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netherfeildren · 1 year

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Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .1

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Summary: What do you do when you meet a woman, have a child, get married, and then find the love of your life?

-OR-

A Joel infidelity AU

Content Warnings: Discussions of alcoholism and parent death.

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Hi, everyone. Welcome to the new story.

Disclaimer to begin with. Joel is married in this, but it is, and always has been, a marriage of convenience. There has never been any sort of emotional or physical intimacy between him and his wife apart from when Sarah was conceived.

Like always, I promise there will be a happy ending, and that there will be lots of other fun :) stuff to make up for the occasional tears.

I appreciate you all so much. Happy (lol I guess) reading. xx

Art is The pain that keeps on giving, Noelia Towers, (2018-2019). Title of the story comes from this film.

Word Count: 6.8K

Read on AO3

Life changes in the instant. The ordinary instant.

Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

The first time you’d fucked, it was like you’d never been touched by a man before. The first time he’d looked at you, like you’d never been seen, in the entirety of your existence, prior to that moment. Every other time after that, every touch, every look, was the same – a rebirth of sorts. And a devastation. Something not to be understood or conceptualized, only experienced.

Taking that into account, it’s no surprise that things unfolded as they did – ended as they did.

“Please, please, come with us,” Gerri drags the vowels out and hits you with the puppy dog eyes. You shake your head at her, smiling, packing up your supplies from tonight’s lesson. “It’s going to be so fun, I promise. Tommy’s sister-in-law hates my guts, I know, what-fucking-ever, but my sister and her girlfriend will be there, and my best friend’s planning on coming too. And there’s an extra bedroom, it’ll be perfect, I swear.”

“Yeah, I remember the sister-in-law from Easter.” Of course you remember her from that day. Gerri had invited you to their family barbecue, and the woman had pitched a fit that Tommy’s girlfriend, somehow posed as an insult, had dared invite someone without asking her permission first. It was also the first time you’d met him. And he was, by far and large, the reason you’d stayed away and evaded all subsequent invitations since then. Even if his wife had unapologetically said to your face that she found it crazy that people still party crashed, no matter that that hadn’t been what you’d meant to do, hadn’t known you were party crashing. She’d also thrown away the bunny cake you’d stayed up the entire night before making. No gluten in the house or something, even though the hamburger and hot dog buns had all been regular.

“Oh my fucking God, Easter. Don’t even remind me. I know, I know.” She gives you a pointed look and you huff a laugh at her. “But that was months ago. Her and Joel were on the outs then, or… had just gotten back together… I can’t ever keep up. And well… they’re still on the outs now–” She scrunches up her face into the cutest little frown. You love Gerri so much. From the first moment she’d shown up for your Tuesday night ceramics class at the community college, she’d immediately decided that not only were you going to propel her into the upper echelons of the great sculptors of the world, the greater Austin area – her words, not yours, but she’d also immediately decided that you were going to be friends, and no, you did not have a choice in the matter.

“But they’re always on the outs. And things haven’t been as bad recently – according to Tommy. But honestly the fuck does he know about all that anyways. My poor baby is so clueless – but still, please, please please,” she begs, pouts your name over and over again. “Please, come with us?” She brings her clasped hands up under her chin in a pleading gesture, hits you with the puppy dog eyes again.

You were so grateful for her. Despite your recalcitrance, it’d always been hard for you to make friends. A byproduct of who your mother was, being an only child, a largely solitary upbringing, et cetera, et cetera. You’d needed Gerri’s tenacious spark and kindness to pull you out of your shell. She wanted you to join her, her boyfriend Tommy, and their friends and family at a house they’d rented on Lake Austin for the weekend as a sort of end of summer farewell. And you did – you wanted to go, bunny cake murdering sister-in-law and all, but there was the issue of him.

You were… there was not a single phrase for what it was your mind turned into when that man and his name and his face invaded your psyche. So you’d done your best to avoid him in your mind and in real life, at all costs. He was – he was not something you were capable of considering.

“I’m not sure if I can, Ger–” you say slowly, wracking your brain for an excuse. “There was– one of the other teachers at the elementary school–” Your day job, when you weren’t teaching night class ceramics, was as an elementary school art teacher, “Asked if I’d cover for them on Friday – summer school.” Stupid excuse, you roll your eyes at yourself.

“Oh, shut up. The summer camp classes end early – you told me that last time! You could drive up after.” She sidles up to you now, rests her curly haired head on your shoulder. “Please, you’ve said no to everything I’ve invited you to since Easter. You aren’t avoiding me because of the shitshow that was, are you?”

“No, of course not.” Yes, yes you were. Just not for the reason she thought. “I would just hate to impose–”

“You wouldn’t! I swear you wouldn’t be!”

“You all already have your plan, and I–”

“No! No. My sister’s the one renting the house, and she said I could invite whoever I wanted. So, no one can say anything,” she sticks her tongue out, rolling her eyes. “And Joel said I should invite you too. I’m pretty sure he still feels badly about last time also.” Fucking hell, you did not want him feeling bad for you. At all. Ever. You did not want him ever thinking about you ever, ever, ever.

You stand over the kitchen trash bin, staring at your destroyed cake. Your grandmother used to make it every Easter. Four separate cake loaves all cut into the shapes for a face, two big pointy ears, and a cute little bow tie, with a pineapple filling, and all covered in little flakes of coconut and your homemade vanilla frosting. You used jelly beans to make the eyes and nose and dark frosting out of a piping bag for the whiskers and mouth. It was your favorite cake, one of your favorite memories, one of the only good ones.

“Fucking Christ, she did not throw it away. Please, don’t tell me that’s the cake you brought.” Large hand gently placed between the wings of your shoulder blades to peer around you, not touching, but still there, still very close, and yes, that’s it, you’ve gotta get the fuck out of there now, away from this man.

“Oh, no. It’s okay – I– I mean– I should’ve asked before. I didn’t know you all were gluten free. I should’ve asked…”

“What? Glu–” he frowns. You knew his wife, Eva, had made that up. You step away from him, from his large warm palm that feels like it’s burning through your clothes and skin. He was really, really and truly the most unfairly gorgeous man you’d ever seen. He fucking terrified you. “Oh, yeah. The gluten.” He went along with the lie, passing the offending palm over his mouth, the wiry scruff of his beard rasping softly against what you imagined to be work roughened skin. He’d said he was a contractor.

Gerri had invited you to her boyfriend's brother’s house for the Easter holiday. It was the first invitation to something you’d gotten since you’d moved to Austin six months ago, and you’d been so, so happy that she’d asked, had felt so sad you’d not have anyone to share your cake with. You’d planned to take it to work with you to leave in the teacher’s lounge for everyone to share. The thought had made the back of your eyes pinch, for some reason.

“It’s alright. I actually need to head out. Could you let Gerri know? I– I’m–” you couldn’t think of a lie, and he was staring at you like he knew you had no real excuse – like he knew you were uncomfortable and out of place and were just looking for an excuse to leave. Embarrassment burned in your cheeks.

“Don’t go, please. Stay for a while longer. I’m – fuck– I apologize about the cake–”

“No, no– really it’s–” you held out a staying hand, but he’d cut off your false appeasement.

“Please, stay.” He’d taken a step forward, closer to your retreating form, and you’d felt almost faint, dizzy at the image of him stepping closer to you. He was so tall, huge really, broad chest, thick arms, dark, lush curls and a scruffy jaw, a peek of chest hair covering the tantalizing golden skin at the opened button of his shirt. Sexy, deep Southern twang. The loveliest, warmest eyes you think you’d ever probably seen. You were going to try and mix the exact color of them when you got home, even though you knew you shouldn’t. You hadn’t been interested in a man in months, maybe longer, couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a crush, an anything on anyone, and now this man. Suddenly, blindingly, out of fucking nowhere – so damn attractive. Your eyes had fluttered shut for a second and you’d swallowed, trying to regain your balance – you’d known him for all of two hours and he already made you feel unbalanced. You needed to leave.

“Really, Joel,” his name on your tongue almost had a taste, “It’s okay.”

“He– He did?” you stutter. “He shouldn’t feel bad – he has nothing to feel bad about, it was nothing.” Lie – lie, lie, lie. Meeting him that day had been – it had been everything. You’d thought about it, him, for months afterwards. The sight of him with his three year old daughter, Sarah, the sweetest little thing you’d ever seen. Helping her hunt for the Easter eggs he’d hidden around their backyard, letting her crack the bright confetti filled shells over his head. His excitement for her when she’d finally found the basket he’d made up for her. He was a good father.

“Yeah, and Tommy said he’d like to see you again too. And I told my sister about you, and she thinks all my pottery’s fucking amazing, by the way, and she wants to meet you too, and she’s even thinking of enrolling in the class next semester so really, really you’re obligated to come.” Fucking menace – she smiles sweetly.

“Oh, fine. Fine, fine. I’ll come.” You’re putting away the last of your tools. “I’ll drive up Friday afternoon when I’m done at the school.”

Immediate hopping squeals, and this is why you love her. She’s so happy, so open and silly, friendly and funny. All the things opposite to your restrained quiet, shy to the point of aggravation, sometimes. You didn’t want your constant refusals to alienate her. You could see him again, it would be fine. You’d met him once for Christ’s sake. It meant nothing. It had probably been nothing that day, heat exhaustion or a stomach ache or something. Nothing to fawn and stress over. You’d just be polite, cordial, keep your distance – especially from his wife. You did not, did not want to provoke her greater dislike. You’d keep your unwanted baking to yourself this time. It would all be fine. You wanted these people to like you, if you were being honest. A little desperately. Gerri and Tommy, her sister you hadn’t yet met – you wanted to be part of their group, one of their friends. They were all so kind, welcoming and fun, you couldn’t ruin this for yourself.

Gerri had spilled the beans on the marriage over one afternoon of too many Mexican martini’s, an Austin specialty, and chips and salsa. They’d gotten married three years ago after Eva had gotten unexpectedly pregnant. Joel was traditional, he’d asked and eventually she’d agreed. They were both older than you, he’d just turned forty recently, and you guessed it’d made sense for them, at the time, but she’d left them soon after Sarah had been born. The marriage, the baby, hadn’t been in her plans, too much for her, Gerri said. They’d been separated for about a year and a half until she’d come back. They seemed to be trying to work it out now. Gerri claimed they were both miserable. You’d only met them the once – well, you’d seen Joel a few weeks ago, from a distance, when Tommy’d come to drop something off for Gerri before class, sitting in their truck. You don’t think he’d seen you – but you thought that their misery was very obviously apparent in that way that was easily recognizable to someone who, at one point, had existed in a house made only of misery. It breaks your heart for them all, in different ways, to recognize that singular brand of dissatisfaction that comes with living in a home where no happiness resided with you.

But the reality of his marriage made you all the more terrified of him. To ever see him again. You wanted no part of that. Didn’t even want to exist in the same vicinity as someone who was experiencing something of that nature. You’d had enough of unhappy marriages and painful households in your own childhood. You never wanted to deal with that again.

You’d read once that infidelity was a hereditary trait. Studies had shown that if you’d had a parent or even a sibling, someone in your household during your development, who’d been unfaithful, you were then more likely to also be unfaithful yourself. Something about that sort of childhood trauma inciting a propensity in the offspring to find it difficult to later on trust romantic partners, to incite trust themselves. Trust issues, emotional unavailability, baggage, blah, blah. Sometimes nature versus nurture was a real bitch, in your opinion.

But as much as you wanted to call bullshit, the thought, the possibility of that being true, filled you with such an intense fear — debilitating, paralyzing, life altering. You found yourself with an immense inability to trust yourself, more than anything. Your greatest fear, the thing that scared you the most in all the world, was that you would be the perpetrator, that you would be the one to commit that sin. That you’d lose control, self awareness, morality, yourself. It wasn’t something your mind could even come to terms with, the possibility of hurting another person that way, betraying them in that manner. It seemed like the worst possible thing in the entire world that you could ever do to someone. After all, you’d watched your mother do it to your father, over and over again, your entire life, up until the point that she’d up and left the both of you. For many years, after her fateful abandoning, you’d watched him drink himself into a stupor and then into a grave. Years of waiting for her to come back, in love with a ghost or a figment of his imagination, for the woman he’d made her out to be, within the ever forgiving and naive confines of his love, had never existed. Something you could see, even through the lenses of your child eyes.

She was an eternally flawed woman. Selfish, vain, manipulative, deceitful, but there was good in her too. She was eccentric and beautiful, and she could be kind, so funny, and immensely intelligent, her mind and wit, always sharp as a whip. It was, you thought, what made her so talented at deceiving others, at getting her way. She outsmarted everyone she came into contact with. But she was also weak and self serving, had never met anyone, in all her life, who she loved more than she loved herself. Not even you. Sometimes, you thought, especially not you. For you were the living reminder of all she’d lost and been forced to give up. It was a difficult, complicated, painful relationship you had with her, even now, all these years later.

After she’d left, she’d kept in contact with you sparingly. The occasional call or birthday card. It had taken her three years to feel like seeing you again after she’d left when you were ten. The pains and awkwardness of puberty long started, endured on your own, before she’d even had the foresight to remember she had a daughter who might need her. It was an exceedingly painful and lonely time for a young girl to survive on her own, but you bore it, as you did the entirety of the fallout that came with her leaving.

Your father was another story entirely. He’d fallen to pieces, completely, the day she’d left and had never had the strength of will to ever pull himself together again. It was a strange sort of existence the two of you had lived in those years, keeping each other company. Physically, he was there, but he was never present, never sentient. He drowned, for years and years, in a sea of pain and liquor, and he never resurfaced. You watched him sink, a young girl incapable of comprehending or acting in a way that could’ve helped him, as much as you wanted to or even tried, all of it was futile. Eventually he hit the bottom of the ocean and died there, and you were left more alone than ever.

You remember there’d only been four people, in total, at his funeral. You and two men from the shithole bar he liked to lose himself at every week and the priest. It was a terribly painful thing to live through on your own. Humiliating in a very specific and acute way, for some reason. To know that this sad, pathetic specimen of a human being had had a hand in creating you, to know that he was your father and that you loved him, despite his weakness, his vices, his lack of care for you, you loved him. And you felt interminably sorry for the creature he’d been turned into at the hands of an uncaring and poisonous love. You hadn’t been able to tell her for ten months, after he’d been dead in the ground, that he’d passed. She’d not called, didn’t like giving you her number, said she was too busy to have to worry about you calling her at all hours of the day, as if you’d asked her for a single thing in the decade since she’d left.

And you loved your mother, even after it all, you did, but it was a poignantly devastating moment, the day you realized she was not just your mother, but her own person, as well. The day that childlike naivety, unconscious self centeredness, was cast away to realize that she was savagely flawed and human, and that she did bad things that hurt good people. And still, and still she was your mother and you loved her. Your greatest influence, the hand that shaped you, and you loved her despite everything. It was only that, after the rose tinted glasses had been ripped away, and she was only then herself, nothing more – pedestal forsaken – she was just a flawed woman who sometimes made mistakes, made the wrong choices, hurt you and your father and fractured your family. That was a hard thing to come to terms with as a young girl.

You realized now, with the lifetime of experience she’d inherited to you, that motherhood built a pedestal and a grave, all at once, over and over again. A woman could vacillate between being the Madonna and the whore, and the cycle was inescapable and destructive and enticing, all at the same time. It was something that one could try to avoid or run away from, but many times, it caught up to most, hooked its claws in you and dragged you away from the things you would’ve wanted or done otherwise. You realized this was what had happened to her. She’d never been built for motherhood, for the responsibility of raising a child, so she’d desecrated the altar of it, taken a sledgehammer to it and freed herself in the only way she saw she could, collateral damage be damned.

And so you’d isolated yourself, for the thought of doing the same thing to someone that you might have loved or someone that loved you, was soul destroying. And that was the saddest part of this whole overly cliché tragedy – that you were sure that, at a certain point in her life, she’d loved your father, as well. Perhaps not enough, not enough to change who she was, what she really wanted, but she had loved him in her own way, nevertheless.

Parallel to the tragedy was the ironic reality that in some very safely guarded part of you, you longed so, so desperately for your own chance at a happy family, love, children. How could you not? When you’d never experienced it for yourself during your own childhood. Always having to make your own meals, get yourself ready for school, alone at ten years old, walking to the bus unaccompanied, no one ever waiting for you, expecting you, watching over you. Alone, alone, always alone. How could you not want to build your own normal, loving, happy family for yourself? You wanted it very badly.

But there was also no part of you that felt, in the most vital ways, capable of showing your underbelly in such a vulnerable way. You had always been too sensitive, a weeper from a long line of weepers, and the second thing you were most terrified of, after turning into your own mother, was being left again, abandoned to another derelict and lonely childhood. So your aloneness suited you, for now. At least, in terms of your romantic life. Your isolation kept you safe, guarded from those that would savage the sensitive and salted battleground that was your heart.

That, however, did not mean that you were immune to wanting, to the disease of yearning, of desire, and so you found it most unfortunate, cosmically laughable and cruel, that it would be this man, this married, beautiful, entirely unattainable man, that would have reminded you of that desire again, after it had lain dormant for so long: Joel.

Joel tried to think of you only in the moments when he was feeling particularly strong. It was a challenge he’d set for himself from that day, all those months ago, when you’d appeared at his house on Easter. Like a fucking angel or a creature out of a fairy book. Soft and luminous and so fucking pretty. No, Joel tried very, very hard not to think of you.

He failed often, though. He’d not forgotten you since that day. Had tried to fish, as subtly as possible, through Tommy, for information. See if he’d heard anything about you from Gerri. Any new details or gossip about the pretty little art teacher. Tommy was a terrible goddamn gossip, like a clucking hen. And Joel knew, he knew empirically, that thinking of you was wrong. That he had a wife that he needed to be respectful of, even if she was never respectful of him, fucking her coworker – or had been… still was — he couldn’t keep track anymore – didn’t really care, if he was being honest. But you, you were the one small, private thing he kept for himself. The thought of you, the image of you in his mind, you were only for his moments of great necessity. You’d been so sweet that afternoon, walking into his home with your bunny cake. That fucking cake haunted him – the look in your eyes as he watched you stand over the trashcan staring at it. He’d been so scared you’d start crying, that he’d have to comfort you, that he’d be able to take you into his arms. He’d been terrified of what would become of him if he’d gotten the opportunity to feel you like that. But no, you’d left. Made up some weak excuse he knew you could see he didn’t buy, and had quietly left, not even saying goodbye to the others. He’d had a terrible one-sided argument with Eva that night. Told her she’d been unnecessarily rude and cruel, doing that to a complete stranger who was just trying to be nice. She hadn’t batted a single eyelash, all his frustration going in one ear and out the other.

He could, to a certain degree, understand where her behavior came from. He knew she was unhappy, he knew she hated their life together. That it was nothing like what she’d ever envisioned for herself, and so she acted out sometimes. At his age, he found now, that you couldn’t ever really fault a person for not being what they’d never been meant to be. He understood this, had accepted that his marriage would never be of the happy or intimate sort. That Eva had never wanted to be a mother, but had felt trapped by circumstance. He dealt with it. Or ignored it. Avoided looking directly at the ugly reality of it, more like. He had Sarah and work and Tommy, and now that his brother was with Gerri things had gotten a little better, happier for the family. She was a good addition – kind and spunky. She was good for his brother, and he was happy for them.

But the day he’d met you – it had made a savage claw of want gouge through his entrails. He’d not remembered the last time he’d wanted something the way he did when he watched you walk out into the backyard long hair shimmering in the sun, and a nervous flush sweeping over the apples of your cheeks. And even if he’d been unattached, free to pursue you like he liked to dream about sometimes, you were so young – much too young and pretty for an old, washed up, has-been like him. But he could imagine it, like he’d said, only when he was feeling particularly strong. Or maybe particularly weak. He couldn’t keep track of which was safer anymore. When the years and work and responsibilities and grief and loneliness surged up too high and overwhelming for him to bear, he liked to think of you in that little yellow sundress. Wonder what it’d be like to be a younger man, to have met you first. A bad, selfish, terrible thought to have. But just in the quiet privacy of his mind, when he needed a small something to make him feel just a little better – he liked to think of you.

The only other time he’d seen you, once when Tommy’d had to drop something for Gerri at the college, he’d insisted on tagging along. Hoping he’d maybe be lucky enough to get a glimpse of you, and oh, he’d been so, so rewarded. You’d been carrying a stack of supplies from your car into the building, one of those spiky things women wore twisted in your hair to keep it up, wisps of your long, heavy locks escaping the knot, and a little, red, spaghetti strapped top. The thin of it on your shoulder had slipped off the delicate wing of your clavicle as you balanced everything you’d carried in your arms and tried to kick your car door closed at the same time. It’d taken everything in him, all the self control he possessed, not to sprint over to you and offer to help you, to fall to his knees at your feet. You’d blown a strand of your hair out of your face, the cutest expression of frustration scrunching your brow. His gut had twisted almost painfully with yearning. He hadn’t even known he was capable of fucking yearning, but he sure as hell did now. He felt it sharply, piercingly, like a knife to the gut. He’d met you once for Christ’s sake, seen you in person only twice, but you plagued him, you plagued him.

He knew it was probably partially a symptom of how alone he was. Lonely to his very core. His marriage had never been a real one, no closeness, no intimacy. A byproduct born of one drunken night, and Joel’s need to do the right thing, give his child a stable home with two parents and all the love he could give her. And Sarah, Sarah was the greatest gift that he’d ever been given. This perfect little person that he still, three years later, could not believe had come from a piece of him.

He’d told Eva that he’d do whatever she wanted, would accept whatever she’d chosen when she’d first realized she was pregnant. She’d refused the alternative route vehemently, and so he’d never suggested it again. If he was being honest, he’d been happy when he’d found out, in some small way. The situation wasn’t ideal, of course, they’d been veritable strangers at that point, but he’d been thirty seven, at the time, and he liked the idea of children. Eva was attractive and intelligent. He’d proposed immediately, gone out and gotten a ring and gotten down on one knee. He’d naively thought that perhaps, eventually, with time, they might grow closer. That idea was squashed quickly. She’d made it clear that she’d never wanted to marry him, but she also didn’t want to go at it alone, knew he was responsible and reliable, and so she’d accepted. And perhaps, he should have tried harder to win her over afterwards, but if he was being as honest as he could be, he wasn’t very interested either, didn’t really mind the lack of intimacy with her. They just weren’t a good match.

She’d left a few months after she’d given birth. Ran off with some guy she’d met – only a note left saying she couldn’t do it anymore. He hadn’t tried to go after her, hadn’t tried to bring her back or look for her. A better man probably would have, would have fought for his wife, for the mother of his child. But he’d never loved her, not even close, and so he’d taken care of his baby girl, had tried to be everything she needed and worked as hard as he could so that she’d never want for anything. Eva had come back after about a year and a half – her affair had run its course, and she’d said she wanted to try again with Sarah, that she’d made a mistake, wanted to be part of her daughter’s life. Of course he’d let her come back. He wanted Sarah to have a mother that was present, to have everything a child should have. And afterall, it was no hardship for him personally. She didn’t want a relationship with him, only Sarah. And so they’d settled into this strange agreement of co-parents slash roommates who just happened to be married. Eva liked to keep pretenses up, so they did the occasional family thing together. Especially now that Tommy was with Gerri, she liked to pretend at the double date thing, occasionally. Even though Eva couldn’t stand the poor girl. It was a pieced together sort of life, but it was better than what some had, and Sarah had her mother. He couldn’t complain.

But he did like to imagine a sort of alternative sometimes – something different, less lonely. He could tell she was going to leave again soon, more unsatisfied and frustrated and restless than ever. He couldn’t even find it in himself to resent her for it, it only hurt him for Sarah’s sake, for he didn’t think she’d be coming back this time.

It hadn’t been such a bad idea to come after all, you think, as you lounge on the dock by the lake. The sun is strong but not burning – warm and soothing. It feels like there are ghost fingers stroking all along the bare skin of your arms and legs. Gerri had made a pitcher of sangria and you were slightly tipsy off it now. A light weight, through and through.

The house they’d rented was gorgeous. All exposed wood and big glass windows right on the lakefront. Gerri’s sister was a doctor – a spine surgeon or something really fancy. She’d rented the house and invited all of you – no chance for Joel’s wife to be pissed off that you’d tagged along.

There were large boxes of the loveliest white hydrangeas along one side of the dock. The sweet scent of them drifting around you as you lounged on the chair you’d planted yourself in with your sangria. Yes, this was a good idea. You’d managed to evade Joel and his wife in the hours you’d been here. Gerri and Tommy were great as always and her sister and her partner were so nice. You’d talked about the pottery class, she wanted to pick up a new hobby, trying out the whole work-life-balance thing, and she’d thought pottery’d be a good fit for her. She was planning on signing up for the next semester.

You’re slightly dozing now. The warm sun and sweet alcohol making you languorous and drowsy and all fizzy on the inside. You think you might be able to hear the breeze sliding through each individual blade of grass on the bank, whistling over the surface of the water, and you can’t stop picturing his arms in your mind, but you’re pretending to ignore that, or pretending the bulging, mouth-watering muscles, prominent veins running under the surface of his tan skin, dusted with a light coating of golden brown hair belonged to someone who was not him. He has the largest hands you’ve ever seen, and you wonder what one of them wrapped around your throat would feel like. Bad, inappropriate thoughts.

You have one arm slung above your head, resting at the crown of your scalp to partially shield the sensitive skin there from the strong sun when you feel a sudden piercing pain, right to the center of your palm. You shriek, jolting violently, glass of sangria falling and shattering on the deck and stumbling up out of your chair, sending it flying back topside. A wasp buzzes menacingly around you, and you shriek again, cracked and painful. The thing had stung you right in the center of your tender palm. You hear the quick paced steps of someone approaching, too distracted trying to evade the horrible thing when you hear Joel’s voice. “Stay still, it’s okay. I’ll get it.”

Your hand really, really hurts. You stop your swatting and feel the back of your eyes pinch, hot tears pooling in the corners. Not only is the sting incredibly painful, but you really hate bees, wasps, all the ugly mean things that buzz and sting. You can feel the slight tremble of your frame begin to take over as you try to patiently wait for him to get rid of it.

He comes closer, “It’s okay, he’s gone. Did it get you? C’mere, lemme see.”

You clutch the injured hand to your chest, try and scoot away from him shaking your head, but you get too near to the edge, and his hand shoots out to cup your elbow, other hand coming to circle your waist and turn you so you’re standing in the center, and he’s closer to the edge.

“No, no, it’s okay. It got you, lemme see it–” he gently circles his big rough palm on the thin of your wrist, and now you’re really shaking.

“It’s o–okay,” you hitch, you feel a tear slide down your cheek. Fucking embarrassing. “I’m okay, really. It’s nothing.” You try and pull your limb out of his grasp, but he pulls you closer. He says your name then, not necessarily sharply, but in the way of a rubber band snapping against your skin, a slightly jarring crack followed by a tingle, something that reverberates through your entire body.

Then gentle: “Just come here,” and coaxing. How could anyone ever say no to a voice like that. So deep, so patient. “Lemme see, it’s okay. No, don’t be scared. Lemme see, open your hand for me, sweetheart. I’ll be gentle, it’s okay,” his soothing voice over and over. Coaxing you into capitulation, into following his orders. He smooths his rough thumb gently, gently over the sides of your palm, coaxing your fingers to uncurl and let him see the hurt. “Oh, it’s alright. None of that trembling, sweet girl.” And then he brings your hand up to his hot, wet mouth and presses his lips to the wound, gently sucking. You can feel the wet of his tongue pass over it once, slowly sucking the venom out of your palm. You feel everything below your belly button go hot and liquid at the feel of his tongue on your skin. Oh, God, you want to feel that mouth everywhere, between your legs.

You think you let a jagged whimper claw its way out your throat, for his eyes flit to yours, a flash of heat igniting them. He pulls his mouth away, turns to spit, thumb gently brushing over the tender inside of your wrist. He says your name so softly. “That’s better. You’re okay. No tears.”

His large hands completely engulf yours. His fingers are thick and long, his nails clipped short and neat. Beautiful, masculine hands. Working hands. He doesn’t wear a ring. “We can get a clove of garlic on this,” he’s still cradling your limb, “Heard that’s good for stings.”

This is bad, bad, bad, bad. Not part of your plan to stay away from him at all. He’s staring at your cradled hand, his gaze trained on the way his own palm dwarfs yours. You feel his touch tighten for just a second, he brings his eyes back to yours, and you watch as a swallow passes through the strong column of his throat.

He called you sweetheart.

There are so many reasons why you know he’s dangerous to you, why you should stay away from him: his kindness, how competent he is — the way it seems like, no matter what in life could ever present itself to him, he’d be able to take it in, take care of it, fix it. He could handle anything. How fucking gorgeous he is, his hands, his face, his body, the dark curls, the slightest hint of silver threads beginning to appear through them, the deep dark eyes, but most of all, more than any other reason, the way he says your name — like the worst thing you’ve ever heard in your entire life, and also the loveliest. So soft and deep and soothing. A voice that could get a person to do anything, capitulate to anything, commit any crime.

And what was it about wanting something you should not want, could never have, that made you want it all the more? Rebellion of the highest order calls your name.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. He still has you clutched in his grasp, is staring at you almost in shock. You try to pull away and his grip tightens for one second, like he can’t bear the thought of letting you go, and then releases you, lets you pull your injured hand back into your chest.

“Alright?”

And you’re so disoriented by him, by his touch that you instinctively reply: “Yes. Are you?”

He looks confused for a second, shakes his head a little and then laughs, “Yeah – yeah, I’m okay, sweetheart.” He shouldn’t be calling you that, but it sounds so lovely coming out of his mouth. You’ll tell him to stop next time. It’s okay. Next time he says it you’ll tell him not to call you that anymore. Embarrassment burns your cheeks.

You shake your head, “Sorry, I–”

“It’s alright. No need to apologize. Let’s get you inside. Get somethin’ on that hand.”

You take a step back from him, and he matches it with one step of his own forward, like he isn’t planning on letting you run away. It makes the speed of your heart kick up a notch, a hummingbird fluttering within the confines of your chest. “No, really, it’s okay. I’ll ice it or something. I’m fine, honestly. Thank you for– for your help.” You feel like you’re blinking a hundred times a minute, the sun suddenly scorching, when just a moment ago it had been soft and warm.

You need to get away from him.

“Rubbin’ a garlic clove on it’s good for stings. There’s some in the kitchen, I’ll get it for you.” He reaches a hand out as if to take hold of you again, and you take two more steps away. This time he does not follow, you see the muscle of his jaw flutter.

“Really, Joel. It’s okay.” You feel like you’ve said these words to him before, like all your short acquaintanceship has consisted of, is you apologizing and running away, bowing out before it gets too scary or complicated or threatening. He probably thinks you’re an idiot. “Th– thank you for your help. I’m just gonna –” you hitch your thumb back towards the house, “I’m just going to go back inside. Sorry.”

He only nods, frozen on the dock as you walk away from him.

Chapter .2

Netherfeildren Masterlist

#someone's fic #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction

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thoughtfulchaos773 · 3 months

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Syd and Carmy- Communication 3

Part one Part two

First off. This scene was written by Chris Storer and directed by Joana Calo, our favorite duo (the creators of the table scene). Calo and Storer: do me a favor if the ship isn't real, don't even add shit like that in a scene...you know what I'm talking about. Don't have it where Carmy is taking her in and appreciating what the fuck he's seeing. And Carmy, the loser- notices Sydney as soon as she tries to sneak in. He doesn't even finish saying the word 'exactly' to Marcus before his eyes take her in.

But wait, this conversation is about legacy and how something starts somewhere, and they take these parts and take them somewhere- over and over again. I love that he points out these people would find each other.

Like a family tree.

Carmy and Sydney combine families to create a wholeness- something that's good.

Sydney starting a new legacy! My Shipper Heart: In some meta, Sydney often connected symbolism of life, fertility, rebirth, and nurturing. Chris Storer, these two are made for fanfiction, not a dish- a heart-shaped dish that Carmy just happens to give her- and this beautiful tree above her head- a symbolism for the tree he wants to build starts with the girl who ate his signature dish where he took the rebellion against abuse, rejection and sent a string of fate to start a legacy. What are you doing to me? Carmy literally presents his heart to Sydney.

Okay back to the scene:

He takes in Sydney and tells her "good morning," as if inviting her in. She comes from a meeting with Shapiro that should feel like good news, but she seems burdened. Since she first met with Shapiro, she enters, seeming distant but polite.

He says "no, no" as if to say, "Don't be ridiculous. You never interrupt." He's the one who invited her into the office.

He takes a moment to pause after saying "no," whispers "no," and looks at her...

Also, to note, he's coming from Al-Anon this morning. He has a clearer perspective than the last 7 episodes of that season. 'You look nice'—so simple but as the season's theme. Paying attention, Carmy sees her every day or close to it, and it's Carmy noticing something is different. Could it also be Carmy prompting her to say where she's been? There's room for that conversation.

But Sydney passes it quickly with a quick "Oh, thanks." A little surprised and also not having time for it right now. She focuses on their conversation- which could be a foreshadowing of what Carmy will do in the end.

I pointed this out before- Wednesday reference- 3x04- another episode Storer wrote.

Flashback

Carmy and Sydney are having the same day of the week they are trying to get through? The same day used to track time?

Excuse me-Writer/Director Chris--

But I'll move on...

You know what else I noticed about this scene- Carmy was staring at her the whole time as she took off her bow and said I'm just trying to get through Wednesday. He takes a second when she asks him his answer for legacy.

This is probably the most self-aware Carmy has been- does he realize he's passing panic and anxiety on to Sydney? Probably not yet at this point.

But also how Sydney is always the one to stop his anxiety and panic-driven ways, but for her to set a boundary where she's not his babysitter, eventually, he has to do the work to stop himself from panicking. But it's another sign of a legacy starting with them.

He looks at her a bit more than Marcus. He says with everything and everybody- he has to be square with Claire and Chef David. He needs to let go of the bad things from his past and the abuse he has held on to for so long.

The camera remains on Sydney as she considers his answer to legacy. She nods with understanding, unspoken communication we talked about- Carmy knows what he has to do. He wants to rid himself of the bad but needs help (therapy), so he's not taking it out on Sydney or any of his staff. How will he care for himself, love, and be there for Sydney? One of their relationship's central conflicts is Carmy showing up, the right way for Sydney to start their legacy and filter out the bad things he's carried onto The Bear.

I think that part of the conversation was considering Sydney, filtering out the bad to make it good.

It's still possible for Sydney to start and keep her legacy at The Bear. At the end of season 3, the panic attack is her realizing she doesn't want to leave.

Sidebar: Marcus. Marcus. His legacy-because being an awesome emergency contact is a bittersweet answer- shows some guilt about not picking up the call about his mom...

Grief. Grief is always the theme that sticks with the show. Despite its lingering presence, let's hope for more good days to outweigh the bad. Let's hope the Bear ends with a good legacy.

#the bear meta #the bear spoilers #sydcarmy #carmy x sydney #the bear fx

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silvergreenseraphim · 7 months

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I am still reading through Ultimania translations like a certain someone in the data room…

Here are some curious notes on our Jenova Project scientists, Vincent, and Sephiroth that I know you will all appreciate.

That note about Hojo envying Gast and his genius—please keep this in mind. It will come into play for these next translations.

The research on Omega and the Kalm experiments were also in the Shinra manor. It makes you wonder if Sephiroth read any of that and further saw how cruel Shinra was.

The Jenova cell flashes in Sephiroth’s mind that we saw in the Rebirth demo can be seen in this image from the Crisis Core guide.

This is where everything becomes more interesting. Something not fully explained in DOC is Lucrecia’s own deterioration. It would appear that Vincent confronted Hojo over this after Sephiroth was born and taken away (or did he?). Lucrecia was falling to pieces it seems. (We will come back to this).

(Small note, but it looks like Vincent actually did propose to Lucrecia).

The next pile of notes are from the older Ultimania Omega from 2005, and some debate the validity of the text and whether it still holds true to current canon. However, if we are willing to consider Crisis Core from 2007 as canon, then I see no issue with this Ultimania unless something is directly changed.

For our Jenova project scientists, there is just more detail not spoken in the game. Some of it is fascinating and helpful.

I take this information as extra insight that the original game did not give us and mostly canon as well. Reading it felt like a stab to the chest even if I knew most of it.

We know from DOC that Lucrecia did love Vincent in the end, but during their time together she pushed him away because of the guilt with his father and gave into her love for Hojo instead.

It is….strange but that line from the CC guide about Hojo’s envy of Gast was apparently a concept here too. It supposedly was so strong that it brought out a maternal love in Lucrecia. Very likely this was before Hojo was completely mad and murderous.

I also wonder if Lucrecia’s affection was only that overall. A feeling that didn’t last when she realized Hojo’s complex was destructive and not “cute.”

These are the details some debate and I believe it has been for shipping reasons in the past…but as a non-shipper, I can see this happening with such a complex group of people.

The next bit about Lucrecia’s deterioration is also odd because it almost sounds as though Lucrecia disappeared only because of her body’s collapse. DOC once again changed the order of these events to where Lucrecia left after failing to save Vincent and losing her son.

It also looks like Vincent confronted Hojo much earlier. We are now left to interpretation maybe since DOC’s own timeline is hard to follow. There are plenty of people who have these events better thought through than me.

But if we combine all of these details together and ignore the timeline, we have more reasons for Lucrecia’s breakdown in general. Vincent’s bodily corruption, the loss of Sephiroth, and Lucrecia’s own degradation. We may not know the very order of every event until Rebirth or the third game, which is okay. These are still good details.

This hurts so much and I do not even need to explain why, ahaha. Hojo is so, so cruel to his own family.

I have recently pulled a translation from this section which some of you may recognize. All of the small details make me emotional 🥲

And this is the last one I wanted to share. I cannot stop thinking about Hojo’s inferiority complex with Gast because we know Sephiroth looked up to and admired Gast from a young age. How bitter Hojo must have been that his own son adored a man he hated. The implications of how complicated this could have made their relationship are endless. No wonder Hojo murdered Gast without hesitation. A walking mass of complexes indeed.

I think this is so emotional for me because of The First Soldier and Rebirth now. These details matter for enrichment.

Edit: I should once again clarify what I think about the 2005 Ultimania because there are fans that dismiss it thanks to its questionable text in spots. I believe that if a note from this book does not directly contradict currently established canon, then it may be safe to take in as context enrichment.

For example, all of the information about Sephiroth here is still accurate to the most recent depictions of his character, but there are small details added about why he believed he was different.

I do not see any reason to fully dismiss this because it does no harm to canon and does not go against what we have seen even in recent media like Ever Crisis.

On the other hand, the information about Lucrecia and when she left and why is much more fragile because Dirge of Cerberus added a new take on her motives. For this reason, I will only cherry-pick. I would say the detail about deterioration is accurate because that was hinted at in DOC but it’s no longer the only reason she left.

But everyone should make up their own minds on how to approach this Ultimania.

#aaaaaa #next i have some information on genesis #and then finally i will complete this post on a crisis core translation detail because i finally found the keyword i was looking for!#i am so happy they are referencing these old details in the first soldier with sephiroth #hojo being the one to give sephiroth the photo and say lucrecia’s name was jenova…#ouch #it all still cuts deeply #i feel awful for lucrecia and sephiroth and vincent #ff7 #final fantasy 7 #ffvii #crisis core #sephiroth #fvii rebirth #fvii first soldier #lucrecia crescent #vincent valentine #hojo #gast faremis

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kurithedweeb · 3 months

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I am dying for your rewrite, I won't lie. I desperately need interactions between Laurence and Garroth, and also Garroth and Zenix. Zenix being Garroth's son is so overlooked

I know you, I've seen you on a bunch of my posts!! Hi :D

At the point I'm at in the full fic Garroth and Laurance haven't actually met yet, but I do have their first meeting all planned out. They're fairly cordial and all business at first, but they quickly become friends and get very close as pen pals, so we'll see pieces of letters between them up until Laurance gets stuck in the Nether, all of which Garroth keeps and will sometimes look back on later.

Garroth is the one who cares for Laurance when he appears post-Nether in Phoenix Drop's outskirts. Laurance is blind and scared and in a moment of weakness he admits he's afraid to be alone in this state, so Garroth takes off his helmet and gives it to Laurance to hold as assurance that he's not going anywhere, because he knows that Garroth won't be seen in public without his helm.

I'm a little sad I don't have much fully written out for them, but!! The drabble that started this entire rewrite project is all about Garroth and Laurance and it's actually up on my Ao3 already!! You can find it in the rewrite's series here: My Love (My Love) - KuriTheDweeb - Minecraft Diaries - Aphmau (Web Series) [Archive of Our Own]

Onto Zenix and Garroth: I love them so much.

Okay, so, I swear this is important - I mentioned in the tags of one of my Shadow Knights posts that since there's no explicit canon on how Zenix died I made the executive decision that he accidentally started a house fire and was so mesmerized by the flame that he got pinned by a burning bookshelf or a falling beam and he died of his injuries, which also led to some head-trauma induced memory loss. He's covered in burns and his voice is rough from breathing in too much smoke and he had a number of broken bones from being crushed. Garroth says in Rebirth that he suspects Zenix doesn't like Aphmau because she reminds him too much of himself, that he was badly beaten and burned and could hardly remember anything when Garroth found him.

Garroth nursed him back to health, and this idea of Garroth having saved him and sheltered him and taken him on as an apprentice, taken him in like a son, of having given Zenix an entire life to live when he wasn't sure if he had one, is integral to Zenix's view of Garroth. He's utterly devoted to his pursuit of power and his own goals, yes, but he's also utterly devoted to Garroth. He's pledged himself to follow Garroth, not whoever's Lord or head guard but Garroth himself. He only ever hurts Garroth in the very rare moments where his personal goals absolutely have to come first, like when Garroth almost discovers where he's been keeping Lord Burt and he's forced to shoot Garroth to keep his secret.

Zenix is Garroth's most trusted guard. He'd do anything for Garroth, he'd never betray him, and Garroth has total faith in the strange boy he's taken in. He has such a fondness and pride for Zenix, look at his boy go! When everything is falling down around him, when he's struggling to hold the village together until a new Lord comes, Zenix is the only one of the guard he confides in because he has complete confidence that Zenix can handle the stress and trusts him to know what Garroth needs his help with.

They always patrol together, talking about anything and everything, and Garroth always tries to nudge Zenix into acting his age more. Or at least the age he believes Zenix to be. Garroth thinks he's a little too serious for his age, and he would know because so was he when he was younger.

Zenix has this whole idea about "It's the least I can do." Garroth trusts him with gathering reports and checking in on any injured guards at the start of Drop of Sunlight, things that aren't part of his usual list of tasks, and when he thanks him and tells him that he appreciates it Zenix says, "It's the least I can do."

Ever since Garroth first coaxed him into speaking after his throat healed, that's what he's always said. It's the least he could do, since Garroth saved him, since Garroth took him in, but Garroth doesn't understand what he's done to deserve such gratitude from Zenix. He always tries to set the record straight, whatever task it was was something out of Zenix's way and he really does appreciate it. Zenix gets all flustered about it, which makes Garroth happy to know that the young boy he first found in the woods is still there under all that serious attitude somewhere.

Let me tell you, I got so close to Garroth calling Zenix 'son' during this interaction, but I need to save the moment for later.

Rounding back to Zenix shooting Garroth. I've mentioned before that Garroth prays when he's treating someone's wounds or when he himself is dying. When he's been shot and Garroth is saying his prayers, he's asking for Zenix to be safe and that if this is the day he dies, which he completely believes he will, to let him hang on for just a few more hours until he knows Zenix is safe. Until he can see for himself that his boy is safe. Just a few more hours, just until then, and then death could take him. The first thing he asks about when he wakes up completely is if Zenix is okay, if he'd managed to make it home by himself

The inherent cycling tragedy of their dynamic, always circling around each other. Zenix's genuine remorse for doing the things he does to Phoenix Drop and Garroth, balanced by Garroth's sense of betrayal and the way he clings to the boy he once knew with the belief that he'd never do these things of his own volition.

Augh, I love to write them, I hope I can do them justice the way they deserve it.

#dropofsunlightextras #minecraft diaries #mcd rewrite #mcd #aphmau minecraft diaries #aphverse #aphblr #garroth ro'meave #mcd garroth #mcd zenix #laurance zvahl #mcd laurance #kuri answers

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antivan-dragon · 4 months

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Camphor Tree

Summary: Choso finds you in the woods and he's overwhelmed by something he has never felt in his life.

Choso x Reader (You, no pronouns)

Tag: prompt, short, sfw, slice of life, feelings, bitter-sweet, fluff, pre-Shibuya Incident, no reader physical description, Choso is confused by his feelings and a is soft cinnamon roll, assumption about Choso's past life.

Warnings: My native language is not English so I apologize if you find some mistakes, I’m still improving :)

Banner by @ saradika-graphics

Choso's free time had become a luxury since he returned to life with his brothers Kechizu and Eso. With all of this plan to replace humans with cursed spirits, Mahito kept giving him missions to do, and even enjoying the pleasure of the rebirth had become a pressing desire.

In those very rare moments of peace, Choso isolated himself in the woods around the outskirts of Tokyo, lying down on a high branch of a big camphor tree that skirted a stream. He loved that place. It reminded him of his past, when human technology wasn't that developed, and nature still got the better of humankind.

Easier times back then, when the presence of spirits and humans was more balanced.

He yawned, overwhelmed by that status of relaxation. As a Death Painting, he didn't actually need to rest, or eat food like humans, although, if being half-human could be considered a weakness, he wanted to take advantage of those few strengths, like being able to use the Blood Manipulation from the Kamo family… and give in some whims like sleep.

He was just about to fall asleep when your voice dragged his attention. It was a barely perceptible melody, a murmur among the surrounding noises of the nature. He sat up, spotting you below while you were immersing your feet in the freshwater of the stream.

There weren't many humans able to catch his attention like you did, he didn't care, usually, but this time he was mesmerized. That sound was pleasant, he felt warmth from his chest but it wasn't the excitement of the fighting; it was like when he was young in his mom's arms.

Choso watched you for long, recording your shapes, the contour of your face, your hair and every inch of your visible skin. Too bad he couldn’t see your eyes from that position, but he memorized your energy like a scent.

Something else hit him, though, your unexpected reaction to his presence.

You suddenly stopped singing to look around, as if something caught your attention, you looked visibly confused and maybe concerned. With an automatic gesture, as if you felt in danger, you stood up to wear your shoes and brought your bag, clasping it to your chest.

“Is anybody there?”

You didn't receive an answer but that sensation of being observed was strong enough to push you to look up at the branch where Choso was sitting, finding nothing. The half-human curse moved to hide somewhere else.

Unlike other cursed spirits, he knew humans could see him, but it was almost impossible to be accidentally felt by someone without cursed energy, and you certainly weren’t an unaware sorcerer.

From his hideout, he finally could see your eyes, sweet, apprehensive gaze, looking around for him. A new feeling crawled under his skin, something new, something powerful; the desire to be seen by you. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't care about others' attention, outside of his brothers, but he couldn’t ignore how you made him feel, even if he wanted to.

He moved a step from behind the tree where he was hiding, without an idea about how to approach you. He wasn't used to the humans' mannerisms, and he had not even an idea about what to say.

It took too long for him to do something, though, and he just watched you leave without doing anything. Maybe it was better like this, because in the end, he was a Death Painting with a bigger plan to comply, and you were just another human.

╰┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈➤

Likes, comments and reblogs appreciated :) Thank you.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk choso #choso kamo #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso x reader

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longitudinalwaveme · 2 months

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youtube

My thoughts:

-First off, I would like to note my appreciation that the person who made the video nominated a character other than a speedster for the role of Flash's first villain. As much as I like Hunter and Eobard, Speedster villains do have a tendency to be overused, particularly in adaptations.

-Historically speaking, Captain Cold was indeed one of Barry's first supervillains, and since he's undeniably more interesting than the Turtle Man (the villain of Barry's origin story) and Mazdan (a futuristic villain who impersonated the Top one time), I think he's a good choice for Barry's first costumed antagonist.

Here's Mazdan impersonating Roscoe:

Needless to say, this really ticked off Lisa:

She even saved Barry from him entirely out of spite!

But I'm getting off-topic...

-The person who made the video seems to be mistaken about the nature of Captain Cold's powerset. He speaks as though he believes that Captain Cold currently has inherent ice powers, but that's not the case. Len did get cryokinetic powers at the start of the New 52, but those powers only lasted until 2013, when Geoff Johns removed them in the Forever Evil storyline (only two years after they had been introduced).

Len also got a massive power upgrade during the (frankly disappointing) Year of the Villain storyline under Joshua Williamson which kind of made it look like he had gotten the cryokinesis back, but the text made it clear that he was just using super-charged tech. And he's been back to using the cold gun in all his subsequent appearances, so I'm not really sure where the notion that Captain Cold still has natural powers is coming from.

-The origin story for Captain Cold being used in this video is the one from the Rebirth era, where Len and Lisa's father didn't become an abusive alcoholic until the death of his wife. This seems to correspond with the general feeling I get that the person who makes these videos isn't familiar with Flash comics from before the New 52 era.

-Lisa isn't a dancer, she's a figure skater. A world-class, internationally famous one.

-I really am not fond of the idea that Len only becomes Captain Cold because Lisa gets sick. That's never been his motivation. Ever. And if you go that route, it's just going to make everyone compare him to Mr. Freeze.

-And I am REALLY not fond of the idea of fridging Lisa so that she can motivate her brother. It was bad when Geoff Johns did it (although at least there he kept her past as the Golden Glider mostly intact). It was bad when the New 52 did it (although they did at least eventually give her astral projection powers). And it's arguably even worse in the outline presented here, because there's no indication that she ever would become the Golden Glider in this story. Lisa is a scary, effective villain in her own right; she isn't just a plot device for Len to angst over! (And besides, what with their crappy dad and his lifetime of poverty, it's not like Len doesn't have other stuff he could angst over.)

-While I won't deny that Len is smart, I think his intelligence primarily lies in strategy rather than in his inventive prowess. I don't think he'd be able to build a cold gun on his own (there's a reason he traditionally either makes it by accident or steals it).

-While I don't have a problem with Len potentially being willing to kill the Flash (even though I prefer the idea that he wants to avoid doing so out of pragmatism), I don't think he has the sort of hatred for the Flash that this video seems to suggest that he does. While Len certainly doesn't like the Flash, and certainly views him as an obstacle to the achievement of his goals, his primary motivation is not to defeat the Flash. His primary goal is to get rich, and he views the Flash as a roadblock in his path to that goal. But it's not really a personal vendetta in the way that, say, Eobard's vendetta is. Or, perhaps more pointedly, the way that Lisa's vendetta is.

Len is revenge-motivated at times, and he can certainly hold grudges, but his one against the Flash is relatively minor. We've seen how he treats people he really hates (Roscoe, the blonde Chillblaine who killed Lisa, his father, the New Rogues from Final Crisis), and his relationship with the Flash isn't like that. In fact, on some level he seems to have a lot of respect for the Flashes (especially Barry), and I think he's a more interesting character for it.

-I seriously doubt Len would bother to waste time and energy trying to deduce Flash's secret identity. He's never canonically shown any interest in figuring out who the Flash is, probably because the Flash's true identity is more or less irrelevant to his goals. And I REALLY doubt he'd ever target Flash's loved ones, both because he almost never harms civilians and because he's pragmatic enough to know that doing something like that would bring the entire superhero community down on his head.

-Furthermore, there's already a Rogue with an obsessive hatred of the Flash who deduces the Flash's secret identity and targets his loved ones---the Golden Glider! If you want a Rogue who hates the Flash in the way this video suggests, she's the one you're looking for, not Len.

In short, while I think Len is a good choice for Flash's first major villain, I don't think the story presented for their first encounter with one another works particularly well for his character.

#flash rogues #flash comics #captain cold #golden glider #Youtube

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andydrysdalerogers · 1 year

Text

Yours Submissively ~ Experimentation

Steve Rogers X OFC Isabella Davis

Summary: Five Years after the events of Civil War, Steve Rogers has moved on from avenging and has started his own business, Grant Inc. He has a secret that would turn his world upside down. And he's good at keep that secret. Until he meets the woman with violet eyes that could bring him to his knees. Now his mission is to make her, his. But she is the key that could bring the world into balance... or chaos.

And she has no idea.

Series Warnings: slow burn at the beginning, smut, angst, sexual themes of BDSM, dom/sub dynamics, kidnapping, loss of virginity, (and a bunch of others that will come up)

A/N: the taglist is open!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Previous: Solitude

Series Masterlist ~ Main Masterlist

The rest of the day was awkward for Belle. She couldn’t avoid Tony, but she kept her interaction with him short. She was fuming; he had no right, no say in her life. He wasn’t her father. At 3PM, Maria Hill called in all of the exiting interns for a glass of champagne and a toast. After, she had an exit interview with Pepper. At 355, she packed up her small personal items. “Belle?”

She looked up to see Tony standing there. “Anything else before I go Mr. Stark?”

“No, I just wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean that Steve isn’t a good guy just that I wanted you to be smart and safe.”

Tony was feeling the guilt more today. But Belle didn’t need to know that. She didn’t need to know that he had known her father. Not really friends, but close. He thought back to day…

“Phil!” Pepper stood up to greet the SHIELD agent.

“Uh, his first name is Agent.”

Tony couldn’t believe the man had breached his security and tried to deflect him. Pepper had convinced him to read over the incident with the tesseract. He would be meeting with others including Captain Steven Rogers, the man who worked with his father on Project Rebirth. As Pepper made her way out with Agent Coulson, he overheard their conversations.

“I want to hear all about that cellist.”

“She moved back to Portland. Belle is pretty upset about it…”

Fast forward to Tony arriving to the helicarrier and Tony’s offer to fly him to Portland. “Just pick a day, keep love alive.”

“I can’t, have to get back to my daughter.”

“Daughter?”

“Yeah, Belle.” He showed a photo of a sweet looking girl with dark hair and blue eyes. “She’s off radar so if you…”

“Yeah, sure no problem.” Tony had arrived to the conference room…

Captain Rogers and Tony stood in the cell area, looking at the blood-stained wall where Phil Coulson had died.

“Was he married?”

“No, there was…” Tony hesitated. She’s off radar… “there was a cellist.” Tony kept his secret until he could talk to Fury.

It was a couple of days after New York. “What is going to happen to her?”

Fury looked at him. “A couple of agents picked her up when Loki became a problem and took her to New Jersey. She’s being placed there for her safety.”

“I’d like to sponsor her until she’s done with school. The least I could do for Coulson.”

“I’ll make arrangements for her to receive it as a scholarship if you’d like.”

“Thanks. Let’s just keep that between us for now. The rest of the team doesn’t have to know.”

“Tony, there is something you need to know before we move forward…”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark. I do have to go.” She picked up her bag.

“I’ll walk you out.” They made their way to the elevators in silence. Tony cleared his throat. “So, training in a month?”

“Yeah, this will be weird. Teaching.”

“You’ll be great. Your graduation is next Friday?”

“Yeah at 6 PM.”

They reached the bottom floor and Tony guided her out, hand on her back. Outside, Bucky was waiting next to the SUV. When he saw Belle, he opened the door and took her bag. “Afternoon Belle, Stark.”

“Hi Bucky. Thank you.” She turned to Tony and stuck out her hand. “Thank you for everything Mr. Stark.”

“The pleasure was mine Belle. Good luck… with everything.” He let go. “Barnes, take care of her.”

Bucky merely nodded and closed Belle’s door. He climbed in and started to make his way to Jersey. “So last day? Are you ok?”

“I’m fine Bucky. Just tired.”

“What was Stark’s problem? You looked really uncomfortable around him.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Belle, sweetheart, you know you can talk to me. I can be a friend in the world of supers.” Bucky gave her a look in the mirror.

“Can I sit up front with you?”

Bucky pulled over and Belle climbed up to the front. “So, talk.”

“Tony decided to comment on my life.”

“How do you mean?”

“He figured out that Steve and I are dating. Well, I told him that Steve was my boyfriend and he flipped. Said that Steve wasn’t good enough for me.”

“What the… ok Belle, listen. Tony was out of line.”

“Would Steve really hurt me?”

“Sweetheart, no. Steve would do anything to protect you. Stark is just talking out of his ass.”

“I assume you know about Steve’s… ah preferences?”

Bucky looked straight ahead. “I do.”

“As my friend,” Belle chewed her lip. “Should I be worried?”

“Belle you can always say no. Steve wouldn’t ignore you if something makes you uncomfortable. Truly, he cares about you sweetheart. I’ve never seen him like this before. I mean…” he stops. “No one else ever came close.”

“Does Tony know about his lifestyle?”

‘No,” Bucky looked at her. “I make sure no one does. Just like no one will know about you if you decide to leave. But I want you to stay. If only for the French toast.” He smirked at her and she blushed.

Making it to Jersey was quick and Bucky spoke with Lila while Belle got her stuff together. She got ready for dinner and made her way out. She stopped when she saw Bucky kissing Lila. She cleared her throat and turned around, not wanting embarrass them more. “I’m ready Bucky.”

“I’ll see you later Li?” He kissed her softly and Belle looked away.

Lila giggled and nodded. She hugged Belle. “Are you going to be ok?”

“Yeah. Just the weekend with Steve. I’ll be back on Sunday night. Big week ahead.”

“I know Miss Valedictorian. You have speech to write.”

Belle flushed. She hadn’t mentioned to anyone else of the honor she received. “Bye Li.” She and Bucky exited the apartment.

“So…”

“Please don’t. No one knows.”

“Why? That’s a huge honor.”

“Everyone expects my family to be there for the stuff before. The luncheon and stuff. I don’t have one so what’s the point.”

“Belle, c’mon. You have us, Steve, Lila, me. We can be your family.”

Belle fell silent and just looked out the window. They made it back into Manhattan with 20 minutes to spare. Bucky drove around, trying to coax her back out. “Belle, please. Steve is going to kill me if I am sending you to him upset.”

“I’m fine Bucky. Just ready for graduation to be over.”

Bucky pulled up to the restaurant and opened her door. “Tell Steve. I promise he’ll be proud and supportive. And mention anything else you’re worried about.” He alluded to her concerns about being hurt.

“Thank you, Buck.” Belle walked into the restaurant and the maitre’d looked at her. “Miss Davis?”

“Yes.”

“Follow me.” He guided her to a private room where Steve was waiting.

“Isabella, you look beautiful.” He kissed her cheek and helped her into her chair.

“Thank you, Steve.”

“I took the liberty of having the chef give us a tasting menu. I hope that’s ok.”

“It’s fine. Best way to taste everything,” she said with a forced smile.

Steve studied her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It was a long day.”

“Don’t lie to me. Please baby, don’t.”

Belle waited as the waiter poured the selected wine for them. Once he was out of the room, she took a deep breath. “I’m nervous for this weekend. Steve, are you going to hurt me? I don’t want you to hurt me.” Her mind comes up with the images she had searched. Of her being bound and gagged while a whip would crack over the back. She hitched her breath in remembrance.

“Why would you assume that I want to hurt you?”

“I did my research.”

Steve chuckled. She was such a good girl for him. “Belle, will it hurt? A little. But only to provide you pleasure. I want you to enjoy it. The moment its not enjoyable, we stop. That’s why we decided on this weekend. To gage what you do and do not like.”

“I don’t want to be whipped. I don’t want you to mark me when you hit me.”

“Ok, that’s good. This is what I want us to do. You tell me what the limits are. Communications is the only way this will work.” He stopped at the first course was brought out.

“I did see something intriguing. It’s like a whip but soft.”

“A flogger? We can try it. It may bite but not as hard as you think.” Steve smiled at her. “I have an idea if you trust me.”

“I trust you.” She didn’t hesitate in her response.

They made it through dinner and Belle took a moment. “Steve?”

“Yes, sweet pea?”

“Sweet pea?”

“You like sweets, you’re sweet. You are my sweet pea. What did you need?”

“I have an event to go to on Wednesday and I was wondering if you would go with me.”

“Sure, what is it?”

“It’s a luncheon with the alumni association. For the valedictorian.”

“Valedictorian? Isabella are you…”

Belle lowered her eyes, a blush forming. Steve used his fingers to lift her face. “That is an honor. Congratulations. Yes, of course. I’ll clear my schedule.” He leaned and kissed her gently. “I am so proud of you sweet pea.”

She blushed and kissed him back.

They finished up and Bucky picked them up and took them back to the apartment. He dropped them off and said, “I’m headed to Lila’s. See you in the morning for breakfast.” He winked at Belle.

“Goodnight, Buck,” Steve said. He took Belle up to the apartment. They went straight to the playroom. Steve could feel Belle’s heart pounding. “Breathe princess. I promise, you tell me to stop, and I will.”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl. Turn and face the bed.” She turned and Steve grasped the zipper and pulled it down slowly, running a finger down her spine. Belle’s breath hitched with the sensation. The dress dropped and pooled around her heels. “Turn back around,” he ordered. She spun again. “You are beautiful princess.” He cupped her face and kissed her. She moaned into it and Steve smiled. He lowered his hands and reached to remove her bra. He stepped back and took her in, just panties and heels.

He licked his lips and led her to the bed. He kneeled in front of her and pulled down her panties, sliding them slowly down her legs. Belle’s breath was ragged, every touch setting her aflame. “Step, princess.” She complied immediately. “Lay down on the bed.” Each order sent a wave of arousal to her core. She climbed to the center of the bed, still in her heels. The sheets were silky smooth but stark white.

“Raise your arms above your head.” Belle moved her arms. She looked to see where Steve was. He came into view with a royal blue silk rope. He took the length and wrapped her wrist gently. “Don’t pull,” he said as he tied it to the bed. He checked for the tightness. “What is your safe word?”

“Red sir.”

“And your go signal?”

“Blue sir.”

“Good girl. Spread your legs.” She hesitated. “Princess,” he warned. She moved her legs. He took additional rope and tied an ankle to each post. He took in, spread out and waiting. He could see she was wet and needy. “I don’t think I want you to see anymore.” He took off his tie and wrapped it to cover her eyes. He placed a kiss on her and leaned up to keep it going.

“My greedy girl. Patience.” Steve took off the rest of his clothes and placed a condom onto the bedside table. He went to his toy wall and took out the red flogger and an egg vibrator. He made his way back to Belle. She was squirming, needing him. He got in-between her legs and ran a finger through her folds. She mewled at the sudden touch and tried to close her legs. “So wet for me princess. Do you like being at my mercy?”

“Yes.” He slapped her clit and she cried out. “I’m sorry. Yes, sir,” she corrected.

“Good girl. My princess is a good girl,” Steve coo’d at her. He kissed her clit in comfort and then licked to taste the nectar coming from her. “You taste so good princess.” He reached up and put the vibrator on her mouth. “Suck,” he ordered. She opened her mouth and felt the heavy object on her tongue. He pulled it out of her mouth and went back to her pussy. He fingered her slightly and then pushed the vibrator in. She gasped. “Its ok Belle, it’s a vibrator.”

“Steve…”

“No.”

“I’m sorry sir.” She trembled.

“I promise, you will enjoy it.” Steve reached up to kiss her. “If its too much just let me know.” He got off the bed and reached for the flogger. He set the vibrator to low, watching as Belle squirmed at the sensation. He smiled and took a stance and flicked his wrist, letting the flogger fly and slap Belle’s skin on her belly. She jumped and moaned. “Are you ok? Color?”

“Blue sir. I’m ok.”

“Did that hurt?”

“No sir.”

“Good. See, it’s in your mind,” he reassured her. “I’m going to go a little harder. Tell me to stop if it hurts, ok?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good girl.” He flicked his wrist harder, allowing the flogger to strike her breasts. She pulled on the restraints and cried out. “Don’t pull princess, I don’t want you to hurt.” He tried again over her legs, and she continued to moan in response. He let go harder and harder, increasing the vibrator with each strike until she cried on the eighth strike over her abdomen.

“No, stop!” She cried.

“Ok, ok,” he dropped the flogger. He took some lotion and rubbed her belly. She moaned at his gentleness, and he increased the vibrator, causing her to scream.

“Steve, please!” She could feel herself close to the edge. He reached and pulled the vibrator out, listening her to groan and he climbed between her legs. He rolled onto the condom and thrusted inside. She screamed again, feeling her clench around him. He thrusted quickly in and out.

“C’mon princess. You know you want to.”

“Please,” she pleaded. He wrapped his mouth around her nipple and sucked hard. She wanted to have him close but her legs were still tied. She had to just take what he gave her. Steve reached up to release her hands and she brought them down on his back and gripped.

“Let go Isabella,” Steve pleaded, feeling himself reaching his peak. He thrusted harder and she detonated, pulsing and sucking him in. He pushed in and released, filling the condom, moaning her name. He slowed his pace, kissing Belle gently as he did. He pulled out slowly, not wanting to hurt her. He released the ropes and went to the bathroom to get a warm towel. She pulled her legs close, flexing them to get feeling back into them. He came back and cleaned her gently. Then he rubbed her ankles and arms.

Steve went and grabbed two robes. He placed the blue one on himself and sat Belle up. He wrapped the white robe around her and carried her to his room. He grabbed a shirt and put it on her and lifted her to bed. He wanted her close tonight, not feeling comfortable leaving her alone after her first experience in his playroom. He cleaned himself up and put on pajama bottoms. He climbed into the bed and pulled Isabella close.

He felt her settle and he smiled. And he stopped. Because he knew what he was doing was dangerous.

Because falling in love with her would put her in danger.

Taglist:

@patzammit

@texmexdarling

@slutforchrisjamalevans

@jennmurawski13-writes

@firephotogrl74

@tinkerbelle67

@before-we-get-started

@bunnyforhim

@alexakeyloveloki

@amiquette

#andy's hea #andy's shenanigans #yours submissively #chris evans fanfiction #steve rogers au #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfiction #Steve Rogers x OFC #Bucky barnes #chris evans #mcu fanfiction #Steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #chris evans au #avengers au

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divine-donna · 2 years

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your eternal hearth

it wouldn’t be fair to write for the greens only, especially since i am a rhaenyra loyalist. so have these daemon general and romantic headcanons.

please keep in mind this is my own interpretation. these headcanons are just that. headcanons. if you don’t like them, just don’t read them and ignore this post.

daemon doesn’t have many hobbies outside of combat and just resting. he enjoys doing nothing, just laying in bed or on the sands of dragonstone or in the grass in the godswood.

he used to get really antsy doing nothing, but after being at war for so long in the stepstones, he’s learned to appreciate the more mundane aspects of life.

one of the many hobbies he picked up unexpectedly was weaving. it was repetitive, and sure, his fingers got sore and his eyes strained. by the end result always looked nice. he was very good with color theory and patterns.

daemon much prefers to eat meat over fruit and vegetables. but one of the few fruits he will eat are sour cherries. he loves sour cherries and will eat them whenever he has the chance. it was also the first thing he ate when he came back from the stepstones.

he also likes raspberries and oftentimes, you will find him teasing you with that flirtatious look of his as he pushes a berry into his mouth. when you think about it, it’s a little weird. but in the moment, it’s very charming.

daemon cares very much about his hair. he puts a lot of effort into it looking amazing. (he would totally be in a l’oreal commercial in the modern day) washing, oils, drying, brushing, braiding his own hair. cutting it signified his rebirth and in a way, it was his way of mourning his new position as the king of the narrow sea. but he had more important things to attend to, namely returning to his brother.

he doesn’t like to admit being vulnerable and caring about others. he’s rather closed off in that way. but he shows it in small ways that only his loved ones would recognize.

very much appreciates a good loaf of bread. and honestly he would do anything for a good loaf.

daemon also likes to swim in his spare time. he finds the sea calming and lets himself get swept away amongst the waves. everything just fades away as he sinks below the water, looking up at the sun as it peers through the crystal clear water.

daemon gives love through quality time. the man is quite busy and has a lot of things to do. so for him to go out of his way to talk to you, spend time with you, means a lot. it means he cares about you to be spending time with you. he’s content with doing nothing while with you or even the two of you doing your own thing in the same room.

he receives love through quality time and words of affirmation. he was always the least favorable son growing up and he was often told this. so he needs your reassurance through words of affirmation. it gives him such a warm feeling in his body when you tell him the smallest things. on top of that, he loves it when you spend time with him. it’s proof that you care for him as much as he cares for you.

daemon’s attachment type is avoidant. he is quite aloof when it comes to connections and can be impulsive. but when the cloud settles, he realizes just how empty he really feels. he’s been aiming to work better on that sense of loneliness that has been gnawing at him for decades.

daemon doesn’t let anyone touch his hair. well, except for you. he will let you touch his hair. play with it, braid it, put it in a ponytail or one of those stylish hairstyles popular in king’s landing. he looks very pretty and he likes it when you call him pretty.

it’s probably not a surprise then that your favorite part of daemon is his hair. you like playing with it and styling it, love how soft it feels, enjoy rubbing oils into his hair so it smells good. you particularly like the floral scented oils to rub into his hair.

daemon’s kisses are surprisingly tender. he doesn’t kiss much. fuck? yes. sex is a common thing he does. but kissing? that is far too intimate for him. so when he kisses you, he savors it. it lasts for a long time and it’s gentle. he hates pulling away, so you’re the one who has to do it instead.

daemon loves your shoulders. there is very little explanation as to why. but he just loves how his hands fit so perfectly on them and giving you a nice massage after a stressful week. he loves peppering kisses on your shoulders as you sit together. and he absolutely loves gently removing your top to reveal your shoulder so he can kiss it.

“what would i do for daemon? what would i not do is what you should be asking. and what i certainly will not do is tell you where he is. i’d rather die than betray him.”

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd headcanons #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #male reader #female reader #gender neutral reader #x reader

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unbiddenrhythm · 4 months

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All Aboard the SS UrbDev

OH HELLO THERE

With Rebirth out officially for a few months now I'm posting some of my initial rambling feelings about Reeve and Rebirth

Guess who's back on my bullshit (as if I ever got off it)

I have so many thoughts about the scene with Reeve in his office, but I'll start with the broad strokes:

Cait Sith makes Reeve SO happy! To the point of being commented on by his Secretary Assistant (ugh, why could the translation team not be consistent about that moniker, I do NOT want to have to relabel all my fics and the tag)

This scene further cements my earnest belief that Reeve is incredibly close (dare I say, intimate???) with his secretary. I've mused previously that they had to have been, and that she is likely as close a "right hand" as he has (given that he plainly stated it was Shinra that was responsible for the plate fall right in front of her)

Seriously, not only is Cait Sith out in the open for her to see, but Reeve's comment to her "it's been productive" while nodding toward his screen is enough implication for me to assume he's told her he's on special assignment from the Turks

Which then of course is further supported when Tseng himself shows up. I laughed at her reaction – she scoffed(!) in his face before giving a commiserating look toward Reeve. Clearly he's told her that he's under the Turks' thumb currently (and of course, her previous knowledge of the plate fall would also further enhance her dislike toward Tseng)

I cannot emphasize enough how tickled I am that I've written about her antagonism towards Tseng and here it is canonized

Speaking of antagonism toward Tseng – wow, that interaction between him and Reeve! I can't help but speculate how much of Rufus' words burn in Reeve here – after all, Rufus had the gall to ask why none of the Directors "stopped" his father from dropping the plate. There has got to be a part of Reeve that chafes at that, right? Especially since he DID speak up! Hell, he even sent Cait Sith and he was ready to throw down against Reno and Rude, because at the end of the day, Rufus/Tseng chose to have the Turks press the button instead of intervening against the President at that moment. So when Tseng drops by Reeve's office and smirks, that has to sting, right?

Also, can we appreciate that the only reason Tseng stops in is likely because Rude called saying "somehow we lost our reservations" and you know Tseng instantly clocked it to Reeve enjoying the ability to torment his colleagues

Other thoughts

Does Shinra know that Reeve sent a second Cait Sith?

The Turks saw CS go into the temple as it was being destroyed. It would be quite simple for him to say he was destroyed trying to help the group escape but that they wouldn't accept a second him back

Some Shippy Things!

Okay, am I crazy or was Secretary was totally flirting? She seemed super smiley, and she even did the head tilt.

Reeve was equally smooth in his response to her; his tone of voice, the smile, the hesitation after where it seemed he wanted to say more but instead he just smiled – ooooh wow

It seemed like they both wanted to say *something* else to each other

I totally got the impression here they’ve hooked up in the office after a late night before

Where would the conversation have gone if Tseng hadn't shown up right then? Reeve clearly was done for the day (all his monitors were off). Secretary didn't have any reports for him. She was just stopping by, and wow was she disappointed when they were interrupted.

I <3 them

#ff7 rebirth #reeve tuesti #reeve tuesti's assistant #reeve tuesti's secretary #reeve tuesti x assistant #ss urbdev is the shipname #its decided

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lieutenantwilliamrusso · 2 years

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The Ivy Crown

A/N: I'm baaaaaack with my first ever Aleksander fic!!! I've been reading a lot of dark academia and finishing up my degree in literature, and this is my outlet for all of that pretentious, wonderful stuff I'm immersed in these days. The poems mentioned are wonderful and full of gorgeous language, so I'm giving you homework straight from the desk of professor Morozova-- read one and tell me if you liked it!

Dedicated to the sweet and wonderful @idaofinfinity for her patience every time I disappear. I appreciate you so much.

This will be a few parts, but not big like IWCB. Little bites, people, little bites.

Summary: It's your final year at the University of Ravka, and the end is in sight. Under your literature professor, Aleksander, you've risen to be a star pupil. Then one night, you're forced to make a decision that will change everything. Will Aleskander be on your side?

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Fem! Reader

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, murder, sex, drinking, (will add as we go)

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"Come then, and let us pass a leisure hour in storytelling, and our story shall be the education of our heroes."

-Plato

Republic, Book II

Book I

Your first semester at the University of Ravka began the way most do. The young, impossibly curious first-years huddling up to the glistening spires and towering porticoes of the main hall. The hall, called Lantsov Hall after Ravka's longest line of rulers, filled you with excitement. The need for knowledge and exploration filled you, expanding until it bumped against your insides, prodding and shuddering until it was released.

You were 18, full of life, full of wanton desire to grow, to peel back the curtains and see the answers of the world.

You didn't grow up poor, no, you were from a solidly middle-class family of merchants. But the opulence, the ostentatious identity of the Ravkan elite became clear almost immediately. Your first week, your peers would ask where you summered, what sports you preferred in the winter season, what breed of horse you deemed adequate for Caryeva, none of which you had answers for.

So you adapted, sharpened your edges and preparing to compete with the toughest competition the country could offer, until you arrived, three years later, a top of your class literature student in professor Aleksander Morozova's classroom.

The man was imperious, gilt from hard stone or sheets of silver it seemed. The light of whatever room he was in seemed to avoid Aleksander, circling like a dog trying to find a place to sleep, willing to leave him alone.

Among other things he was also gorgeous, ethereal and lithe, towering over his students, passionately gesticulating over works by T.S Eliot and William Carlos Williams. You were enraptured there, front row in his early afternoon modern poetry course, watching his eyes flicker with the kind of life only an academic could have when biting into something juicy, some brilliant amalgamation of language that won't let them go despite a decade of repeating the same lines to young faces.

"Tell me." He begins, eyes flickering to each face in the room. "What did Eliot mean when he opened The Wasteland with, 'April is the cruelest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and Desire…'"

On the last word he looks to you, black eyes pinning you under their gaze like a butterfly on a display.

You clear your throat.

"Miss Y/L/N?"

You're ready for him.

"Well, in invoking the first line of The Canterbury Tales, Eliot reveals the beginning of a journey. And when we think of spring, we think of rebirth. This poem is the lack of that, it's the breakdown of… everything. So here, spring is a mixture of things, it is the beginning and the end and we are left with only memory and desire. What we know and what we want to be true." You finish, watching him closely.

Aleksander grins, a slow, incandescent spread of his lips until his face is alight.

"There she is. Excellent, Y/N. That's how it's done, everyone."

You duck your head to hide your blush, and the lesson goes on.

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Each day after your classes you wind across the green, crunching leaves under your feet as they fall from the oaks and yews lining the tract of land. Today, your destination is the cafe you meet your friends at on Wednesdays, when the lemon curd scones are freshest. You're the last to arrive, hair swept around your face by the wind.

Nikolai, Zoya, and Genya are seated around the old wooden table in the far corner, mugs of steaming teas and coffees strewn about around a plate of your favorite citrus pastries.

"Look who's arrived!" Nikolai exclaims. "Did your sweet Byronic hero keep you?"

You roll your eyes, ignoring the comment. Sure, Aleksander was pensive and gorgeous, but he wasn't doomed. At least you hoped not.

You sit, nodding at the other two women and picking up a scone to bite into. The flaky crust gave way to the plush, spongy inside, causing you to sigh in contentment.

"What are you brats talking about?" You tease, taking a sip of Nikolai's tea.

"We were just discussing the fête." Zoya answers.

"What about it?" You ask, preoccupied with getting the waitress' attention for your own tea.

"We're all going, yes?" Genya cuts in.

"I hadn't really given it much thought." You ponder. Would Aleksander be there? In a suit of all things? The thought made you blush, and you ducked your head to hide from the eyes around you.

"Well…I think we should go. One last hurrah before we're done here." Nikolai reasons.

You nod in agreement.

"I suppose I ought to find a dress."

Zoys hums, sharing a look with Genya, a glint that made you nervous in her eye.

"You could…let us take care of that." She offered with a smirk.

"Absolutely not, I'd be naked save for a scrap of lace." You bite back.

"Saints, it was worth a try."

It was Friday and you were back in Aleksander's class, excited by his words but more than a little eager to begin your weekend. You and your group of friends had plans to head to Sturmhond that night, a bar off of the university's campus. It was dark and grungy, with mahogany furniture and paintings in gilded frames on the walls. It made you feel like you were in the belly of a ship, ready to take on a new land.

And the drinks were especially strong.

"Who wants to tell me why Carl Sandberg's "Subway" is so effective in its brevity?" Came Aleksander's voice from the front of the room.

For once, you weren't quick to answer, your mind on other things today. When you did finally look up, the silence of the rest of the class beating down on you, Aleksander's eyes were already on you. His brow ticked up, lips quirking.

"No thoughts for us today, Y/N?"

You sigh, frowning and sitting up straighter.

"The poem represents the working class, the ones who are building this great feat of transportation. They are tired and hungry but it doesn't matter. They know the importance of their work and they enjoy it. All that in 6 lines." You rattle off, remembering your notes from the night before.

"Thank you." Is his reply, quiet and pensive as he watches your face.

You nod, going back to your slouched position, eyes downcast.

When the class ends you attempt to exit into the crisp twilight like the rest of your peers, but Aleksander stops you.

"Everything all right today? You seemed off." He asks, leaning back against the large desk in the front of the room.

Your eyes widen a little, surprised he had been watching you so closely.

"Thought I'd give everyone else a chance to catch up today." You joke.

Aleksansder chuckles, then he tilts his head a little and you feel as if he's dissecting you, pulling apart your base components to see what he wants to keep or throw away.

"Is that all?" He murmurs.

"I'm just ready to end the week. It's been long." You say honestly.

"Hm. I can't fault you for that. Any plans for your time off?" He inquires.

"A few." You tease, unwilling to tell him your plan to get trashed later.

"She keeps her secrets." He answers, smiling warmly. "Well, let me know if you need anything. I wouldn't want my best student falling behind." He runs a hand ever so softly across your shoulder, hidden by your thick sweater, and then he's pulling away and gathering his own things.

"Thanks, professor Morozova." You reply in a daze, turning to go.

"You know it's Aleksander to you." He reminds you with a teasing lilt in his tone.

You nod, smiling a little, and stride to the door as fast as possible.

->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->->

You arrived at the bar with Zoya in tow, approaching Nikolai and Genya who were already inside. You had on a tight pair of black jeans and your favorite lacy black bralette as a shirt. You looked good and you knew it, eyes roving the bar for anyone you might be interested in talking to.

You sit with other two and order a round of shots, ready to go hard and fast into the night. On your third shot of kvas and your second Old Fashioned you look up from your friends once again and spot him.

Impossibly dark hair and eyes belonging to your favorite professor. He was in a deep emerald sweater, sitting across from another man, listening intently to his words, a deep gold liquid in his glass. You were openly staring, taking him in as you realized just how drunk you were becoming.

Nikolai is the first to notice, his eyes following yours across the bar.

"Well Saints, if it isn't your boyfriend."

This gets the attention of the other two, their eyes searching for subject of Nikolai's words.

You and Zoya exchange a glance, and you catch that dangerous spark in her eyes again.

"You should send him a drink." She suggests coyly.

"You send drinks to people you want to fuck, Zoya." You reply exasperated.

"Yes, I am aware." She shoots back.

Your friends burst into laughter, catching Aleksander's attention briefly. His eyes flit over, widening just a touch when they realize who he's looking at. You throw him a smile, suddenly nervous, but he returns it, tilting his head in acknowledgement, and you decide resolutely to continue your night.

It's only later that you're made aware of the situation.

"Your dark prince has been eyeing you since he saw you." Nikolai murmurs in your ear.

"Oh, please."

"We've all seen it. He's quite interested in the area right below your neck." Nikolai chuckles, raising his eyes to yours.

You tilt your head just a little, just enough to scan the bar from the corner of your eye and there he is, head tilted towards you just enough to do the same.

"Saints." You gasp out quietly.

"Told you."

"Well…it's irrelevant now because I have never had to pee so badly in my life." You declare, standing on wobbly legs.

Your friends laugh, and Zoya's hands point you in the direction of the bathroom.

The cool porcelain of the sink under your hands grounds you a little, and you look into the mirror. Was Aleksander checking you out? The thought makes you giggle quietly to yourself. There was no way he was into you. He wasn't married, but he must have a girlfriend or something, right?

You've decided to brush the whole thing off when you exit the restroom and knock right into a wall of a man.

"Oh! 'M sorry!" You slur a little, still quite far gone.

"No need to apologize, Y/N." Aleksander's voice rings out from above your head.

"Aleks- I didn't even see you there!" You giggle, hand coming up to trap the sound in your mouth.

He chuckles, laying his hands on your upper arms to steady you.

"You okay there, milaya?

"I'm okay. I'm just, uh…"

"Sloshed." He finishes for you.

"Yeah…"

"The mysterious weekend plans." He teases.

Suddenly a thought brews in your mind and you can only blurt out, "Green is a good color on you!"

Aleksander grins, rubbing your arms and causing you to shiver, his touch electrifying your skin in small sparks.

"You think so?" He drawls.

You nod, eyes locked onto his gorgeous face. Maybe he was a dark prince, something fabled and powerful.

"Well I think lace is a lovely fabric choice for you." He complements, and it takes you a moment to grasp his meaning before your face is heating up, blush spreading.

"I-I-" You stutter as he watches you with gentle amusement.

"Shall I take you back to your friends, Y/N?"

"Please." You reply, realizing the walk might be harder than you realized.

He guides you back, your hand now in the crook of his arm like some kind of Victorian gentleman, before he deposits you in your seat with gentle hands.

Your friends gape at him, and you fail to notice Aleksander's amusement.

"Have a good night." He wishes, and then he's gone, disappeared into the growing crowd.

#aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morozova #my fics #the darkling x reader #the darkling

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misspickman · 10 months

Note

mossy could you provide a ranking of Timothy costumes

i mean i CAN but why would you ask me this. yes i will

1. red robin

1.5 this is a joke but i do think the artist for batman blackest night making a little mistake with the rr suit and giving it the underwear over pants thing is fun. its a classic

2. unternet suit bc its a cute homage to nightwing.. i do miss the cowl. britta said this suit cant be real bc it makes tim look too cool for who he is and i agree. sick tho. i think we should bring the insane halberd/morning star/(?) back

3. one year later/kon mourning suit

4. his original robin one :) this feels too low but its hard to rank.. i think its a perfect costume for tim at that point in his life i wouldnt change a thing

4.5 winter fit

5. mr sarcastic ok people use this as an example of tim having a bad sense of fashion or whatever and thats missing the point bc the point is this was a bit. and its a great bit. he killed it. rule number one u have Got to commit to the bit. i dont know what the fuck is going on here but its funny as hell

6. the current robin suit. its whatever to me like its very similar to the original one i guess they tried to upgrade it a little bit. as a costume on its own its fine its nice but i cannot divorce it from the fact that they made tim robin again so i do always go :/ when i see it. you are never going to be her (original robin suit)

7. that red robin suit from rebirth thats just the robin suit with two Rs on it? what is that. thats just sad. on one hand i appreciate that he wasnt just straight up robin but like design wise thats the saddest attempt i have ever seen 0 effort whatsoever

8. drake costume. i just think the brown color is ugly and they shouldve let him keep the cape. i do think the whole concept of tim going by drake is kinda goofy but i dont have as much hate for it as i know most people do.. the execution was simply not good tho

9. arkham knight tim.. i feel like people mostly hate this bc of the buzzcut and his build but its like. whatever. i dont like tim with a hood thats a damian thing and feels off

10. the n52 costume? i just dont like it its too busy and ugly and i dont care about that man who is he

11. whatever the fuck was happening in gotham knights

#this is hard to rank bc i feel like i enjoy unternet/og/oyl suits the same amount its just. it depends on the times u know #3 and 4 should maybe be switched but idk man im similarly fond of them #i have complicated* thoughts on the unternet suit and i dont feel like getting into it in this post #but i do enjoy it #also lonnie is there. i associate it with lonnie which certainly helps #im sure there are other suits ive missed but i think this is already more than u wanted when u asked this #thank u tb<3 for giving me an excuse to talk<3 #txt

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maybe-limerence · 1 year

Text

Royal Enchantment Academy

Iris (He/They)

wisdom, hope, trust, and valor

Iris, the first flower folk to greet you.

Top of their class, kind and loved by everyone. Always giving encouragement and guidance for those behind him.

He had many people who loved him, both platonically and romantically.

They paid no mind, but when they laid eyes on you? His world stopped. Quickly regaining composure, they went over to give you a tour (the headmaster asked him to do so).

He walked over to you, tapping your shoulder. You made the cutest yelp he ever heard.

“I’m sorry for startling you—“ he gave a bright, kind smile “—I’m your guide,”

You let out a sigh of relief.

In the sweetest voice they have ever heard you said “Thank you, I appreciate it,”. You returned their kind smile.

I need them.

Type of Yandere: Dependable

Lily (She/Her)

purity, innocence, rebirth, femininity and fertility

If you thought Iris had a lot of admirers, you haven’t seen Lily.

She was like the queen of the school, beautiful and sweet. She never got angry, her temper and tolerance for others being rude to her was admirable.

When she saw you, she felt something… new.

She felt her heart flutter, her stomach had butterflies, and her cheeks felt hot. The newness was how her pussy felt. It felt good? What was that feeling? She never felt it before.

Then she saw you laughing with Iris. Right, you two were close.

She felt a pang in her heart. She knew that one. Sadness.

Then, as if a little voice whispered, a thought crossed her mind.

“Let them corrupt you”

Now, with a new fire in her soul, she had a mission.

You.

Type of Yandere: Lewd

Peony (They/Them)

love, honor, happiness wealth, romance, and beauty

Peony. The lover of love. The hopeless romantic. They wanted to love and be loved.

The thing is… their parents are rich. They were taught to be skeptical of people’s true intentions.

They never found love because of their parents teachings.

That was until they met you.

They remember the day they met you. They dropped their wallet and without looking you gave it back to them.

You smiled and said “You dropped this,” then walked away.

They didn’t know what to do. All they knew was they had to be yours. And you had to be theirs (they may or may not have made wedding plans right away).

Type of Yandere: Obsessive

Hibiscus (genderfluid)

positivity, joy, and cheer

Hibiscus is, in the nicest way possible, a thembo. He knew he wasn’t smart, he knew he was gifted at sports though!

When he was called down to the office for a tutor, they could’ve sworn she’d seen an angel.

While the headmaster droned on and on, they found it hard to concentrate.

He felt drunk on your features. Your beautiful face, perfect body, she could even smell your shampoo/perfume/cologne.

And that’s when she got hooked.

She was happy you were in their tutor group, but he didn’t like it was Iris who was teaching you two, especially considering you two were friends.

He had thought he never had before.

Dark thoughts.

Ones about kidnapping you, ones about killing anyone who talked to you, ones about you loving him because you had no other choice.

There were sexual thoughts too.

Oh what he would would give to see you under them.

But that’s a story for a different day though.

Type of Yandere: Stalker (you’ll see)

Poppy (He/Him)

sleep and peace

Poppy fell for you when you walked into your dorm to find him sleeping in your roomies bed.

He was shivering and you put a blanket over him.

He had been half asleep the entire time, he came from a bad home that forced him to be alert.

When he felt the warmth and gentleness of your touch it was like everything melted away.

He had been ‘dating’ your roommate (it was more about the sex than anything else). You didn’t know this.

When you were dead asleep (gods, how do your snores even sound cute), and his ‘girlfriend’ tried to have sex with him, he pushed her away. She pouted, which annoyed him to no end, and he got up and walked away.

She chased after him, and when she was about to yell at him, he grabbed her by the throat and hissed “You scream and it’ll be the last thing you do,”

She whimpered, something that would’ve turned him on if he hadn’t met you.

He put her down, letting her catch her breath and walked out of your dorm.

The next morning, he made sure she didn’t tell.

He sat next to her, cuddling up real close and whispered “Say anything and I’ll kill you,”, flashed you a smile (which you returned) and walked away.

Type of Yandere: Aggressive

#yandere #flower folk #darling #x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #am i horny?#for flowers??#oc stuff #maybe limerence #yandere x y/n #yandere oc #yandere original character

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cipher-fresh · 10 months

Note

Idr if you’ve mentioned before, but what was your opinion on the whole “bi-generation” thing in the new dr who specials? Ive heard alot of differing opinions on it

I'm split- ha, ha- on how I feel. I don't like it from a Doylist perspective, but I can appreciate it Watsonianly, if that makes sense? I'll go with my negative feelings first.

One one hand, it feels like a very obvious "Bring David Tennant Back" button that RTD can press at any time. A generous interpretation would be that it feels like RTD got too attatched to David Tennant as the Doctor and is too afraid to kill his darling, and only killed him last time because someone was going to showrun after him. Bi-generation denies Ncuti being the focus of his own introduction- (while I do think he stole every scene he was in, its the principle of not having to share his introduction with anyone else, you know?). It's also left semi-unexplained why this even happened, how did the Doctor's body decide the regeneration after 13 was the one where it was official he needed to settle down, and then bi-generate so he could live with Donna and her family? I hate that Fourteen didn't really even "die", and while it seems like he will at some point in the future and merge back into 15, and then become 15- it breaks your immersion and feels super obvious that RTD did this so David Tennant didn't have to die. I'm also not a fan of RTD saying that there are bi-generated versions of every Doctor out there somewhere, all existing at the same time. I like how regeneration acts as death, and that the Doctor has to face that, but here we never get the catharsis of death and rebirth. A less kind interpretation of this decision could say that this might have happened because Disney didn't want RTD killing off the most profitable and popular version of the Doctor from the 21st century, so they can keep using him in spin-offs like that UNIT one that appears to be confirmed.

But in terms of in-universe storytelling, it's really sweet? 14 and 15 are overjoyed by each other's presence and go for that hug immediately, and are wonderfully in sync. David and Ncuti interacting was the absolute highlight of the episode, they bounce off each other perfectly and seeing 15 assure 14 that he'll be okay was very touching. 14 settling down and living with Donna is really nice in a fanfictiony way, you know? I'd love to write about 14 starting to live a human life while still being himself, becoming a part of the Noble family and working on healing from all of his scars, the dead companions and all the people he's failed to save. 14 healing from his trauma and taking a break also gives 15 a blank slate for the show's narrative to get new viewers, and face new threats.

To summarize- bi-generation so 14 can live a domestic life is nice fanfiction, I kind of wish it wasn't canon, but also this is the single most joyous hug I've ever seen in my life

[ID: Four screenshots of 14 and 15 hugging immiediatwly after the bi-generation, then holding each other's faces. 15 says "So good to see you. Oh, so good!" as Mel looks delighted.

Two screenshots of 15 comforting 14 after the defeat of the Toymaker, 15 puts an arm around 14's shoulders as 14 puts his head on 15's shoulder. 15 then kisses him on the forehead.

The two final screenshots are of 14's disappointed face after 15 stops hugging him, then smiling when he hugs 15 again. /End ID]

#image #updates from cipher #doctor who #doctor who spoilers

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soleminisanction · 1 year

Note

This might seem a bit out of the blue to you, but I just wanted to say your old posts about Stephanie Brown changed my mind on her quite a bit, even if I still don't feel quite as strongly about it as you seem to haha. Overall she's a character with some interesting potential to her backstory, but she's been written awfully over the years. Your points are all really well-argued, even though for me it's hard to look past the Doylist context of the choices made with her character; from plain poor writing to mysoginy to editorial mandates and whatnot, so it's tough for me to outright *hate* her, but when I put the Watsonian glasses on... yeah, she does kinda suck, and Batgirl 2009 is pretty darn shallow. And honestly, TimSteph shippers outright baffled me--well, no they didn't, a lot of their outrage at the breakup was just pure biphobia, but if I were giving people the benefit of the doubt and assuming they genuinely liked the relationship as presented from Rebirth onwards it's like... why tho. They're such a boring couple, leaving aside the toxicity of Post-Crisis because I don't know much about it and just ick. Idk what I'm even saying here. Just expressing appreciation for the effort put into your posts even if I don't agree with absolutely every interpretation, I guess. Keep on keeping on

Thank you. I appreciate you saying all that.

It's not like I'm unaware of the Doylist reasons behind all the events that happen in-comics, I just don't agree with the idea that the way to fix that is to brush huge swaths of a character's history under a rug. That's just not how you do it if you're trying to reclaim a character who's been sexistly victimized, not if you're doing it well -- they didn't do it with Barbara after Killing Joke, or Carol Danvers after Avengers #200, or Gwen Stacy when creating Spider-Gwen, or with Harley when transitioning her into anti-hero, and those all resulted in great stories.

And male characters have to deal with the aftermath of bad shit they pulled under other writers all the time. Wally West only just put a final capstone on the events of Heroes in Crisis last month. Over in Batman, Bruce is catching the brunt of fall-out from both the Babel Protocol and the Batman of Zur-en-arrh. Hank Pym got labeled an infamous wife beater because one artist misinterpreted a script direction. Roy Harper has only just recently gotten back everything that Cry for Justice took from him.

So yeah, I think it's only fair to do the same with Stephanie, and that it does the character a major disservice not to. More than that, it's lazy. The least amount of effort needed to get people on the internet to stop yelling at them.

Killing her off for Bruce's manpain and having her around, alive, but presented as a flat, perfect little Princess Badass with a bland "quirky" personality and no interests outside the immediate needs of the plot are both examples of sexist writing. If you want to engage with her as a character you need to embrace the fact that she can be kind of an asshole, that she's got negative emotions and bad opinions and shitty ideas and things that she just plain sucks at. Of course she does! She's human!

That's all feminist writing really means. Treating women like they're human instead of just a plot convenience. It should not be that hard.

#stephanie brown #I actually don't think this one is critical of her just of her writing #dc comics asks #feminism

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lovelybruises-backup · 1 year

Text

Date Night

Pairing: Neteyam x OC (Female Omatikaya Reader)

Note From Author: this is a small snippet from a story that I am writing on Wattpad, decided to share it with y’all! There is no use of y/n, it’s solely based off of my story that I am trying to write. It’s my first ever written short story so please be nice! Any advice is welcome! Also PSA CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP!!

CW: mentions of scars, mentions of pregnancy, fluff, semi sexual tension

^If I miss anything on the CW.. please let me know!

{Semi proofread}

Small Background Info: the sully family had taken refuge amongst the winter mist clan, Zidari (oc) is the next in line for being leader. Zidari and Kaladdin are arranged to be mated but on the night of the sully families rebirth into the winter mist clan after learning the ways of the people, Zidari and Neteyam had mated.

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

The next day was surprisingly warm with cold winds, Zidari had been helping her clan with anything and everything.

Neteyam had left with the war party and has been gone since early morning, Zidari didn't mind. She had a lot of stuff on her mind and needed to think about what to do, how she was going to break the news of being mated to Neteyam. She was stressing out all day. She had avoided her mother and Kaladin mostly.

Zidari was helping Kiri with gathering some herbs, since their herbs were a lot different than the Omaticaya clans, Zidari had explained each and every single one that they had gathered.

Zidari loved spending time with the girl, even though they weren't so close, Kiri appreciated the company of the princess. "Come let's go start organizing and getting everything ready for when the war party comes back" Kiri nodded her head and followed beside the princess, their arms linked together.

Location: Sully home/hut

Kiri and Zidari sat there in Kiri's secluded room organizing and separating the herbs, they were laughing and talking about whatever came to mind.

The horn blew and the sound of direhorses could be heard along with the screeching of the Ikrans, Kiri grabbed ahold of Zidari and pulled her out of the home and to the entrance where everyone gathered. To greet their loved ones, friends. Yuna stood at the entrance of her home and watched from afar, she knew something was off about her daughter, the mood swings, the sickness she had endured, the fatigue.

Yuna kept her eyes trained on her daughter. Watching her like a hawk.

Kaladin was leading this war party and had returned, next to him was Neteyam, and on the other side was Lo'ak, following behind was Jake and then the rest of the group. Zidari looked at Neteyam as his face held a stoic expression, yet his eyes showed something else that tugged at her heartstrings.

Kaladin dismounted the direhorse and walked over to Yuna to give her the details of the patrol, everyone else dismissed to join with their friends and family. Neteyam walked over to Zidari and sighed heavily.

"Are you okay?" She asked him as his head was lowered, "I don't want to think about what happened— tonight, let's go flying, just you and me. A date" he replied with a strain voice yet the sound of hope lacing his words as he looked up at the girl.

Zidari gave him a fanged smile, "a date would be lovely" Neteyam smiled and kissed her on the forehead, "great! I will come get you from your place at eclipse" Neteyam stated, Kiri stared at the couple in awe, she was so happy and excited for her older brother.

"Princess, your mother requested your presence" a warrior stated and Zidari nodded her head in acknowledgement, "see you tonight" she replied and left with the warrior to go see what her mother had wanted.

Neteyam waited until she was out of ear shot and smiled at his sister, "okay so— Kiri I am going to need your help" he pleaded and Kiri looked at him in confusion, "with what?" Neteyam chuckled nervously.

"So since I am of age now, I am being given my own place to live in and well... I would like your help to make it look romantic for tonight" Neteyam asked and Kiri looked at her brother with wide eyes, "oh my gosh! I will definitely help you!" Kiri jumped with joy and hugged her brother, they both laughed.

"Let's go see your new place and let's get started!" Kiri stated and linked her arm with Neteyam's and he led the way to his new place.

Meanwhile...

Zidari sat in front of her mother and Kaladin, no one was speaking so it was quiet but the only sound that was heard was the crackling of the fire, Yuna cleared her throat and straightened her posture.

"My daughter, Eywa has given me a vision and I am denying that it is true... but I need to hear it from you. Now" she commanded and Zidari looked at her mother in confusion, "well what did Eywa show you mother?" Yuna huffed. "My daughter, our great mother had shown me that you are carrying Kaladin's child" Zidari's breath caught in her throat, so it is true... the vision she showed me on the night of the rebirth of the Sully family, oh great mother why.. Zidari thought as she saw Kaladin with a smile on his face at the mention of her being pregnant.

"It's new to me... I had no knowledge of being pregnant— I didn't think it would happen so fast" Zidari conceded, Kaladin looked at Yuna, "well this is good news! Now you and Kaladin can officially mate!" Yuna stated in happiness and Kaladin got up and pulled Zidari into his chest.

"I'm ready for this, I've always loved you Zidari" he stated and Zidari pushed him away from her, "no. I refuse" she declared and walked out of the home, Kaladin and Yuna were shouting at her to come back.

Zidari ran all the way to a secluded waterfall that never froze, she fell to her knees and sobbed uncontrollably. Her head cradled into her hands as she cried, the waterfall covering her loud screams of anger and pain. She cursed Eywa for the decision of planting a child in her womb.

Kaladin was not the one she had chosen. Her mind immediately thought of Neteyam and she remembered how he acted when he found out that she was destined to be mated to Kaladin.

Her heart clenched at the thought and she kept crying. The waterfall consuming her cries, her screams, her shouting, her prayers. It allowed her to feel her emotions all at once, to feel the pain of her mistakes.

6 Hours Later...

Neteyam and Kiri had finished up decorating the home, they had help from the clans humans that were there such as Norm and Max, because well they needed help with the choice of sheets and blankets.

After they finished up decorating, Neteyam hugged Kiri and thanked her along with Max and Norm for their help. Max and Norm dismissed themselves and Kiri looked at her brother, "you are in love dear brother. She is perfect for you" Neteyam smiled at his sister and she smiled back.

"Go and get ready, I will start the fire and adjust the lighting so that it's dim in here. Oh! Also I shall bring a basket of fruit too!" Neteyam thanked her again and rushed back to his family's home and bumped into Lo'ak and his father.

"Dad, Lo'ak I need your help" Jake looked at his oldest son, "sure son, what is it?" Neteyam then explained everything that was going to happen. Lo'ak immediately went off and began saddling up Neteyam's Ikran and Zidari's.

Jake helped his son with finding the perfect loincloth and helped him with his riding gear. The cummerbund laid perfectly on his toned abdomen, the arm band, leg guards, his necklace and neck piece for just in case, and his arm band that held a feather.

Neytiri heard from Lo'ak of what was happening and came to help. She fixed his braids, the beads that was woven through his hair, the feather that rested behind his ear. Once his father and mother finished, they stepped back and smiled at their oldest son.

"My son... so grown up" Neytiri spoke softly as she hugged him, Jake placed his hand upon his shoulder and smiled proudly. "Keep your weapons when you go flying, be careful okay? Also, if anything goes down, please remove the comm device" Neteyam chuckled, "yes sir" with that Neteyam took a nervous breath and left.

He went to go find Zidari.

Zidari had went back home to get ready, she did her hair, she dressed in different clothing and sighed happily. She placed a flower in her hair and smiled.

"There is someone here for you" her mother said and walked away, Zidari grabbed her riding visor and sped walked to see who it was. When she peeled open the beaded cover, there stood Neteyam. He looked so handsome in his black loincloth, his songcord hanging from the string that held it in place, his riding gear worn perfectly on his toned body.

"Hi" Zidari said with a smile, Neteyam admired the girl in front of him, she looked beautiful. Neteyam smiled, "ready to go?" Zidari nodded her head and she took his hand. They walked through the clan talking and laughing, it was eclipse and they finally made it to a high point mountain where the flying patrols normally mount their Ikrans.

Lo'ak stood there and smiled at the couple, "your Ikrans are ready" Neteyam hugged his brother and Zidari smiled at the two. "Let's fly" Zidari laughed and mounted her ikran while Neteyam nodded his head at his brother and mounted his ikran as well.

The two took off, the night sky was beautiful. Their bioluminescent freckles lighting up their features, the wind was at a easy pace as they flew in the sky. Laughing and enjoying the night fly.

They flew through the mountains, up and over and under them, they flew through waterfalls, they circled each other and raced through the sky. Admiring the sky and looking down below at the Winter Mist clan, Neteyam and Zidari yipped and whooped at each other. Huge happy smiles adorned their faces, they were truly happy.

They circled each other one more time and this time their Ikrans closed in on one another and then dove backwards in a back flip like motion, laughter erupted from the two.

Soon after they finished up flying, they headed back to the clan and landed on the high point mountain where Lo'ak and Nayila stood. "That was amazing" Zidari said with pure love and happiness, they dismounted the Ikrans and let Nayila and Lo'ak unsaddle them and allow them to rest now.

"Good luck big brother" Lo'ak whispered and Nayila held a thumbs up to Zidari. They both laughed and waved bye to the others.

"Now what?" Zidari questioned as Neteyam held her hand and they were walking, "I have something else to end the night with" Neteyam mentioned as they kept walking. "All ready for you big brother" Kiri said through the comm device and Neteyam chuckled.

Once they were in sight, Zidari looked at the home and looked at Neteyam, "this is my home" Neteyam claimed and Zidari gasped at the beautiful home. "Come" Neteyam led Zidari inside and she marveled at the beautifully decorated home, Kiri greeted the two and left the home, she was smirking at her brother.

"It's beautiful" she whispered and Neteyam led her to the bed. They both sat down on the bed and looked at each other. "Zidari... I want to—" Neteyam could feel his nerves eating at him, Zidari placed her hand upon his cheek, "I want to as well.. it's okay" she soothed him and he felt his heart pull towards her.

They were mated already, why was he so nervous? But before they did anything, Zidari and Neteyam moved to the soft carpet and sat there talking and laughing, they ate pieces of the fruit that was in the basket that had been provided by Kiri and took their time for each other. Neteyam didn't want to make her uncomfortable and rush her into anything so he didn't mind that they laid on the carpet, talking, laughing and eating fruit.

Zidari was laying on her back as Neteyam was laying on his side, leaning on his hand that held him up. He adored her, the flickering flame of light reflected off of her and highlighted her body, Neteyam lightly turned her face to him and leaned in, kissing her ever so gently, Zidari returned the kiss.

The two took their time with the kissing, allowing it to heat up on its own. The kiss grew passionate between the two, Neteyam could hear his family in the comm device so he immediately made a noise and took off the device placing it away from him and his mate.

He hovered over the girl and admired her as he pulled away from the kiss to catch his breath. Her lips swollen, her breathing was heavy, her eyes were heavy with lust, he smiled at his mate.

"You are so beautiful, my love" he whispered and she blushed, Neteyam then sat up and had lifted Zidari up to lay her down on the bed. The girl watched him as he took off his riding gear, she admired his body, his muscles and toned v line where the cummerbund laid above. Everything about him, she absolutely adored and wanted to worship.

After he took off his riding gear, he went to the end of the bed and began kissing along her legs. Each kiss was gentle, he saw the faint scars that adorned her skin, he could hear her soft breathing and a few whimpers here and there.

He kissed her knee as his hands trailed up her legs, "my love... show me your scars" he suddenly said as he was sitting in between her legs, she looked at him, "but why?" She asked. "I want to see how many times you needed me and I wasn't there," he whispered. As he saw the tears brim her green eyes, she nodded and he helped her undress fully.

He removed the flower that held her hair pinned back and she laid back down. Neteyam then looked over her body, every scar that littered her body, he kissed. He could hear her sniffling quietly at the gesture he was doing. He felt his heart break at the many scars that was inflicted by those who hurt her. By those who tortured her. He kissed every scar, every reminder of her past.

After the vulnerable moment, she wiped away her tears and he went back to admiring her body. The perfect curves, the way her freckles littered her skin, the shape of her body, the way her chest rose for each breath she took.

He couldn't help but stare. She looked like an angel that had come down from heaven to tempt me. Her eyes were softly glowing and her hair fell in silky waves all the way to the small of her back. She looked so innocent and pure. It only made me want to corrupt her all that more. The devil in me couldn't help but be enraptured by her ethereal beauty, in its utter perfection. He thought to himself as he then trailed kisses up her stomach all the way to her neck. He could hear her desperate whimpers. It sparked everything in him, but he wanted to take his time. He wanted the night to be perfect.

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