwitting protection he’d forced upon her, a surge of pride welled in her chest. “I have been working on a couple of different things. I’m a long ways off from being able to be as precise as the Bifrost. Like, decades off--” and decades was being optimistic, “--but I have developed a device based off my readings from the Convergence that can sense the natural pathways between realms, and we could hypothetically activate them with enough acceleration and friction.”

“We just haven’t been able to produce enough of either of those things,” Darcy finished.

Sif perked up. “Perhaps we can use the ship I arrived in. It’s not exactly the best of vessels, but perhaps pooling our resources would help solve your problems.”

Jane’s heart began to speed up with the promise of new discovery and innovation because maybe Sif was right--maybe the alien tech in the ship would be just the thing her devices needed to finally function. “It won’t be as effective as the Bifrost,” she warned again.

“But it is more than I had when I escaped Asgard,” Sif assured kindly.

(Jane really was wondering now if she’d imagined the animosity all along.)

“We can continue this discussion on our way to the airport,” Darcy said. “Tony has a jet waiting to take us to New York.”

“What about the conference?” Jane asked, suddenly remembering why she couldn’t just jet off to space to slap Thor again.

Darcy waved a hand, already handing Jane her small suitcase. “I called Dr. Rau since he owed you a favor for all the stuff you did for his last paper.”

“Perfect,” Jane breathed. Anish Rau was a fellow astrophysicist and a good friend, who, in Jane’s opinion, would probably benefit more from this conference than she would, given that he was an active professor at Dartmouth. “Thank you, Darcy.”

“Yes, I’m extraordinary. Now make sure you grab your toothbrush and stuff. I’ve already got an Uber waiting for us.” She turned to Sif. “Ever taken an Uber before?”

Sif looked absolutely confused. “I’m afraid the Allspeak is not working as well as it typically does. A what now?”

Ever since she’d first gone through the Bifrost, since she’d been hurtled through space faster than the speed of light and had seen galaxies and stars and nebulae and the full majesty of space blazing past a rainbow barrier of light, Jane had gained a rather romantic view of what wormhole travel would be like when she finally managed it herself. Realistically, she knew it probably wouldn’t be quite as refined as the Bifrost on her first go round, sure.

But somehow, her imagination had never conjured up this scene of her standing on a dusty alien planet, ship half buried in the sand and quite thoroughly engulfed in flames, standing next to Sif with the scalped remains of the Realm Hopper between them and wondering what the hell they were supposed to do now.

Initially, everything had gone exactly according to plan. Almost too well, even.

With Tony’s help, they’d extracted Sif’s ship from where it had crash landed in northern Canada, and Jane, for the first time, felt like she could relate to Luke Skywalker when he looked at the Millenium Falcon and saw a piece of junk. Because Sif’s ship was, quite frankly, a piece of junk. Leaps and bounds ahead of a lot of NASA’s most cutting edge tech in a lot of ways, but then there were also hundreds of blown fuses, large and small dents scattered across the entirety of the ship’s dull silver body, and one whole section of the fuselage seemed to be held shut with the alien equivalent of duct tape and dear hope. It was a four-occupant skiff, bullet-shaped with a few fins jetting off the body, a bit like a oversized model rocket ship. There were several windows crafted of some element not found on Midgard yet, apparently, that achieved diamond-like hardness and glass-like clarity. According to Sif, it was the only part of the ship that was actually worth much.

With a week of work, approximately sixty gallons of coffee, and less than twelve hours of sleep pooled between the two of them, Jane and Tony, plus a small team of trusted SI engineers, had altered the Realm Hopper 2.0 to function parallel to the ship’s (apparently outdated, Sif informed them, with only minor grumbling about how she “much disliked engineering while in school”) engine, which functioned much like the hypothesized Alcubierre drive (in other words, Jane was basically going to be using a Star Trek warp drive. Sweet.)

While they worked on repairing the ship and conducted experiments to make sure they’d be able to actually do this without dying, Darcy worked with Hope van Dyne on the quantum entangled communication stone. She couldn’t come out of hiding with the Sokovia Accords situation, but was sent data and teleconferenced enough for SI engineers to churn out a rudimentary tracking device in less than a week.

Which brought them to a massive crevasse in the Greenland ice sheet. Working off of the information they’d gleaned from the communication stone and Sif’s memory, they’d mapped a basic plan for how they would realm-hop back to Asgard. Jane would have to calculate new entry points on each planet based on where Thor’s transmissions had come from, but it seemed… doable. Actually, not just doable. Possible. Probable. Likely, even.

It didn’t quite feel real until Tony radioed from the site set up a quarter mile west of them. The crevasse, which plunged at least a mile down into the ice sheet, measured about fifty yards across at the mouth, and narrowed down to a few feet within less than 300 yards.

They’d really have to burn it in order to create a wormhole before they smashed into the sides of the crevasse. And with the speeds they’d likely be seeing, Jane knew her chances of survival would be pretty slim, unless there were some magical alien safety features Sif neglected to tell them about in her rundown about the ship and it’s parts.

The ship’s engine hummed as they hovered over the crevasse about three quarters of a mile up from the surface of the ice sheet. If she and Tony had gotten their math right, they needed to reach adequate velocity to open a rift when they were between 240 and 250 yards, so their margin for error was vanishingly small. (There were a lot of Back to the Future jokes tossed around at that particular point in their sleep deprived calculations--late night laughs about getting their Delorean to hit 88 miles per hour at the exact right time.)

Their radio, a shoddy little shortwave thing that would only serve a purpose for their initial preparations, crackled to life with the sound of Tony Stark saying, “Jane, everything is set to specifications. We’ll be getting a shit ton of data for you to look at when you get back.”

She huffed out a little laugh. “When I get back,” she repeated, almost to herself. She depressed the transmitter button. “Darcy, make sure he doesn’t steal any of my data,” she said.

When she released the button, Tony replied, “What, was one Nobel prize not enough for you?”

Darcy’s voice came over the radio then, sharp and vehement. “Stop bantering about data and just don’t die please. And since I know you’re gonna worry about it low key in the back of your brain, yes, we have several backup drives and another at a secondary location. You’ll be able to play back every minute of this absolutely terrifying experience if you so desire it when you get back.” The last four words were said as an absolute threat.

Jane softened. Her one-time intern, now assistant and arguably best friend was one of the few reasons her journey was even possible in the practical sense. Jane was hardly a renegade scientist chasing down fringe theories anymore, she was a highly sought after lecturer and collaborator in the science world. Darcy would be managing the gap her absence left, which was no mean feat.

And on the other, less rational hand… it was nice to be cared about. With Thor being gone, Darcy had effectively become her support system, and the affection that bloomed in her chest at her friend’s worry stole her breath.

“I’ll be fine,” Jane replied back. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Hate to break up the party,” Tony said, “but we have readings showing that molecular destabilization is at optimal. It’s time for you ladies to hit it.”

Jane looked over at Sif, who held the main control yoke. She wasn’t wearing her armor, but was still clothed in her Earth garb, her chestplate and bracers stowed in a leather-looking bag strapped to the back of her seat. Sif gave a resolute nod and reached for the main ignition switches. The ship’s engine began to hum louder, the deep bass of it pulsing through Jane’s neck and chest.

Sharp excitement welled within Jane. Deep down, every scientist who studied space kind of wanted to be an astronaut.

“Engine initializing,” Jane said. “Activating Realm Hopper in 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.” Jane did not have a steering yoke in front of her, but a panel of various switches and dials that would control the wormhole-portion of their engine. She flicked two of the primary startup switches. A sharp, high pitched whir joined the sound of the Alcubierre engine.

Jane felt a smile stretch across her face. It was the sound of the universe at her feet, beckoning her forward. The danger and potential hazards fell away, leaving only pure thrill.

She was about to create her own wormhole, and she was going to cross it.

“I’m the next Neil fucking Armstrong,” she whispered.

Sif maneuvered them into position, tilting the nose of the craft downwards. Gravity pulled Jane forward against her harness. It was a clear day with perfect visibility, so when they were pointed downwards at the crevasse, not a cloud stood between them and the surface but open air.

“Ready?” Sif asked.

Jane could only nod, all of her internal organs having relocated to her throat.

“Engine engaged,” Sif said, and with a flick of one last control panel switch, she pushed the control yoke forward and they literally blasted downwards.

Jane was launched straight backwards into her seat, and though her internal organs may have felt as though they were in her throat, now they felt like they were pressed all the way back against her spine. Her hands dug into the arms of her seat as though her life depended it. The engine began to pulse in a steady one-two rhythm as they approached the terminal velocity. The Realm Hopper’s whine began to get distinctively louder.

The ice sheet was already upon them, and they plunged headlong into the darkness of the crevasse in the blink of an eye.

Jane didn’t even have time to pray to whoever was listening before the familiar streaks of rainbow light began to flash sporadically out the windows and suddenly their craft was bursting through the rift.

Light from the planet’s sun blinded her shocked retinas only for a moment before she adjusted and saw a vast expanse of desert sand, sulfuric yellow with streaks of dark brown across it. Sharp black pillars that looked like thin, tall mountains made the horizon jagged. Jane didn’t have much more time to ogle the world she’d brought them to; Sif cursed as their craft took a sudden dive, the Alcubierre drive whining in a way that did not sound great.

“Try to cycle down the hyperdrive!” Jane shouted over the din of the engine.

Sif grunted a response, and began flicking switches across the dash. The engine did become decidedly quieter, but it still sounded ill and they were still losing altitude. The planetary rift they’d crossed only spit them out about 20 meters off the ground, so there wasn’t much more altitude they could lose before they would crash.

Sif was hauling the control yoke backwards, desperately trying to pull up and decelerate at the same time, and neither was going particularly well.

“Hold on!” Sif shouted before the bottom of the ship made contact with the sand, bouncing harshly and causing the ship to rattle around them. The nose tipped down on the second bounce into the planet surface, harsh vibrations causing Jane’s teeth to clack together as the ship swiftly decelerated. The craft sheared into the yellow sand, the cloud of blowback obscuring their view until the ship finally ground to a halt.

The main viewport was almost completely covered in dust, but there was enough of a gap towards the top of the craft that Jane could look out.

(Crash landing? Unplanned, but Jane was sitting on a literal alien planet! And her tech had gotten them there!)

The sun was shrouded in clouds that had a pink cast, and the ground itself, aside from the yellow tinge, looked a lot like the salt flats seen on Earth. Across the horizon, sharp spires rose up into the sky, black and blurry with distance.

She looked over at Sif in the captain’s seat; she was breathing hard, one hand poised at the steering yoke as the other flicked across various dials and switches across the dashboard. Jane felt the vibration of the ship’s engine finally cycle down and give one last pathetic sputter, and Sif met her eye once the ship had fallen still and silent.

“We made it,” Sif said, at the same time Jane laughed out, “We didn’t die!”

Sif’s eyes widened. “What?”

“There was like… a definitely nonzero chance that we would literally explode as soon as we hit terminal velocity, but it’s fine. Because we didn’t!”

Sif stared for a moment, mouth slightly agape, but then dissolved into laughter and tipped her forehead against the steering yoke.

“Oh, Jane Foster, we will get along splendidly,” she said. Sif sat back, and squinted out the window, taking in the landscape as Jane had done a moment before.

Jane had just hurried through unlatching her harness and reached under her seat for her bag, which had thankfully remained secure as well through their less than stellar landing when she registered the smell of smoke.

She stood like a shot and turned towards the back of the ship where the engine was located. In their slapdash haste, they hadn’t bothered to make the ship habitable for the four people it was meant to hold.

Apparently, a skiff like this would host a gravity generator and the engine side-by-side beneath the floor. The gravity generator had been shot to hell and she and Tony had scrapped it for parts to build the Realm Hopper addition. The engine itself had required a few bulky Midgard repairs, and thus about two-thirds of the floor behind the captain and co-pilot seats had been removed to make room, much like a supercharged engine that protruded above the hood of a vintage car.

So Jane did not have any real obstruction when she looked back to see smoke pouring out of the Alcubierre drive.

“Shit, fire, fire, fire, fire, fire--” Jane said, and began looking around for-- “Do we have a fire extinguisher?”

Sif looked confused. “A what?”

Jane kept spinning, looking for the red canister she knew would absolutely not be anywhere because why would an alien ship have a fire extinguisher--

“We need to get outside,” Jane said.

Sif noticed their predicament and uttered a word she’d heard Thor say numerous times and the Allspeak apparently didn’t have a translation for.

“Come on,” Sif urged. She untied her own bag from where it was lashed behind her, stood from her seat, and headed to the door. Without much fanfare, Sif kicked through it, the metal screeching as it tore open.

Jane hitched her bag across her shoulders and followed Sif outside.

She didn’t have much time to marvel at the majesty of the planet (!!!) they’d landed on, as she jogged a ways away and dropped her bag and then headed back for the ship.

“Jane, what are--”

“We need the Realm Hopper,” she threw back over her shoulder. The smoke was fairly billowing out of the fuselage, dark gray and ominous, and Jane thought she saw the light of full flames beginning to flicker through the open doorway. She swore loudly and ran her hands through her hair.

Her mind whirled through ideas--she didn’t have anything big enough to throw over the whole engine to starve it of oxygen, but it was a spaceship, if they just closed the door, maybe that could--

She groaned when upon closer inspection, she saw one of the body fins had been ripped away, exposing the inside of the ship and allowing more oxygen in. Who knew how many other gaps in the body had been created in their less than graceful landing?

That’s when her attention turned to the yellowed sand beneath her feet.

She dropped to a knee and scooped up a handful of the loose solid.

“So I have kind of a dumb plan,” she called over to Sif, “but it’s the only one I’ve got right now.”

Sif appeared next to her, kneeling as well. “Tell me.”

Jane sniffed hesitantly at the small pile of sand in her hand. While not overtly offensive, she did smell a faint undercurrent of rotten egg. A chemist she was certainly not, but she’d taken enough classes to know a bit more than the basics.

“I’m pretty sure this is a sulfur compound,” she said. “And sulfur is highly flammable.”

Sif gave her a confused look but said nothing.

“I don’t know how much is in this, so my plan I guess is kind of two-fold. Either it’s a low enough content that it doesn’t burn and we smother the fire. Or, it’s a high enough content, it burns for a bit and replaces all the oxygen on the ship with sulfur dioxide gas, which should smother the flames anyway.” Jane paused, thinking of everything she knew about sulfur. “It might explode after that at some point because sulfur dust is really, really easily ignitable, but we should have time to get the Realm Hopper out, in whatever condition it’s in.”

“You’re right, this is a dumb plan,” Sif said, but not in dismissal.

Jane shrugged. “I don’t have any other ideas, and starting from scratch on the Realm Hopper is going to be a huge delay that I don’t think we can afford.”

Sif shook her head, and then laughed lightly. “Okay, Jane Foster. Tell me what I need to do.”

Jane outlined her plan, and they set to work.

Sif used her shield as a shovel (which, by the way, she just reached into her very normal sized bag and just took out like she was goddamn Hermione or something), and Jane the broken off fuselage fin to heap piles of sand in the door and over the source of the flames. At first, it looked like basic smothering might work, until Jane saw a blue cast flame emerging at the edges of their sand covering.

“Sif!” Jane shouted, “It’s time!”

Sif tossed her shield back towards the safety zone of their bags, and lifted the door back into place. Sif turned to that her back was against the door, and with a determined plant of her feet, she pushed the door fully back into the frame.

Jane retreated to the safety zone a few dozen feet away. They couldn’t afford for Jane to injure her lungs with the fumes from the sulfur dioxide, so she would stay a safe distance, and watch for the smoke still pouring out of the hole where the fin used to be to die off. Jane felt like it shouldn’t take too long, right? The sulfur would probably burn pretty quickly and all the oxygen would be gone, replaced with sulfur dioxide long enough for Sif to make a mad dash inside, rip the engine out, and bring it out to Jane so that she could extract the Realm Hopper from it.

The smoke began to taper, and then ceased all together.

“Go!” shouted Jane, and Sif pulled the door open once more and she leapt into the craft. There was the sound of shrieking metal and an aggravated groan from Sif, but she appeared no more than ten seconds later, bearing the main driver of the engine upon her back.

Jane began to feel a little shock that her dumbass idea had worked, but they still weren’t out of the woods yet. “We should move back a bit further.”

It was a good thing they did, because not thirty seconds later, the ship ignited in a concussive explosion that knocked Jane forward a few steps.

Sif dropped the engine between them with a huff as they turned back toward the ship. There wasn’t much to properly burn, but the panels that made up the fuselage were bent and singed beyond repair. The door had been blown off of one hinge, and several electrical fires seemed to be working their way through the rest of the ship’s systems. The glass windows seemed perfectly intact, but otherwise, it seemed like a lost cause. They stood in silence for a moment while they looked upon the remains of their craft.

Sif was the one to break it. “Not even a day into our journey and we’ve already caused an explosion.”

“To hear Thor tell it, this is usually how all journeys including you go.” The joke slipped out of Jane without her thinking about it, and a flash of nervous anxiety fled down her spine before Sif’s laughter made Jane look over at her.

Sif responded, “Perhaps if I stopped carousing with the both of you, I might not find myself in such predicaments.”

Her words struck a chord, and Jane looked back at their destroyed ship. “I’m sorry for this,” she said. This was not how she’d imagined her first self-made wormhole trip across the universe, and she’d given them a whole set of problems that were all worst case scenarios.

“This is through no fault of your own,” replied Sif. “I knew this ship wouldn’t last us much longer. Admittedly, I hadn’t planned on the explosion, but I have been in worse straights. We will see this through.”

The steadfastness and surety reminded Jane of Thor in the best way, and calmed her rapidly spiraling thought process.

“You’re right. Yeah, we got this,” Jane said, almost to herself.

Don’t try to fix the whole thing in one go, she thought. Break it down and go one step at a time.

She dipped down to her bag, where she had, amongst other things, a set of tools that would allow her to remove the Realm Hopper from the engine. She withdrew those, neatly packed together in rolls of fabric, and handed the bag over to Sif. “Can you take out the tablet in there? It should still be interfaced with your map.”

Interfacing a modified Stark Industries tablet with a holographic data crystal from another world was essentially like trying to take Ada Lovelace’s Analytical Engine of 1822 and sync it with a modern AI. Thankfully, the data crystal was able to fill most of the operational gaps the tablet left, and it functioned more or less in cooperation so that Jane could calculate each of their jumps.

Jane took to her knees next to the main driver of the engine and set to work extracting the Realm Hopper.

“Our first jump was supposed to take us to Theren,” Jane said as she began the semi-arduous process of extracting her device. It was built a bit like a spider that wrapped its legs around the main body of the engine. Since it sat on top of everything, the damage from the flames was minimal, but Jane needed to be careful if she wanted to avoid any further harm.

Sif held the tablet with one hand and placed the data crystal on the ground with the other. With practiced movements, tapped the crystal to bring up a portion of the planetary map. The hologram was three dimensional and glowed a soft bluish white. The planets, stars, and moons glowed, their positions latticed with a criss-crossing network of navigational lines that resembled longitude and latitude on a map. One of the planets on the map was particularly bright, and Sif reached into the hologram and used two fingers to enlarge it. The hologram magnified the planet, bringing detail of the surface into focus and displaying a small information box that was written in a language Jane didn’t recognize.

“We’re certainly here. I’ve been here a few times,” Sif confirmed. “Admittedly, not to the Flatlands,” she said, gesturing around them, “but if my crystal is properly calibrated, then I believe that is Renos--” she pointed to the horizon, where the black spires Jane had noticed upon entry were starting to look distinctly civilization-like, with small dots whizzing around the spires and up towards the sky that were most certainly ships, “--and that’s where we’re going to get our next ship.” Sif spared another look and a scoff at the flaming remains of theirs. “I promise it will be much, much nicer.”

Jane nodded, glad that it seemed like Sif had some semblance of a plan, and gestured towards the tablet. “Can you run the program to calculate the next jump point?”

“Of course.”

Silence settled over them as Jane worked on detaching each of the “legs” of the Realm Hopper from the matching components on the engine. Jane’s mind has been relatively in the present for the duration of their time on Theren--what with all the unplanned excitement, she didn’t really have the time or capacity to worry about what would happen a few hours from now.

But now, as she settled into engineering mode and her hands moved over the device like it was second nature, her mind regained the latitude to wander.

“I don’t suppose we have money to buy a ship?” Jane asked.

Sif sighed. “Some. I didn’t start with much in the first place in Knowhere. I’ll have to look around and see what dealers there may be in the city.” She looked contemplatively over at the ship. “It may be worthwhile to salvage the windows and sell them. Geodin glass fetches a good price.”

Jane nodded absently. “Thor’s transmission from this planet is old. One of the first ones he sent. So I’m not sure what information we’ll be able to find about what he was doing or where he was going, but it puts us in a good position jump-wise to get to more recent stuff.” Jane glanced back at their burning ship, the smoke from the blaze drifting high into the air in a pillar of dark gray. “Is anyone from the city going to come investigate that? I don’t want us getting arrested by the alien version of SHIELD or local police or something.”

Sif shook her head. “Flatlands fires are common, and as for a police force, this is an outpost planet. Planetary security is outsourced by the corporations who do business through the space ports. They usually don’t bother with anything besides theft in city limits.”

Jane was wholly fascinated by the entirety of Sif’s explanation because by the sound of it, alien capitalism was also a thing, but she was struck by her first statement a bit harder than anything else. Flatlands fires.

Her hands paused in their work, and she looked back down at the ground, at the sulfurous compound she’d recently used to blow up their ship. It was literally everywhere.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news again,” Jane said, “but we should probably move. And then probably keep moving until we get somewhere that we’re not standing on flammable sand.”

Sif’s eyes traveled the same path that Jane’s did--to their burning ship, down to the yellow sand beneath their feet, and then up at Jane. She let out a half-hearted chuckle, “I do think you and Thor may be cut from the same cloth in terms of bad plans poorly executed.”

Jane smiled a little bit. “How about a bad plan well executed with unintended consequences?”

“I suppose I can’t deny that.”

While their movements around each other weren’t exactly practiced, but they managed to get themselves set to move with minimal difficulty. After harvesting the fancy glass from the burning ship while Jane called out numerous warnings to please be careful, Sif dragged them back over to where Jane had begun to pack her tools away and check on the progress of the jump calculations (they were still quite a few hours away yet from having new coordinates.) The Realm Hopper legs were fully detached and she lifted the device off of the ruined Alcubierre drive.

There were three Geodin windows, unscathed from the crash and explosion, if a little foggy from the smoke residue--the main viewport, which was about seven feet by three feet and gently curved, and the two smaller windows from the sides, smaller ovals which both fit well within the confines of the main viewport with room to spare. Sif had them tied together and created a basic harness for herself with what looked like ratchet tie-down straps, procured from the magical bag of hers, so that she could drag the large plates of glass behind her.

Jane adjusted the Realm Hopper in her arms so that she could carry it like a bag of groceries--a thirty-one pound bag of groceries, anyway.

“Ready?” Sif asked. Jane nodded. “Good. It looks like it will be about a day’s walk, so let’s get moving.”

And so they began their trek to Renos. Thankfully, the sand was somewhat firm, so Jane didn’t have to slog like she was going over Saharan sand dunes, but it was not nearly as easy to traverse as the familiar, hard-packed sands of New Mexico surrounding Puente Antiguo. Despite the day being partially cloudy, the sun was harsh and the sand radiated heat, and after about 20 minutes of walking, Jane started to regret all those skipped gym days.

The Realm Hopper hadn’t felt like too terrible a burden, initially. She had some heavy equipment, and was well used to lugging it from place to place. However, “place to place” usually meant “lab to van, van to research site.” This sustained carrying was definitely not agreeing with her arms, and with the heat making her palms sweat, she kept having to readjust her grip on the device, which seemed at least ten pounds heavier than when they’d started walking.

She was starting to regret her clothing choice as well. She had several sets of clothing packed away, and her typical boots-jeans-tee-flannel research combo had seemed a perfectly reasonable choice when she’d been preparing for this journey, but now Jane would kill to have a tank top and shorts on. Not that it’d help for very long, and she’d open herself up to sunburn (which, she realized with a start, she hadn’t even thought about. She didn’t bring sunscreen, or even a hat. Oh god, she was going to be beet red by the end of this day.) The shirt under her flannel was thoroughly soaked through with sweat, her flannel not far behind. She didn’t even want to consider her jeans.

The worst part was, Sif was definitely starting to notice. Jane tried her best to keep up with Sif’s steady clip, but she was, without a doubt, starting to fall behind.

After about twenty or so minutes of silent slogging, Jane’s breathing becoming progressively labored, Sif stopped.

It took Jane a few steps to notice, wrapped up as she was in putting one foot in front of the other, and when she did she turned. “What are you doing?”

Sif answered, “Put the engine on the glass.”

“What?”

Sif’s answering sigh was frustrated. “I appreciate your fortitude, but please set your pride aside and let me help.”

“My… pride?” Jane should probably drink some of the water she’d brought with, because her mind felt sluggish.

Sif’s ire seemed to grow. “Midgardians are not as physically capable as Asgardians. That is simply a statement of fact. Refusing to utilize this is not only stupid, but actively counterproductive. You’re more likely to drop dead of exhaustion than you are to reach Renos as you currently are. Now put the damned engine on the glass.”

Jane felt a bit like a chastened child, which wasn’t particularly pleasant, and she clutched the Realm Hopper closer to her chest. She replied after a few beats of heavy silence with Sif’s impatient gaze upon her, “It’s not pride, you know.”

Sif didn’t say anything, but cocked her head slightly.

Jane bit the inside of her cheek, trying to scrounge up the courage and the words to explain herself. It all ended up coming out in a bit of a rush--“I still feel like I should be apologizing for ruining our only mode of transportation. And I always thought you hated me, and now I get you stranded on some remote outpost planet without a way to get off it. I know science doesn’t go perfectly the first time, engineering even more so, but I still feel like a bit of a failure because I’ve seen what Asgardian tech is like compared to what we have on Earth. Let’s just say I have a complex about it. And what with the whole Odin calling me a goat and everything--”

“Jane,” Sif gently interrupted, “I never hated you.” That certainly drew Jane up short. “Resented you? Perhaps a bit, when I first heard about Thor’s mortal, and then when he brought you to Asgard… It was more what you represented than who you were.”

“And what--what did I represent?”

Sif smiled, a soft, sad thing that spoke of times long gone. “I was never supposed to be a warrior. I decided to enter the military academy instead of pursuing a traditional education when I was young. I met Thor there. After the Valkyrie massacre, women were a rare sight in the army, but Thor accepted me right away. I spent most of my formative years running around with him and Loki, and once we grew older, it was assumed that we would marry.”

There it was, the thing that Jane had always assumed but had never confirmed. She’d never pressed Thor on it, had never wanted to be the naggy girlfriend who worries about her significant other’s exes. Her insecurity welled up against her will.

Sif must have noticed her expression. “I cannot say I never loved him. I’m still not sure if I can say I don’t love him now.” She laughed a little bit. “But I am quite certain that he’s never thought of me as more than the sister he never had. I was trying to come to terms with that since long before he met you.

“But please understand, the only thing that stood between us was my feelings for Thor. I have truly never thought less of you because of you being mortal, or being of Midgard. In fact, I admire you. It takes great fortitude to walk straight up to Loki and slap him,” she chuckled here, and Jane felt a smile tugging at her lips as well. “You carried an Infinity Stone within yourself, you helped Thor defeat an ancient enemy that threatened the entire universe. You’ve managed to create Bifrost-like travel with the most rudimentary technologies. It would be the height of churlishness for me to refuse friendship with a woman of such caliber simply because I felt some jealousy for her romantic ties.”

“Well, that--” Jane cast about for more words, coming up woefully short. “Okay,” she settled on. She moved forward, gingerly placing the Realm Hopper on Sif’s glass sled.

“The satchel too,” Sif insisted, and Jane complied without complaint, laying her bag next to the Realm Hopper. “I would suggest you get on as well, but I’m not about to push my luck,” Sif quipped.

That pulled a laugh from Jane’s chest, a little breathless yet, but genuine. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Sif stepped toward her and placed a friendly hand on her shoulder. “You are more than welcome.” With a tip of her head and a determined step, Sif set off again, and Jane followed, significantly less burdened, both physically and mentally.

“If I may offer you some advice,” Sif added, “don’t listen to what Odin said. I--I care for him as though he were my own father,” this said with a grimace and Jane remembers Sif’s suspicions about Odin’s motive in sending her to Knowhere, “but he is not without fault or without mistakes in judgement.”

Jane scoffed. “Oh, I know that. But then I think, ‘How much easier would it be for both of us if we just didn’t do this?’ I know that’s what his dad wants.” The thoughts almost felt traitorous spilling out of her mouth. When she and Thor were together, it was easy to push those thoughts to the back of her mind. But in the last months without him, they’d become louder. This was the first she’d spoken them aloud, but certainly not the first time they’d been felt.

Sif exhaled, her profile against the sky thoughtful. “My brother has said that destinies are shaped of their own accord by those walking the path, not by the outside observer. It was one point upon which Odin and he disagreed often. In the time I’ve spent with you, the more I realize how true his sentiment is. You’ve traveled across galaxies to find Thor, Jane Foster. You’ll be traveling across several more. Odin cannot stop you, and I can say based upon years of experience that he certainly cannot stop Thor either,” she finished with a chuckle.

A silence fell between them again, but Jane made it a brief one. She made sure to catch Sif’s eye so that she could hold her gaze as she said, “Thank you. It means a lot to me to hear that from you.”

Sif smiled. “I find it’s best to begin long endeavors with a partner with the air between them clear. So if you’ve any further grievances, air them now,” she said, a touch of mirth to her words.

Jane replied, “Not anymore, really. The, um, jealousy thing. I mean, you’re literally perfect so I was intimidated by you.”

Sif let out a cackle. “Hardly perfect, but the sentiment is appreciated.”

“I do have one grievance left, though,” Jane said. “Or, I guess more of a worry. How are we going to get another ship? Are three nice windows really going to be enough to buy us something that won’t break down after a single jump?”

“I suppose if that’s your only worry so far, we are in far better circumstances than I imagined.”

“Well, for all the other problems, we at least have something of a path to a solution. The ship is the one thing I’m stuck on.”

Sif sighed, “You are right, these will fetch us a good deal of money, but not enough to buy a ship in fair enough condition to complete our journey. Which is why I’ve had to come up with another plan.”

Jane nodded. “So what’s the new plan?”

Sif turned and grinned. “How do you feel about thievery?”

#fosterson #actually there is basically no fosterson in this #just jane x sif #jane foster #thor #fosterson fic #my fic

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moody-by-nature · 6 years

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Rescue Me | Twenty-Three

A/N: Happy new year everyone! Hope it is going well for you all so far.

Jared stood on the edge of his hotel suite balcony under a parasol pine tree, noting how the notes of blue-grey in the sky resembled his lover's eyes. Sunsets were always something they enjoyed together, and he knew she would appear soon to witness the luminescent glow of St. Tropez.

Andrea watched him from the open doorway, enjoying her view. She loved watching him, a majestic vision standing under the painted sky. Unable to resist the need to touch him, Andrea snuck up behind him, wrapping her arms around Jared's middle and kissed his bare shoulder.

Burrowing her face between his shoulders, she inhaled his scent and smiled. He smelled like sea salt, sunshine and a hint of dark chocolate, a short story of their day playing tourists.

"Hey, wifey," Jared elicited her favorite breathy laugh, "are you sniffing me again?"

Andrea could almost hear his smile. "Maybe," she answered, "you shouldn't go around smelling so good. I want to lick you right now. Bite too. Mmm.."

"Yeooouch!" Jared groaned, feigning pain, "You really bit me!" Turning in Andie's arms, smiling at her as he cupped her face in his hands.

"Oopsie." Her giggle morphing into a moan when Jared slid his arms down her back, gripping her bottom firmly.

"Just remember, I bite back babygirl." His raspy voice sent shivers down her spine.

"Bring it on, handsome." Andrea replied, wiggling her eyebrows and shimmying out of his embrace. Lifting her shirt over her head, she tossed it at her husband and laughed as his jaw dropped realizing she didn't have a bra on. A low growl emanated from his chest, making her squeal and run inside.

+++

"This is going to be so fun! I've always wanted to go on a ..." Andrea paused, seeing a tall, impossibly thin brunette sitting on their small boat. The girls short light brown hair and sharp jawline a dead giveaway as to whom she was. Anger boiled through Andrea as she turned around to glare at Jared with her arms crossed aggressively against her chest. Jared halted, looking at her with a confused expression.

"What's wrong, Ace?" Jared asked, searching her face for clues.

"Why is she here."

"Why is who here, babe?"

"The nondescript toothpick on the boat! Your ex friend with benefits!"

The venom laced in her tone had Jared glancing over her shoulder to see the model he previously messed around with sitting next to Emma on the boat and cringed. He had long forgotten he'd extended an invitation to her.

"Fuck." Jared started, quickly reaching for Andrea's arm, barely missing as she swung away from him and walked toward the boat. A heavy sigh escaped him as he tried to figure out how he would get out of this.

"You're in deep shit, bro." Shannon laughed darkly as he walked by.

Andrea stepped on board with a huff. The other brunette peering up over the top of her designer white framed sunglasses at her. Andrea rolled her eyes, turning to her left, and sat next to Emma.

"It'll be ok, Andie. I think he honestly forgot she was coming. I know I did. She just showed up." Emma whispered as she arranged her bags, granting a sympathetic smile as Andrea sat next to her.

Maybe Emma was right, maybe he did forget. But Andrea was feeling everything except forgiving right now. She was upset that he ever even considered inviting someone else. This girl had too much access for her liking.

Stepping onto the boat, Jared met Andrea's gaze. His ice blue eyes silently begging her to talk to him. She tore her eyes away from his instantly.

"Jared, so good to see you!" The model mewled, sending a pang of nausea through him as she quickly stood and wrapped him into a hug.

He quickly removed her wispy arms from his waist, his eyes again on his wife. However, Andrea wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of one of their silent conversations right now. She knew she was being a little childish, but she didn't care. Wrapping her arms around her middle she gazed out at the turquoise water.

"Why are you here, we haven't spoken in months." Jared's abrupt tone taking the younger brunette by surprise.

"You invited me, I thought.."

"You thought wrong. I don't want you here. I'm happily married now."

"Married!" She laughed, "Yeah right. You'll never get married." Her giddy laugh causing him to roll his eyes, completely annoyed by her presence.

"You're wrong, I am. That beautiful woman is my wife." He stated nodding at Andrea.

"You married your assistant?" Sure," She cackled, "Why don't I see a ring?" She questioned, her eyes dropping to his left arm, her voice full of sarcasm as she lifted his left hand into the air. Jared retracted from her so quickly it was as if her touch burnt his skin. Refusing to grant her a response, he crossed his arms over his chest staring silently, pondering his next move.

"I'm not going anywhere. I flew all the way here to be with you!" A look of worry crossed the models face but she seemed to stand her ground.

The tension on the small vessel was palpable. Shannon looked between his brother and Andrea, noticing her flinch at the conversation. He stood and tapped his brother on the shoulder, pulling him to the side.

"J, this isn't the best place to talk about this. She's here, let's just go on as planned." He whispered into his little brother's ear.

Jared groaned, "I don't want her here. She's going to cause problems."

"She won't if you don't let her. Talk to Andie when we get on board. She's upset, but I would be too if I were her."

Turning back to the model Jared said, "I don't want you here. Nothing will be happening between us, so get that thought out of your head now." his words firm and harsh, making the thin woman glare at him.

—-

Unable to let her stubbornness go, Andrea continued to ignore Jared, refusing his attempt to help her onto the yacht.

"I'm more than capable of helping myself, go find another damsel, oh knight in shining armor."

Shannon chuckled at her sass, the anxiety visible in Jared's eyes, and him muttering under his breath as he stomped off. He offered his hand to Andrea as she hopped aboard the massive yacht they rented for a couple of days. Pulling her into a hug, fully enveloping her in his strong arms, he squeezed his favorite soon to be sister-in-law tightly. A smile crept across her lips as Shannon hugged her, he always had the ability to make her smile.

Shannon released her and leaned against the railing of the large vessel watching Andrea look out on the ocean.

"I love you and your ability to completely unravel my baby brother. He tries so hard to control every aspect of our lives and then you came along. Like a sassy little firecracker and fucked him up. You give him a run for his money!" He laughed, leaning in to nudge her shoulder, he waited for her to look at him, knowing she would fully understand his next comment."

"Give her hell, Dee."

Andrea laughed, "I'm so mad at him. I don't even want to go to our room right now. But I also want to go up there and pick a fight with him so we can have loud, aggressive sex to make up. Only if she can hear us though."

"Andrea, the whole yacht will hear you two." Shannon deadpanned.

"Asshole." She chuckled, smacking him on the arm before laying her head on his shoulder. "I missed you brother bear. So glad to have you back."

"I missed you too, Dee." Shannon whispered, kissing the top of her head. "You ready to go find your favorite idiot?" He asked, leaning back to look at her.

Seeing her nod her head with a giggle, Shannon picked up her bag, lifting it over his shoulder motioning for her to follow him.

Rounding the corner, almost to their room on the third story of the yacht Andrea stopped in her tracks. The sight before her reigniting her anger.

Jared once again stood wrapped in his ex lover's arms. Andrea's eyes fell to where their bodies connected, her heart in extreme distress seeing their intimate proximity. Her legs, unsteady as she saw the love of her life with another woman, gently caressing her face the way he does her. Shannon gently placed his hands on her arms to steady her wobbly frame.

"Un-fucking-believable." She growled, rushing into their room.

Hearing her voice, Jared quickly pulled away from the model and chased after Andrea as she stormed into their suite.

Shannon dropped Andrea's bag just inside the door and pulled it shut. Locking eyes with the model as he turned, she smirked.

"Stay away from them." He threatened, walking away. Shaking his head thinking about how stubborn the couple was. Both madly in love with each other, but letting a random ex hook-up get in their way.

"Get out! I don't want to talk to you." Andrea yelled.

"If you'll just listen and let me explain.." Jared started. Trying his best to defuse his riled up bride.

"Explain what? Huh? Because I don't want to hear it. That's twice now in less than an hour that you two have had your arms around each other!" Throwing her arms in the air dramatically as she spoke, she rolled her eyes at Jared as he stood in front of the bed.

"You're my wife Andrea! Nothing is going to happen."

"Oh, so a Post-it note is going to stop you from fucking her?" She yelled incredulously.

"No! The fact that I'm in love with you is! What's the difference between the kind of paper it's on? That's all we will have when we're back home and in front of a judge! You have to trust me!" Jared racked his brain trying to figure out why she was being so uncharacteristically insane.

"I don't want one of your ex hook-ups here Jared. Ugh! I cannot believe you would have ever considered inviting her in the first place! Knowing how I felt about you even back then!" Her emotions getting the best of her making her voice crack.

Andrea felt like she was going insane. She didn't understand why she was making such a big deal out of this. Trusting him was easy, he was with her all day every day practically and she had his phone often to post videos of the shows to social media. Why was she doing this? She was ruining their day, but couldn't seem to control herself.

"I didn't know how you felt Andrea! You had me so confused. One minute you wanted me, the next you shut me out! Pushed me away! You wanted to me my 'friend' remember?!"

"Yeah, but you had to have known I was in love with you Jared. I opened up to you! The sparks when we kissed... That had to be on your mind!" Picking up her bag, she brought it back to the bed unzipping it to busy herself with unpacking.

"Of course it was until you told me you didn't want this. So I did my best to move on." Jared took a deep breath, trying to stay calm, pacing across the room as he watched her unpack.

"Yeah, by fucking her when you knew I'd be around to hear it."

"We weren't together Andrea!" Jared felt himself losing his temper, he hated that she knew exactly what to say to push all of his buttons.

"You're just like Ross on that episode of Friends, 'WE WERE ON A BREAK!'" Hastily throwing her clothes in the top drawer of the dresser.

Jared sighed, his hands pulling at his long hair in frustration.

"You're being impossible! This isn't like you, will you please tell me what the actual problem is?"

"The problem," Andrea spat angrily, tossing her now empty luggage to the floor spun around and glared coldly at him, "is her presence on this yacht."

"I was just talking to her! Telling her yet again that I don't want her here, that we are together." He replied, moving his index finger back and forth between them.

"That's not what I saw. Those words don't require you to stand the way you were or to touch her the way you were!" Stepping closer, mimicking the way she saw Jared holding the other woman, she softly spoke, "I am yours and you are mine. Forever." Her tone sarcastic as she rolled her eyes and turned to walk away.

Jared growled, so fed up with her tantrum. Pissed at her for mocking the words he promised her a month ago. He lunged toward her, gripping her upper arms, spinning her back toward him. The generic art on the wall crashing to the floor as her body collided roughly into the wall. Wrapping his hand around her throat, his eyes bore into hers in a silent challenge.

Andrea felt Jared's hard body flush against hers. Her mind instantly hazy with lust, her anger suddenly forgotten. She found herself surprisingly aroused by his anger and wanted him to take it out on her.

"Fuck me, Jared." She panted, reaching between them to palm his hard cock. Desire laced in her voice as she repeated, "Fuck me." Crashing her lips against his in a possessive kiss.

Jared thrust his hips into her hand groaning. Quickly lifting her loose dress over her hips, Andrea lifted her left leg; her long legs and flexibility allowing her to extend it up to his shoulder as he pushed her panties to the side, slipping two fingers into her pussy.

Andrea dug her nails into his shoulders, dragging them down his back, pushing his track pants down enough to free his thick cock. A scream of pleasure escaping her lips as he harshly entered her.

They expressed their anger with each other against the wall. Andrea's leg slipping sent a lamp crashing to the floor and shattering loudly.

Jared became less aggressive with each thrust as his anger subsided. Pulling away from the wall, he wrapped his arms securely around Andie as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He carefully walked to the bed and laid her down.

"I want to fuck you senseless, but also make slow, sweet love to you. Seems I'm all over the place just like you today, baby."

Andrea's legs fell open allowing Jared more room. Kneeling between her thighs, Jared positioned his cock at the opening of her soaked core and gripped her hips; snapping his into hers so roughly she cried out, arching her back as she moaned his name.

Her eyes rolled back into her head in pleasure as Jared ground his hips once more, so slowly it drove her mad. He repeated the process of fast and rough then slow and sweet for what felt like forever. Unable to take the blissful torture anymore, Andrea dipped her hand into her wet folds, playing with her clit as Jared fucked her.

"I will make you cum when I'm ready." Jared snapped, pulling her hand away. He lowered himself flush against her body, slowly fucking her, kissing her passionately. Looking into her eyes as he sped up his thrusts, Jared felt his orgasm nearing.

"Cum for me, babygirl. Scream for me!"

Coming down from their high, Jared lay on his side next to Andrea. Kissing her forehead, he pushed her hair out of her face.

"Andrea, I don't like how you threw the words I promised you in my face. I know you're upset with me, but that was too far."

Feeling overwhelmed with emotions, Andrea pulled away from him and covered her face.

"I'm not trying to make you cry sweetheart, but I'm not sure what's going on with you the past couple of weeks. You've been all over the place. And today was the worst so far. Talk to me baby, what's wrong?" Jared asked, leaning over her sweetly kissing her cheek.

A wave of nausea rolled through her suddenly. She bolted upright, pushing Jared away, rushing to the bathroom and emptying her stomach in the toilet. Sinking to the ground, she put her head between her knees, and focused on breathing deeply. Jared wasn't far behind her, wringing out a warm wash cloth, he knelt down beside her running his hand up and down her spine soothingly.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

+++

The next day the group spent the day sightseeing, walking through the streets of Italy and had settled in a small cafe to eat.

Andrea hadn't been able to keep much down since yesterday. At first she thought she'd eaten something her stomach didn't agree with. That was always a probability with their touring schedule, but this felt different.

The sight of the food being placed around the table had her stomach churning again. Making a quick exit from the cafe, she leaned against the brown rock wall, bending to put her head between her knees. She created a mental checklist of her symptoms, calculating where she was on her current cycle.

"Babe?" Jared called out. Spotting her, he rushed to her side. "Do we need to find you a doctor?"

Andrea shook her head no. Her heart aching because she couldn't stop thinking about the way she treated him the previous day.

"I think I know what's wrong, but I need to find a pharmacy."

"A pharmacy?" Jared repeated, a confused look on his perfect face.

Looking at their surroundings, she spotted one just up the street.

"Just go back in and eat, I found one and I'll go get what I need. I'll be back before you even miss me."

"No way am I letting you walk down the street alone in a foreign country. I'm coming with you!"

"Okay. Chill out, Liam Neeson. I'm just not sure you've figured out why I'm going and doubt you want to possibly be photographed buying what I need."

Waiting for his other shoe to drop, Andrea braced herself for his reaction. Unsure if it would be anger, panic or a hybrid of emotions.

Confusion still etched all over his face, Andrea sighed. "I'm fairly positive I'm pregnant."

Tag list: @nikkitasevoli @lostinletoland @spillinginkwithlove @conceptuallyloud @branded-with-a-j @callmeasyoulove

Please let me know if you wish to be added/removed from the tag list!

#rescue me #jared leto fanfiction

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moariin · 6 years

Text

let’s pretend this isn’t late at all lol, but here is my supposedly gift for the new years! so i thought it’s nice that i show a chapter from these hungry dogs to you guys, even though it’s only the first half since i didn’t realized it would be that long! anyways no one wants to see all 5k+ words or something but uhh the second half may be posted but who knows? now behold your eyes to this mess, i haven’t edit them yet!

CHAPTER: Twenty Eight, part i

WORD COUNT: 2,184

WARNINGS: minor description of body horror

TAG LIST (asked to be added/removed): @montevena @hajaara @noloumna @syposium @marscults @katabasiss @the-ichor-of-ruination @medusaswrites @kowlazovdi @lefttowritee @omgbrekkerkaz @adrestaie @brekkerings @honeyedmonikers @endymions

"WATCH IT, these shells do not come easy," Novak barked, her eyes were distasteful and offended. She pried the rifle from Emil's fingers before she spat at him. "Terrible form, no wonder you're the last one stationed with us."

Emil flashed his eyes at her, seizing his jaws closed. "Well if it isn't the war prodigy claiming titles of her own," He said, seething but whatever proclamations came after were drowned by laughter and cheering. He stumbled back, quickly tore his gaze from Novak and watched the commotion with disbelief. "Speaking of which, you really think you could compare yourself to Nadja Gerharde?"

Novak stopped on her tracks, reeling her body around as she stumbled in front of Emil. Her eyes shadowed with annoyance. Her mouth fell open to say something but shook her head instead, mumbling to herself as she retreated into the dark.

They were heading to Dreufelsn Palky, and like their sounds of their footsteps, the smaller, lithe chasm came to them like drums beating, only to carry them forth. It was a twisted maze filled with intricate rocks setting them far from their path but a fool would have claimed it was the last gateway into The Scheisygh.

Leon allowed himself to shroud with the stillness until they forgotten of him. He liked it that way but he still felt the cold brewing from Novak's cautious eyes despite her entire body were sealed with blackness.

The ground underneath them became sharper, almost misaligned as it rose abruptly, marking its elevation.

Leon gripped the corner of the strap that tied Klemens’ rifle on his back and with each steps, his breath were shallow and quick. Their words did not comfort him, however, it was the only thing that he knew he was heading in the right direction. He did not know night well and its obsolete bleakness covered the others entirely.

"Would you look at that, you idiots are really out there comparing shells," Joch mumbled, slurring his words together. He stopped besides Emil as he glowered towards Novak. "Doesn't matter anyways, the Myrgenvai would heard us bickering."

"We shouldn't take this long to circle along the borders," There was Ineke, trailing behind them, and her voice caught them the most. Leon saw Joch lurched forward, shoulders pinched slightly. "Commander Schichau wouldn't like it either."

Leon looked upon the others, tethering off the side. His hands fumbled across Klemens' rifle as he lingered his eyes to the others, hoping to avoid their devout attention.

"Well, he's not here, yes?" Novak hissed, rolling her eyes. "Besides," she expanded her arms wide with a burning smile etched. "We are miles away from the Myrgenvai camp, why should we worry if Emil blasts his rifle again?"

Without warning, she cupped her hands together as she shouted, her lungs pulling up against her chest before Ineke rushed over, seizing the girl to her side. The expression of terror were imprinted across Ineke's face.

"It shouldn't be a worry since you have his rifle in your hands," Leon observed which made Novak blinked, staring at him silently. His face heated almost instantly and he turned his face away. So much for staying quiet.

Novak let out frustrated groan as she shoved the rifle back to Emil, quickly turning her back.

There was a brush of laughter besides him and Novak distastefully leaned forward, drawing a handful of mud and threw it at Ineke.

Ineke allowed the mud to stain her coat, lightly tossing a grin. "But," she suddenly dropped her voice to a whisper. "We are out in the open, vulnerable, to say at least. We can't be entirely sure if they are drinking their guts out in their camp or ridding along with us. You still know that-"

"Yes, yes, of course I always know, my knowledge cannot go unscathed whenever your wise words were summoned," Novak curled her lips as she spoke quite hastily. "And I know we had recovered their bodies too," she paused as her eyes gazed back to Leon, inclining her head. Almost briefly, she caught a glance at the rifle he's holding but immediately turned away to face Ineke. "So let's not forget why we are here."

"Then we'll part ways, hiding in our tents, until we remember we have war to accomplish before the Myrgenvai does," Joch grumbled to himself.

As quick as their words came, their minds were wrapped around their own fate, drinking from the silence as they trudged on. They travelled far on foot, carrying nothing but their rifles and flasks to drink from. The weather wasn't any better for them either. Leon struggled on his own, bearing the weight of the rifle as he slowly paced alongside them. His eyes flicked towards Novak, strolling ahead of them.

She, too, struggled, climbing up the narrow, slippery rocks until her back was bent, digging her nails into the ground for more leverage.

Leon shuddered on, pulling himself up the steepness of the hill. At most, his arms began to tire after a while, digging hard onto his heels. He evened himself, gripping on the edges before his eyes lifted when he heard a soft whistle. Immediately leaning on his side against the rocks, the rest followed suit, as Novak adjusted the rifle strapped across her back and peered down at them.

She quietly mouthed, "I'll go first," before she slipped from the view.

Then stillness. Nothing but the mourning from the wind as it settled around his ears, wailing.

Straining his lips together, Leon didn't know how long it went for him, perhaps it was the way his skin pricked under the roughness of his uniform that urged him to evened himself along the rocks before he pushed himself up. His fingers lifted from the ground as he straighten himself, climbing forward. He started off slow, balancing himself but he was tethering and there's a loud hiss that followed him.

"What are you doing, mute?" he heard the commotion below him. It was Emil.

Leon almost tethered, toppled against his weight, but he did tore his gaze back. His neck strained at the slightest as he watched them, half-willingly, craned their heads back, gaping their eyes at him. Though their faces were covered, hidden from the blackness of the night, he could hear their harsh eyes, an act of disbelief and tension ridden across their lips.

"He's a fool, he'll get himself killed out there or worse, we have shells to compare in our bodies," Ineke shot back to Emil, almost a baring whisper.

But Leon heard them but still he hadn't move an inch. He was listening, not to their words, the ones towered over him. There hadn't been a movement, a cry that resonated from the air. The dark and cold shrouded him like a blanket of its own, Leon brought himself to stare the palm of his hands. The silence threatened him, jolting awake as he exhaled sharply. A growing voice came through his mind, keeping him intact as he thought of them. Slowly, he pried his mouth, little by little, until it stopped.

Leon did not know the worse that would come out from him but he carried a small smile, hidden from the night before he turned his head to where Novak last vanished.

Then he set forward as she carefully weaved her way up, bracing the rough edges of the earth as her fingers dug deep into it to keep her steady. Before she scaled to the top, his fingers pried something loose from the rocks, suddenly feeling the softness that lingered in her skin.

He kept on despite his face twisted with puzzlement.

His hands reached the air, catching onto nothing and he toppled over, only to feel something seized to his side. It was a moment later that Leon heard a shuffle besides him as small pebbles cascaded besides him.

Next to him, Novak appeared, her face masked in absence as she bore her eyes over to him. Then with a swift jut of her chin, she pointed to the distance. Leon, slowly, followed the soundless gesture as his eyes fell upon a shimmer. Faint but it was pronounced in the dead of the night. Peering closely, he leaned far as he could as he held himself firm against the slope. A couple yards away, the flicker of light began to settled as the night drew close to them.

There was a sharpness rose from his chest the more he looked at the dead below him. It rested fruitfully on its side, caving in to the ground.

He passed another look to Novak but she was making her way over the rocks, pushing herself up.

"Wait, what," Leon said and watched Novak climbed near the top before her eyes melted back to his.

"I'm being a smart of a fool, and what about you?" Novak replied curtly but she stayed, lingering. She hesitated, Leon knew.

He knew. How the Zeimar feared death more than their ever-growing hunger, to feel their bellies satisfied from war. But it never came to them and the balance were erupted when the alter vater came to be. Corrupted as soon he were claimed by the chains of death, strangling him at last. Only the faithful would ever see the passing of the dead, channeling their journey upon The Scheisgyh. But never with Dreufelsn Palky.

So he started moving, quickly grasping his feet onto the solid ground of the hill. He was down a step before Novak realized his intentions. She called out, a low hiss spilled out from her tongue. Leon paused as if he had the patience to heard the rest.

"Just where do you think you’re going?" Her words chased after him but it was soon consumed by the wind as he swooped down to the bottom of the rocks. "The corpse could be the Myrgenvai's doing."

Leon trained his eyes back to the corpse, the quiver of the wind made tears to form around his eyes. He lifted his arms slightly just enough to shield his eyes from it. "Perhaps it would be my doing as well and fashioned it as my prize," he said to her, but his face remained clouded as he heard her stiffened.

"This isn't your righteousness to begin with, if I may even call it that," the girl retreated back her anger and went on, "You have no claim to it either for it is ours and ours to take. You have nothing to claim in your hands except the decency to act as if we're one. Perhaps it was a lie you so wish to give when you first stumble upon us, bare-handed and frozen with fear."

The word shot through him, wild and sudden. He tasted it before slowly he seized it tightly. Righteousness. A word that existed with him but was stolen from him the moment he made it into the manor. His hands was still reek of Werner Bohrganz and he had believed it. But it didn't justified his act, no, not entirely.

"But look at you, ridden with fear now," Leon calmly stated. "It's true, I have nothing to give to the Nascherein or to you but I am here now, my death or my living won't be your concern for I never plan to make myself honorable, like you."

When she didn't made a sound, he quietly watched her in the distance before he turned his gaze away. He stood straight before his feet moved on its own, striding towards the decorative canvas of the body. A pile of ivory-colored bones settled on the ground as he slowly inched down, crouching. His fingers lightly traced it, bringing the pieces of the remains before he felt coolness seeped into his skin.

His thumb followed the material of the uniform, uncovering the silver of it across his hand. Leon frowned at color of the blood and without warning, he quickly snapped his head up. He froze, listening intently, yet the wind were close to him, watching his every movement.

His eyes swept down to came across the face of it and under the faint glint of the discarded rifle off the side, he could fully see the dead soldier. A Zeimar. Yet her skinless face was parched and devoured whole. It was ruined, a large slash split her face evenly enough to show him the white-ivory teeth and skull being picked clean.

Transfixed, Leon did not hear the slightest change in the air, followed by the string of words above him. He threw his head around wildly after his mind cleared and realized it came from Novak Czerniak.

Before alarm rose against Leon’s throat, a soldier emerged from the crevice of the rocks that scattered below the Dreufelsn Palky. It didn't took Leon long to realized the rifle was pointed directly at his chest and sounded.

It sounded when the dead shifted its hands.

The dead never looked so peaceful, stripped clean off her blood, as her eyes followed him.

"My kundersdt."

A fatal claw collided around his neck.

#i almost posted the whole thing but no one got time #dont have the inspo to make a edit for it so i #just used the old one #wow #wip: thd

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aquatictimes · 7 years

Photo

Channa micropeltes, the Giant Snakehead

WARNING: VERY LONG POST

This is Beast.

Beast is a sub-adult Channa micropeltes, or Giant Snakehead. As the name suggests, he’s going to get fairly enormous: around the 4′ mark, eventually. He’s currently 18″, wearing his near-adult markings and has yet to develop the aggression associated with his species that arrives at sexual maturity.

Giant Snakeheads, as a species, get a very bad wrap, portrayed by the press as child-eating monsters that’ll literally walk into your garden for a meal. From an environmental perspective (largely with regards to the US and Europe), they’re viewed as highly invasive fish that could single-handedly destroy freshwater ecosystems. However, whilst all snakeheads are capable of breathing air, surviving for long periods of time out of water and even moving across dry-ish land, these abilities are not hunting aids. The organ used for breathing air is useful primarily to allow them to survive in stagnant, dirty waters that would otherwise be uninhabitable. On land, they’re generally slow, clumsy and only in search of another body of water. It’s true that they are highly adaptable and very hardy (it’s why snakeheads have been around for more than 50 million years), but they’re not going to be snapping at your ankles while you’re out for a picnic.

The only time at which these fish do present a danger to humans is during spawning season. They are extremely protective of their young and are very aggressive in their defence of their brood and spawning sites. In the majority of cases, injury can be avoided simply by understanding this behaviour and avoiding situations in which contact is likely.

As to the second accusation - that they’re highly invasive and capable of immense damage to any non-native environment - this is only partly true. Unlike the majority of snakehead species, micros are fully tropical and do not adapt well to the large swings in temperature that are required by many of their genus to remain healthy. Temperature ranges in their natural environment range from approximately 20-30 degrees centigrade, and any temperature drop significantly below that would be lethal. It’s possible that a single specimen could survive in colder waters for a time, but the species could not become established. Sightings of micros in the US have been sporadic, several unverified and there is no evidence to suggest that there’s been success in breeding. That’s not to say that snakeheads aren’t a very real danger to their non-native ecosystems, just that micros are rarely the perpetrators in non-tropical waters (look to C. argus and C. marulius as the main culprits...not that there’s any point in blaming them - they’re fish).

Micros are certainly pervasive in their natural waters (the majority of South-East Asia), but numbers are controlled by natural predation and human intervention, as they make an excellent food source. They’re even farmed for this reason.

When it comes down to it, they’re just animals - large, aggressive predators, yes - but that only implies that they should be treated with the respect we would show any other large predator. And not introduced to foreign waters. Shock.

That being said, this is not an animal to keep in the aquarium. Frankly, it should never have been introduced to the hobby at all.

In the pictures, you’ll notice that the area around Beast’s mouth/jaw has pale patches amongst the darker areas of skin. This is because, despite the tanks in which he’s lived appearing to be big, he frequently bumps into the glass, causing wear, scraping and bruising. A degree of this is inevitable: this is a very large, active fish that would ordinarily have huge stretches of water as its territory. Only the largest of public aquaria would ever be able to achieve the footprint required to mimic his natural habitat.

Unfortunately, micros are seen far too frequently in the aquarium trade, usually as very small, pretty juveniles with a bright red stripe running along the lateral line (hence their other common name, the Red Snakehead). People buy these, thinking they’ll make an attractive and interesting addition to their community or moderately-sized monster tanks (or even very spacious monster tanks), but are often surprised by how quickly they grow, how large they get and how aggressive they become.

Some people then release them into the wild where, as well as wreaking havoc during the summer months and potentially introducing new diseases to local waterways, they cannot survive the seasonal drop in temperature and then perish. Some people are more responsible, and attempt to donate the fish to local or national public aquariums. However, due to their size, territorial demands, disposition, and poor state in which they’re often offered (cramped conditions leading to stunted growth) as well as the public aquariums being overwhelmed with donations of large fish bought by unknowing individuals, it’s rare that they’ll be accepted. There are even times when they’re put down if owners or stores are unable to relocate them. I saw a couple on eBay going for £30 each just today, and another seller offering juveniles. I hate to think what’ll happen to them.

Minimum tank size for an adult is 12x5x4′ - frankly, even that, massive as it sounds, is too small, in my opinion. Micros, unlike the majority of other Channidae, are fully pelagic and require considerable tank length in order to be even remotely comfortable. I’m hoping (and I haven’t told my bank account yet) to give him a footprint of 16x5′. Genuinely a terrifying thought, but that’s the nature of caring for animals of his size and disposition, and even that will never match up to the ideal.

A frequently-overlooked feature of micro care is the importance of decor/planting. Their natural habitat is heavily vegetated, especially around the banks of the swamps and slow-moving rivers they favour. Of particular importance is surface cover, without which they will be exceptionally shy/stressed, as a lack of cover implies that they’re at risk of predation. More than this, as ambush predators, they are most often found in shallow, densely-planted areas at the water’s edge where the cover provides an ideal hunting ground. This is a common failure of the majority of captive conditions. Tanks are often entirely bare, with no cover or decor available and therefore no ability to exhibit natural behaviours. If there are tank mates, it also means that there is nowhere for any occupants (the snakehead included) to hide.

Once at maturity, snakeheads should be fed on a diet of frozen whole fish, muscles, shrimp and large insects no more than 3 times a week to prevent bloating, to which micros are very prone. Feeder fish should be avoided unless absolutely necessary (for all the usual reasons), but - contrary to popular belief -Channa are easily weened onto frozen, and even dry, foods. Many snakehead keepers have reported success with feeding large carnivorous cichlid pellets. Beef heart and other mammalian/bird meats should be avoided, as snakeheads are unable to properly digest the lipids these produce, leading to excess fat deposits. As to the size of their prey, they will eat anything smaller than themselves, and are capable of killing fish of equal size and weight. I wouldn’t recommend feeding anything longer than 3-4″, though.

For this reason, tank mates are extremely inadvisable. Some success has been noted in keeping these with others of their own species or with similarly-sized fish, but the likelihood that there will be problems down the line is very high. Channidae are known to be highly temperamental: even a bonded, proven pair which have lived peacefully in the same tank for years can suddenly turn on each other. Experienced snakehead keepers have found that this is often linked to sudden changes within the aquarium, such as the removal or addition of decor or sudden changes in temperature - even water changes are likely to cause fights to break out. Any previously peaceful aquarium can become chaos overnight. For this reason, many snakehead owners avoid water changes where they can (unless keeping a single specimen), and instead use powerful filtration, careful feeding and very heavy planting to lower the need for frequent water changes. Obviously, the more fish in the tank, the more waste will be produced and the more water changes would be necessary to keep the water clean. Therefore, a rise in stocking increases the likelihood of violence between the inhabitants. Best to avoid the issue entirely.

On top of this, micros are an extremely powerful, aggressive species, and certainly dangerous in the captive environment if not treated with caution. They have the largest teeth of their genus and, given their preference for ambush hunting, are capable of incredible speed when motivated. They will attack either by swallowing prey whole or by biting it in half, disabling the prey and allowing the snakehead to return for the rest of the animal. Because of this, tank maintenance is...a challenge. Sticking fingers, hands and arms in is asking for trouble, and leaning over the tank is certainly nerve-wracking. The store which held onto him for me mentioned a guy who nearly lost his fingers when he decided to wiggle them enticingly above Beast’s head. In Beast’s case, this is currently more an issue of misidentification than aggression - food comes from above, therefore everything that comes from above is food - but the risk remains the same.

So why did I decide to keep him???

Basically, I fell in love with him. I’d admired and researched snakeheads for some time and, knowing his future care requirements, was very worried that this would be another micro to end up in a cramped, sparse environment with too many (read: any) tank-mates and a diet of feeder fish. Youtube is full of videos of fish in exactly those conditions.

When I first saw him, he was looking very stressed in the corner of a 6′ tank at my lfs. Apparently (and unsurprisingly), he’d been traded to the store having outgrown his previous shared monster tank. I asked about him, and was told that if he wasn’t sold he’d be added to a peaceful monster tank at the store (where there are snake neck turtles and fish of an ideal size for nibbling?!) or offered to a public aquarium. Not especially comforting, given the circumstances, but at least they seemed determined to do their best for him.

At the time, I wasn’t in a position to do anything about it and knew I had to leave him where he was. I hoped that when I next visited, someone responsible would have taken him home and I wouldn’t need to worry anymore.

Of course, he was still there when I went back. There had been interest, but while the staff were understandably content with the potential buyers, I was less-than-pleased to hear about 10′ community and monster tanks. I tried not to think about it too much: I didn’t have the money, I didn’t have the space and I was recovering from some severe health issues. He’d have to be someone else’s responsibility. Didn’t stop me from asking questions and researching means of housing him temporarily, though.

However, my circumstances changed dramatically in late spring, and it suddenly became feasible to keep him. So. Here he is.

His current tank is just adequate for a fish of his size at 8x3x2′. He will have outgrown it within a year but, hopefully, by then he’ll have his permanent tank to grow out in. He eats every other day, snoozes in his caves and wiggles at me when I come to sit next to him. Haven’t worked out yet whether that’s a territorial display, begging or curiosity, but I’m not sure it matters, either way.

In short, if you can spare the time, money and space for a single, massive, bite-y poop-machine, then maybe the Giant Snakehead is for you. Otherwise, steer clear.

*note: the white patch on his head is from a loose scale, and is fairly normal for snakeheads of his age, who drop head scales in order to develop larger ones as they grow. I’m keeping an eye on it, but I don’t expect it to be a problem.

**note-note: I live in the UK, where snakeheads are not currently banned (though the EU/DEFRA are proposing to alter that. Bastards. C. argus is banned, thankfully.). For readers in the US, I’m afraid that all Channidae are (somewhat unfairly) illegal to own as pets. At least it prevents micros from entering your trade, though.

***note-note-note: these guys are extremely difficult to sex (so forget breeding pairs - not that breeding would be any kind of good idea in this instance), but I’m leaning towards male with him. It’s been noted anecdotally that, along with being thicker in the body, females are more an olive-green compared to the adult male’s blue-green. Beast is currently fairly slim-bodied and definitely very blue in colour, but there are no guarantees - particularly because he’s nowhere near full maturity yet.

****note-note-note-note: I am not an expert, and much of this information is anecdotal and garnered from conversations and informal posts from other snakehead keepers. As such, if anything here appears to be inaccurate, please let me know!

Largely unverified and informal, but useful, info: x, x, x, x, x, x, x

I’d also recommend joining the groups Channa Headquarters and Only Channidae on fb, if looking for more.

#snakehead #giant snakehead #channa micropeltes #fishblr #long post #very long post

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former-up-brendons-ass · 7 years

Text

girl that you love

requested: yes

smut: yes

word count: 2.9k

pairing: Dallon weekes x reader

warnings: angry dallon, jealousy, strong language, oral sex, unprotected sex, choking, spanking, dirty talk, overall LOTS of sin.

A/N: I loved writing this so much. I had a lot of trouble with what I wanted done with it because I originally posted it via mobile but I finally fixed it lmao. anyways enjoy this very angry, jealous just straight up FILTH dallon ;;;;;)

I sighed, beginning to become absolutely bored out of my mind.

I'd been at this stupid party with the band for a while now and there was no one that I knew in sight. Except for the boys of course, but Dallon was so wrapped up in whatever conversation he was having with Zack and Kenny that he wasn't paying any attention to me. I had no clue where Brendon or Spencer were either, and whenever Dallon got into conversations with Zack and Kenny he'd always leave me out of it, just like he was doing right now.

"Yeah, it's quite funny actually, the guy who was an extra in that film actually..." I rolled my eyes as Dallon pulled out his signature trivia facts that always fascinated everyone else. I loved when he'd do it to me, the way his eyebrows would furrow just slightly as he was trying to remember all the details about it. The man had an incredible memory for very unimportant facts to just spout off at any given time but it seemed like he was forgetting all about his long term girlfriend standing right next to him, very clearly annoyed.

"Dallon, come dance with me," I said, leaning against his shoulder and kissing his neck, practically hanging onto his arm, but he shrugged me off, giving me an annoyed look.

"Y/N, not now," he huffed, taking a sip of his drink and turning back to Zack, who was now going on about some other cast members in whatever film they were talking about. I rolled my eyes and finally gave up, walking away to sit down on a couch nearby and pout for a little while. I'd dressed up in a tight little dress thinking it would drive him crazy and he'd hardly even looked twice at me all night. I didn't know what else to do to get his attention. He'd been so wrapped up in band stuff or just standing around talking with Zack that I had hardly seen any of him in the past week, coming home late from the studio at nights to a cold plate of dinner I'd left for him, having gone to bed just to be waken up by him finally getting into bed, lazily wrapping an arm around my waist just to be gone before I was awake in the morning and I was getting sick of it. I know he's busy and he's got a lot going on but I have needs too and he was really failing to meet them as a boyfriend who supposedly took this relationship seriously.

I stood up and decided to needed to blow off some steam and had intentions on going outside for a few minutes even though it would piss Dallon off to know that i was outside in the dark by myself, when I saw Brendon standing nearby all by himself, sipping at his drink and looking around at everyone. He locked eyes with me, and smiled a little before approaching me and setting his drink down. I felt relief wash over me to see my best friend and finally have someone coming over to talk to me.

"Hey," he said. "It's good to see a familiar face in here for once. I've been wandering around like a lost puppy for about 20 minutes now running into people I've never met that want to chat with me."

"Yeah, tell me about it," I rolled my eyes. "I don't even know why I bothered coming to this."

"Why? What's wrong?" He asked, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

"I don't know anyone here," I sighed. "And between you and me, Dallon has been practically ignoring me for the past week and I was hoping that tonight he'd actually pay attention to me but he's over there talking to Zack about something like always."

"Do you want me to talk to him?" He asked and I shook my head.

"It's no use," I replied. "I've tried everything and he has no interest at all. It's like suddenly everything else is more important to him than me."

"Come on, Y/N, you know that's not true," he said. "I've got an idea. If he can't realize he's missing out then you've got to show him."

"Tried that already too," I crossed my arms. "Do you not see the slutty dress I'm wearing? He's hardly looked twice at me."

"No," he shook his head. "Just trust me on this." He leaned in and took my waist in his hand, and I gave him a questioning look but he just continued to pull me away to dance with him.

"Are you sure Dallon isn't going to get pissed at you for this?" I asked, hesitantly allowing my arms to wrap around his shoulders while he glanced over at Dallon, pulling my body almost flush against his and moving to the beat of the song with me.

"He'll be fine," he replied, turning to me and smirking. "Worst that'll happen is he'll call me a dick and tell me to stay away. He knows we're close."

I prayed that Brendon's plan would work, and decided to loosen up a little and dance with him. Before I even knew it, I wasn't worried about the lack of attention I was getting from Dallon and was just having a good time dancing with Brendon. He was being slightly goofy but intentionally flirty, just like how his personality was. Brendon turned me around, grinding against me and I laughed, our closeness didn't make it awkward at all and I knew that if this didn't make Dallon fume from where he was talking to Zack, nothing would. I went along with Brendon's flirting and grinding, turning and seeing Dallon's stiff figure from the corner of my eye, not the usual relaxed composure that he had. I smirked and pushed my ass back against Brendon a little more, and his grip on my hips tightened.

"I'm really sorry if this gets you into trouble with him," Brendon said in my ear and suddenly I was yanked away from him by a very strong, large hand wrapped around my arm and was being dragged away from Brendon, looking to see that Dallon's jaw was set as he pulled me away from the rest of the party and into a dark hallway, finally letting go of my arm and glaring at me as he cornered me against the wall.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" He snapped.

"I was having fun because my boyfriend doesn't know how to pay attention to me apparently," i snapped back, crossing my arms as I looked up at him, and steam practically shot out of his ears.

"So you think that grinding all over Brendon was the right way to go about this situation?" He said angrily.

"I sure can put on a show, can't I?" I asked, smirking and Dallon's face changed again before I shoved past him and walked away, his hand wrapping around my wrist and pinning me back against the wall.

"Don't think you're going to get away with this, Y/N," he growled, and I pulled away again before walking back out into the party. He couldn't leave now as much as he probably wanted to because he still had speeches and thank you's to wait through for another half hour at least.

I spent the rest of the night flaunting myself around, knowing that Dallon was finally watching me and making sure I was behaving myself. He wasn't happy with me and I knew I'd have his wrath to deal with when we got home that night. Brendon didn't bother trying to push his limits with me, knowing that Dallon could throw him across the bar if he really wanted to, and he was wrapped up talking to Spencer about something anyways. I was fine being by myself at this point. I wanted Dallon to know exactly how it felt to want attention and not get it.

After all the thank you speeches and all had been done, everyone went back to partying like they were before. This was when Dallon grabbed my arm again and pulled me towards the exit.

"Come on, it's time to go home," he said as he pulled me very forcefully.

"What if I want to stay and hang out more?" I asked, crossing my arms and pulling away.

"Y/N." Dallon gave me a warning look and grabbed my wrist again, pulling me towards the exit and out to his car. I finally gave in and climbed into the front seat, Dallon getting in and beginning to drive back to our house. It was deafeningly silent the entire way back, and when we got inside I took off my shoes and went back to our bedroom to change and go to bed.

"I'm going to ask you one time, and that's it," Dallon said, entering the bedroom as I dropped my purse and keys on the bed and crossed my arms to look at him.

"What?" I asked.

"What made you think that any of what you were doing with Brendon was okay?" He said, clearly trying to hold back anger.

"We were just dancing," i said. "He's my best friend."

"You were practically fucking with clothes on!" He yelled. "How is that 'just dancing,' Y/N?"

"I'm so sorry for trying to have a good time when my boyfriend has been ignoring me for everyone else," I snapped.

"You cannot just start grinding all over other men, especially not one of my bandmates!" He stepped closer to me but I didn't move.

"I can do whatever I want." I stared him down as he didn't reply, just slowly walked closer to me until he was towering over me and leaned down to speak directly to me.

"You're going to listen to what I have to say," he said, his tone quiet and even. "You've been misbehaving horribly and you need to pay for what you did. Take off your clothes and lay on the bed."

I stared at him for a moment, completely shocked with how his mood shifted so suddenly and how he was reacting to this whole thing.

"Did I fucking stutter, slut? Strip." He said, a little bit louder and stepped back far enough to allow me room to undress. I unzipped my dress down the side so I could step out of it, kicking off my heels and looking back at Dallon hesitantly, who was standing and watching me with his arms crossed, facial expression unreadable. I reached behind my back to unhook my bra, tossing it aside and finally moving down to remove my panties. Dallon remained where he was until I climbed back onto the bed and laid back in front of him. He finally stepped forward and loosened his tie, taking it off altogether and unbuttoning the top couple buttons of his shirt.

"First, I'm going to spank you to punish you for misbehaving and mouthing off so much tonight," he said, taking off his belt and holding it in his hands. "Or I suppose I could use this. Turn around and get on your hands and knees."

I obliged quickly, my heart pounding and wetness already beginning to collect between my thighs. I pushed my ass out towards him, silently begging for any kind of touch from him. I heard him chuckle under his breath and then felt a sharp pain against my rear end, the crack of the belt sounded against my skin and I gasped, holding back a moan as I felt his warm hand rub against the cheek that he'd struck.

"Do not make a sound," he said, pulling his hand away and whipping my ass with the belt again. I bit my lip as the stinging spread to my other cheek. After another couple whips, Dallon tossed his belt aside and rubbed my red skin tenderly with his hand.

"Good girl," he said, leaning down and kissing my shoulder. His hand trailed down between my thighs and his finger rubbed against my folds, circling around the arousal that had collected throughout his punishment. "Goddamn, you're already so wet for me. You dirty little slut." He pulled his hand away, much to my dismay and stepped back to unbutton the rest of his shirt and pull his pants down. "Get over here and put that mouth to better use than sassing me."

I moved eagerly off the bed as Dallon pulled his boxer briefs down to reveal his growing erection. I got down on my knees in front of him and gently wrapped my hand around his member, licking underneath from the base to the tip, and sucked on the tip for a moment before taking more of him into my mouth.

Dallon's hand grabbed a handful of my hair and pushed himself further into my mouth. "That's right. You look much better like this than you do giving me attitude, you little slut," he growled, thrusting into my mouth and hitting the back of my throat while he slowly fucked my mouth. I looked up at him to see him bite his lip and tilt his head back slightly, a small moan sounding from his throat. I moaned back in response, turned on by how godly he looked when I was pleasuring him.

"Get back on the bed," he said, pulling himself out of my mouth and I obeyed, immediately crawling back onto the bed and laying down in front of him. He pulled my legs to the edge of the bed and spread my thighs apart, eyeing up the obvious wetness that had soaked all over my inner thighs. "Since you've been a good girl for me so far, I'm going to reward you but you don't touch me or make a sound, got it?" I nodded quickly, eager for some sort of relief and allowed him to use his hands to hold my thighs apart, licking up the wetness on my thighs slowly before making his way to my aching core. I took a deep breath in and sighed when his tongue finally circled my clit and lapped up and down my folds. I grabbed fistfuls of the blankets under me as he continued to lick and suck, my knees weak and back arching off the bed. He suddenly used one hand to push 2 fingers into my entrance and tease my walls, slowly pumping them in and out while he used his tongue on my clit. A small whimper fell from my lips and he suddenly stopped, biting down on my thigh quickly.

"I said don't make a sound," he said, looking up at my face. "Do you want me to fuck you?"

"Yes Dallon," i said, and he pulled away, a smirk evident on his face as he stood up.

"You sure you don't want Brendon to fuck you?" He asked. "I could call him and see if he can give you a better fuck than I can."

"No Dallon, i only want you," i said. "Please fuck me."

"I can't hear you."

"Dallon, please fuck me," I practically yelled. He climbed over me and pushed himself into me without any warning, and started immediately pounding into me at a steady pace before I had time to adjust. I gasped as he pinned my hips against the bed with his, one hand wrapping around my throat and squeezing slightly. I gasped for air while he continued fucking me relentlessly, my hands still grabbing the blankets underneath me, a small amount of sweat forming on both of us.

"You like being choked like the dirty little slut that you are, don't you?" He grunted, I could only whimper in response. "Brendon will never be able to fuck you as good as I can."

Before I even knew it, I could feel my orgasm approaching and Dallon continued his pace, fast and rough, letting go of my throat so he could grab my hips in his hands, digging his fingers into the skin and for sure leaving bruises the size of his fingerprints. I dug my nails into his back and pulled him closer as he bit down onto my neck, my back arching against him. The heat pooling in my stomach was growing more and more with every thrust, moans, curse words and Dallon's name falling from my lips as I chased my release.

"I'm so c-close," I moaned out, Dallon's grip on my body tightening and his pace quickening even more as I felt my body quake and tumble over the edge. I let out a loud moan as my back arched against the bed and my walls spasmed around him. He continued his fast pace to ride out my orgasm and chase his own. Before long his hips stuttered and his mouth fell open, a moan falling from it as the warmth of his load pooled inside me and he thrusted a few more times before slowing to a stop and collapsing on top of me.

Our sweaty bodies laid tangled up with each other for a moment while we caught our breath and he finally rolled off of me and pulled me into his arms, allowing me to nuzzle up against his neck.

"I'm sorry I haven't been paying much attention to you this week," he sighed. "I know I've been busy but I shouldn't have just blown you off like I did."

"I'm sorry for basically using Brendon to make you jealous," I replied. He smiled down at me and kissed my forehead, tugging me even closer.

"Not that I ever want to see it again, but if it was anyone other than Brendon, they would have been on the ground in an instant."

#dallon weekes smut #dallon weekes #panic! at the disco #panic! at the disco smut #brendon urie #brendon urie smut #brallon #brallon smut

199 notes · View notes

leroiloup · 5 years

Text

Over & Over

➥ Takes place after TO: S5 ⚜️ A/N: These are excerpts pulled from an RP thread I did with a Katherine. I wanted to save some of my writings and interpretations of Klaus’s time after the show, so I’m posting it here for that reason. Hence why it’s not a completely connected fic. ✥ Trigger Warnings: Mild violence/gore

The forest was dark, not a single light in the distance to be seen, making the night sky twinkle with every star above. Blinking, Klaus slowly started to pick himself up from the ground, trying to recalibrate his mind to figure out where he was. On his feet, he shook his head to wake himself up and noted that his hair was long, down past his shoulders. That didn't seem right, he thought, though try as he may, he couldn't quite recall what it was supposed to be like. There was no memory from before two minutes ago.

Turning around, he saw fire in the distance. It was his only clue as to where he was, so he followed it, hoping to find someone who could help him. It wasn’t long before he was in a clearing lit by torches. On the far side there was a woman with her back to him, her long blonde hair was visible in the fire light. In an instant, all confusion in Klaus's mind was replaced with unbridled rage. It was a new sensation for him, one that scared him a little, but he fed on it, feeling power coursing through his veins. His hands trembled and clenched into fists as he looked at the woman.

< ❝ What have you done?! ❞ > he yelled in his natural born Nordic tongue.

She turned and he looked into the face of his mother. Her eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and sympathy. < ❝ I am trying to protect you, ❞ > Esther replied, fighting to keep her voice even as her bastard son walked closer to her. < ❝ You don't understand what are you are. ❞ >

< ❝ Enough. Silence, ❞ > he pleaded as she continued to speak, holding out her hand to him, hoping to calm him.

< ❝ I never wanted to hurt you. This is for your own good, my son. ❞ > She continued on but finally it became too much to bear. It was patronizing, a mockery of everything the newly made vampire felt.

Reaching the end of his rope, he screamed one last time for her to stop and when she didn't, his eyes transformed into something monstrous and he pounced. He was in front of her, hand buried in her chest before she could even blink. Esther's face froze in a look of utter terror but there was something more. When Klaus looked carefully, he could see disappointment. He had failed her. He failed his entire family. At once, he let go of her, her body dropping heavily to the forest floor. His right hand was warm, covered in her blood. The sound of a twig snapping caught his attention. When he turned, he saw his own father, Mikael, standing by a tree, having witnessed it all.

⚜️

Gasping in horror, Klaus sat up, opening his eyes as if from a terrible nightmare. He brought his hands to his face and saw them both clean, pale skin gleaming in the moonlight. He looked up to see the moon above and the sky full of stars. He was in the forest again, though this time as he pulled himself to his feet, he could recall something he hadn't before.

The witch in Romania told him he probably wouldn't survive the spell, but he didn't care. To break the curse of the Hollow, to remove it from himself and his family, he was willing to sacrifice that. It would appear, as he looked around the familiar woods, his long hair rustled by the wind, that he had done exactly that. Turning, he saw the firelight in the distance and realization started to dawn on him. "Bloody hell," he muttered to himself, speaking more literally than figuratively.

⚜️

It had been hours. No, years. Centuries perhaps. Or even mere minutes. Time was an illusion in this wretched place and Klaus had put the pieces together. His Hell was to relive the murder of his mother over and over for all eternity, no matter how long it lasted. Yet, knowing that didn't spare him any pain. He had started to change his actions, say different things to her, but none of it mattered. He'd always end up with her warm, slick blood on his hands while his father watched.

⚜️

❝ Confess your sins. ❞

That’s what had been asked of him after reliving his torturous scene on a loop. The voice echoed in the woods around him. The ruler of this after life, wanted to hear his sins, but why? The king of New Orleans, the original vampire and hybrid was used to knowing everything, and now he found himself confused and alone. He had confessed his sins. He killed his mother and his siblings knew that in life. Why then was he forced to relive it, this one specific moment, on a loop in his death? It made no sense to him except to punish him for a lifetime of foul deeds.

The fire ignited in the distance, the sound of its flame come to life drawing his attention. Klaus sighed and adjusted his tunic. ❝ Let's get on with it, then, ❞ he said as he headed off towards his miserable destiny.

And thus the cycle began a new. The screams, the blood, the shame, the guilt. Over and over. Sometimes his siblings watched him murder their mother. Sometimes it was even one of them who put him down instead of Mikael. Whatever the configuration of players, the end result was always the same. He was beginning to be numb towards it. Time made no sense to him and he'd long lost count of how many times he'd woken up on that forest floor. The only thing that was different this time, however, was the knowledge of what Katerina had told him. There was hope for a way out, he felt that in his soul. Even as he enacted his morbid play endlessly, he understood in the back of his mind that there would be a way to see his daughter's face again.

It was as that thought popped into his mind that everything changed. He didn't know how long he'd been stuck in the endless cycle, but as Mikael approached him, he acted first. He fist punched a hole through his father's chest, fingers wrapping tightly around the beating heart. Never once, no matter what changes were made to the scenario was he able to get the jump on Mikael.

Yet it wasn't victory that shined in Klaus's eyes. It was pure h o r r o r.

As he gripped the heart, he found that he wasn't looking into his father's face at all. It was someone different. The terror struck eyes before him belonged to his daughter.

Klaus yelled and pulled his hand back, but it was too late. She fell to the ground immobile as his family circled in to bare witness. As he turned for help, his vision obscured, leaving nothing but blackness.

Waking up on the forest floor, Klaus sat, shaking all over from fear. It had felt so real. She was there, her dead eyes staring right back at him. It made no sense, though. She didn't belong there, she wasn't alive yet.

Looking up, he saw the fire in the clearing and his mind completely emptied save for one thought: Hope could be there. He could see his daughter again.

Getting up, he ran towards the clearing, ignoring his mother as he looked around. ❝ Hope! ❞ he cried out, an almost wild look in his eyes as he searched the darkness for her.

Hearing footsteps behind him, he turned and saw Mikael step out from behind a tree. < ❝ She's not lost, ❞ > he told his son. < ❝ She's always here. She's always been here. ❞ >

The riddle didn't make sense and Klaus's eyes darted around for any sign of her. Esther stepped forward, putting her hand on his shoulder as though trying to comfort him. Mikael continued walking until he was face to face with Klaus, his eyes unblinking. < ❝ You were never my son. But then, I think we both know that that's not entirely true. You belong to me. You always have. I made you into what you are now and that's a fate you cannot escape. ❞ >

He gestured to Esther who went to pick up one of the torches. She held to the ground where a ring of fire ignited, casting a light on the trees around them. Revealed in the warm glow were bodies pinned to the trees. Klaus froze as he recognized the bloodied and twisted faces of each one of them.

Finn. Esther. Mikael. Camille. Elijah. Hayley.

Fear filled and teary eyes kept turning until they rested on the final body pinned to a tree. H o p e.

Klaus's mouth opened in a silent scream as he tried to make sense of it. Somewhere in his mind he knew it wasn't real. It was another vision, but it felt true. He could smell the blood that dripped to the leaves on the ground.

< ❝ You're poison, ❞ > Mikael told him easily. < ❝ And deep down, you know that I'm not to blame for that. It was because of you that these people died, not me. And soon to follow will be that girl. ❞ >

< ❝ No! ❞ > Klaus immediately interrupted, turning to face his father. < ❝ She's free. She's free of me, of all of us. She is to be untouched. UNTOUCHED! ❞ > He gasped as once again, his heart was pulled from his body. The last thing he saw as he fell to the ground was his daughter's dead face staring down at him.

And so it was the new cycle that began. Different ways in which he was forced to watch his daughter die. Over and over, just like before. Eventually, he found himself laying on the forest floor where he'd just waken up. He couldn't get up, though. There was no resolve left in him to keep going. ❝ I get it now," he said in a small voice to the night sky above, knowing she, the queen of this realm, would be listening. ❝ Whatever my intentions for a millennia were, in the end it didn't matter. The moment my daughter was born, nothing else held weight. She was that light in my entire life of darkness. It seems cruel that something so pure should be born to a monster. ❞ The muscles in his jaw tightened as he felt more tears well up in his eyes.

❝ Like f a t h e r like d a u g h t e r. ❞

#ᴡ ☾ kʟᴀᴜs cʜʀᴏɴɪᴄʟᴇs ﹕ oɴᴇ sʜᴏᴛ #ᴠ ☾ cᴀɴᴏɴ #klaus #klaus mikaelson #niklaus mikaelson #originals #the originals #the vampire diaries #to #tvd #vampire diaries #ɢ ☾ aɴɢsᴛ #ᴛ ☾ Pᴏsᴛ TO

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unending-happiness · 7 years

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The Most Beautiful Thing on the Planet

Alec and Magnus travel to the Maldives Islands for some much needed rest and relaxation. Their alone time gets interrupted by something unexpected. Alec is full of sass and Magnus is his usual magnificent self. Basically, just these two lovebirds in paradise.

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It was amazing how everything was better on vacation, even the coffee tasted better in paradise. Alec stood in the doorway to the deck of their overwater villa. They had been keeping the large sliding glass door opened all the way, so that the indoor and outdoor spaces merged into one. Even at night, there was no need for privacy, the only thing as far as the eye could see were the crystal turquoise waters of the Indian Ocean and a blue sky filled with puffy white clouds. They were but a few steps away from water so clear you could see all the marine life below, as your feet settled into soft white sand. It was a stunning sight, but even the idyllic scenery had nothing on the sight that was currently capturing Alec’s attention.

Magnus was lying on his stomach wearing nothing but the shortest, tightest swim bottoms that he had ever seen, not that he was complaining one bit. His already tan skin had been kissed by the sun over the past few days, giving him an almost unearthly glow. Magnus always called him an angel, but Alec knew who the real angel was here. He must’ve just gotten out of the pool, his skin still glistening with drops of water, his hair wet and slicked back. There were a number of comfortable lounge chairs and a hammock nearby, but Magnus was stretched out on the smooth tiki wood of the deck, his hand draped over the edge into their private infinity pool, languidly swishing through warm water. He was facing the ocean, his long legs stretched out toward Alec, toes pointed gracefully. Alec couldn’t see his face from where he stood, but he knew that he still didn’t have makeup on, nor any jewelry, and his nails weren’t painted. He knew because those fingers had just slid down his chest an hour ago, before he left Alec to his book and went outside. He was actually surprised Magnus had bothered to pull on bottoms, as he had taken to this pool naked more than a few times in their time here.

Alec knew that in a short time, all of his usual flair would be back. Magnus would get dressed up for their lunch date at the resort restaurant. This stripped down version of Magnus was something that few people ever got to see, and Alec felt a great sense of pride at being trusted with a laid bare Magnus. He knew that without the makeup, jewelry, and clothes, Magnus felt like a knight without his armour. However, he knew the truth and reminded him often that his armor was his incredible inner strength. Alec truly loved every version of Magnus, and couldn’t get enough of any of them.

He took a last sip of his coffee and quietly set it down on a nearby table, and moved to join his boyfriend by the pool, yearning to run his hands across his damp skin. He walked quietly, the wood soft and soundless under his feet, thinking Magnus would feel the vibrations and look up, but he didn’t. Closer now, he had a clear view of Magnus’ face. He was expecting his eyes to be closed, or at least filled with a look of serenity, so when he saw that his eyebrows were scrunched in irritation, his lips in a scowl, Alec followed his gaze to his hand. He was holding his iphone, it’s black glittery case shining in the sun, with a colorful game playing on the screen.

“Magnus Bane,” Alec said sternly, snapping him out of his game-induced concentration, “I cannot believe you.”

Magnus jumped, nearly dropping the offending article, before burying his face in the crook of his elbow and groaning. “Ugh. I thought you were reading.”

“I missed you, and you look so hot laying out here all spread ou--” Alec stopped, shaking his head ”--no, I’m not getting distracted. We specifically said no cellphones on vacation.”

Magnus rolled over onto his back, so that he could look up at Alec, pressing the button on his phone to turn off the screen and laying it next to him. “Yes, I’m aware of what we said, but honestly, you were reading, so I don’t see why I can’t just play a game, Alexander. Be reasonable.”

Alec scoffed, putting his hands on his hips over his shorts, “Be reasonable?! You’ve got to be kidding me. You are the one who made the rule. You went so far as to lock my phone in the hotel safe when we got here. You gave my family the resort number in case they needed anything, because, you know, I wouldn’t have my phone.”

Leaning back on his elbows looking up at him, Magnus at least had the grace to appear a little remorseful, “I understand, but the whole no phones deal was made because yours is always ringing and interrupting us. It’s always Jace, Izzy, Maryse, work, someone is always calling. I love that your family is important to you and that you are dedicated to your clients, but they always want you to fix something, and I just wanted one whole week of not having to share you, my love. Is that really too much to ask?”

“No, it isn’t too much to ask. I know that my work keeps me busy and my family can be a bit much, which is why I agreed, but the point is, you said you wouldn’t use yours either,” a thought occurred to him, “Wait...when did you even get yours out of the safe? How long have you had it?”

Magnus evaded the question, “I just wanted to beat this one level on candy crush..I’m so close, and you were reading that boring book anyway.”

Alec balked, throwing his hands in the air, “Candy crush?! You broke our pact for a game about crushing candy? Unbelievable,” but his annoyance was waning as his eyes raked over Magnus’ toned abs, displayed in all their glory in front of him. Damn libido!

Magnus’ knowing look told Alec that he knew exactly what was on his mind, and he smiled innocently, seeing his chance to distract him, “Darling. I am so sorry. How can I ever make it up to you?”

Alec could think of a way….or ten. “Don’t darling me. I’m still mad at you,” he said, but he lowered himself down, straddling Magnus. Leaning over him, he scooped a handful of water from the pool and dripped it into Magnus’ hair, smoothing it out of his face. “You are the most gorgeous candy crush addict I have ever seen.” He was leaning down to kiss him, when a loud chirping sound came from Magnus’ phone. He quickly snatched it up and sat up, sitting back on his thighs to keep him in place. He held the phone up out of reach, put in the lock screen password, and swiped down notifications, ignoring Magnus’ protests.

It was a text from Ragnor.

I emailed you with the files for next week’s edition, as requested. Honestly, Magnus, Catarina and I have this under control. I don’t know why you insist on working from halfway across the world. Don’t you have something else to do? such as: snorkel, drink from a coconut, or climb that tall broody tree of yours? Speaking of, Alec has instagram. He’s going to see the dates on those pictures when you get back, and I would love to be there when he does. Stop micromanaging. I’m not enabling you anymore.

Alec’s jaw dropped. Magnus was working?! He was working a lot apparently, and he was also on social media. So much for the whole ‘just playing a game’ bit. “You lied to me,” he said.

Magnus gave up trying to get the phone from Alec and slumped back down, putting his hands on Alec’s thighs, “I didn’t lie to you. You didn’t ask me if I was working, specifically,” he said, while slowly sliding his hands up under Alec’s shorts.

Damnit. Why was Magnus so good at removing all thoughts from his mind? He leveled a pointed gaze at his hands, which had the immediate effect of stilling them. “Withholding the truth is lying by omission, Magnus, and you know that.” He leaned down and whispered, “I am going to throw your phone into the ocean.”

Magnus panicked, “Don’t do that! That phone case was a gift from Catarina and it is one of a kind.”

Alec laughed incredulously, “So you aren’t worried about the brand new expensive electronic, but you are worried about the sparkly phone case?”

“All the best things sparkle.” Magnus retorted.

He couldn’t argue with that logic, considering Magnus sparkled most of the time and Alec was crazy about him. For a moment, he thought of removing the phone from it’s case and hurling it, but then he looked at Magnus underneath him, nearly naked and vulnerable, lips pouty and pleading, and he just sighed. He wasn’t going to win this one, so he typed out a text reply to Ragnor.

Magnus can’t come to his phone right now. It has been confiscated by the broody tall tree. He will see you in 5 days.

He decided to pull up instagram next, to see what kind of pictures Magnus had posted of their trip during his secret phone time. Expecting beach pictures, he was surprised when the first thing he saw was a picture of himself. It was a black and white shot of him sleeping, his hair wild against the white pillow, one hand tucked up under his head, the other one curled around Magnus’ hand. The caption on the photo seemed to be song lyrics, ones that Alec didn’t recognize, but that he would be listening to the first chance he got.

I surrender who I’ve been for who you are, nothing makes me stronger than your fragile heart. If I had only felt how it feels to be yours, I would’ve known what I’ve been living for all along. ~ Turning Page, Sleeping at Last.

Alec swallowed. He felt overwhelmed with gratitude that life had given him this amazing, beautiful man who loved him. He blinked back tears as he focused on Magnus’ face.

Magnus looked concerned, “What are you looking at? Is it Ragnor? Are you going to throw my phone into the Indian Ocean?”

Alec powered down the device, placed it on the deck, and leaned down, kissing Magnus on the nose and running his fingers through his hair.

“No, I’m not. I’m going to order room service. We are going to stay here all day, and I’m going to worship every inch of your body in a vain attempt to show you how impossibly in love with you I am.”

Magnus placed both hands on his face, and whispered, “I love you too, Alexander.” He smiled, rubbing a thumb across his cheek, “Does this mean I get to finish my game later?”

Alec kissed him breathless, completely losing himself in the most beautiful thing on the planet.

#shaumondays #malec #magnus x alec #fic #my fic #shadowhunters #ao3 #the most beautiful thing on the planet #travel au #maldive islands #paradise #lovebirds in paradise #magnus bane #alec lightwood #maldives magic series #maldivesmagicfics

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