#returning to my roots (drawing pretty girls in white dresses)

[envyenvys]

[bumblesimagines]

Grateful You're Mine

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Princess Helaena finally weds the man she's been engaged to since they were children. She finds married life to be more than she expected.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, arranged marriage trope, fluff, they match each other's freaks and social levels, canon divergent/au since the twins aren't Aegons, literally nothing else just short and sweet

Crazy we hardly got to see the pleasant and happy girl she was described as 😔 WFMF coming soon!! just thought i'd give some other characters attention for once

~~~

As consciousness seeped into her body, the sweet smell of flowers filled her nose, powerful yet not overwhelming enough to irritate her. It took her brain a few moments to catch up and remind her that she no longer resided within the dreary walls of the Red Keep, but instead in her new home in Highgarden. She rubbed at her eyes with her knuckles gently and pushed herself into a sitting position, her eyes sweeping around the room before settling on the empty spot in the bed beside her. 

"Good morrow, Princess Helaena," Her handmaiden, Maecy, greeted with a friendly smile as she set down a tray with food to break her fast and herbal tea to warm her body. 

"Good morrow," She responded sleepily, slipping her legs free from underneath the blankets and wriggling her feet into the slippers beside the bed. "Has Lord (Y/N) gone somewhere?" 

Her handmaiden smiled knowingly, her slender fingers picking up one of the brushes set on the vanity. "I cannot say, My Princess. I am afraid I have been sworn to secrecy for the time being." 

Helaena's head cocked to the side but she nonetheless nodded silently and stood up, shuffling across the room to retrieve a slice of honeyed bread. She sat down on the comfortable chair and began eating, savoring each bite and licking her fingers clean as Maecy began delicately brushing her hair, untangling knots and smoothing the frizz out with oils. Once finished with her breakfast, Helaena stood up and blinked owlishly at Maecy when the brunette remained rooted in her spot instead of gathering the clothes she'd be wearing for the day.

Before she could question her, the doors parted and Helaena turned around, a smile immediately gracing her features upon seeing her new husband enter. (Y/N) returned it and walked forward, a servant following with a box in her hands as the doors shut firmly behind them. Helaena eyed the box curiously, her brows furrowing questioningly at him. 

"Do you recall that drawing you really liked of the beetle?" He asked her, leaning down to pluck a leftover grape from her plate and plop it into his mouth. Helaena gave a slow nod and he brightened, peering over his shoulder to nod to the servant. "I had a gift made for you."

Helaena watched as Maecy and the servant worked together to take the lid off before she gaped at the sight of a pretty soft blue dress with white accents. They lifted it from the box to showcase its full beauty, and her heart leaped in her chest at the lovely white design of a stag beetle threaded into the bosom area of the dress with small white flowers around it. She pressed her fingers to her lips, her pale lilac eyes widening as she fully absorbed the beauty of the dress. 

(Y/N) watched her, fingers fiddling with the sleeves of his shirt. "Do you like it?" He questioned somewhat nervously only for the nerves to fade at the sound of Helaena's giddy giggle. She nodded and leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips that made his skin warm. 

Eagerly, Helaena allowed Maecy and the servant to help her dress, the two women giggling softly under their breaths at the way Lord (Y/N) turned around despite the two having wed the week prior. When they finished, Helaena studied her reflection in the mirror, her teeth clamping down on her bottom lip at the wave of excitement and giddy rushing through her veins. The compliments and coos from the women were swiftly overshadowed by the way her husband's eyes lit up at the sight of her. 

"It is truly lovely," Helaena spoke softly, clutching the skirt to walk better as she strode forward before releasing it to take his hands into hers. He smiled again, rubbing his thumbs over the back of her hands soothingly, just as he had done under the table during their wedding celebrations when the music and loud chatter had become overwhelming for her. "Thank you." 

"Mother thought the fabrics would have been better in green but I've always thought you looked lovelier in blue." (Y/N) told her and she felt her own skin warm, a breathy and shy laugh escaping past her lips. He released one of her hands to brush back one of her silver strands, his eyes softened and filled with genuine warmth. 

After witnessing the loveless marriage between her parents and the chaotic marriage between Aegon and his Lannister wife, Helaena grew to fear her own wedding would be a miserable one. Her marriage to (Y/N) had been arranged by her grandsire after her mother dismissed the idea of her marrying her own brother and rejected her older half-sister's proposal to wed her to one of her sons, although he remained a stranger for many years until the Tyrells expressed their desires to see their heir with children of his own. 

She'd been nervous that day, and her mother's own anxiety hardly helped her own, but when (Y/N) stood before her with a pink hydrangea in hand and his eyes averted to focus on the floor beneath them, she realized she had little to fear. When they'd been left to wander the garden with a handmaiden trailing behind them, the awkward air faded with ease once she began speaking of her beloved crickets and the small creatures she found most interesting and he told her of the flowers that attracted certain creatures. A spark had seemingly ignited, one fueled the night of their wedding day when he offered to lie to their parents when she'd grown too nervous to consummate the marriage. 

"Oh," (Y/N) brightened once more. "You must see the garden at this time of year, Helaena. There's butterflies in every corner." 

And so they took a stroll through the garden, taking in the floral scents in the air and the vibrant rows of flowers with butterflies, other winged insects, and even a few hummingbirds bouncing from flower to flower.

Her mother had been right when she told her a girl of her disposition would do well within the peaceful walls of Highgarden; everything about Highgarden felt calming. The Red Keep had a tense air to it with its gloomy weather and near-suffocating residents but those who resided in Highgarden appeared more carefree and happy. Helaena enjoyed it, enjoyed being in a place where she received smiles instead of judgemental glances. 

Unlike in the Keep where time passed agonizingly slowly with little to nothing new happening, Highgarden always seemed to be bursting with life and music. Helaena found herself passing time with her husband in the garden, her hands focused on beginning an embroidery of a pretty butterfly she spotted whilst (Y/N) drew a flower with his chalk on paper. Things were silent between them yet merely spending time beside him satisfied her, allowing her to work with a small smile on her face. 

When they finished with their respective pieces, they returned inside and ate lunch in the quiet of their bedchambers. Helaena watched the servants scoop up the plates and take them away, cleaning the table and curtsying before swiftly leaving the room and leaving her to turn to look at (Y/N). His head remained tilted toward the balcony overlooking the large maze, his eyes distant but expression content. 

"Husband," Helaena roused him, bringing him back to the present. She licked a crumb off the owner of her lips and straightened up in her seat, casting Maecy a glance. "What do you think of having children?" 

"Babes are loud and messy." (Y/N) responded, leaning back into his chair and swirling around the last of his tea before bringing it to his lips. "It would be... nice to have some, though. I think it would please Mother to have grandchildren and Father would surely dote on them." 

"I'd like to have some soon," Helaena revealed. She'd always been told she'd make a lovely mother. "A boy and two girls, I think, would be nice. Mother claims Hightowers oft' have many boys, though." 

"We can have as many as you desire."

Children, Helaena came to learn, were rather interesting little creatures that brought forth such wonder and intense feelings out of her. Helaena simply couldn't get enough of watching her newest little one sleep cradled in her arms, her rosy cheeks more apparent from the complexion she'd inherited from her mother. Daenys gave a small yawn and squeezed her eyes before parting them to reveal the violet beneath. 

"Someone has finally awoken," Helaena murmured, tilting her head to look at her husband. He held a book in his hands, one about different flowers documented across Westeros, with their sleepy twins nestled between his arms. She reached out to run her fingers through Jaehaerys (H/C) hair, unable to bite back the smile when he nuzzled further into his father's chest. 

Carefully, (Y/N) set the book aside and scooped Jaehaerys up to settle him at his mother's side before he took Daenys into his arms, eyes crinkling with joy when she cooed at the sight of him. "I hear your nieces and nephews may give Queen Alicent some gray hairs." He chuckled. "It is no wonder why she visits as often as she does." 

"Maelor and his siblings have inherited much from their parents, I suppose. A lioness in gold forced to live in the cold will always have her claws out... and Aegon's never been... easy." Helaena spoke, her arm sliding around her only boy and the future heir to Highgarden. The look (Y/N) sent her way made her chuckle, lightly shrugging her shoulders. "I am certain he is a good father even if he may not be.. an adequate husband."

"If you say so." (Y/N) murmured, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against Daenys just to hear her burst with giggles. Her dozing sister parted her eyes at the sound and eagerly moved closer, eyes wide with adoration as she took in her new sibling again. Her father sweetly stroked the back of her head, tilting his arm so she'd have a better look at Daenys. "Though, he is as good of an uncle as Prince Aemond. He has already sent the finest jewels for Daenys."

"It's not so bad being married to a Targaryen, then?" Helaena asked teasingly, leaning toward him to rest her chin upon his shoulder. 

(Y/N) huffed a small laugh and kissed the side of her head. "Yes, it's not so bad. It's lovely, if anything, dearest." 

[oh-hush-its-perfect]

Alex Fierro's Introduction Full Breakdown

Okokok so. This is going to go full English-professor mode, where I'm drawing conclusions that are gonna seem a little far-fetched. That's what's fun about media analysis! I can say something is a symbol, and even if I don't have enough faith in RR's competency to know if he meant for it to be a symbol, it's still true! That being said, a lot of these choices I'm sure are intentional, either at a literal or subliminal level. Page numbers are going to be used not to assert a kind of authority or whatever— this is a Tumblr post, not an essay— but to help readers find the pages I'm referencing in case they'd like to do some digging of their own. Also, this is going to be really long. Really sorry to anyone with ADHD; I might make an audiofile of this so you can get the information without having to read the whole thing. With all that, let's get into it!

To kick off, let's talk about Alex being in the form of a cheetah when she first meets Magnus. Of course, there's the obvious impact of him seeing her but only so breifly, as well as introducing the conflict between her and the rest of Hall 19. But that could have easily been accomplished by almost any animal. The choice of a cheetah being implicated implies two qualities of Alex that will be recurrent throughout the two books she's in: 1. She has a tendency to run away, as we'll later learn when she describes how she became homeless, and 2. To Magnus, she's elusive. She can't be caught or held down. The event that shows this so transparently is how Alex refuses to define their relationship at the end of the series, despite it clearly surpassing the normal bounds of friendship.

But the cheetah isn't the animal Alex is in the form of when Magnus first gets a good look at her; she's a weasel. Weasel's bring up all kinds of connotations: ferocity, slickness, a lack of charm. When we want to describe someone as an untrustworthy person, we call them a weasel. RR had Alex take this form to play up her comrades' feeling of distrust towards her. She could be a double-crosser. But paradoxically, the up-front and vicious mannerisms of a weasel also have a transperency. She does not try appealing to her Hallmate's sense of goodwill because she doesn't have anything to gain from it. So even though there is the implication that she might be an antagonist, there's also evidence from her actions and mannerisms that she isn't. The weasel's long and skinny frame also allow for a smooth transition into Alex's actual body, which is convenient.

As Alex transforms into her usual human form, Magnus describes her as "a regular human teen, long and lanky, with a swirl of dyed green hair, black at the roots, like a plug of weeds pulled out of a lawn" (pg. 50). That simile at the end is of particular interest. Let's compare it to another time Magnus describes Alex's hair, in Ship of the Dead: "Her hair had started to grow out, the black roots making her look even more imposing, like a lion with a healthy mane" (pg. 136). By contrasting these two different examples, we can see the development of Magnus and Alex's relationship. The first time he sees her, he thinks of her hair as something nasty— note the word choice "weeds." Later on, though, he becomes more affectionate towards her, more complentary. The immedient negative reaction is less his actual impression, though, and more the reaction he expected to have based on everyone else's reaction to Alex.

Her clothes are equally as interesting; as Magnus describes it, Alex wears "battered rose high-tops, skinny lime green corduroy pants, a pink-and-green argyle sweater-vest over a white tee, and another pink cashmere sweather wrapped around the waist like a kilt" (pg. 50). Aside from the obvious fact that this outfit is a) bizzare, b) fire, and c) Alex's signature colors, which add a layer of style to what can otherwise be a somewhat boring series fashion-wise (excuse me, Blitz), the outfit reveals a crucial facet of Alex's backstory in a kind of subtle way. These are expensive clothes, like the Stella McCartney dress in Alex's room. Note the mention of fabrics (corduroy, cashmere) and patterns (argyle). These indicate wealth and status. Even the high-tops; shoes like that don't come cheap. But I'd like to return to the very first word of the section: "battered." Alex's wardrobe show-cases a proximity to wealth, but also shows that that proximity has been strained and lengthened, maybe for an extended period of time. Alex dresses like a rich person, but she isn't one. Least, not anymore.

The last word of that outfit-introduction is also of interest: "kilt." At the current moment, Magnus thinks that Alex is male. No one has indicated otherwise to him. Everyone has been referring to Alex with he/him pronouns. Samirah called Alex her "brother" (pg. 29). His first thought in seeing what he at first perceives as a guy with a jacket wrapped around the waist is That looks like a kilt. This thought tells us about Magnus: despite being open and accepting, he still has some lingering notions of gender conformity from his years in wider American society.

Magnus also indicates that the outfit "reminded me of a jester's motley, or the coloration of a venomous animal warning the whole world" (pg. 50). This is rather self-explanatory, but it's still worth noting that Magnus sees the outfit as something bizzare, strange, and even perhaps comical. This places Alex at odds with the other people Magnus has met. It also reveals that Magnus has zero fashion sense. But we already knew that.

After finishing up staring at the ensemble, Magnus finally gets around to actually looking Alex in the face. First Magnus says that he "forgot how to breathe" (pg. 50), which, yeah, relatable. This is justifed by saying that Alex has the same face as Loki, but the very same sentence that asserts that that's the case also suggests an alternative reason: Alex has "the same unearthly beauty" as her father. Here we can see the beginnings of Magnus's attraction to Alex, though at this point, he still has a lot of internalized homophobia. Though there's certainly some truth in that Magnus was unnerved by Alex's resemblance to Loki, the idea that Magnus pointed out that Alex was pretty without elaborating on that thought until about a chapter later— after he was informed that Alex was presently a girl— can tell us a lot about how Magnus perceives sex and beauty.

Of course, Alex's eyes are given special attention. She has cool eyes; what can I say? But I'd like to focus in on how Magnus here depicts Alex's heterochromia as "completely unnerving" (pg. 50). Again, let's contrast this with how he describes them after getting to know Alex a little better in Ship of the Dead. In Chapter 3, Magnus describes "[Alex's] dark brown eye and his amber eye like mismatched moons cresting the horizon" (pg. 25). Once again, this shows the development of their relationship— but this time, it's in a much more personal way. Eyes are the windows to the soul; they are culturally important and biologically important in inter-personal connections. In you look into someone's eyes, you're giving them your full attention, and you're implying a kind of closeness. The way that Magnus describes Alex's eyes in the second passage is downright intimate. At this point, he is in love with Alex, and it is clear when contrasting the two descriptions.

As my last point, I'd like to discuss Alex's first words on page: "'Point that rifle somewhere else, or I will wrap it around your neck like a bow tie'" (pg. 51). First of all, Alex saying this with a "perfect white smile" (pg. 51) on his face implies that she is used to being threatened. She is not afraid of being shot; she counters the promise of an attack with a promise of her own. This pleads the question: why is Alex accustomed to violence? What events of her past or qualities of her life have brought her to this point? The threat itself reveals Alex's trauma from being genderfluid in a society with rigid gender norms, as well as her antagonistic relationship with her father. Magnus makes a comment that Alex "might actually know how to tie a bow tie, which was kind scary arcane knowledge" (pg. 51). Like Alex's wardrobe, the idea that she may have experience in high-class fashion also implies her former status as a rich kid.

I could go on. I could break apart Alex saying "'Pleased to meet you all, I guess'" (pg. 51). There is a wealth of information in this short page span that tells us things about Alex Fierro in the present moment, quietly demonstrates things about her past, and characterizes the narrator Magnus Chase. This passage is also effective in hindsight in marking the progress of Magnus and Alex's relationship.

But I'd like to take a step back and look at not the pieces, but the whole picture. Alex Fierro gets a full page of pure description— her outfit, her face— and about a chapter of introduction. This comes after several chapters of build-up. Alex Fierro is an important character you need to keep your eyes on. Alex Fierro is emotionally significant to the main character, Magnus Chase. Alex Fierro is one of the most developed and well-rounded characters that Rick Riordan has ever written— heck, she's one of the best characters in middle-grade books period. The extended emphasis on her and her alone tells us exactly what role she's going to play in this story: she's the star.

[blacknight1230]

The Past Catches Up With You

OUAT Peter Pan Imagine

Prompt: “I know what I have to do. But going back means I’ll have to face my past. I’ve been running from it for so long” & “Once you’re grown up, you can never come back.” 

The sound if arrows flying through the air then hitting their target and the clashing of swords filled the area. “Nice one, Devin. Now try letting go of the arrow when you breath out,” you instructed one of the Lost Boys. Devin wordlessly nodded and did what you told him, his arrow hitting the target dummy straight in the head. “Excellent work. Rufio, don’t do such fancy moves. It’s about hitting the target in the weak points, not showing off,” you commanded. “Whatever you say, mom,” Rufio sassed, ignoring your helpful tips. You narrowed your eyes at him and strode up to him, quickly knocking him off his feet with a few well placed punches and kicks. “And this is why Pan ordered me to train you boys. You guys are good fighters, but he wants the best, so you either listen to what I say or you’ll end up worse than this,” you scolded the dazed teen. You walked away, towards Pan’s second-in-command, and one of your best friends, Felix. 

“Nice way to show them who’s boss, (y/n),” Felix complemented as he sharpened his sword. “Thanks, Felix. These boys have sure have authority problems when it comes to someone other than Pan giving them orders,” you said, sitting next to Felix on a log. “They listen to me, though,” Felix pointed out. “True. I have theory that they don’t respect me as much cause I’m the only girl here. And I happen to be one of Pan’s most trustworthy,” you told the scar-faced teen. “It’s possible. The boys aren’t too keen on newcomers. You being a girl doesn’t make matters better.” You rolled your eyes; you’ve been here for a couple of years, but time on Neverland was different than everywhere else. “I’ve earned this position despite being a girl. They should know that Pan doesn’t just trust me without a proper reason,” you said, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “Speak of the devil,” Felix said, motioning his head towards a figure appearing from the green foliage. 

Peter Pan stood to the side of the training ground, eyes intensely watching the boys as they practiced archery, swording fighting, and sparring. Authority and dark magical power radiated from his figure, his green eyes glowing as they seemingly stared into the very existence of his Lost Boys. He was expressionless as he mentally noted what the boys were doing wrong and right. The sight before you made you feel warm, but you tried not to show how the piper affected you. Said boy locked eyes with you, a smirk breaking out onto his lips as he strode over to you. “Tired, love. Are the boys too much for you to handle?” he teased, raising one magnificently sculpted eyebrow. “More like they can’t handle me. Rufio over there is still bandaging his hurt pride when I knocked him to the ground for back talking,” you chuckled, eyeing said boy. He was grumpily pouting on a wooden log across from where you were. Peter found this rather amusing, a sly smirk on his face. “His loss, love. Come, I think the boys had enough training for today,” he said, getting up from the log. He whistled loudly, getting all the, boys attention and told them, “Alright, boys training’s over! Get back to camp if you want your fill of dinner before its gone!” 

A stampede of hungry, teenage boys rushed towards the main camp, dirt and dust flying as they did so. You camly got up and followed the horde of Lost Boys, used to their frenzied antics. Peter walked alongside you, as you took your time walking the path back to the main camp. “I’m still surprised you can put up with our rowdiness. Being a princess and all, I’d expect you complain endlessly about how ‘wild’ we are,” Peter said as you traveled through the jungle of Neverland. “Hey, I was a rebel princess. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t even be here,” you defended yourself, punching the King of Neverland playfully, but hard, in the arm. Pan allowed you to hit him, as you knew he could easily stop you, and playfully cried out in pain. 

Before you were the first Lost Girl on Neverland, you were a princess, although not first in line to inherit your kingdom. Unlike the other inhabitants of Neverland, you were not from the Enchanted Forest or the Land Without Magic. You were a princess from another dimension, and you hated your royal roots. You hated the stuffy dresses, the countless rules, the strict and stone faced members of the royal house ... hell, you couldn’t even talk to or hang out with anyone that wasn’t humanoid or a royal non-humanoid from an allied kingdom. Like the monsters that were repressed by your people. It was suffocating and you didn’t conform to your families strict ideals. 

As such, your family finally had enough of your “rebelliousness” and decided to send you off to an institution know for “correcting” wayward princesses. You, in turn, had enough of royalty and fled your home without a word, seeking out the freedom you dearly longed for. Eventually, you found your way to Neverland, encountering Pan and his Lost Boys, who met your arrival with them encircling you with weapons drawn, aimed to kill. The only reason you were still alive today was that you were able to hear Pan’s flute, meaning you were lost, and therefore part of the Lost Boys. It took awhile for everyone to trust you, especially Pan, but it happened and you were never felt more like you were home. 

Back to the present, you and Peter finally reached the main camp, a raging bonfire going on in the middle of the layout of tents and huts. The boys were either chowing down or were dancing to the beat of the drums. Peter left you to go include himself in the boys merry making as you grabbed a bite to eat. Grabbing a slice of meat from the day’s hunt, you silently greeted a few of the boys with a raise of your cup. The younger boys dragged you to sit with them, happily chatting away as they told you about their day. 

Soon you were done with your meal and the music called to you. Like you were under a spell, you jumped into the frey of wildly dancing bodies, letting the music guide your movements. You danced freely with your fellow lost brothers, your mind focusing on the sound of the pan flute and the drums. As you danced around the fire, you saw Peter staring intensely at you with his green eyes, the light of the bonfire casting shadows across his face, intensifying the strikingness of his attractive features. You couldn’t help but keep his gaze as you danced, enjoying the way he was looking at you with such intensity, an undistinguishable emotion flowing in his eyes. 

Unfortunately, the party was interrupted by a loud sound and a bright light. Everyone stopped in the middle of what they were doing, staring at a hole ripped into the fabric of space and time right near the center of the campgrounds. The portal seemed to shine brighter as two figures appeared from the other side of it. As they stepped through, the portal closed behind them, allowing you to see their features now that the unnatural brightness was gone. One of the figures was a teenage boy, characterized with tan skin, dark brown hair, and a mole on his right cheek. He was wearing red hoodie over a light grey shirt, dark grey skinny jeans, and olive/white sneakers on his slender build. His brown eyes eyed the Lost Boys nervously, his hand twitching over the hilt of the sword in his sheath. The other figure was a teenage girl with long blonde hair, light blue eyes, and fair skin. On her head, she wore a magenta headband with devil horns, paired with a green and mint collared short sleeved dress, pink and purple striped leggings, white boots with pink tips and a star on each heel, along with a black spider necklace. But the most astonishing part about the girl was the pink heart shaped marks she had on her cheeks. 

Peter and the Lost Boys immediately surrounded the two newcomers, weapons pointed at them. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing on my island?” Peter growled. The boy immediately pulled out his sword and took a defensive stance. The girl on the other hand, raised her hands up and yelled, “Stop! We’re not here to hurt anyone! We’re just looking for someone!” Peter dismissed her claim, saying, “Whoever you are looking for is not here! Now leave before my boys and I make you wish you never stepped foot here!” The boy raised their weapons, slowly drawing closer to the new girl and boy. The girl now raised her up hands up and took a defensive stance, her hands glowing purple with magic. 

Before any violence could come to a head, you shouted a command out to the Lost Boys and Peter, breaking the tense air. “Everyone put your weapons down!” you shouted, voice strong and dominating. The Lost Boys, confused by the order, slightly lowered their weapons and allowed you to walk through the crowd of them to the new visitors. As you showed yourself to the newcomers, the blonde haired girl’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open in shock. “ (Y/n)?” the girl said. “Star,” you said breathlessly, unable to bite back the smile that made its way to your face. Star’s hands stopped glowing and she tackled you ina hug, which you gladly returned. “Um, what’s going on?” the hoodie wearing boy asked, completely clueless. “Marco, this is my cousin I told you about? I’m pretty sure I told you about my favorite family member,” Star explained, looking at her friend while still holding on you. 

“Oh, isn’t this precious,” Pan sneered, interrupting the moment. “A family reunion. How wonderful that they’ve come to visit.” You decided to ignore Peter and his terrible attitude, continuing to talk to your four-years younger cousin. “How did you find me, Star? Neverland isn’t on any map and can’t be visited through ordinary means,” you asked. “I was able to use your old tiara to finding out what dimension you were in! Pretty cool right,” Star bragged a giant smile on her face. Before you could say another word, Peter got in between the two of you, creating a distance of a few feet. “Peter!” you exclaimed angrily. “What the hell?” “I don’t care that you’re her family. I want you off my island. (y/n) has already told me about the way you treated her and I don’t want someone like you here because of it,” he coldly told Star. “Hey, man, back off!” Star’s friend, Marco, yelled stepping in front of Star protectively. The Lost Boys didn’t like this, murder in their eyes as they crowded around you four, fingers itching to use their weapons. “Everyone stop! I don’t want any fighting!” you shouted, dreading for any blows coming to a head. The Lost Boys slightly calmed down, but they were still tense. 

“Peter, Star was the only one in my family that I could be myself around. I see I rubbed off on you a bit,” you said. “You guys keep talking about our family as if they were abusive, keeping you locked up and so on,” Star pointed out. “I forget you were too young to understand at the time. Grandma Etheria and the rest of the Butterfly family constantly looked down at me, finding fault in everything I did. I didn’t dress right, talk right, sit right, walk right ... and they let me know. It practically destroyed my self-esteem. And to make matter worse, Grandma Etheria decided to send me to St. Olga’s,” you explained to your younger cousin. “Oh no, not St. O’s!” Star exclaimed in horror. “Please don’t tell me they tried to turn you into a mindless ‘perfect’ princess!” As she said this, she grabbed your forearms and shook you a bit. “Calm down, Star, I didn’t go to St. O’s. I left home before I was forcibly shipped off. I had a pair of dimension scissors and used them to hop from dimension to dimension until I eventually found my way here,” you continued, smiling when you reminisced about finding Neverland, your true home. 

“I’m happy you found a place you could finally be yourself. If I wasn’t so desperate for your help, I wouldn’t even ask you this,” Star said. This worried you; what did she want you to do? Star quickly answered your question before you voiced it, saying, “I need you to come back to Mewni with me.” “What?!” you shouted, eyes wide and mouth agape. “I’m sorry, but I really need your help! My mom has disappeared and I can’t find her, the Butterfly castle and kingdom are destroyed by Eclipsa’s half-monster daughter and she escaped her crystal! I can’t do this on my own and everything is in disarray!” Star cried. 

All this new information shocked you, making you stand there in silence. Peter decided to step in, angrily setting in Star’s face. “You might be royalty, but I’m the king here. I say who steps foot on and leaves my island. This includes (y/n). Since she’s lost, that means she belongs here and with me. Shfe’s mine, and she’s not going anywhere off this island,” he threatened. Star stood her ground, staring into his harsh green eyes that seemed to glow with dark power. “Then you don’t know (y/n), because she hates other people making choices for her.” She turned towards you and continues, saying, “(y/n), I’m sorry for our family treating you so terribly and I understand your reason for running away. But I still care for you and so does my mother, both of us missing you terribly when you left. If you still love us as much as we love you, I beg you to help me. I need you, my mom needs you, Mewni needs you!” 

(y/n) could only stand there in silence, which Peter mistook for her not wanting to return to her home, while in reality she was pondering over her beloved cousin’s words. “Get off my island. I never want to see your faces again,” he threatened, before whistling loudly, causing the Lost Boys to snap into a a violent, wild frenzy. The area was quickly filled with the sounds of weapons clashing, cries of pain, and angry shouts as Star and Marco fought the Lost Boys. Luckily, Star and Marco were successfully able to defend themselves, despite being greatly outnumbered. Star’s voice filled the air as she shouted spells and Marco yelled as he used karate moves/defended himself with his sword. You tried yelling at both sides to stop fighting, but neither side listened to you, either not hearing you over all the noise or not caring enough to listen to you. This made you angry, so angry you used your magic to cast a powerful spell to end the violence. 

Unlike Star, you didn't need to verbally say a spell to use your magic, simply sending out a wave of bluish-white magic to emit from your magically glowing figure. As the wave of magic hit the Lost Boys, Peter, Star, and Marco, they were enveloped into a quartz of crystal, frozen in place. You sighed as you stood past the crystal prisons of your fellow Lost Boys, stopping at Peter’s crystal, staring at his evil smirk on his face and the magic accumulated in his hands. “You just couldn’t wait and let me think for a moment could you, “ you said sadly. You used your magic to reverse the spell, and on Star and Marco as well. The three teens fell to the ground, gasping for breath. “I’m so sorry, guys. This was the only way to get you to stop fighting and listen to me,” you apologized, helping Star up first. “Was that the Crystal Imprisonment Spell that Rhombulas uses? Where did you learn it?” Star asked, amazed that you could do such advanced magic. “Glossaryck used to give me private lessons. He said that I needed to learn magic, too, in case something happens. But he wasn’t specific on what that was,” (y/n) explained. “That sounds like Glossaryck.” 

You turned towards Peter as he growled, getting up from the ground and his green eyes trained on you. “You little ... How dare you use your magic on me!” he yelled, “Release the Lost Boys right now (y/n)!” “You left me no choice, Peter. You all were attacking my family and I couldn’t just stay by,” you said sternly, brows furrowed as you scolded him. “How can you defend them? They’re the main reason why you are on Neverland in the first place! Or haven’t you forgot that?” Pan seethed. “I haven’t forgotten what they did to me, Pan. But this just isn’t about my family anymore. My homeland is in danger and you’re wrong to think I’ll just sit around and watch shit hit the fan!” you yelled, turning around to walk away, thinking that was the end of it. But it wasn’t and Pan wanted to let you know it. “Oh really? Well, know this, princess, you’ll eventually be disappointed as nothing is going to change. You’ll still be the miserable, insecure, little girl you were when you came here, scrutinized by your family and your people,” Peter threatened, teeth clenched and pure hatred seeping from his pores. 

You stopped, back still facing Peter. Said boy smirked, thinking he won this argument. But what you said surprised the male, saying, without looking at him, “I know what I have to do now, Peter. I know going back means I’ll have to face my past. I’ve been running from it for so long but I have to face it sooner or later. And I choose now.” Pan stood there shocked, mouth open a bit as he contemplated your words, and watched as Marco effortlessly opened a portal to another dimension with a pair of scissors, then entered the hole in the fabric of time and space while mumbling about ‘nachos,’ whatever that was. Star on the other hand, nervously looked behind her at Peter, seemingly contemplating if taking (y/n) away from her current home was a good thing, before regretfully entering the swirling portal. 

Before the (h/c) haired girl followed the two, she turned her head to the side, looking at so called King of Neverland. “I promise I’ll come back as soon as I can, Peter, to my home, the Lost Boys, and you,” she said, so much raw emotion held in her eyes. But Peter didn’t care, only focussing on the frustration that took over his heart and mind. “I forbid you from leaving, (y/n)! When you leave this island, you’ll eventually grow up, and once you’re grown up, you can never come back!” he shouted angrily. (Y/n) physically flinched and quickly turned her head back towards the portal, trying not to show the tears in the corners of her eyes. “Goodbye, Peter. Until we meet again.” And with those words, she stepped through the portal and left Neverland, seemingly forever. 

As the portal closed behind her, (y/n)’s magic seemed to leave with her, as the crystals imprisoning the Lost Boys started to melt, freeing them from their containment. Felix was the first to get his bearings, stroding over to Peter and placing a hand on his shoulder, said King of Neverland not tearing his eyes away from the spot in which (y/n) walked into the portal. “Pan, what happened? Where’s (y/n) and the other two?” Felix asked his fearless leader, a scowl on his scarred face. “She’s gone, Felix. She left Neverland,” Peter told his second-in-command emotionlessly. 

Before the taller male could question him some more, the green-clad boy turned and walked away from the center of the campgrounds, towards his own private tent. Felix knew he was taking the Lost Girl’s departure harder than he let on. But he gave his trustful leader some space, allowing Peter to let his emotions loose in private. “(Y/n), I hope you know what you’re doing,” Felix said quietly to himself, before moving to help his fellow Lost Boys recover from the recent events.

~ Time Skip ~

“Again! I expect you to redo everything until you lot get this right! I have no excuse for weak, boys in my army of Lost Boys!” Peter seethed. It was several months, possibly a year, since (y/n) left Peter and Neverland. At first, Peter was angry, at (y/n) and her cousin, for leaving Neverland. Then, he was angry at himself for letting the Lost Girl leave, thinking he should have done everything he could from letting the girl leave. Eventually, Peter’s anger faded away and was replaced with a longing to see his favorite girl again. It was only until (y/n) left did Peter realize he felt something for the rebel princess, seeing her more as just another inhabitant of Neverland and a pawn in his games. And when he realized this non-platonic feelings, he regretted being so heartless to (y/n) before she left, hating himself for letting that be the last thing he ever said to the (h/c) haired girl. 

Since (y/n) left Neverland, Peter changed, unfortunately for the worse. He was harsher and more cruel towards his Lost Boys and those that had the misfortune of being his enemy. All Pan cared for now was power, stopping at nothing to increase his magical strength by achieving immortality, regardless of the lives he had to take. And that meant he was setting in motion the events that would lead to taking the heart of the Truest Believer from a young boy to remain young forever. 

Hence, the current intense training session the Lost Boys were doing, as Pan need them to be prepared for everything and anything, failure not being an option. “Who knew (y/n) leaving effect Pan this much? He’s been running us into the ground during training even since the girl left him,” Rufio mumbled to a couple of other Lost Boys. Pan heard this, and he did not like it. “What was that Rufio?” he snarled and turned towards the wise-cracking Lost Boy. Rufio’s face paled in fear as Pan strode towards him, his friends that once surrounded him nowhere to be seen, as they fled from Pan’s wrath. 

The poor Lost Boy stood quaking in his boots as the King of Neverland stood in front of him, the slightly shorter leader wrapping a hand around Rufio’s throat, crushing his windpipe and preventing any air from reaching his lungs. Rufio gasped from breath as the other Lost Boys stood there in fear induced silence, unable to do anything but watch. “You’ve been mouthing off too much for my tastes. Looks like I’m going to have to put a stop to it permanently,” Peter growled. He shoved his hand into his chest, fingers wrapping around the boys heart. “Please, no...” Rufio pleaded. 

Pan was just about to rip the boys heart out of his chest and then crush it to dust, when a loud noise and bright light shook the camp site. Everyone turned their heads to the sky, where a giant multicolored portal hung just below the treetops. Something or someone, came out of it, falling to the ground, and the portal closed violently with a loud bang. Peter and the Lost Boys were unable to do anything, as the figure got up from the ground and their features finally revealed by the light of the fire. (H/c) locks framed a (face shape) face, (e/c) eyes looking over everything as a bright smile broke out on the female’s (thin/plump) lips. 

Felix was the first to break the silence, calling out the name of the person. “(y/n)? Is that really you?” the second-in-command asked, shocked that the girl had finally returned to Neverland. “Yeah, it's me,” the former Lost Girl replied a smile on her face. Felix immediately caught the girl in a hug, picking up the (much/slightly) shorter girl in his excitement. It seemed the spell was broken, as the Lost Boys immediately started moving towards the former Lost Girl, chatter filling the silence. 

“Welcome back, (y/n),” Felix said to the girl, after he pulled away from her. “It’s great to be back,” (y/n) replied, her face so full of light and joy. Her (e/c) eyes caught Peter’s, causing the girl to stare straight into the piper’s eyes. He was stunned; here she was, the girl Peter has been obsessing over ever since she left, popping out of the blue, acting as if she never left in the first place. Their longing glaze was broken by a younger Lost Boy tugging on (y/n)’s hand, her attention turning towards the little one. “(Y/n), will you be staying here? Please don’t leave us again,” he said, his voice honey sweet and blue eyes looking at the (h/c) girl with pleading eyes. “Don’t worry, Jack,” (y/n) said, lowing herself so she could be eye level with the young boy. “I won’t be leave you.” 

She rose to her full height and announced with a loud voice, “In fact, I will never have to leave Neverland again. From this moment forward, this island will be my forever home!” The campsite erupted in cheers and howls, all the Lost Boys loudly showing their approval. “If that’s the case then, let’s celebrate! To our one and only Lost Girl!” Felix cheered. As if it wasn’t already possible, the boys got even louder, happily cheering at the chance to party. Peter could only stare on wordlessly, as (y/n) was swept away by several Lost Boys, losing his sight on the magnificent girl. 

~ Time Skip ~

The Lost Boys howled in delight as the drums were banged and the fire in the center of the campsite crackled. Peter watched from the side lines as they danced wildly. But his gaze was focused on one very special dancer. His green eyes followed (y/n), watching every move of her limbs and bend of her body as she danced without a care in the world. She was one with the music as she her body followed the rhythm of the drums. Peter’s eyes caught (y/n)’s (e/c) ones, everything around him seeming to slow down as did so. 

He immediately tore his gaze away from her, pretending to be watching Felix wrestle some unfortunate soul into the dirt ground. In the corner of his eye, he saw (y/n) stop her lively dancing and steadily make his way towards him. Peter felt his breath get caught in his chest as she came closer, but was able to calm himself down before (y/n) got close enough to notice the effect she had on him. 

“Enjoying the party?” she asked him, leaning against the bark of a tree next to him. “Of course. I enjoy seeing my boys let loose for once. The drinks help a bit, too,” he replied, gesturing towards the wooded cup in his hand. (Y/n) gazed out at rowdy group of wild teenage boys in front of her, a closed-mouth smile on her face. “I missed this. The freedom, how carefree everything is, not having any responsibilities,” she admitted. “You missed all of this? Even Rufio’s attitude?” he asked, surprised. 

(Y/n) let out a short laugh, music to Peter’s ears. “Is it so surprising I missed my home. There wasn’t a day where I didn’t long to come back here and just let loose,” (y/n) continued, (e/c) eyes glowing in the firelight as she stared out at the wild party goers. It was silent for a little bit, a hint of awkwardness in the air. “So, um, what exactly happened back on Meowy?” Peter spoke up, desperately trying to break the silence. “Mewni. And so much happened. Everything has changed. And I couldn’t be happier,” (y/n) explained, a smile on her face as she reminisced. “Tell me about it. I’ve never heard of it before.” 

“Well, I won’t go into the long and detailed history, I’m sure you wouldn’t want to hear about that. But I will tell you that Mewni is now unified between its people and the kingdom is in the hands of its true queen,” (y/n) explained as shortly as she could. “Well, that’s good,” Peter replies. A pregnant pause filled the air, until Peter thankfully broke it. “Is what you said before actually true?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “What?” you question, thinking you misheard him. “You said would never leave Neverland again? Was that true? Or was that just something you said that was in spur of the moment?” Peter continued. In the back of his mind, he couldn’t believe what she was true. Why would she want to stay here and be with me? he thought. Especially after how I treated her the last time I saw her. “Peter,” (y/n) said softly. “I was serious when I said that. Nothing will make me leave Neverland and you guys again.”

Peter felt his heart stop for moment, in disbelief at what she just told him. (Y/n) turned her kind gaze away from looking down at her hands folded in her lap. “Besides, it’s not like I can return home anyway,” she said softly. “Wait, what?” Peter thought he heard wrong. “It’s no big deal. You already know I never saw Mewni as my home. Neverland is my home. When the chance came for me to spend forever in my homeworld or spend forever here, I made my choice,” she explained nonchalantly. Peter could only open his mouth wide in shocked silence. He never thought she would such a thing. Give up her family and everything she known just to be with for him and the Lost Boys. It was almost insane. 

“You really did all of that? Even after what I said to you before you left?” Peter gaped. “I’m sorry ... for what I said by the way. I wasn’t thinking straight and -” “Wow, the Peter Pan apologizing. To little old me,” (y/n) teased a goofy smile on her face. “Don’t make fun of me. You know I’m don’t ever apologize ” Peter pouted. (y/n) giggled, forcing a hidden smile to make its way to Peter’s lips. “I missed you, you know. Can you believe that?” Peter admitted, trying to hide his warming cheeks. (y/n) was astonished at his confession.“You really missed me? I thought you would have forgotten about me.” “I would never. There wasn’t a day I didn’t think about you,” Peter continued, gently taking the girl’s hands into his. (Y/n) looked down their combined hands, cheeks red at the feeling of Peter’s warm hands. “I did, too. The thought of Neverland and you kept me going. You were my reason to keep fighting, so one day I would be able to return to you.” 

Peter gently placed his fingertips under her chin, directing her downcast eyes to look at him. “(Y/n) ...” he trailed off. He didn't know what he was going to say, his eyes flicking to her luscious soft lips. Peter couldn’t help but subconsciously darted his tongue out to wet his own, longing to meet them with hers. His hand trailed to cup her cheek, enjoying the site of her reddening skin under his rough fingertips. (Y/n)’s luminous (e/c) orbs nervously flew to look back at him, her breathing hitching in her throat. He watched her for a moment, looking for any indication that she was uncomfortable. But there was none, so Peter slowly inched closer, stopping until there was little more than an inch between them. He heart stopped as (y/n) closed the distance between them, the organ soaring at the feeling of her luscious lips on his own. Peter felt her wrap her hands around his neck loosely, his other hand moving to grip tightly to (y/n)’s hip. He could taste the Neverberries from the juice she had before, along with a specific taste he couldn’t quite identify. But he couldn't get enough it, shown by him adding more pressure into the kiss. (Y/n) reacted positively, fingers gripping onto the hairs at the base of his neck, a little mewl coming from her lips as she relaxed into his hold. Peter was just about to kick it up a notch when they were rudely interrupted. 

“Hey, lovebirds! Get a tent will ya?” Felix shouted from across the campfire, hands cupped over his mouth and announcing the scene to everyone. (Y/n) was the first to pull away, face red as the Lost Boys howling once they noticed what their leader and Lost Girl were doing. “Shut up all of you!” Peter hollered at the boys. He was just about to teach them all a lesson when he felt (y/n) lean her head onto his chest. He looked down she was hiding her face in his shirt in embarrassment, the sight causing his heart pang in pity. “Peter, let’s go somewhere else. Please,” (y/n) quietly pleaded. “Alright, dear. Let’s head back to my tent. I still want to be with my favorite Lost Girl,” he whispered in her ear, placing a kiss on her forehead. Peter wrapped an arm around the girl’s waist and gently led her away from the center of camp. The Lost Boys started cheer and make lewd comments, which Peter when stopped at the entrance of his private abode, (y/n) continuing on inside without him. “Not another word from any you, or else I’ll be locking you in the cages for a week!” he threatened, glaring at them with darkness in his eyes. The boys shut up, knowing their leader was serious as they avoided eye contact. “Felix, knock up into shape if anything happens.” The second-in-command smirked, giving Peter a quick wink. The green-clad boy ignored it, heading inside and back to the beautiful girl waiting for him. (y/n) was laying on his fur-covered bed, patiently waiting for him. Peter sighed and crawled next to her, pulling her into arms once he was comfortable. He snuggled into neck, placing soft kisses onto her exposed neck. “Stay with, darling. I want you in my arms tonight,” Peter pleaded, already feeling his eyes close in bliss. “With you. Always.” 

[yeojaa]

( GHOST IN MY BED. )

Sometimes, hating someone is the only thing you can do.

pairing.  jjk x (named) f!reader.

genre + rating.   rockstar!au.  e2l (exes n enemies!).  explicit flut aka fluff and smut.    

tags / warnings.  it’s filthy.  like.  dummy filthy.  oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (don’t be silly!), creampie, an inappropriate use of a mirror, idk.  a stupid amount of petnames.  there should be a warning for kook as a person, too.  

beta reader(s).  @jjiminah the lob of my life!!

wc.  2.6k

drabble:  mirrors. four years ago.

It’s taking you far too long to find your keys, far too long to unlock the door, far too long to return his kiss.  He’s greedy and demanding, bowed against your back with his lips attached to your neck.  He sucks bruises into the skin the longer you take, biting incrementally harder with each second that passes.  It doesn’t occur to him that he’s the reason you’re so slow. 

“Kook, stop.”  It’s hardly a word.  Hardly a name.  It skips off your tongue like rain and drips molasses behind his molars.  

Don’t you know he’s a sugar addict? 

He noses against the column of your throat, humming delightedly over the strawberries and cream that blend in pretty swirls, left there by his hand.  He inhales the overwhelmingly jammy sweetness of your perfume - practically tastes it on his tongue - and guides the flat of his palms over silk.  It bunches beneath his rings, around his knuckles.  Jungkook loves when you wear it - loves the way it wears you, like a second skin. 

“C’mon, Pumpkin.  We gotta celebrate.”

You don’t notice it then - how his words come too slow, too slurred - even for an evening at the Ritz.  Coherence has left him, lost to the bottom of an empty glass or furled edge of a hundred dollar bill.  It leaves a shadow in its wake - one that rants and raves and believes in Neverland or something like it.  

The key slots into place - finally! - and he moves as one with you, stepping when you step, laughing when you laugh.  It’s not enough that he’s there in every motion.  He wants more - wants to fill all the spaces between you and then some. 

“Can you get the lights?”  You’re extracting yourself from him as best as you can, not realising it’s futile.  Every minute adjustment has him pressing closer.  It doesn’t even matter that you’re trying to unlace your heels - towering things with intricate ropes across the top of your foot.  He holds you like you’re a puzzle piece that completes him, refusing to allow you even an inch.  The frustration barely brushes the edge of your adoration.  Sharp as the words are, they’re coloured pretty pink - steeped in love and affection.  “Can you please let me take off my shoes?”

An impish smile appears then, draws across his face in a cartoon grin with eyes too big and teeth too white.  

The hands previously on your waist descend, snake themselves down the length of your hips - and then he drops to the ground, knees knocking against slick hardwood.  You gasp - a quiet little thing, more in worry than surprise - and he places a chaste peck to the bare skin right above your knee.

Thank fucking god for wrap dresses being a thing.  He’d fill your closet with them, if you’d let him.  Any excuse to open you up like his favourite gift, bounce you on his lap like a good girl at Christmas. 

“Kook.”  It’s his name again.  Same, same, but different.  There’s a swirl of emotion in your eyes - a supermassive black hole that threatens to swallow him whole like the colour of your irises.  He stares for too long, lost to the twinkling stars and silence.

So pretty, he thinks, pressing another kiss to the soft skin beneath his hands.  

“Yeah, Pumpkin?”  It’s sinful, seductive, laced in cigarette smoke and Scotch.  He’s a sucker for a good single malt but he wants something else now - something to ease the burn.  

“Shoes,”  you repeat, so faint he has to strain to hear it.  

Five fingers that had busied themselves beneath your dress fall, dropping to the neatly knotted tie at your ankle.  One flick of his wrist and it’s undone.  You step out, teetering dangerously for a moment;  you catch yourself on the broad expanse of his back, digging fingers into leather and sinew. 

Jungkook buries a laugh against your thigh, open-mouthed and full of teeth.  “Hold on, angel.”

The other shoe unravels just as quickly and you’re back on solid ground, beaming down at him.  “Thank you.”  A gentle ruffle to his hair follows, the glide of your manicured nails across his scalp easing his cheek to rest upon your leg.  

“Any time.”  He should get up - his knees are beginning to ache - but he’s far too preoccupied with the lace beneath his still wandering hand, intricate patterns woven into a welcome sign.  They trace high across your hips, framing your ass in a way that makes his cock twitch in his suddenly too-tight jeans.  

“Baby?”  It’s indistinct, somewhere above the clouds his head is suddenly lost in.

You’re radiating heat through every limb.  He seeks it out, nosing against the material of your dress in search of more;  he wants to bury himself where you’re warmest, fall headlong into sunshine.  “Hm?”  It comes in an exhale, followed by teeth and tongue.

The clouds part, just a little.  His path is lit - a neon outline beneath your skin.  He follows it without thought, sweeping his hands higher and higher.  

You jolt when he licks a strip up your slit, lace disappearing between your folds.  The material sticks to your cunt, sodden and ruined and nearly transparent, both from your slick and his saliva.  He grins up at you as he repeats the motion over and over, dragging his tongue in measured trails.  

He hears more than sees the way your back hits the door - his grip on your leg tightening to keep you balanced - but he hears and then feels your hands in his hair, tugging gently at the roots.  “Kook.”  It’s frenzied and breathless and he’s hardly even touched you.  It drives him crazy, nails digging crescents into the meat of your ass.  

“Yeah, Pumpkin?”  Repeated verbatim with that same breakneck smile.    

“Need you.”

“Need me?”  He echoes, as if he hasn’t heard you, as if it isn’t glaringly obvious by the way you coat your own thighs, beading prettily over his fingers.  “What do you need me for, baby?”

A part of you hates when he does this.  He knows that.  You like when he’s gentle, full of love.  You like getting your way with him, knowing he needs you just as badly as you need him.  It makes you feel like a queen.  

The queen of his castle - the only woman Jungkook will ever love this way.  How could he deny you?

So he relents, just a little, sliding his thumb beneath the material of your thong.  It catches on your swollen clit and dips between your lips before he’s tugging terribly slowly, at a snail’s pace that has you tightening your grip.  He muffles a laugh when it’s halfway down your legs, caught between your knees.  You’re like Bambi on ice, impatient and shifting from foot to foot in your haste.

“Careful,”  he coos, slipping your underwear into his back pocket for safekeeping before he peers up at you, his face framed by hazy streetlights and his crown of dark hair.  

He feels the brush of your fingers against his temple, the subtle squeeze of your thighs beneath his touch.  “I love you.”

It isn’t reciprocal in words, answered instead with a kiss that leaves you panting above him.  His tongue works you open, dipping into your heat before rising to toy at your clit.  He repeats the motion until you’re shaking, tremors passing through your legs to the hands that hold you in place trapped between him and the door.  

There’s an angel’s chorus filtering into his ears - quiet little gasps that turn lewd, breathless recitals that leave him aching to bend you over and fuck you senseless. 

A single digit brushes your entrance, sliding home in a smooth press of his wrist.  You take him to the knuckle without an ounce of resistance and he grins, triumphant, against your core.  There’s nothing more intoxicating than how much you want him - need him - and he gives greedily, slotting another in alongside the first.  You mewl above him, the sound music to his ears, and he scissors them expertly, watching in rapt fascination as your pussy stretches to accommodate the width of two long fingers.  “Fuck - I love you,”  he hums, awestruck and adoring. 

Something like a laugh bounces off your tongue and descends into a wanton moan before it can right itself.  A tell-tale sign you’re almost there.  Perfect.

He zeroes in on your clit, tongue dancing over it with each drag of his fingers.  He’s curling them now, intimately familiar with the rough bundle of nerves that turns you stupid.  You’re practically dripping down his hand and he’s careful not to let a single drop go to waste, licking his way over his knuckles and back to the source in languid strokes before he returns to toying with the pearl between your legs.  “So sweet, baby.  Like pumpkin pie.”  

You’re trembling, hands like iron in his hair, pulling him closer closer closer.  

“Please,”  you beg.  You’re rutting against him, chest heaving - a world away from the mild-mannered girl-next-door.  It’s so hot he can’t help but take pause, wait just a moment so he can take in the sight.

Poor choice.  He really can’t wait any longer.

He rises in a single fluid motion - even intoxicated, he’s a work of art.  He laughs off the way you watch him, expression an intoxicating mixture of admiration and salaciousness.  “Come here, angel.”  Here, to his arms.  Here, where you belong, cradled against all five feet ten inches of him.  

You’re putty in Jungkook’s hands, far too close to the brink of release to even think of arguing when he rotates you, pressing the full, unyielding expanse of his chest to the small of your back.  

“Look how beautiful you are, baby.”  Debauched words that sound more like love, whispered adoringly into your ear.  Sweet nothings that incinerate every ounce of rationale, leaving nothing but yearning in its wake.  He presses a kiss to your cheek, broad palms heavy at your hips.  

He’s right - you are beautiful, framed within the mirror’s reflection and barely lit by the moon. 

“Pretty,”  you agree, right as one hand shifts, drops and finds a home against your core.  Two digits press, unrelenting, into your cunt and you keen, head dropping against his shoulder like he’s just cut your marionette strings with the scissor of his fingers.  The flat of his palm grinds against your clit and he snickers, the sound deposited into your hair like a gift. 

“That’s right, Pumpkin.  So pretty.”  The P’s pop off his tongue, enunciated with each curl of his knuckles, each blossom he blooms over your neck. 

He fucks you slowly, languidly, unhurriedly - even as you writhe against him, pouting and demanding.  He does it so you’re delirious with need but not so lucid he loses you;  every time you’re about to slip, he recentres your focus and drags you back from the edge - either with a gentle tweak to your clit or a particularly hard thrust of his fingers.  Anything to keep you there, eyes locked with his in the hallway mirror.

“Look at you.  You’re so perfect.”  Praise rains down and you’re smiling, a faraway, feral glint in your eye.  “So fucking sexy for me.  Do you want more?”  His fingers still within your fluttering walls, massaging tight against your g-spot as his thumb adjusts to impose the same pressure upon your throbbing clit.  “Want me to fill you up?  Fuck you silly?”  

You don’t have to speak for him to know your answer - he feels the way you clench around him, eager for something far better.  

“Relax, baby,”  he murmurs, that same messy hand making quick work of his leather belt and the button and zipper of his jeans.  It’s honestly a feat given how insistent you are, grinding your ass over his aching cock like you might die without it.  Your impatience is endearing and intoxicating;  he almost topples you both over in his haste to step out of his clothes, pile kicked aside as you begin to whine, nails digging into the arm that still rests heavy around your waist.  “Don’t worry, angel.  I’ve got you.”   

He does - and not a second too soon.

The head of his cock is glossy, leaking pre-cum over the purpled tip.  It makes it almost easy for him to slip inside you except for the fact that it’s never that easy and the stretch is undeniable, bordering on painful despite how needy you are for him and how well he’s prepared you.   

Every nerve ending is shot as he sinks into you.  He fills you entirely as a groan tumbles off his lips, your ass flush to his hips.  You’re so wet he can feel your slick over his own thighs, coating the base of his cock as you squeeze around him.  A whine of his own pitches, forms in a bite to your shoulder that has you crying out.  “Fuck.  Fuck.”

He’s mouthing over silk, over skin, fingers firm around the column of your neck;  tips press into softness, stealing your breath.  The other hand anchors you against him, slung low over your side with his palm splayed across your ribs.  It’s the only way he keeps you from jolting forward as he ruts against you, fucking into your heat at a relentless pace.  He can read the strain in your limbs, how it grows and grows and nearly snaps in two when he tightens his grip at your throat.  

“You wanna come, pretty?”  It’s heavy, hungry, hoarse - gravel beneath velvet.  You nod senselessly, swallowing thickly beneath the palm that sears heat and try to focus on the same feverish burn that claims your insides and melts your bones.  Jungkook knows exactly which buttons to push, how to light you up like a night sky.  

“Please.”  

It’s an explosion of light and colour behind your eyelids and under your skin.  You’re crying, sobbing, wailing - a wrecked mess caged against his chest as your orgasm crashes over you.  Pleasure washes over you in waves, dripping down your cheeks;  you’re spasming around his cock, gripping him so tightly he nearly chokes as he chases the same high. 

The sounds you make are so pretty, helpless and somehow still desperate for more.  They run on a loop inside his head, stuttering his rhythm as he fucks you through your sensitivity and into another high that has you clawing at his hands.  

You’re out of body, eyes rolled so far back into your head that he can see only the whites.  He squeezes harder at your neck - knuckles blown out, tense, a stark contrast to the mosaic of red that he’d painted earlier  - and you’re a rag doll doing your best, trying to meet his stare as he grins wolfishly at you.  “That’s right.  One more.  One more with me.”

It’s impossible to deny Jungkook or his near brutal pace.  Where skin meets skin, there’ll be bruises, imprints left by the hard ridges of his hips, the shape of his fingers - a reminder of tonight for days to come.  He’ll trace them with his tongue and never let you forget.

“Right there,”  he barks with a sloppy, stuttering roll of his hips.  

Your second orgasm is messy, wet, soaking the silk of your dress and his hand as he works your clit.  A million volts of electricity buzz through your body, from the tip of your ears to the balls of your feet;  he can feel it, passed between the two of you like a livewire.  It launches him over his own peak - a lit match to gasoline.

He fills you with a low groan and a last, purposeful thrust.  He holds you impossibly tight, dragging his hips in small circles as you milk him for all he’s worth, cum slipping past your swollen lips with each movement, despite how eager he is to keep it right where it is, staining your walls and reminding you you’re his.  

Always have been, always will be.

author note.  please note this is a flashback drabble (you might’ve caught the reference in chapter 3)!  this is not present day, sadly.  but did you catch any of the foreshadowing in this?  hopefully!  if not, i'm sorry.  thank you for reading anyway.  i appreciate you!

tag list.  @jalexad @aa-ronpa @kookiesbreaky @celestialflamefairy @xjoonchildx @pars-ley @seokjinssi @youwannabelostandnotbefound @patpus @dazedjjk @koozui @jinhitwhore @always-wishing-for-rain​

[dwaynepride]

the unfortunate case of nonchalance

PART II - BIRDS OF A KIND

summary: while in town, jethro bumps into the endearing lady he met several days ago. and he finds it hard to tell her no.

words: 3,943

warnings: female reader

tags: @fairytale07 @jrenn10 @f4nboi @purplestarsr5 @ladyzombiielove @littlemiss3ma @minikate--24-05 @consultingdoctorwholock @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy @ms-allenbrown @ikbenplant @dylpickles1267 @diaryofafan17 @specialagentlokitty @pageofultron @stanathanxoox​ @kittenlittle24​

author’s note: part 2 of the cowboy!au series. this is a part of meg’s 11k challenge. the prompts are cowboy au and secret relationship trope.

PART I | PART III

February 22th, 1889

It finally feels as if we’re settling down, even just a bit. Nobody likes being this far East - I can see how on edge everyone is. But we’re safe here, for the time being. That’s what matters.

Anthony still hasn’t told me his grand money-making scheme. Says he won’t until he’s worked everything out, but that don’t make me feel any better. There was a time when such promises of a plan would’ve interested me. But now, it only leaves me with a sour gut feeling.

For now, I’ll wait and hope that man has enough sense in his skull not to get us all killed.

At least Doctor Mallard is rescuing me from sitting in camp - he wants to go into town for supplies, and asked if I would accompany him. He says he’ll need help bringing everything back, but I suspect he knows I’ve been idle for too long.

He thinks I’ve been distracted. Thinking about what we left behind in the West.

I’ll let him keeping thinking that.

-

Doctor Mallard brought only one sack to carry the supplies in. And Jethro’s holding that single sack, tucked against the crook of his arm. It only confirmed his suspicions that the older man felt Jethro was spending too much time in camp. As tedious as camp is, though, it’s preferable to walking through town.

A man bumped into Jethro’s shoulder. “Hey!” He snapped, but the man just kept walking without a single apology. And it made Jethro huff. “Rude bastard.”

“The youth today have scarcely any manners, Jethro,” Doctor Mallard muses. He didn’t seem all that bothered by the rude display.

Jethro just gives a small hum, head shaking as he hitches the sack up higher and glances around at the bustling street. People coming in going, paying little attention to two dirty cowboys who are merely making their way back to their horses. Their clothes are spotless, stylish, full of lace and pristine furs - Jethro’s never felt quite so different than he does now.

The sun comes down on them hard. The long brim of his hat keeps the light out of Jethro’s eyes, but the day is long and hot. He’s looking forward to riding out of the stifling town. Feeling the wind and returning to the camp, where everything seems more free. More normal.

They pass the bank. Jethro’s eyes are shielded by his hat; he doesn’t see the person coming out of the building. Barely cares, until he hears her voice say his name in a way he recognizes.

Well, it’s more like his body recognizes it. Because his feet stop, his head comes up, and his eyes peer out from under the shade.

“Mr. Gibbs,” you repeat. Slower, this time. But still high-pitched; obviously pleased to see him away, and Jethro honestly cannot tell if he feels the same. He enjoyed your company, sure. Enjoyed talking to you. Found you amusing and endearing and interesting, all that once.

On the other hand, Doctor Mallard was right there...

“Is this your friend?”

You’re looking to the doctor now, stepping closer and holding out a hand, which he obviously takes. Jethro has to swallow before nodding his head. “This is Donald Mallard. He’s a very good friend of mine,” he answers. And the older doctor may be able to fool strangers, but Jethro was no such fool. When he introduced Mallard to the girl, he gave Jethro a look. So nonchalant - barely there - but he knew its meaning:

She’s quite pretty, isn’t she?

Jethro looked away so his face wouldn’t answer.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Doctor.”

“Believe me, dear. The pleasure is mine.”

“Well, we must be leaving,” Jethro cuts in quickly. You look at him, surprised. But he keeps his eyes away as he puts on hand on Doctor Mallard’s shoulder, trying to steer him away. “Our friends need these supplies...”

“Oh, that’s alright! I was just on my way home, anyway!” You call out after them. And Jethro can’t help feeling relieved. He can only imagine how Doctor Mallard will tease him about this back at camp. Meeting and befriending a pretty lady without mentioning it - scandalous stuff.

But the Doctor stops, and for an old man, his feet are rooted to the ground quite firmly. Despite Jethro’s shoves, he turns back to the woman still standing before the bank. “Jethro, what kind of gentleman are you?” He asks in a scolding voice. “You’re not going to offer to take this nice lady home?”

Jethro sighs, his fingers tight on Doctor Mallard’s shoulder but lets his hand drop away. He knows what the older man is playing at, but he’s also right.

“That’s not necessary,” you pipe up. When Jethro looks over, you’re smiling shyly. Obviously trying to wave off the offer.

And yet, Jethro hands the sack over to Doctor Mallard, who takes it gleefully. “No, it’d be my pleasure,” Jethro says. And he hopes you don’t catch rueful tone of his voice.

“Our horses are hitched right over here, dear.” You and Jethro follow Doctor Mallard in silence. He’s ranting off about the price of canned goods in this town; how they’re impossibly high compared to other towns. Jethro barely listens. He’s focused too much on you - how you’re walking next to him, movements so elegant, it’s alien to a rough cowboy like him. His own spurs clinked against the gravel road, footfalls heavy. A startling contradiction.

Jethro waits silently as the doctor pulls himself onto his old nag. And once he’s settled, Jethro dips his head to him. “Safe ride,” he says simply.

“And you, as well,” Doctor Mallard replies. And there’s a certain edge in his voice, almost teasing without being blatant about it. But Jethro heard the mischief in his voice - it made him scowl and turn to his own horse.

You’re waiting patiently, wearing a soft smile, and he realizes why the good doctor had told him to ride safe.

“You live far?” Jethro asks while pulling himself up. Once he’s in the saddle, he reaches down for your hand. And when you take it, his eyes avert away. The contact was so small and simple but the soft skin of your hand and the light grip you have, it affects him. And he hopes the wide brim of his hat is enough to hide his face as Jethro pulls you up to sit behind him.

“Not very. On the edge of town - it’s the big white house. Just head down the main street-”

“Oh, I’ve seen it,” Jethro cuts in. He pulls the reins and starts heading down the main road. “Big house like that, it’s kinda hard to miss.”

There’s a light laugh from you. Jethro’s grateful his back is turned, face hidden. “Almost too big, in fact. There’s a lot of empty rooms. Sometimes it feels almost....lonely,” you reply.

Feeling lonely in a big ol’ house, that’s not a feeling Jethro was too familiar with. Then again, he knows he owns his own brand of loneliness. The type that lingers, even when he’s surrounded by people. Especially in this town, when the strangers are even more strange to him than usual.

He doesn’t feel that loneliness right now, though.

Jethro clears his throat, head turning a bit to see you in his periphery before looking forward again. “So, what were you doing in that bank?” He asks nonchalantly. Though, he scolds himself; the question was both mundane and prying.

But you didn’t seem bothered, remarkably. “Visiting my father and his associate,” you answer quickly. “He says I should become familiar with how the business is run, since I may be involved running it, one day.”

He hums low while pulling the reins, turning his horse in the direction of your big white house. “Sounds like your father’s got your life all figured out,” Jethro says.

You’re quiet for a moment, and Jethro’s worried that perhaps he’s offended your father. Or worst yet, offended you. “Oh, it’s not like that,” you tell him. “I’m happy to learn. And he’s right, after all.”

Still, Jethro disagrees. But he doesn’t say anything, this time. Doesn’t want to run the risk of angering you. Or give you a reason to stop seeing him in a good light. And Jethro’s well aware that such a thing will happen eventually; just not right now.

There’s a bit of rough terrain on the road. Lots of mud from when it rained the night before, and it has the horse’s hooves sliding. It lets out a little whine, and Jethro pulls on its reins to keep it balanced. But the sudden jolting around must’ve spooked you - your arms are suddenly around his midsection. Holding on tight, afraid to fall. A normal reaction, of course.

But it shocks Jethro. His hands grip the reins even harder, and he’s grateful for the muddy road. Because you can’t feel the way his lungs suck in a deep breath.

What a humiliating response, Jethro chides himself. It’s as if he’s some dumb young man getting squirrelly when a woman touches him. And yet, that’s how he’s feeling. With your arms around his midsection, your front against his back, Jethro can’t think of any words to use to continue the conversation.

He rolls his eyes at himself.

It feels like an eternity to reach your home, riding in silence. But Jethro stops by the end of the fence, lifting his eyes to get a good look at the impressive white house. He imagines it must be even more beautiful inside, and quickly decides it fits you just fine.

“Thank you for the ride home, Mr. Gibbs.”

Your voice draws his attention away from the house. Jethro immediately dips his head, and his hand comes out to help you down from the back of his horse. “Wasn’t a problem,” he replies simply. Once down, your hands run down the length of your dress, straightening it back out.

He’s gotta go.

“Well, you have a good day, miss,” Jethro says. And with another nod of his head, he steers his horse away from the magnificent homestead. He’ll just ride back to camp and lock himself away in his tent for the rest of the day...

“Mr. Gibbs, hold on a moment.”

Despite himself, Jethro stops his horse. Sighs, and turns to look at you. “Yeah?”

You’re nervous, he can tell. Not on your face, but in your hands. How they wring together and keeping running down the fabric of your dress. “Would you like to join me for a drink in the saloon tonight?” You ask.

A drink? Jethro doesn’t know how to respond. He knows his answer should be no. He should make up an excuse for not being able to join you tonight, or any other night. Instead, he says nothing. Just stares.

Still nervous, you continue. “Or perhaps not tonight, if you’re otherwise engaged. I would just like to thank you for bringing me home when you didn’t need to.”

Jethro’s hands are in his lap, absently fiddling with the old leather reins. “A lady like yourself enjoys the company in a saloon?” He asks, tone conveying a teasing disbelief.

Just say no, you old bastard...

Finally, you smile. Jethro doubts he’ll be able to go through with his plans.

“You forget my father, sir.” Your hands come behind your back; more relaxed than you outta be, around him. “No man dares to lay a hand on me, if he knows what’s good for him. Not without my consent, that is.” You add on that last part with haste, and Jethro doesn’t miss it.

In spite of himself, he smiles and shakes his head. Disbelieving that you’re so able to change his mind in a snap, but somehow, not adverse to it. “I think I’ll let you buy me that drink, ma’am. I will meet you there tonight.”

Looking pleased, you dip your head to him and turn to walk up to the house. Jethro watches, just for a few moments. Once the breeze picks up and starts billowing your dress, that’s when he turns and rides toward camp. And he doesn’t see when you look back to him.

The ride back to camp was slower than usual. It gave Jethro a few peaceful moments to think things over. It was just a simple drink, he told himself. A thank you from a nice lady because he rode her home. Not all the women in this town are so snooty and uptight, he reminds himself. A couple glasses of the finest bourbon they have (Jethro’s confident you can afford it), and he’ll be gone.

He’s still in his own head when Jethro comes back into camp. Everyone seems to be doing their own thing; too preoccupied to bother with him. Abigail and Eleanor doing chores. Doctor Mallard going through his medicinal stores. Tim seems to be scolding Jimmy for getting the fishing line in knots again.

Jethro ducks into his tent, going straight for his clothing chest. Surely he has something decent to wear. It won’t be anywhere close to the level of prestige he’s sure you’re used to, but it’ll have to do.

He opens the chest, and instantly spots a pure white cotton shirt. That outta suffice.

“Hey, Boss!”

Instantly, Jethro closes the chest and straightens up when Anthony comes in.

He’s wearing that troubling grin again. Jethro’s mood instantly drops a little; he has a hunch of what the younger man is here for. “What do you want?”

Anthony isn’t turned off from Jethro’s icy question. In fact, it prompts him to step closer. The excitement is nearly palpable from the Italian, and it’s slightly worrying. Anthony’s not-exactly-legal idea to get some cash was something he hadn’t divulge that day in town. He said he wanted to work out a plan first. Wanted to make sure it was full proof.

Evidently, he’s worked it out.

“My plan to get us some money,” Anthony starts off. His grin turns into a proud smile, and he’s standing straight. Jethro’s stomach is suddenly a little tight. “The big bank in town. It’s sure to have a lot of money and valuables in it - you know these rich folk would keep their money in a vault. Tim and Jimmy said they’d come along as extra guns. Even Ellie is going to provide a distraction. I’ve worked it out, and it can’t go wrong. Especially if you’re there with us.”

Perhaps in the past, and Jethro was a little more reckless, he’d agree to the plan. And for what it’s worth, it seemed pretty solid. Anthony’s annoying, but he’s competent. A born thief and this is just flexing his muscles.

But Jethro remembers just this afternoon when you came out of the bank - how much time you must spend in there. Knows that you think him a good man, for whatever reason that he can’t understand.

“No,” he says. And instantly, Anthony’s face falls. Jethro’s head shakes as he takes a step closer to the younger man. “Our plan was to lie low. To not get into trouble while we’re here. Our life is out west, don’t you remember that? A bank robbery would ruin all that.”

“We’re wearing masks. Nobody would know-”

“You have my answer, Anthony,” Jethro snaps out. “I suggest you go tell the others that your plan is off. We’ll find other ways to get money.”

Anthony’s silent. Doesn’t move for a few tense moments, and Jethro wonders if he’ll continue to fight for his plan. But eventually, he huffs and stomps out of the tent. Jethro watches him go, and he hopes he rejected the plan for the right reasons.

-

The music could be heard from outside the saloon. Music, and the rowdy noises of dozens of people inside. Every one of them drunk and that’s what gets Jethro wary. Drunk people are often very stupid.

Still, he knows you’re inside. Waiting to buy him a glass of bourbon, and Jethro’s not known for keeping a lady waiting.

He pushes through the door, and instantly gets more than a few sets of eyes cast on him. And by now, he’s used to it. Being in this town, looking how he looks, he’s accustomed to side glances as these rich people size him up and decide he’s likely lower than dirt.

But while they’re looking at him, Jethro instantly finds you. He notices you’re wearing a finer dress than you were earlier, and new sets of jewelry twinkle in the saloon lights. Jethro’s not really a religious man, but he reckons this is about as close as angels can look. Both ethereal and warm.

His good mood is halted, however, when his eyes finally drift away from you. There’s a man beside you, leaning against the bar on one arm but facing you and judging from the look you’re wearing, this man isn’t wanted. The look, Jethro notes, is more-so the lack of an expression. Because he’s known you to be smiley and friendly with those you like.

There’s not any smile gracing your lips.

The man touches your arm. Not aggressively, granted. A brush of his fingers. But Jethro recalls your words earlier, and his feet are instantly moving. Thudding hard against the wood to bring himself to you.

And you see him approach first. Your eyes lighten up, but there’s still no smile.

So Jethro stops beside the man. His clothes are expensive, and his hair (if it weren’t so messy) is expertly cut. He can dress like a gentleman all he wants, but Jethro knows better. “Leave the lady alone, alright? She don’t want your company.”

The drunken man looks to him, only just realizing his presence. And then he pushes off the bar, standing at full height, but Jethro keeps his eyes steady on his. “Excuse me, sir? Don’t believe you were invited in on this conversation,” the man rolls out. His words are slurred and his breath reeks of liquor. Jethro can’t help but wrinkle his nose.

“You ain’t excused,” he replies steely cold. “Go stink up some other poor bastard’s saloon.”

It seems the man is finally catching on that Jethro was antagonizing him. His red eyes narrow, shoulders squaring. Jethro’s hands curl into fists, even after he feels your hand on his arm. A light squeeze, almost desperate. “Let’s just leave him, Mr. Gibbs. It ain’t worth-”

“I’ll show you who’s excused!”

The punch he throws is sloppy. Uncoordinated. Jethro should’ve been able to dodge it. But your hand had been on his arm. He was distracted.

The fist connected with his face, just below his eye - a solid hit, despite a poor swing. Pain exploded against Jethro’s face, and it’s nearly enough to knock him to the floor. But his hands hit the wood first, and he stumbles back up to his feet; Jethro’s not about to let some drunken idiot get on top.

He whirls around, fists up, ready to strike. In the background, he notices the music stop. People are cheering. But Jethro’s attention is only on the man advancing on him, arm cranking back for another punch.

But this time, Jethro’s ready. He dodged the punch easily, even feeling the wind of it brush past his face. And in the next second, his own fist connects with the man’s jaw. A more solid punch than he was given. More power behind it. More pain delivered.

It sent him crumbling to the ground, hitting the wood floor with a solid thump and made the bar patrons all gasp in shock. A few of the drunker, more rowdy ones even cheered. Jethro kept his eyes on the man, now out cold but silently hoping he’d get back up. To give him another reason to deliver another hard punch.

There’s a hand on his arm again. The same soft, lightly gripping touch that Jethro was so quickly becoming familiar with. His head swung around, instantly catching your eyes. They were wide and worried; a bit frightened, but he couldn’t tell why you’d be afraid. He’d just taken care of the problem. “Let’s go, Mr. Gibbs. You should get that cut cleaned up.”

Cut? What cut?

It was then when Jethro remembering the throbbing ache of his cheekbone. And rest assured, when he raised a hand to touch it, his fingers came away red.

You started pulling him away toward the back of the bar before the bartender called out. “Hold on, little lady! Your man just caused a fight - the law’ll want to speak with him!”

With a huff, you turn back around. Jethro wasn’t aware you could look so mean, but the look on your face was nearly enough to make him go running for the hills. “I know you saw that big oaf swing the first punch. If anything, my man was only defending himself - and me! You wanna bother the law about something like this?”

Jethro watches the bartender grapple with his words before sighing and turning away back to his work. That’s when you continued pulling him along to one of the back rooms, grumbling about the no-good idiots in this place, but Jethro was only really focused on how you called him your man.

That drunken bastard must’ve hit him worse than he realized.

He’s silent as he watches you move to the washing basin, soaking a piece of cloth in the water. “Sit on the bed, please,” you tell him. A polite request spoken in a snipped voice, so Jethro doesn’t think twice to obey. And just as he sits, you’re approaching him.

“That was a very stupid thing you did,” you remark sternly. The cloth is cool, at least. It soothes the quickly-swelling bruise. But still, he’s bleeding. Jethro can’t help but wince when you have to rub harder.

You scoff at his wincing, not seeming to care. “I swear, you’re just as much a ruffian as any cowboy I’ve ever met. Are you in the habit of getting into fights over something so trivial?”

Getting into fights? Sure, he’s used to it. But Jethro wouldn’t call defending you to be trivial. Quite the opposite, in fact.

He doesn’t say so. He’s too focused on how gentle you are in cleaning him up. Perhaps gentle in a way he doesn’t deserve - you’re right, he is a no-good bar-fighting ruffian. It’s difficult to understand why you’re this gentle with him.

So Jethro watches your face, screwed up with tight brows and a flat frown. And he can’t help his own lips from quirking up. “Are you busy tomorrow?” He asks.

You stop, and your eyes flicker to meet his. Jethro could’ve sworn he’d seen your face flush. “Don’t change the subject, Mr. Gibbs.”

“I’m not attempting to,” he replies quickly. “In fact, I’m trying to stop something like this from happening again.”

You’re confused. Looking skeptical, but your head shakes slowly. “I’m having brunch with my mother tomorrow at noon. But after that, I’m available. Why do you ask?”

The quirk in his lips grows into a small smile. “Good. Meet me behind the old church on the south side of town after your brunch.”

A small sigh comes from your lungs as your hands fall away from his face. The blood must be cleaned up, but Jethro can’t even feel the throb of his swollen cheek. “Can I ask what for?” You prod on.

“I’m gonna teach you how to shoot a man who can’t keep his hands to himself.”

[ebhenah]

 Gloriously Weird

#Fictober19 Prompt: 5. I might just kiss you.

Fandom: Voltron

Pairing: Older, Married Keith/Lance; background Krolia/Kolivan; background Allura/Romelle; background OC/OC

Rating: T (language, no warnings apply)

Wordcount: 2015

Tags: domestic fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, klance kids, klance raising teenagers, rocky horror picture show references, Keith has a younger brother, flashback sequence, smitten hubbies, brief mention of medical support device

Read on AO3 Part of the Future Klance Family Fics Series

 “So... uhhh... who are you supposed to be?” Lance asked, knocking the fridge door closed with his hip. His brother-in-law stopped fiddling with his hair and shot him an incredulous look, “you can’t tell?”

“I have my theories... but I didn’t think the kids would be able to convince you to take part in the whole ‘group costume’ thing they’ve got going on this year. Did they?”

“I love my niece and nephews, Lance,” Yorak growled, tugging at his jacket uncomfortably.

There it was. The growl. He had no idea why the kid insisted on doing it, but every. single. time. they were in the same room, Yory ended up growling at him. Despite assurances to the contrary, Lance was sure the kid couldn’t stand him, but whatever. Lance had known him since birth and he was family, so little Yorak Gayth of the plentiful growls could just deal with the fact that Keith’s husband loved him, even when he was a little shit.

“So... that’s a yes,” Lance fought the urge to smirk. It was a decent costume, especially considering that the Galra had no equivalent to Halloween for Keith’s brother to draw on. “Did you pick this one, or was it assigned to you by a certain girl with big, blinky eyes and the ability to make her uncles cave in ten seconds flat?”

“I didn’t really care what costume I got,” shrugging, Yory glanced through the door and up the stairs to where the others were still getting ready. “Everyone else did.”

There wasn’t a strong resemblance between Keith and Yorak, mostly due to the fact that Keith looked human and Yorak, being full-blooded Galra... didn’t. Krolia’s son with Kolivan was probably going to end up being a huge guy, but he was currently just shy of his eighteenth birthday and was even more slight than Keith had been at that age. At the moment, he was wearing a tailcoat tux over a false hump. His coloring and markings matched his father’s pretty closely, but the eyes... those were his mother’s, and so was the sharp chin and comparatively delicate ears. (Oddly, this particular combination of bone structure and coloring made Yorak look a lot like Axca, and he was often confused for her sibling or child.) 

Even now, Lance couldn’t see Yorak in profile without having the memory of the first time Keith had gotten to hold him flood him. 

Keith had been a wreck. 

The whole pregnancy had been difficult for him, but the few hours between the announcement of the arrival of a healthy son and Keith getting to see the reality of it for himself were... a whole new level of stress. They’d already been en route to the station that was serving as a temporary home to Lance’s in-laws with Thace in tow. Galra babies were tinier than Lance expected. Yorak had been barely five pounds and was seen as being an unusually robust newborn. 

After greeting an exhausted but happy Krolia, Lance had hung back and given Keith some space to adjust to the shift in his family. He’d been nervous and skittish and kept glancing to Lance and Thace like they were a touchstone... and in a way, maybe they were. Maybe they reminded him that even if his worst fears panned out, he wouldn’t be alone again. No matter how enthralled Krolia became with the son she didn’t have to leave behind, Keith had a husband who loved him, a son that adored him, and a family in Voltron that had been forged in battle and peace and he would never, ever be isolated again.

Yorak had been sleeping, nestled against Kolivan’s chest, a blanket draped over the tiny boy. When he’d woken, Kolivan had quietly, confidently handed him to a very surprised and nervous Keith with the soft command to ‘meet your brother’ and Lance had gotten to watch his husband fall in love with a sibling he’d only been able to see as a threat until that very moment. 

Just like he had when Thace had been born and placed in his arms, Keith melted. His breath had escaped him in a soft coo, one fingertip tracing the line of the baby’s brow and the shell of that tiny, softly fuzzed, pointed ear. Yorak had rooted around like he was hungry and Keith had offered a knuckle for him to gnaw on. “Hey,” Keith had whispered, “I’m your big brother..”

Yory wasn’t often around, due to the nomadic nature of life for the remaining Blade members, but when he was, he spent as much time with the kids as he did with Keith- their relationship closer to that of cousins than uncle and niblings because they were all around the same age. This time around, that meant the Galran youth was getting to join them at the Halloween Dance that the school was throwing. The twins and Talia’s boyfriend had each listed one of the non-students in the group as their official guest, which meant that Yory, who had never been enrolled in the Atlas school system and Thace and his girlfriend Juanita, who’d graduated in the spring, could attend.

“The costume looks great,” Lance reassured him, his attention returning tot he present moment. “Have you even seen the movie?”

Yorak nodded, “it was... odd. But I liked the music!”

Lance chuckled, “yeah, Rocky Horror is kind of gloriously weird. Ahh! There they are!”

Rai was the first one to descend the stairs and his costume actually managed to leave his Papi speechless. Rai was the quiet one! He didn’t like being the center of attention! When the kids had told Lance of their plans, he never, ever, ever would have figured that sixteen year old Rai would be the one to dress as Frankie! Granted- it was the most modest of the Frankie costume options: old-fashioned surgical garb, long pink rubber gloves, clunky heels, pearls, and a full wig and make-up combo- but, still! “You look great!” he gushed, because it was the truth. They’d even gone so far as to splatter him with some fake blood and arm him with a plastic pickaxe. 

“Thanks, Papi! Oh, hey, Yory!” Rai punched his uncle lightly in the shoulder by way of greeting, “you look awesome! Tonight is going to be a blast.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Yory answered, relaxing a little.

The girls were next- Talia as Magenta and Juanita as Columbia, also both in the more modest costume choices from the surgical scene, with white aprons and paper masks over the maid outfit and tap shorts. They were closely trailed by Thace, dressed as Eddie. With his skin powered and painted to be corpse-pale, his brown hair darkened to black courtesy of Halloween hairspray, and the combination of the leather jacket with the slight snarl he looked eerily like Keith had at his age and Lance had to take a moment... because... “Quiznak, you are all so grown up! How did that happen? Keith! Come see the kids before they go!!”

“We can’t go anywhere just yet,” Talia pointed out, fussing with her costume so the compact oxygen tank strapped to her leg was better hidden. “Bailey is meeting up with us here!”

“Besides,” grinned Juanita, “I’m sure you are going to want to get pictures of us, Mr. McClain!”

“See? You get me, Juanita!” He answered, “it’s why you are my favorite.”

“Your favorite? How many girlfriends has Thace had??” she laughed, but Thace was glaring daggers at him.

“Just you, mijita,” he answered easily, “proving how smart my boy is.”

“You’re the only one allowed to call him ‘Mr. McClain’, too,” Keith pointed out, appearing behind Lance without warning and slipping his arms around him.

Lance squawked, reaching down automatically to pet the massive space wolf, “did you seriously just Kosmo-poof out here from the next room? That seems excessive!”

“That’s only because it was so confusing with me calling you both ‘Mr. Kogane’ and I wouldn’t use his first name!” “My first name is still a valid option. You can always call me Lance. You know that.”

“I could never!” she protested, “my Mami would throw chanclas! She’d know!”

Keith shook his head. He didn’t really understand, but Lance did, and that was all that really mattered.Dropping a little kiss to the curve of Lance’s neck he turned his attention back to the kids, “okay... we’ve got... Eddie and Columbia, Magenta and Riff Raff, and... of course... Frankie. So, we are missing... who are we missing?”

“Brad and Janet,” Lance pointed out, “the supposed leads.”

“That’s gonna be Bailey’s friend Silas and his girlfriend Elodie,” Talia answered eagerly. “They’re doing the wedding outfits and she showed me pics and they are gonna look soooo adorable!”

“We don’t have a Dr. Scott,” Rai pointed out, just as the door buzzer went off and Talia pushed past him to answer it. “But a few of the kids from class are going to be revelers.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a good bunch of kids working together,” Keith chuckled. “You should get the good camera, Tumbleweed... you’ve got to get your requisite four hundred pictures, and we don’t want to hold them up!”

“Do you remember my mother’s reaction to the lack of pictures from Thace’s first Christmas?” Lance muttered, reluctantly stepping out of the ring of his husband’s arms, “because I remember and I have no interest in repeating that whole mess!”

By the time he returned with the camera, the group was complete. “Bailey,” he said evenly, smiling at the boy and faltering a little. Seriously, what was he supposed to say to the teenager dressed in gold booty shorts and a liberal dusting of body glitter? Any compliment he could come up with would be seriously creepy for him to say to his daughter’s boyfriend. “You... make a great Rocky.” That wasn’t too bad, right? 

“Everyone looks great,” Keith agreed. Lance fought the urge to glare at him for taking the easy way out and lumping all the kids together, because it was petty to punish his husband for thinking of something that Lance hadn’t and Lance was better than that, dammit.

Familiar with the routine by now, all the kids squished together in the frame and smiled as he snapped picture after picture of them until Keith declared them done. They did a quick run through of the rules (which Lance was sure that Yory would find some way to circumvent, as per usual) and Keith double checked that they all had sufficient spending money for snacks at the bake sale table.

“Have fun,” he said as he closed the door behind them. 

Keith glanced at the clock on the wall, “so... it’s six now- when does the dance wrap up?”

“Eleven,” he replied, automatically moving to sort the tangle of shoes  that was taking over the entrance.

“So, five hours, plus an hour of milling around and dawdling at the various quarters on their way back here.”

“Mmhmmm... want to put on a movie for us to watch with Kashi and Lucas?”

“They aren’t here,” Keith grinned at him. “I sent them off for sleepovers! Kashi is with Pidge, and Lucas is keeping Romelle and Alban company while Allura and Coran are on New Altea- she promised to make pie. I’ve never seen that kid pack so fast!”

“When did you do that?”

“While you were catching up with my brother. Kosmo dropped them off. Sooo,” he tugged Lance into his arms, ignoring the soccer cleat in his free hand, “we’ve got the evening to ourselves, Tumbleweed. What do you think of that?”

“I think,” he answered, looping his arms around Keith’s neck and smiling into that handsome face, “I might just kiss you.”

“You might?”

“Oh no... you heard that wrong, babe. I am definitely gonna kiss you. I might just kiss you... but I’ll probably do a lot more than that... you know... if you’re interested.”

"I love you," Keith laughed, eyes dancing, "of course I'm interested."

"Good... and I love you, too."

[argentvive]

Jaime’s Fate: A Clue in A Feast for Crows

AFFC has twice as many Brienne chapters as Jaime chapters, but Jaime thinks about and pines for Brienne as much as she does for him.

I’ve finally made it to Jaime III in AFFC, more than halfway through the book.  Jaime thinks about Brienne A LOT, but he also thinks about what he’d like his name and destiny to be.  In my opinion, the chapter provides a massive clue for Jaime’s fate at the end of the series.  

(The events in Jaime III are not in the TV series, so this is a still from Episode 7.07, where we see Jaime riding away from King’s Landing in search of his destiny.)

The chapter begins with Cersei telling Jaime she wants him to go to Riverrun to defeat Brynden Tully.  She is in green again, while Jaime--

<”All the color is draining out of you, brother. You’ve become a ghost of what you were, a pale crippled thing. And so bloodless, always in white.”>

Cersei’s comment reinforces that Jaime is in the albedo (White stage) now.  

When Jaime sets off on his mission we learn that his two mounts are named Honor and Glory.  Honor wears the white of the Kingsguard, Glory the Lannister crimson, a subtle clue that Jaime’s path is honor now, not glory.  

Jaime recruits the executioner Ilyn Payne for the mission. As they ride together, Jaime muses, “Perhaps there is yet hope for the both of us.”  It’s hard to imagine redemption for Payne, but the insight into Jaime’s thoughts shows us that redemption is what Jaime wants for himself.

This chapter gives us the first detailed description of Jaime’s prosthetic hand:

<The hand was wrought of gold, very lifelike, with inlaid nails of mother-of-pearl, its fingers and thumb half closed so as to slip around a goblet’s stem....”Men shall name you Goldenhand from this day forth, my lord,” the armorer ha assured him the first time he’d fitted it onto Jaime’s wrist. He was wrong. I shall be the Kingslayer till I die.>

The war party take shelter one night in a castle of the Hayfords.  Jaime opens the shutters in his tower room and sees a “horned moon.”  When we get a reference to the moon, we should know Jaime’s thoughts will soon be turning to Brienne.  

Jaime and Payne go to the castle courtyard to spar.  Jaime is trying to learn to fight left-handed.   “Payne was as rusty as his ringmail, and not so strong as Brienne....They danced beneath the horned moon as the blunted swords sang their steely song.”  Symbolically perhaps, Brienne is keeping watch over Jaime still.

As the column crosses from the lands belonging to King’s Landing to those sworn to Riverrun, they see increasing signs of looting and slaughter.  Jaime dispenses justice:

<...Some outlaws had taken shelter in the root cellar beneath the second brother’s keep.  One of them wore the ruins of a crimson cloak, but Jaime hanged him with the rest.  It felt good. This was justice. Make a habit of it, Lannister, and one day men might call you Goldenhand after all. Goldenhand the Just.>

This seems pretty straightforward foreshadowing to me.  Honor and justice are qualities that go with a protagonist who has achieved the Red Stone, and all the gold that goes with it.  Jaime is not there yet; he has only achieved the White Stone.  He must still pass through the Exaltation stage.  He must renounce and abandon Cersei.  Only then can--and will--he be truly worthy, truly honorable.  Only then will he lose the hated “Kingslayer” name and be acclaimed as “Goldenhand the Just.”

In the following sentence we learn that the soldiers are going to Harrenhal.  Harrenhal is where Jaime and Brienne experienced their final, permanent Chemical Wedding, in the baths.  Harrenhal is also where Jaime threw caution and good sense aside and jumped into the bear pit to save Brienne.  You would expect the rest of the chapter to be full of references to Jaime’s experiences with Brienne, and you would be right. 

<Jaime found himself wondering if Brienne might have passed this way before him.>

Jaime finds out that Vargo Hoat, the raider who had ordered his maiming, has died, been cut into pieces, and (mostly) eaten.

<Somehow revenge had lost its savor.>

The only way the civil war can end is if the endless cycles of revenge and retribution cease.  Jaime is losing his own desire for revenge--perhaps he can exert his leadership and be a model for others in this regard.  

Jaime shows mercy to the remaining captives--including the girl Pia and Ser Wylis Manderly.  After taking dinner with Ser Bonifer Hasty, a deeply religious man that Jaime appoints to command the garrison, Jaime descends to the courtyard to watch his men sparring.  But an unseen force draws him away.

<His fingers had the itch again. His footsteps took him away from the noise and the light. He passed beneath the covered bridge and through the Flowstone Yard before he realized where he was headed.

As he neared the bear pit, he saw the glow of a lantern....>

Ser Ronnet Connington is there.

<Below, the carcass of the bear still sprawled upon the sands, though only bones and ragged fur remained, half-buried. Jaime felt a pang of pity for the beast. At least he died in battle.”> 

And so Jaime returns to the scene of his rescue of Brienne.  He does not intend to go there. As is common with protagonists in an alchemy story, he acts subconsciously, on instinct, propelled by some invisible force.  This is, in an odd way, a reunion with Brienne.  As I wrote in my earlier post on the rescue, the bear is a lunar animal, white, and symbolizes Brienne.  Even though the bear might have killed both Brienne and himself, he feels “a pang of pity” for the bear now.

And you know if Jaime is thinking about Brienne that somehow GRRM will work in a reference to the pink dress, and he doesn’t disappoint.  Jaime recounts the story to Connington:

<”The Mummers put her in a pink silk gown and shoved a tourney sword into her hand.>

Again, Jaime is Red and Brienne is White, and one of the symbols of their conjunction (coniunctio)  in the Chemical Wedding is her pink dress.

Connington describes the circumstances of his brief engagement to Brienne, in increasingly insulting terms.

<”The bear was less hairy than that freak, I’ll---”

Jaime’s golden hand cracked him across the mouth so hard the other knight went stumbling down the steps. His lantern fell and smashed, and the oil spread out, burning. ”You are speaking of a highborn lady, ser. Call her by her name Call her Brienne.”>

Jaime is defending Brienne’s honor.  Since they are alchemically one person now, an insult to her is an insult to him, and he strikes Connington.  Also, I think this is the third or fourth time Jaime has insisted that Brienne be called by her proper name.  Names mean a lot to him; he longs to shed his own hated “Kingslayer” sobriquet.   

One thing I’m not sure of is whether to take the reference to the burning oil from the lantern and the “spreading flames on [Connington’s] hands and knees” as some kind of coagula.  Fire usually has a symbolic meaning in an alchemy story, but I can’t figure out what it could mean here.  I don’t think Connington becomes a major character later. 

[kittensartswriting]

Character Creation Tag

@thedrowningtsarevna​ tagged me, thank you!!

I’m going with Sváfa from The Shield-Maiden Saga.

1) What was the first element of your OC that you remember considering (name, appearance, backstory, etc.?)

It has been a long time since I created Sváfa, and I really don’t remember. Though now she is the MC and the narrator, she is not even the first character for the story and the story didn’t involve her, of course when I created her the whole plot changed. My best guess is her backstory? It’s actually not so much as a backstory but the inciting incident at the beginning :D Well the whole story is more like the story of her life (or like the part of her life as a viking/shield-maiden) and spans at least over ten years.

2) Did you design them with any other characters/OCs from their universe in mind?

Well yes, it’s a historical setting and living in the Ancient Scandinavian society has a lot of impact on her character naturally.

3) How did you choose their name?

Sváfa is the name of a valkyrie and a shield-maiden in the sagas. In the Poetic Edda, she is has adventures with Helgi Hjörvarðsson and eventually marries him. They die eventually, but are reborn as valkyrie Sigrún and Helgi Hundingsbane, who also fall in love and marry. The cycle repeats itself one last time when they are reborn as valkyrie Kára and Helgi Haddingjaskati in Káruljóð Saga and reunited once again. Sváfa loves stories and the sagas, but Sváfa and Helgi’s story is the most important for her and when she was a child she liked to think herself as another reincarnation of Sváfa the Valkyrie.

4) In developing their backstory, what elements of the world they live in played the most influential parts?

Ancient Norse storytelling traditions are really central in her story. She is a storyteller and sagas are her go-to coping mechanism. Of course the viking expeditions are very important, and from them especially the founding of Gardaríki. The whole story happens because of they intend to establish a new kingdom into the Eastern Route. Well not only because of that, also because in their reality there’s magic and elves. So also mythology elements play their part in her backstory.

5) Is there any significance behind their hair colour?

Not really. She has pale blond hair, which I guess would have been pretty common among Scandinavians (still are). Though when she grows older and her hair start to darken she blonds them, like Norse people (men and women) did commonly.

6) Is there any significance behind their eye colour?

Not really. Again they are blue, which would have been (still is) common in the Northern Europe.

7) Is there any significance behind their height?

Well she is pretty long for a girl of her age (at the beginning when she is 14), which is handy when she dresses up as a boy.

8) What (if anything) do you relate to within their character/story?

I relate (as I think a lot of us writeblrs would) strongly to her fascination towards stories and the fact that stories are her coping mechanism and way of expressing herself. A lot of the times she is a daydreamer like I’m too, and can get easily distracted from reality. Also her mother is a Kven (that’s what Norse people called the ancient southern Finnish tribes) and while she has lived in a Scandinavian society and haven’t really interacted with the other side of her heritage, she grows interest to her Finnish roots and I can relate to that.

9) Are they based off of you, in some way?

Yes, though she has very different personality. She has one of my bad habits of telling white lies. I tend to sugar the truth to please people (I’m such a people-pleaser :D), and she does that too. 

10) Did you know what the OC’s sexuality would be at the time of their creation?

It has been so long time since I created her, so I don’t remember.

11) What have you found to be most difficult about creating art for your OC (any form of art: Writing, drawing, edits, etc.)?

Still about a couple of years ago she was pretty bland in every way, but since that I’ve developed her further and she comes pretty naturally to me in every art form.

12) How far past the canon events that take place in their world have you extended their story, if at all?

Well I vaguely know her whole life story from birth to death (she lives to be like 70 years old which would have been really old during that time, and that’s not a spoiler because she is about that age when she tells her story), though the actual story covers like 10 or more years.

13) If you had to narrow it down to 2 things that you MUST keep in mind while working with your OC, what would those things be?

While she is the narrator, she is also a storyteller (so not really reliable that is), and that her worldview is different from my modern one.

14) What is something about your OC that can make you laugh?

She is good with words and though she is not a “snarky person” many of her conversations with others are fun.

15) What is something about your OC can make you cry?

She faces a lot of loss and it’s pretty heartbreaking when she (fails to) deals with them.

16) Is there some element you regret adding to your OC or their story?

If there was, I would change it. There’s really nothing I can regret before I publish it. (If I will ever do that.)

17) What is the most recent thing you’ve discovered about your OC?

Though she is always fighting with her sister, she is the most important person in her life.

18) What is your favorite fact about your OC?

She believe cats are house elves, who are attached to a house and protect it from harm and if you are respectful towards them and give them sacrifices etc. they will give you good luck in return. But when one of their cat, who she likes a lot (and has named Freya because the cat is just that gorgeous), jumps on board the ship when they are leaving her home island, she is convinced that Freya is actually her own elf (Finnish mythology equivalent of guardian angel). I also just love Freya because she is super fluffy kitty (cats of vikings were predecessors of Norwegian Forest Cats) and very loyal and good.

Tagging  @erinisawriter @pigeonbooks @plaguecraft @midnightstreetwanderings @maxseidel @bluemartlet @teacupwriter @violet-clouds-and-skies @natalierosewrites! As always no pressure to do this! (I usually forgot to say this but I hope it’s obvious to people)

[truthbeetoldmedia]

iZombie 5x02 "Dead Lift" Review

While the season premiere of iZombie put into motion some exciting new narrative threads, the second episode of the season returned to some frustrating patterns that hindered the show in the past.

The Dead-Enders are back, and it seems for good this time. The gang of zombie-hating humans raised some hell last season, but was largely ignored for Angus’ turn as the “Prophet of Brother Love.” Their terrorist attacks are putting the entire city on edge between suicide bombers, snipers, and video hoaxes. The ring-leader, Dolly, is proving to be a formidable threat to the zombie population of New Seattle. I don’t have a problem with a little conspiracy and conflict, but where the show goes wrong is its insistence to draw parallels to modern American political discourse.

iZombie began as a whimsical horror comedy procedural. Over the past few seasons, it’s attempted to make a large tone shift to making commentary on class, race, and political rhetoric. I’ve always been a little concerned that the show didn’t have the range to tackle this, and this episode made it more clear than ever that it doesn’t. Characters unironically proclaim that “Zombie Lives Matter” and complain that sketches about zombies use “whiteface.” Not only is it exhausting to hear a villainous character say “everything they said on TV is fake news,” it also feels recycled. In Season 3, iZombie had a plotline where extreme conspiracy theorists tried to prove zombies existed. The conspiracy theorists were pretty clearly coded as white supremacists. It didn’t work so well, was since zombies actually did, in fact, exist and live among them; it only managed to validate characters that we were still somehow to supposed to see as backwards and delusional.

Nothing about it feels constructive, insightful, or fun.  I’m not saying that television can’t be politically sharp or shouldn’t make commentary on current events. iZombie, however, doesn’t need to be more than an escapist fantasy. There’s also nothing wrong with a television show just existing for the fun of it. Most of the time, it’s fun to see the show play with the boundaries of its mythology and mess around with puns. I didn’t get that feeling this week.

Everything in New Seattle feels incredibly bleak right now. The coyote smuggling the teenagers into New Seattle is killed at the border, Jordan was taken from us by a sniper (RIP sweet baby girl), and Peyton is developing a comedy sketch web series called “Hi Zombie” to normalize relations between humans and zombies. I don’t see how things can get much worse. Even the cliffhanger from last week was resolved in the first few minutes of the episode, and all the air was sucked out of the case when Liv, Clive, and Ravi realize the whole thing was a hoax.

Meanwhile, Major is really trying his darndest to keep Fillmore Graves afloat. Major is a character that I feel very sympathetic towards. The show has pulled him in several different directions, and has never been quite confident with what to do with him. Despite it all, I can never forget that before all this mess, Major was a mild-mannered social worker with a soft spot for wayward teens. All he wants is to bring his heart to his position at Fillmore Graves, but it’s not earning the respect of his squad, or necessarily leading him to make the best decisions. We did, however, get a long overdue moment alone with Liv. I’m not sure what is in store for the two of them as a couple, but they have always worked well together when the show allows them to be friends. It was a little sad to see him sneak a brain tube rather than eat the fitness nut brain that Liv so lovingly prepared for him, but I understood his desire to keep a clear head. I can’t imagine him dealing with insubordinate officers while also trying to squeeze in Insanity exercises.

In order to get control of all of the tense situations at the moment, the group orchestrates some elaborate hoaxes of their own. They fake a guillotine execution for the Fillmore Grave officers responsible for a shooting at “Dead-enders watering hole”, and leak the video. I think Major and the gang hope this will convince the Dead Enders that Fillmore Graves is willing to take care of their own and lay off them for a while, but I have a feeling this is going to backfire. Another illusion the group pulls off is putting blaming the initial convenience store footage hoax on three people who are already trying to get out of Seattle. This way, everyone wins. Dale can hold a press conference to soothe the public that justice has been served, while a few more people can escape Seattle unnoticed. Liv scratches the troubled teen, who in turn scratches his sisters.

Perhaps it’s too much to hope that iZombie will fully return to its case-of-the-week roots, along with a focused plot on finding the cure, but I hope that we don’t live in this dark place with snipers and deadly fish food trucks for the entire rest of the season.

Stray Thoughts:

Despite not loving this episode, having Kareem Abdul-Jabbar play one of the two remaining Seattle city council members is one of my favorite easter eggs of the whole show. In addition to being one of the most famous professional basketball players, Abdul-Jabbar is in the writer’s room for the showrunner Rob Thomas’ other current project, the Veronica Mars revival.

I’m glad that Major spoke out loud something that I’ve been curious about — there’s a half a million humans in seattle, and 10,000 zombies. It makes me wonder why humans feel so dang threatened, when they are the majority here.

“Did you know there’s 2200 calories in a pint of ranch dressing? It’s just… I know you like ranch dressing.” “Yes, but I usually manage not to have a PINT in one SITTING.” The only moment that made me laugh out loud this episode was a classic Clive/Liv brain exchange.

iZombie airs Thursdays at 9/8c on the CW.

Haley’s episode rating: 🐝🐝

[mysunfreckle]

hope the fluff-fest is still going on! eposette w/ some music (writing, listening, dancing, performing, etc.) involved?

This took me an AGE, but here it is (thank you for asking

Swan Maiden!Cosette x Selkie!Eponine, 1.4k, Established Relationship

Époninewill always think Montparnasse’s taste in clothes is fussy, but this is a nice dress. She still misses herseal coat a little, wearing clothes reminds her too much of her parents. Butthis is a nice dress and in an odd way the deep blue matches Cosette’s white.Like sea foam and deep water.

It’s hardnot to stare at Cosette. She is as graceful in her human form as she is in herfeathers, stepping lightly beside Éponine, holding on to her hand as if sheneeds some reminding that she’s supposed to stay on the ground.

Cosette’slight eyes flit up and meet Éponine’s, clearly catching her staring. But,Éponine reminds herself triumphantly, she’s allowed to stare at her girlfriend.She still flusters a little, but mostly because Cosette gives her a teasingsmile and asks: “What?” In a low, warm voice.

Époninedecides not to begin answering that. She could talk until nightfall.

“Still nottelling me where were going?” she says instead, pulling on Cosette’s arm alittle.

“I toldyou,” Cosette says meaningfully. “Unless you can guess, it’s a surprise.”

Époninepulls a face. “I never go this far inland, I have no idea where we are.”

Cosette hasan unfair advantage, being able to see everything from the air whenever shetakes flight. Still, for a selkie Éponine is very comfortable with being onland. The little lane Cosette is leading her down now is pretty, there are nohouses here. The village here is not too bad, but Éponine doesn’t think she willever be fond of paved streets again.

Something vaguelyfamiliar stirs at the back of Éponine’s mind and she raises her head. “Is therewater nearby?” she asks.

Cosette’ssmile shines warm on her face. “I wondered if you’d know! I thought you mayonly be able to feel the sea.”

“No thisisn’t the sea,” Éponine says, looking around. She looks expectantly at Cosette.“Is it a lake?”

“Yes,” Cosette says happily. “The bestlake.”

Her face isso lit up that Éponine hurries her step without being asked. She has thefeeling she’s about to be shown a secret.

“This isone of my favourite places,” Cosette says, softly but urgently, as they go offthe path and start pushing their way through the thicket.

Éponine canfeel the pull of water quite close by now, the gentle sound of waves. That iswhy it calls to her, she thinks, the waves. Streams murmur and rivers flow, butthere are no waves. The call of the waves means that she knows the way as wellas Cosette does, she no longer needs to be guided. They hurry along with equaleagerness.

“It iseasier to reach by air,” Cosette laughs, a little breathless. Her cheeks areglowing and it’s a hard choice between rushing on towards the water andcatching Cosette by the arm to beg for a kiss.

Époninedoesn’t get to choose though, because Cosette already eagerly grabs her handand pulls her along. The landscape whirls past, branches tapping on theirshoulders and roots tripping up their feet, until suddenly, there is the lake.

They bothhold still, catching their breath and taking in the water spread out beforethem in one, long, quiet look.

“Waves,”Éponine breathes adoringly, because the wind is playing on the lake’s surface andthe water rocks itself back and forth like a child of the sea. Put safely downhere to sleep amidst the trees and underbrush.

“This is mywater,” Cosette says and her voice is so very fond.

Époninesmiles. Their hands are still clasped together and she can almost feel thecontentment flowing through Cosette’s entire being. The wind picks up a littleand Éponine feels it playing through her own hair as she watches Cosette’scurls dance in the breeze.

Withouteven meaning to, they both lean down to take off their shoes. Éponine is prettysure she’s the only selkie she’s ever met that willingly wears shoes. But shedoesn’t like the feeling of her bare feet on rough surfaces, she’d rather wearthe shoes.

But now shecan’t wait to get them off. Cosette catches her hand again and they both walkinto the water, the hem of their skirts fluttering just above the lake’s gentlewaves. It feels different to the sea, this sweet water. It feels like Cosette.

“Thankyou,” Éponine says quietly. “For showing me.”

Cosettedoesn’t answer, she just smiles and squeezes her hand a little tighter.

They strollthrough the shallow water together and suddenly, between Cosette’s hand in hersand the water swirling around her toes, Éponine remembers something.

“Hey, Zette…”

Cosette’ssoft eyes flit to her face. “Yeah?”

Époninehesitates, but there’s a sudden yearning in her chest and she has to ask. “Back…backwhen we were kids…” She stops herself.

“Yes?”Cosette prompts.

“You usedto sing a song,” Éponine says. “Sometimes, when we were walking in theharbour.”

A strangesort of surprise fills Cosette’s face. “Yes…”

“Did ithave words?” Éponine asks, looking into her face in an attempt to guess what isgoing on in Cosette’s mind. “I don’t think it did, but it’s so long ago, I’mnot sure anymore.”

“It didn’t,or at least, I don’t know them,” Cosette says, her voice very quiet. Shedoesn’t sound sad, but thoughtful in a way that Éponine really wasn’texpecting.

“I haven’tsung that in ages…” Her rosy face grows sad with shame for a moment. “Ponine,I’m not even sure I still remember it.”

Époninefeels a faint pang of panic when she sees the distress growing on Cosette’sface. This was not her intention.

“I’vealways known that song,” Cosette says in dismay. “How could I forget about it?I knew it even before…before everything. How can I not remember, I—”

“I do,”Éponine interrupts.

Cosette’seyes fix on her with sudden emotion. “You do?”

At leastÉponine thinks she does. She nods.

Cosettemakes a pleading sound at the back of her throat, turning fully towards herwith a splash of water around their ankles and grabbing her other hand as well.“Can you—I mean, would you…”

Éponineswallows. She’s not a good singer, never has been, but she tries really hardthis time. “It went–” Bravely she begins the melody. Her voice is very soft,but the notes are true, and barely has the first tones left her lips, or Cosette’seyes begin to shine wildly. Still singing, trying to call back the music fromher childhood, Éponine watches how Cosette’s face fills with a bewildered sortof happiness.

It’s almostenough to make her stop singing, but that light in her eyes is because she issinging, so Éponine keeps going. She keeps going until Cosette’s is breathingin the rhythm of the melody, until her lips are nearly moving.

When Époninebreaks to draw breath Cosette does so too and a moment later her lips part in aburst of song, filling the air with the melody Éponine was providing a mereshadow of. The music wraps around the both of them and Éponine forgets to sing.It would not have mattered either way, because in her joy Cosette’s voice isgaining strength. The wind picks it up, lifting it high above them and themelody swells.

Cosette’shands slip through Éponine’s fingers and Cosette spreads her arms like shewishes they were wings. With her head tipped back and the wind pulling on herlike it wants to lift her up she looks almost more swan than girl, even withouther feathers. But Éponine doesn’t fear hear flying away. In all the time she’sknown Cosette after she met her again. All the nervous time of falling in lovewith her and then the blissful time of knowing her feelings are returned. Allthrough the shy glances, the teasing smiles and the happy laughter. She has never heard Cosette sing.

The smiletrembling on her lips is involuntary and unrestrained and there is nothing,neither man or beast, in the four corners of the earth that Éponine wouldn’tfight in this moment to stop them from interrupting Cosette’s song.

The swan issinging again and the selkie wishes she’d never stop.

...

[These two are part of a larger fantasy au For Love of Lore (on AO3) with dragon!Enjolras, selkie!Grantaire, wisp!Jehan, vampire!Combeferre and many more~]

[disruptedvice]

Starmora Prompt: Peter and Gamora's first Christmas with Elspeth Quill.

Summary:

“We’d make paper lights, like starsin the night sky, wrap them around the tree like a nice, warmblanket,” she told her daughter, miming stringing up the paperdecorations in the branches, then making what Peter calls ‘itsy-bitsyspider fingers’, mimicking the lights falling into place like ashimmering of dusting and snow, till the tree was covered andbeautiful.

The stars on her tree looked settled inher memory, like they were meant to be there, making their home onthe branches and finally coming to a rest. The paper stars were whiteand bright, jumping out and yet holding onto the dark, midnightleaves, making everything look so complete. The paper stars in hermemory. They tied everything together.

“Hey, that sounds kinda likeChristmas,” Peter noted without really thinking. He didn’t mean tointerrupt, but it just kinda slipped out.

“Chrismust?” Gamora asked, eyebrowsraised in curiosity as she glanced over at him. She hadn’t realizedshe had an audience other than the little girl in front of her.

It looked like he didn’t either,slumped over the counter the way he was, like he only meant to stayfor a few seconds before he got invested in story time. It made hersmile.

AO3 Link

___________

Winter Solstice__________

It’s the first timethey’ve celebrated this, ever.

Gamora’s never brought upthis holiday before. He had no idea it even existed. This is thefirst time she’s shared this Zehoberei tradition with him.

Apparently it was a verybig thing back on her home planet. Of the celebrated days, this wasthe most important to her people.

She’s never mentioned itbefore.

They’ve been married foryears, and a team for even longer, but this is the first Peter’shearing of it. The first time she’s shared it with him.

He doesn’t mind, though.He’s not bothered by it in the slightest, that this is his first timefinding out about this holiday that was apparently super importantback on Gamora’s home planet.

He knows how painfulmemories of home can be. How some things hurt less if you let themstay settled. How dredging things up and talking about them isn’talways the best thing to do for the sake of your emotional stabilityand sanity. He has first hand experience with that too.

Peter particularlyunderstands why she’s never brought it up before, and what changedthis year.

The solstice was a familyholiday, she said. A gathering and celebration she remembered fromher childhood.

Gamora and Peter have beenofficially family, husband and wife for years, and the Guardians havebeen unofficially family for even longer.

But even with her foundfamily and her husband, memories of the solstice were best left inthe past instead of being drudged up, for the sake of normalcy andemotional well being. That’s just how it had to be with some things.

But this year wasdifferent, because of the newest addition to their family. Theirdaughter.

Peter never knew he’d bethis lucky. He already thought he hit the jackpot with Gamora. Whenshe agreed to date his stupid ass, he thought he was the luckiestperson in the universe. Couldn’t get better than this. He already hadhis fortune shining on him.

Flash forward a bit, ofbeing together and thinking this was where his luck tapped out, andhe was fine with that being his peak.

Just when he thought hecouldn’t go any higher- that’s when she agreed to marry his stupidass. He was sure his luck had run out after that, that whatevercontrolled luckiness had spent all of Peter’s luck on Gamora, so hegot to spend the rest of his life with her.

But now, looking at Gamoracrouched and bouncing a 5 month old little girl, with light greenskin and big brown eyes in a white dress and black little booties, henever imagined anyone could be as lucky as he was, looking on at hisfamily right now.

Now, dredging up memoriesof the solstice wasn’t harmful in the way it might have been before.It wasn’t risking emotional stability dwelling on those memories fromthe past.

Now, it was healingbringing up the winter solstice.

Because of her. Theirdaughter.

Peter doesn’t mind thatthis is his first time hearing about it, since he knows this isGamora’s first time celebrating this special holiday in over 20years. She must have missed it.

He’s happy to becelebrating it with her for the first time since she was a child.He’s happy to share this with her.___________

“And we’d go off intothe everwoods,” Gamora continued, taking the black little shoesElspeth had on her feet and miming walking along the beaten path withher legs as she continued the tale. Elspeth loved her little bouncyswing, and it was always her favorite place for story time. Sheseemed very enraptured in the current story, but being a baby andall, she always liked hearing her momma’s voice and the wide eyed,big smile, vivid expressions that Gamora used during story time.“There were many things to collect, as an offering to Alma, inreturn as thanks for all our blessings. Everything she had providedfor us that year. The berries of Sau and the dripping leaves from theGogi flower were always good to make halos out of, in a circle, toshow how everything’s connected, continuing on and on,” she said,drawing a circle in the air, describing the creations that Peterthought must have looked a lot like wreaths, or flower crowns- somering made of fauna and foliage.

Elspeth kept trying tocatch her mother’s hands as she moved them as she talked, and Gamoragave them to her.

“But the most importantpart was the tree,” Gamora said so emphatically, in a hushed sortof exalted tone like she was sharing an exciting secret, stillholding onto her daughter’s tiny hands. “That’s what was so specialabout the everwoods. We would cut down one before it’s prime, leavingthe roots and trunk for it to regrow, and placing berries at the basein thanks, for all that it was giving up, so we were grateful to thetrees during the solstice.”___________

“We’d make paper lights,like stars in the night sky, wrap them around the tree like a nice,warm blanket,” she told her daughter, miming stringing up the paperdecorations in the branches, then making what Peter calls ‘itsy-bitsyspider fingers’, mimicking the lights falling into place like ashimmering of dusting and snow, till the tree was covered andbeautiful.

The stars on her treelooked settled in her memory, like they were meant to be there,making their home on the branches and finally coming to a rest. Thepaper stars were white and bright, jumping out and yet holding ontothe dark, midnight leaves, making everything look so complete. Thepaper stars in her memory. They tied everything together.

“Hey, that sounds kindalike Christmas,” Peter noted without really thinking. He didn’tmean to interrupt, but it just kinda slipped out.

“Chrismust?” Gamoraasked, eyebrows raised in curiosity as she glanced over at him. Shehadn’t realized she had an audience other than the little girl infront of her. Though it looked like he didn’t realize either, slumpedover with his elbow on the counter and supporting his head, like heonly meant to stay for a second or two, but then became invested instory time and settled in, getting quite comfortable practicallylaying on the countertop. Gamora smiled.

Peter flushed slightly. Hewas really caught up in her story, and didn’t mean to interrupt. Butnow Gamora was waiting for an explanation, so he gave it to her.

“A winter holiday we hadon Earth. We did stuff like that for Christmas too. Bringing home atree, decorating it with lights. And presents. We always put presentsunder the tree to open on Christmas morning.”

“Ah! We had giftexchanges on the solstice too!” Gamora brightened at this newshared discovery. Shared experience.

“You didn’t put themunder the tree, did you?” He asked with a facetious little smirk toshow he was only joking, knowing full well that sounded a bit toospecific to be replicated throughout the galaxy.

Some things weren’t thatsurprising to find out were rather universal concepts. Things likebirthdays. Turns out, lots of people liked celebrating the day youwere born, whether those people were on Terra, Xandar, Saakar… youget the point.

Having a winter holidaythat included the tradition of gift giving wasn’t that uncommoneither. People like giving and receiving gifts (well, a lot do), nomatter what planet they were from, and incorporated similar ideasinto their cultures to make for expressions of joy.

He would be sincerelysurprised to find that Terrans and Zehobereis agreed on the exactplacement of where to put their presents, though.

Gamora shook her head witha chuckle. “No, the gift giving was family to family. Every familyin the village would give one gift to another family, and they wouldreceive one gift from another family too. Like an exchange. One year,I helped out with the makings of our family’s gift. A basket, filledwith nuts and winter berries. I had picked flowers, and wove theminto the handles of the basket,” she smiled at the memory. “Mommasaid it was beautiful.”___________

“Why have you nevermentioned that before? You love talking about Earth traditions.”Gamora had stood up to join Peter, and gave him a very, very weakpunch in the shoulder, biting her lip as her eyes crinkled at thecorner.

Peter shrugged. “I‘unno. It’s been awhile. And Christmas was a pretty big deal onEarth, like your winter solstice, but I was born like a week beforeChristmas, so I think my mom tried to place a little bit less of anemphasis on Christmas and make my birthday a bigger deal, so itwouldn’t get lost. She always said something about celebrating thebirth of baby Peter and the birth of baby Jesus was her favorite timeof year.”

“Children were also oneof the blessings of Alma we celebrated at the solstice,” Gamorasaid, a fond look in her eye as she rested her head against Peter’sshoulder, watching their daughter play with her stacking blocks.

“Yeah, it’s a prettygood thing to celebrate,” Peter agreed, kissing the top of her headand pressing his smile into her hair.

Gamora moved in closer tohis side, and wrapped an arm around his waist, to hold him tight.

“It really is.”

[nitewrighter]

reidan fairy tale au

Me @ me: Sarah you gotta work on Breach. You can do this later. Don’t get distracted just because you have an excuse to write a Hazards of Love/Child Ballads rip-off.

Me, already typing: I can’t hear you. I’m busy writing a Hazards of Love/Child Ballads rip-off.

…yeah this one’s gonna be a two parter. Not my usual route with Fairy Tale AU’s but look, I wrote a paper on the Child Ballads in college so let me have this.

—

Once upon a time, a powerful fae queen shaped herself a son and heir from pale birch wood. She carved fair features for him, gave him two eyes of red agate and blue sapphire, and hair orange like autumn leaves. In his chest she embedded a heart of amber, and she filled his lungs with the wind that shook the trees, and he awoke.

“Your name is Aedan,” she told him, “You are a prince and guardian of this forest. And should man or my enemies ever slay me, you will take up arms and avenge me, and then rule in my stead.”

The prince understood this, and accepted this, and so for many years he fulfilled his duties with grace and solemnity, content in season after season, century after century. Kingdoms rose and fell around their forest, but no human could penetrate its heart. The Queen’s kingdom thrived in its isolation, while other dynasties of fair folk collapsed and were forgotten. Sure it was a bit lonely, but Aedan found comfort in the song of birds and the chatter of squirrels, and he himself took to the habit of taking the form of a red stag, dappled with white, by day.

He knew of humans–most of the humans he had seen had been burly aged woodsmen and would-be hunters, though he had seen his fair share of mortal women as well. There were the witches and their apprentices, who would walk through the woods gathering mushrooms and herbs, leaving saucers of milk, small cakes and vials of brandy, and wedges of cheese in exchange for safe passage through the woods. There were pretty young women from the towns as well, giggling girls dressed in green, kilting their kirtles above their knees and daring each other into the woods on full moons because legend said that would draw his attention—usually he only had to turn into a fox and keen to send them running, shrieking and laughing out of the woods and back to the safe arms of civilization. Mortals to him were, at best, an amusement to trick or leave little gifts for, and at worst, the potential destruction of all he held dear. So, like any Fae worth his salt would be, he was fascinated by them, but knew well to keep his distance.

…until he didn’t.

One day, the prince saw two figures crossing through his forest on horseback. A grim man with graying dark hair, and a cloaked figure riding behind him.  Aedan, in the form of a red squirrel, watched them from the bough of an ancient oak. The grim and graying man carried a bow, and the smaller figure behind him held a sparrowhawk aloft on their gloved hand.

Hunters, thought Aedan, disdainfully, Must be very brave to come to my forest… let’s see how brave they are with a swarm of hornets bearing down on them.

As he was willing his magic to the tree and the earth to call a plague of stinging insects upon the pair of hunters, the cloaked figure with the hawk pulled their hood back.

And Aedan stopped.

The second figure was a girl with bright eyes and thick eyebrows, and wild, flame-like dark hair tied back in a voluminous ponytail with a green ribbon.

“It’s beautiful here,” she said, looking around, “Do you think there are really faeries in this place, Uncle?”

The graying man scoffed. “That is only a tale they tell to keep children and fools from wandering into the woods.”

The girl sighed and let her eyes trail up to the forest canopy. Aedan watched her tuck a stray bit of hair back from her face, until she made eye contact with him. Well… he was a squirrel. Nothing unusual there. Nothing to worry about if a human saw him. Her eyes lit up when she saw him, and a smile spread across her face.

She’s smiling at me, he thought, and for the first time in centuries he felt his amber heart swell and crack with sweet sap within his chest.

Then she took the hood off of her sparrowhawk. The hawk’s head swiveled around to look at him and its pupils shrunk to pinpoints.

Oh, thought Aedan, and the hawk shot toward him. He leapt off of the tree limb and the bird swept upward. He landed in a batch of ferns and heard the hawk screech and change direction, moving to dive-bomb him. He didn’t think. He turned into a wolf, the largest wolf he could, and charged out of the brush.

“Look out!” shouted the grim man with the bow as both of their horses spooked. He was thrown from his horse while the poor girl struggled with one foot caught in her stirrups as her horse bolted through the forest. Aedan heard something whistle through the air and felt a burning pain in his left hind leg, but still he kept running while the bowman was still trying to calm down his horse. He lost sight of the girl, but he could feel blood running down his leg. He ran and ran and ran, fueled by fear and instinct until he tripped over a tree root and tumbled into a glade carpeted by ferns and wood anemone, retaking the shape of a man in his fall. Groaning, he rolled over on his side and gave a glance to his leg, where an arrow was embedded in its side. He heard a groan nearby and flinched and ducked low as the girl, apparently thrown from her horse in its mad gallop, rose up from among the white flowers, picking stray leaves from her hair. She staggered to her feet and he stared at her, transfixed, until the slightest movement in his leg sent searing pain shooting through him. Iron. Metal. Mother had always told him to stay away from the stuff, and now it was stabbing into his leg. He couldn’t help but let out a grunt of pain. She quickly turned her head in his direction and looked at him.

“Who are you—Where did you–?’ she started but then her eyes widened at his his leg and she hurried over and stumbled down to his side, “Oh no…” she said, looking at his wound, “Hold still.”

“Wait—” said Aedan, “Give me a second, I need to—”

She yanked the arrow out of his leg.

“GRAHH!” he cried out in pain, but suddenly he felt something tingling, but not stinging over the wound. The girl had put a poultice over it and was quickly binding his leg up.

“Mother taught me some healing arts,” she said, wiping her hands on her trousers.

“I…thank you,” he said.

“We’d better get you out of these woods, there’s a wolf about, and he’ll probably smell–” she cut herself off and looked at the arrow she had pulled from his leg. Her eyes flicked from the arrow to him, “…blood,” she finished her sentence, but it was clear her mind had raced far ahead of the thought now.

“…This is one of my uncle’s arrows,” she said.

“…Yes,” said Aedan.

“Why would my uncle shoot you?” she asked.

“It… was an accident?” said Aedan.

“My uncle doesn’t ‘accidentally’ shoot people,” she said, looking at the trail of wreckage his tumble had torn through the carpet of wood anemone and sorrel. She pursed her lips and she looked at the area around them with the keen eyes of a hunter. She saw the edge of the glade, where a single wolf’s pawprint had sunk into the loamy earth, and claw-marks marked his loss of footing. She slowly turned and looked at him.

“What… what are you?” she asked.

“I’m a human,” he replied stiffly.

“Were you a human five minutes ago?”

Aedan opened his mouth, then closed it.

“You were the wolf,” she said, looking down at the arrow.

“I–what? Me? The wolf? That is ridiculous. Preposterous. I cannot believe you would for one second assume that that is anywhere close to possible. I have never in my life heard of anything as silly as–Look out behind you!” he pointed over her shoulder and she turned around and he turned into a stag and attempted to sprint off, only for pain to sear through his side and force him to collapse before he even reached the edge of the glade. She turned back around to see a stag struggling on its side, its forelegs flailing amidst the white flowers.

“You know… the way the locals talked about you, I assumed faeries were far more dangerous,” said the girl, walking over.

“We’re very dangerous,” returned Aedan, his voice half a rutting bellow as he shifted back to human form.

She giggled a little and everything his mother had taught him told him he should be furious. How dare she giggle at him? He who had the blood of kings and gods and the rivers of the earth running through his veins? But he wasn’t furious. He loved the sound of her laugh, somehow both lilting and rich.

“Rei! Where are you?” a voice broke through the trees.

Rei. The girl’s name was Rei. Rei of sunlight. Rei-of-Raven-Hair. Rei-diant. He probably would have been more transfixed by the name if Rei hadn’t shouted, “Coming, uncle!” and immediately alarmed him to the fact that another mortal was in the immediate vicinity.

“I can’t let him see me,” Aedan’s voice was low and hushed.

“Then you should leave before–” Rei whispered and then caught herself, “Oh! Here!” she took the green ribbon tying her hair back, and it fell thick and wild about her shoulders. She took his hand and put the ribbon in his palm. “You need to give the faeries a gift for safe passage through the woods, right?”

“I–yes..” said Aedan.

“I don’t have any sweet cakes or milk on me. Faeries like green, though, right?” said Rei.

Aedan nodded a bit blankly before catching himself. “I–I can’t give you safe passage if you insist on hunting here,” said Aedan.

“I’ll find an excuse,” said Rei, smiling, “I’ve never met a faerie before. I suppose that’s worth more than a few braces of squirrels and coneys, right?”

“Rei!” Rei’s uncle’s voice drew closer.

“I’ll be right there!” Rei called back.

“You can come back,” Aedan blurted out.

“Come again?” said Rei.

“If… if you want to come back to these woods, you can. Not your hunting parties. You,” said Aedan, “As prince of these woods, I give you leave.”

“Ooh, a prince!” Rei said with a grin, “I didn’t know I was talking to royalty, your majest–”

“Aedan.”

“What?”

“My name is Aedan. Call me that,” said Aedan. With that he turned into an impressively large dragonfly, still clasping the green ribbon in his six twig-like legs, and zipped off out of the clearing just as Rei’s uncle came into sight, the reins of two horses in one hand, and Rei’s sparrowhawk perched on the other. The dragonfly watched from atop a toadstool as Rei’s uncle handed her the reins of her horse.

“Who were you talking to?” asked her Uncle. 

“Oh no one,” said Rei, “I don’t think it would be fair to the horses to continue the hunt after all this excitement, don’t you?”

“Hmm….” her uncle looked at her skeptically, “Your hair ribbon. What have you done with it?”

“It must have fallen out when I was thrown from my horse,” said Rei, “Ah a green ribbon in a forest–might as well look for a needle in a haystack,” she swung up onto the horse, “Shall we go home?”

Hesitantly her uncle handed her her glove and sparrowhawk over. “Very well,” he said.

True to her word, Rei led her uncle from the forest. Aedan watched them through the eyes of dragonfly, robin, and squirrel. He followed them out to the very edge of the wood and watched them ride off toward the town and castle in the distance. His mother had always told him their forest was one of the last bastions of their kind, that mankind was flooding over the earth like decay, cutting down forests, bringing up great tomb-like fortresses of stone, filling the air with stinking smoke and the scent of metal. And yet, he thought, retaking the form of a human and looking at the green ribbon in his hand, They can’t be all bad—not all of them. Something stirred in him then, he who had been so willing to let the empires of men rise and fall like the tides without so much as a thought. It felt like a creek unthawing, the idea that the world beyond his woods was so alien and rapidly changing (And that a certain dark haired girl was somewhere out there in that yonder) and all this time it had not occurred to him to look at it more closely. The stars and sun no longer wheeled so swiftly overhead for him–this was a mortal perception of time, that every second, every moment suddenly had boundless possibilities, because out there was a mortal, and every moment must matter to her.

The days never seemed to pass so slowly, until, 7 agonizingly slow days later, Rei returned to the woods, alone this time. She brought a little cake with her to assure her safe return. “I’ll accept it, this time” Aedan said a bit haughtily, (You couldn’t just let humans walk in and out like the owned the place you know) “You invite much danger by returning to my realm.”

“Oh I’m terrified, your highness,” said Rei, taking out a second cake for herself and biting into it, not seeming terrified in the slightest, “I am quite lucky you are here to protect me.”

Aedan just smiled at this, took the cake she held out to him, then gestured out at the woods, “So–safe passage? What in these woods would you like to see?”

Rei ended up seeing far more of the woods in a matter of hours than most humans had seen of the woods in centuries. Aedan showed her swift-running creeks where silver and green fish darted in and out of sight, he took her to the top of the tallest tree in the wood, where the canopy of the forest lay out before them like a plush hilly carpet of greens and browns and golds, he showed her the standing stones which marked where god-kings of ages past had fallen in bloody battle.  He would have shown her even more, but then the sun was nearly setting and she had to return home. But something started then. 

While doing her best not to neglect her lessons and her responsibilities on her family estate, Rei snuck off to the woods every chance she got. She could see him once every few days or so. Aedan as well, while being mindful to keep to his princely duties, always made time for her, dropping everything when he saw a familiar head of dark hair coming to the edge of the wood. She brought little gifts for him to assure her safe passage every time–a small cake, a wedge of cheese, brightly colored buttons (None metal, of course) and ribbons. Eventually Aedan was giving her gifts too. Rei’s mother and father wondered what she got up to in her wanderings, coming home with a dreamy look in her eyes and snowdrops and forget-me-nots braided into her hair. It was taken as a postulate that neither of their families could know of their relationship–both sides considered the other too dangerous, and while Aedan and Rei prided themselves and laughed over ‘knowing better’ in all the foolishness of youth, they still knew that if any of their parents knew of their meetings, that they would be forced to end it. So it was their secret, and the fact that it was secret made it all the more thrilling. 

 Eventually in their absences, Rei took to staring longingly out the window of her room, out towards the woods, daydreaming, leaving saucers of milk out in the estate gardens at night (Which, while the fair folk’s reception of it was unclear, the local barn cats’ reception of it was overwhelmingly positive.) Aedan too was completely besotted, and the forest, being a reflection of his will, displayed that in the extreme. Wild strawberry and honeysuckle seemed to spring up where he stepped, great garish blooms of nasturtium climbed up the trunks of trees where he would lean to let out loud lovelorn sighs (Fairies have a tendency for the dramatic, obviously). The very wind in the trees and the groans of the branches seemed to sing in tune with this sighing, and it wasn’t long until the fairy queen noticed the excessive amounts of flowers around her kingdom, and the… distracted state of her son.

“What do you suppose is going on with him?” she said to a courtier as she watched Aedan humming a song Rei had taught to him.

“If I didn’t know better, your majesty, I would say the prince is in love,” The courtier replied.

“How interesting,” said the queen, “How very interesting.”

—-

To be continued.

[swishandflickwit]

Captain Swan Fics Masterlist

For the OUAT Fandom Crescendo ;)

hindenburg

Because in an explosion of clarity, she realizes that without even looking, she’s built a home here – has planted her feet and grown some roots, roots that have only strengthened with every connection she makes with her family, with every relationship she builds in this town and isn’t that something?

The lost girl isn’t so lost after all.

darling you got to let me know (should i stay or should i go?)

A snippet of a pretty woman au that no one asked for.

feeling like a house but not a home (i want you to know)

“Home,“ she echoes, recalling the words from the video, recalling the article that details how she was left, abandoned on the side of the freeway with nothing but a blanket, the name ‘Emma’ stitched onto it, the first and last things her parents ever gave her, remembering the Swans who had promised her the same thing only to return her when they had a child of their own cause it was just that easy for them to let her go, all the foster families that took her only to discard her when things got rough, and she wonders what that is.

Casting On, Casting Off

“You got a secret knitting talent or,” and at this she shuddered, “ugh, knitting fetish I should know about?”

She’s all for sexual experimentation and fetishes but, seriously? Did it have to be knits?

North

“I once told your mother she was my happy ending, you know, but I was wrong.”

To Find Rest in Each Other’s Arms

They can’t seem to find a comfortable way to fit, no matter how they position themselves. Amidst adjusting once more, Emma ends up kneeing him in the groin and Killian falls flat to his back as he groans.

“Oh!”

Killian’s hand is down there to ease the ache and instinctually, (despite never reaching that level, never having the time), Emma’s hand makes it there as well. But when her hand touches his over, well, him, she realises what she’s doing and snatches her offending limb right back.

“Oh.”

And then she’s laughing - she’s laughing at the situation because it’s… it’s awkward but it’s pretty damn perfect too.

what is it about you? (that i can’t get enough of)

He sighs, winding his arms around her and bringing her to him so closely till her every line and curve is matched to his.

A perfect fit.

all I ever knew (only you)

The band starts a new tune then, something sharp and electric that has Emma turning to her father with a huge smile on her face and jumping in delight. And gods above but she is beautiful, always, but never more when she smiles like that - innocent and pure and light - so light, after the trying ordeal that was getting him back from the Underworld.

Everything about her draws him in, and he is powerless to resist the pull between them.

So he doesn’t.

piece by piece (he collected me)

He wants to be his usual calm and cocky self, but his voice is equally anguished when he answers, “You brought Henry.”

Emma’s face falls, like she isn’t too ecstatic about it either and he thinks, good.

“Regina and I agreed that this place was too dangerous and that he shouldn’t come. But, he wouldn’t let up, said he had to be with us otherwise he’d find a way to follow and, well, he’s a resourceful kid.” She lets out a breath that is both exasperated and fond. “We figured it best he came with us where we could keep an eye on him rather than be separated and constantly be worrying about him.”

“Stubborn like his mum, eh?” he says, trying for light and teasing but falling a little short, a little desperate.

She rolls her eyes, though her entire demeanor is tinged with trepidation. “Stubborn like all his family.”

WIP - Blanket

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

(“You’re so anal,” she’d mock.

“You say that now,” he returns, “but we’ll see who’s laughing when you go looking for fleece blankets in the dead, cold winter but find none because someone likes to use all her blankets at the same time.”

She says nothing, only throws whatever snack she’s eating at him because she knows he won’t be able to resist cleaning it up.

Also taking advantage of the fact that he’ll take note of that same snack and go out to restock on it just cause he doesn’t like when the pantry has gaps where the food should be.)

(He wishes for even just half the levity of that moment then, to give him strength now.)

you never weigh me down

“Is it so wrong for me to give my beautifully deserving wife a gift a few days after our nuptials?”

Her jaw drops in disbelief. “You got me a wedding present?”

“Don’t sound too excited, now.”

you say you want passion (i think you have it)

She has always been a woman of action

(And apparently, this Woman of Action has to add something new to the List of Things Emma Fails At: Suppressing Her Attraction to Killian Jones.)

so will you be, my life support?

He brings her back to the light.

all of you (is my favourite sweet spot)

He’s far from a disturbance, see.

The Royal Gardens

They like to pretend, see.

Here, beneath the warmth of the sun and engulfed by the sweet-smelling perfume of the flowers that surround them, there is no one named Captain Hook and no one that goes by the Dark One. There is just she, the girl in the pretty, white dress and he, the boy in the long leather coat.

you take me all the way

“So this is your world’s version of a tavern.”

She chuckles anyway and adds, to further annoy him, “We’ve upgraded a bit.”

Tonight is the night they’re about to finish what they started all those 30 years ago.

if it’s broken, it means it still works

(Fuck, who was she kidding? She’s disappointed with herself, for thinking she was equipped enough to handle this… to help him)

(Can broken pieces really mend other broken pieces?)

(Who was she kidding? Just… fuck)

In which Killian suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder following the events of the Alternative Universe and Emma helps him.

Chasing the Darkness

“Come now, Captain.” She purrs, trailing a hand down his left arm. “You didn’t actually think she’d want you like this, did you? Not when you’re so… broken.”

He’s so glad he’s had 300 years of experience going after the Dark One.

Ice Melts 2/2

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

His eyes turn from a calm cerulean to a literal icy blue, nearly gray, color before they close altogether and just like that, he fades away.

But her mother emerges to her line of sight, like the sun after an especially rainy day.

“You know what to do, honey.”

She does but when it doesn’t work, she feels like she could fade away too.

The Spaces in Between

He shifts so that their legs entwine, they are hip to hip, chest to chest and he just presses closer to her till there is absolutely no space between them and she is forced to wind her arms around his neck. She should feel suffocated; in fact, a year ago she would have bolted at such intimacy. But this is Killian and he is different and so much like her and he is trembling and she just wants him to feel safe. Like the rug isn’t about to be pulled from him any time soon or the world isn’t out to screw with him.

there’s no end, there is no goodbye

But that’s the thing, he lived nigh three centuries without her. He’d lived in the shadows for so long he’d forgotten what it was like to truly bask in the light and to remain there.

heart still beating, but it’s not working

He tries and he tries to get the words out but he’s long learned that it is an attempt at futility. While his feelings have not completely gone, it has become increasingly difficult to convey his emotions when they are but a dull roar in his chest, akin to a faded photograph in his memory.

But it doesn’t stop him from trying anyway.

21st Century Man

“You seem to be doing quite well here, 21st Century Man. Care to tell me what you’re whipping up?”

He chuckles, albeit nervously. “It’s funny you mentioned it, lass, I ah…” It’s then that he steps back and raises his hook except it’s not a hook that’s usually sitting on his brace but a-

“Is that… is that a whisk?”

The Couch

Tomorrow will surely be another hectic day and the day after that and the day after that… but still, they can these moments where they can just be and after being along for so long she likes the option of not necessarily having to be on her own and it’s a beautiful thing, to be able to choose.

wouldn’t you like to know? (perhaps i would)

And he wants to say that he does know her, because when he looks at her it is like looking at a reflection; except Emma is clear and sharp whereas he is nothing but a distorted image in a cracked mirror.

Bubbles

“Who needs eternal youth?” He pushes a strand of her hair away from her face and tucks it behind her ear so he can see the entirety of her face, absolutely nothing obscuring him from her beauty. “I’ve got my Neverland right here. I’ve got you.”

Day Off

He doesn’t get to finish (some part of him grateful she stopped his ramblings) because then she is laughing and straddling him and hitting him with the pillow and shaking the bed and-

“Nothing. No obligations, no reports, no work… nothing. Killian,” she sighs his name, breathless with what, he can now tell, is excitement and decidedly not dread.

“It’s both our day off.”

Shower

He kisses her and feels her magic engulf them, pouring over them in waves of light until they are both glowing. It is chasing away the seemingly deep-set freeze into their bones and Emma is shining, shining, resplendent and beautiful and radiant and his true love…

Snow Day

It started out as a snow day, but she feels her magic - fuelled by the emotion she holds for this man (she will not call it love, not yet, but she senses herself getting there) - take root as warmth trickles from her and into the space surrounding them. They are consumed by hear and light.

The Morning After

Even in sleep the light is lulled to her and once again, as he is more recently inclined to think, he believes there is a god out there that sent him this angel to save him from his own demons. But he knows better, it is just Emma and her light drawing him in and making him want to be a better man, no longer a shadow of himself but someone more concrete, worthy to stand beside her.

Mr. Brightside

“I’m sorry to interrupt you Swan, but could you turn up the… radio please?”

“What? Why?” She glanced up at him and saw him bouncing in his seat…his prosthetic hand tapping excitedly against his lap. What the hell?“

“Because I love this song.”

…Her jaw dropped when she recognized the song, then it literally hit the ground when Hook started singing along.

[imaginesoverreality]

You Need to Listen to Me - Let Me Show You Part 4

Author’s Notes: Due to exams and life, this is another short one. Hopefully, for the big finale, it will be longer. A girl can only hope.

Word Count: 2,479 (again, I’m sorry it’s so short. I’m just low on energy).

Warnings: Smut. Have you met me??? I write nothing else but smut. And also grammar mistakes.

Part One: Let Me Show You

Part Two: Put on a Show for Me

Part Three: Let Me Prove It To You

You shouldn’t have said it. It was clear to you the moment the words slipped passed your lips. But you couldn’t help yourself, Roman had found every nerve in your body and was making it a point to get on every single one of them.

It had all started last week in his office, you held his hardness in your hands and was looking up at him with innocent eyes and a quipped brow,

“I’m your’s, aren’t I?” echoed in the air, mixed with the sounds of pounding hearts and heavy breathing. But before you could get his slacks undone, Peter came barraging into the room, making you jump from the desk and hide behind Roman’s larger frame. He reached behind himself to make sure you were out of Peter’s view. Slowly, you managed to bend down and grab your bra and panties off the floor.

“We need to talk” Peter demanded, looking half wild as he pulled at the roots of his hair and began pacing back and forth. You couldn’t see Roman, but you could see the way his shoulders were stiffening in frustration. He nodded checking to see if you were comfortable, before turning around to grab his shirt. It only took six large and angry strides to lead Peter out the door. He didn’t say a word, but you knew the last thing you wanted to do was to get in the way. Once you were decent, you made your way down the stairs and was seconds from walking through the glass doorway when you were stopped by Destiny, Peter’s cousin who you only met once before. “Roman told me to keep you safe. So I can’t let you leave.” She said forcefully. Although her words were strong, it was clear in her face that she was trying to do the right thing. You wanted to push back, but if Roman was worried enough to try and look out for you, the least you could do was listen.

You didn’t hear from him in five days.

No texts, no calls, it was like he fell off the face of the earth. You were stuck in that glass prison for five days with no explanation. Destiny was clearly hiding something, and the more you pressed for answers, the more cryptic her responses became.  But by the sixth day, you had had it with being Roman’s prisoner. Destiny had left claiming to be getting ‘supplies’ from her apartment, leaving you alone with the elderly couple that managed the home.

So that Saturday night, you decided you didn’t want anything to do with this madness. You snuck out the front door, while the elderly couple was preparing dinner, and drove directly home. However, once you arrived you realize you couldn’t stand being cooped up again. “Fuck it,” you told yourself and decided you were going to have fun. If Roman can run around, doing god knows what, then you could go out too. You took time for yourself, drawing a nice bath with a glass of rosé, exfoliate and shave every inch of your body, and put on the cutest little black dress you could afford. Gazing at yourself in the mirror, you remember how gorgeous and sexy you were. You didn’t need some billionaire to remind you of that, no matter how tall and devilishly handsome he was.

You stepped onto the concrete, you heels making you feel like every step you took was a demand for the attention you deserved. It was a short walk to the local bar and once you were inside, you could feel the eyes on you. You didn’t pay them any mind though, you were here to enjoy yourself and the company of others having a good time, you had no interest in bringing another let down into your bed.

“A cosmopolitan,” you asked the bartender, sliding him a $20. He smiled and nodded at you. Taking a quick sweep of the place, it was so much livelier than you remembered. People were having debates around the pool table, laughing loudly at one another points, girls on the dance floor with the eyes closed, enjoying their youth, and some older gentlemen in the back sharing tales of Hemlock Grove’s history. Every time you had come here, you did it to get laid or get wasted, but for the first time, you really appreciated your community.

“Here ya go, miss” the bartender handed your drink and you took a slow sip, savoring the liquid, until a figure came into your space, ruining the mood.

“Alone tonight? That’s a shame.” with a sigh, you turned to face the intruder. “Actually I’m enjoying my own company quite nicely, and I would like to continue doing so” you snapped. Returning to your drink and your view of the dance floor. The man, however, wouldn’t let up. He moved closer to you and leaned forward more into the bar. He followed your gaze out into the crowded and made the mistake of speaking once more into your ear. “You know what would be a nice view? That pretty little dress of yours on my bedroom floor.” he placed a hand on your thigh, skimming the edges of the dress. Instinctively you threw the rest of the drink in his face before getting up from the stool. “One of these days, someone is going to do a whole lot worse,”you growled, taking your bag off the bar and storming to the door. Your whole night was ruined and you were done trying to make yourself feel better.

When you made it back to your home, you found no other than Roman Godfrey standing at front of your door. “God, what is it? National asshole day” you whispered to yourself as you pulled your keys from your bag and proceeded to push passed Roman’s large figure to your door.

“Destiny said you ran off, figured I’d find you here,” he said, his eyes following the silhouette of your body that your dress outlined perfectly. You ignored his burning gaze and opted to be as distant as he was with you. “Glad to see you’re alive,” you replied flatly, opening your door and stepping into your living room. Roman followed you and shut the door behind himself, he grabbed your arm, hoping that you would turn and look at him. “Look, I know it was shitty of me to just storm out, but Peter and I have something we have to take care of.” You pulled your arm back and crossed them. You had very little patience left in you, so you were hoping he was going to get to the point soon and leave. 

“But it’s not safe here. You have to come back with me” Those green eyes that you loved so much pleaded with you. He knew on the car ride over here that it wasn’t going to be easy. Especially knowing he couldn’t explain it to you without putting you in danger, but he still hoped you would just listen to him. Instead, you continued to ignore him and pushed your way past him. Roman stormed behind you, calling your name so you could stop and listen.  

“You need to listen to me or else you’re going to get yourself killed!” He yelled. You stopped walking mid-step. His face was filled with rage and irritation. You turned on your heels nonchalantly. “Right. And you’re going to protect me, pretty boy?” You scoffed stepping up to him. “You can’t even stand up to your own mother, let alone protect me.” Your eyes burned back into his, hoping he could see the annoyance you felt. “And you have no right to come into my house, after not speaking to me for a week and holding me hostage, to tell me that I have to listen to you. So I suggest you get out and think of a better way to apologize to me tomorrow.” You jabbed your finger into his chest to emphasize your point. Roman’s eyes darted from your finger to your face and his jaw began to tighten. He had spent the last few days running through forests, looking for people in white masks killing families, so the last thing he needed was to be poked and taunted.  But what he did need was you. Ever since he left you in his office, despite the anger and worry he was going through, he wanted nothing more to be with you again. So without hesitation, he grabbed the back of your head and captured your lips in a searing kiss that made you realize how desperately you needed him too.  He movements were as angry as his tone and he roughly pulled your body against him. Out of pure adrenaline, Roman pulled hard at your dress, desperate to take it off. At some point, he had given up trying to find the zipper and end up just ripping on the top of it. Letting the straps fall, exposing your bra that he haphazardly threw off of you.

“I’m out trying to protect you from all the shit that’s out there. And what do you do? You disobey me, insult me, you go out in a black little fuck me dress. What if you’re out there and you piss off the wrong person and end up dead, huh? How do you think I’d feel? This is bigger than both of us know so I’m not going to fucking cower cause you raise your voice.” he growled, squinting his eyes. Every step he took was strong and calculated, making sure it ended with you against the wall behind you with his hand gripping at your throat. Despite everything he had put you through this week, you could hear genuine concern in his voice. And you hated to admit this to yourself, but the anger that was rolling off of him was more arousing than anything. He kept the hand on your throat steady as he left a bruising kiss on your lips, tugging and nipping at the skin as his other hand reached down to unbuckle his belt. Roman let go of your throat and took the leather band so he could wrap it around your hands, leaving them bound behind your back. The tycoon took hold of your collarbone and forced you down to your knees. You couldn’t help but look up at him, expectantly, as he undid the button of his black jeans and dragged the zipper down teasingly.

“For someone who likes to run their mouth, you’re sure not putting those pretty lips of your’s to good use.” He whispered, running his thumb across the bruised bottom lip. Not even bothering to pull his jeans and boxers all the way down, he let them rest against his thighs as he grabbed himself. He looked down at you while he was stroking himself. He watched your eyes get big with need and desperation. You bit your lip so innocently, that if he hadn’t had you on your knees with your tits spilling out of your top, he could almost believe that you’ve never actually done this before.

“Are you gonna show me how to use my mouth for you, daddy?” you asked, really trying to piss him off more.  Not even bothering to answer you, he roughly grabbed your hair and forced his cock down your throat, making you gag from the swiftness of his movements. He let out a ragged moan, as you adjusted yourself enough to move at a rhythmic paced.

“You talk too much” he groaned, leaning forward and placed both his hands on the wall behind you, giving him a better angle to watch you take his dick. The brunette was in awe of you, your warm mouth made his head hazy in ecstasy. You leaned back enough so the tip of him was right on your lips, darting your tongue out, you glided it across the tip of him before sucking it harder. He was getting so close and he couldn’t help but hold your head steady as he proceeded to thrust into your mouth. He tried not to make you gag again, but he couldn’t help it. You were taking it so enthusiastically, closing your eyes and moaning at the taste of him on your tongue, that he almost forgot to keep his composure. He was gripping your hair with both his hands, moaning and cursing above you.

“Fuck,  that’s it, baby girl, just like that” he praised you. Throwing his head back and closing his eyes as end became more and more evident. His toes started curling and his lungs couldn’t take in enough oxygen, but he was in complete euphoria. And before he knew it, you had pushed as much of him as you could in your mouth. “Fuck!” he hissed as his end washed over him, he gave you three more shallow thrusts before finally halting his movements. And he spilled everything he had into your mouth. Godfrey took a few seconds to gather his breathing before it dawned on him what he did. And he worked quickly to get you untied.

“Sorry, I should have warned you” He apologized, walking around you to free you from the restraints. He helped you get off your knees before realizing you had already swallowed everything he had given you and was now wiping at the corner of your lips in a way that was both incredibly sexy and adorable. His big green eyes looked at you as you smiled back at him. Despite the constant smoking, you actually didn’t mind the taste. He couldn’t help but shake his head in disbelief that once again, you had proven to be a girl straight from his dreams. Once again Roman kissed you, but instead of it being filled with desperation and anger, this one was gentle and sweet. You knew he wanted to return the favor, as he slid his hands down the part of your dress that wasn’t ripped, threatening to pull it above your hips, but in all honesty, you were too exhausted. This week had been a lot for you and you guys still had a lot to discuss. So you stopped his wandering hands, earning his full and undivided attention.

“Look, Roman, if we’re going to do this, you’re going to have to be honest with me. No more disappearing into the night and putting me on house arrest. I know you want to protect me, but I’m not helpless.” Roman tucked himself back into his jeans, nodding his head in agreement. Once he was somewhat presentable, he raised his eyes so they met yours.

“I know and I’m sorry. I just worry about you. We don’t know how deep this runs, and people keep popping up dead, and I just don’t want to lose you. I’d be lost without you.” He confessed, rubbing his thumb against your cheek. “In the morning, I’ll explain everything. No more secrets.” He promised, before taking his finger to flick at your exposed nipple, making you yelp. “And I’ll buy you a new dress.�� He laughed, earning a punch in the shoulder and a ‘damn right’.

[virtual-crisis]

⭐Alpha Centauri⭐, part two [Or, local jackass procrastinates once again]

I’d be waiting for reprimands, but let’s be honest, only a couple people were actually waiting for this. Let’s hope that number goes up so I can actually be chastised for how long the next part’s gonna take!

Part One

Next Part

My Patreon [and by extension, Alyssa’s]

Days passed of not much happening. Yeah, I know, this story starts in a boring time of the year for me. But I needed time to show you what life is like for me—the context surrounding my situation in life—or at least, before the week of… The party.

No, it’s not my birthday party, nor was it some huge event like prom or what have you. It was a house party thrown by one of the college’s sororities out in the suburbs surrounding Quincy.

Tyler and I chattered with eachother about which cheerleader’s idea it was to invite us—both, since Tyler was also on the cheer team. Honestly, she only joined because it’s in her nature: being an envy demon, she gets extremely jealous of others, and when she heard of my passion for the attention cheerleading would bring, she just HAD to join. Like, literally had to. The captain threw a fit at her wanting to join while so ‘out of shape’, but holy shit, the stuff she did to convince her, I just… It’s better I not elaborate.

“I hope they’re not gonna have champagne, I hate that stuff.”

“What, a drink you don’t like? I thought those didn’t exist.”

“I’m a foodie, not an alcoholic.” Tyler spat.

I rolled my eyes as we entered the sorority house. The football team were playing beer pong against the cheerleaders living in the place—with a couple trying to intentionally throw the game to get on the girls’ good sides, while the rest were sweating hard about how much better the girls actually were. A couple of the girls had invited real nerdy classmates from their major classes, who were lurking around the sitting room with phones and laptops. A few preps were talking it up in the living room, in which Tyler quickly joined to take charge of the conversation by subtle force. Overall, it was typical college cliques being typical college cliques.

Normally, I’d be amidst the cheerleaders jeering about the opposing sports teams of the month or something like that, but it was late at night. I sat in the kitchen, mulling over whether or not to drink an alcoholic drink or not, since it’d be problematically sedative in the event of me wanting to stay. I could’ve had something caffeinated, but of all the bad odds, I was allergic to caffeine. Nothing life threatening, but I’d be pretty badly sick for multiple days after having it.

“Hey Z-Quill, what’re you doing over here still? Make up your mind, jeez.” Tyler teased as she came by for her fifth helping of spaghetti.

I rolled my eyes, letting my head loll over to the side. “Shut up, I’m exhausted…” I grumbled.

Tyler stopped, glancing around at the others in the room, then waiting for them to head out before sitting next to me. “...Too tired? You oughta head on home then.”

“What, on foot without you? I need someone to carry me.”

“Hey, if you’re not too tired to walk, you oughta get home before you are. If you fall asleep here, it’d just… Well, I don’t wanna deal with that, okay.”

I lifted my head and looked Tyler in the eyes. She looked genuinely concerned, unlike usual. I sighed, slowly pulling myself to my feet. “Fine, fine… If I don’t call you within a couple hours, ping my phone.”

“And what if you’re not at home when I do?” Tyler said. She and I referenced a locational app me and Nate used with her, Paula and our parents: when pinged from a connected user, they’d be notified as to our location, since Nate and I tended to… Need that.

You’ll find out why soon.

I headed out with my bag over my shoulder, eating a burger from the party. The sun had just disappeared past the skyline, and twilight was steadily giving way to night. At some point I stumbled into a wrong turn on one of the back roads—but given the situation, it was probably a lot better that I wound up following a dirt trail into the woods and getting somewhat lost from my intended path.

“Odd place for one to go to take a nap.”

My eyes, previously half-closed from fatigue, opened wide, and I turned around. Behind me stood a guy in his mid-20s, wearing a sports blazer and with a duffel bag slung over his back. He was dressed as a member of the sports team from the university, but I did not recognize him—and when you’re a cheerleader for a school, you learn every face of every athlete you advocated for.

“I’m… Not out here to sleep,” I said flatly, “I’m on my way home.”

The guy maintained a blank expression—a stern poker face, with only his brows showing any hint of emotion: determination. “Not here for a nap in the dirt?”

I furrowed my brow. He said that intentionally. “Nap in the dirt”. Dirt nap. Dead. This wasn’t some guy tailing me to ask something or a psycho rapist. It was a lot worse.

A lot. LOT. Worse.

“Odd—you seem the ‘out in nature’ type.”

“Guess you’re not good at reading people.” I said, turning back to walk a decent pace faster.

I heard a… Supernatural sound. I glanced over my shoulder to see the source…

He’d pulled his duffel bag off his back. It had transmuted into a bow with an eye-straining glow about it, and a quiver of equally glowing arrows that remained on his back. His eyes quickly adopted a similar shine as he nocked an arrow and drew the string, staring as dead-eyed as ever at me.

I shrieked in fright, ducking away to the side as I felt a surge of energy fly past me, vibrating the air through me like a forced shudder. The arrow hit what I assumed was a tree, causing a loud hissing sound and a collection of tiny, anguished screams—little bugs in its trunk, dying slowly and painfully to what the arrow was made of: pure, holy light. I was being attacked by an angel from Heaven, and he was aiming to kill.

“Stay the fuck away from me!” I cried out, breaking into a run. The initial wave of energy from the arrow combined with my now-active adrenaline started to give me a headache.

“God will not allow your kind to flourish in this age!” the angel called after me. I thought in spans of split seconds what would happen if Tyler—rather, Chialer, her real name—had been attacked instead. The angel was obviously equipped to hunt demons, but she was a volatile one in a fight, surely, given her pure form being made from a radioactive material.

As for me, I still had static running along my back. The arrow must’ve disrupted… A balance in my… Body, let’s say. It was… Well.

My shirt tore in two long strips down the back. Holographic strings of energy wavered behind me like banners tacked onto my ribcage, before solidifying… Into a large, black and white-spotted pair of moth wings.

Another arrow flew by my face; it would’ve likely pierced my skull if I didn’t have a poor enough posture to be stumbling side to side as I ran. The pores on my face and neck flared, bristling with fluff that grew in.

My body was deteriorating, losing the human aspect to it. I won’t lie to you: this whole time, I haven’t been human. This fur and wings were meant to be my appearance. The compound eyes that my socketed ones [quite literally] bugged out into were returning to their norm.

Yes, I’m… A demon, like Chialer.

Okay, so maybe I was misleading and vague, implying I wasn’t with how I spoke about her. But you have to understand, monotheistic religion DOES want my kind vilified by all. The sheer fact you’re reading to this sentence shows that I’m doing a good enough job for this not to drive you away.

I stumbled over a raised tree root as a second pair of arms stretched and popped the seams of my shirt’s sleeves. I yelped in alarm, curling up in a ball to try and roll a few feet. Luckily, the speed I’d been leading him along, the angel couldn’t stop before falling over me.

I scrambled back to my feet, looking down at myself, then quickly throwing off my shirt before my head’s changing shape would prevent doing so. With antennae on my head, and a thick coating of deep violet fluff around my neck and chest, I was definitely becoming more insectoid than human now. The angel looked up as he grabbed for his bow, making a forced gag in disgust.

“I thought you fuckers were supposed to be paragons of nice or some shit?!” I sputtered.

“We are!” he hissed, getting back up. “And YOU are an embodiment of all that is unholy and corrupt!”

I gritted my teeth. “I’m an embodiment of sloth, you piece of shit! Do you not get that humans aren’t infinite wells of stamina?!”

“There’s a difference between resting and lazing!” he spat, drawing his bowstring. I seized up, jumping to the side. As he released the arrow to follow my movement, I dropped to the ground like a ragdoll, effectively psyching him out.

I used my now-four hands to quickly put myself back on my feet. The spots on the front of my wings sparked, static crackling between them. “Yeah and there’s also a difference between ‘love thy neighbor’ and ‘kill based on prejudice’!” I shouted.

Common demon tactic- use angels’ means against them by confronting them with their own ethical shortcomings. Most of God’s ‘soldiers’ were infamous among my kind for having a black-and-white view of things.

The angel scoffed, pulling out a shortsword from a covert sheath on his shin. Six feathered wings flapped out behind him as he lunged at me. I gritted my teeth. The static stopped around my wings, and the spots all widened: white spots on black wings became reverse-dilated eyes, fur retracting into them so not to insulate focused arcs of lightning that shot from them onto the angel. He screeched gutturally, stunned with far more voltage than any taser would be charged with.

I turned and started running as he dropped to the ground again. He’d reflexively dropped his sword, and clearly that was metallic enough to be electrified for a few moments.

Like I said, I’m an embodiment of sloth- a sloth demoness. A small part of me leans into the sin of lust, but it’s insignificant for my… Biology, I guess you could call it. My body stores energy like a battery, and releases it slowly through normal… Processes. Slowly happens by me being idle. Sitting around, watching TV or playing games, something sedentary. When physical activity gets involved, it starts to strain my body.

Adrenaline is a last resort system for my body. If it’s active… Let’s just say it’s like a surgeon delicately opening your skull. And punching you in your exposed brain. Repeatedly.

I took a deep, strained breath as I ran. I could hear the angel shout in annoyance as he fumbled with the sword, and a fortunate part of me insisted on looking back every few moments in case of more arrows. Fortunate, since one soon came flying through the leaves, luckily several feet off to the side of me.

My wings fluttered behind me, but there was no chance of me getting away by flight. Physical exertion aside, that angel had to be trained to track the likes of me. I clenched my four fists for a moment. No way I could take that thing in a fistfight, let alone try to disarm him.

Another arrow flew past me. I turned around abruptly, holding up my hands to the sides of my head. As the angel skidded to a stop on the dirt, drawing another arrow, my fingers crackled with electricity. “Take another step closer to me and I’ll put myself to sleep.” I hissed.

The angel scoffed, narrowing his eyes. “You say that as if it’s a threat.”

I sneered wildly. “Short-term memory loss? I’m a sloth demon. Not gonna end well for you.”

The angel attempted to loose the arrow at me. I quickly ducked under it, smirking at him as I stood up straight again. “Gonna be that way, huh? Heh. Can’t say I’ll miss you.”

The static on my hands flared, arcing to my head. In a moment, the voltage electrified my neurons just right to make me lose consciousness.