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strangertyped · 2 years

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Haikyuu! Ultimate fanfic recommendations masterlist

Here are my favorite haikyuu fanfics for all the people out there who had a rough time lately and want to flee back to their comfort ship.

I collected this fics over years.

Also I am always thankful for receiving recommendations myself so don’t be shy.

iwaoi

to be first, to be best - kittebasu (chanyeol)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2547755

Hajime is apparently something of a masochist, and as he stares down at the tie-dyed AREA51 T-shirt in his hands, he thinks “I’m totally in love with this asshole, aren't I?”

With Love, From Tokyo - orphan_account

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21808894

“Come back soon,” he finds himself mumbling into his shoulder. “It’s going to fucking suck without you, bastard.

Oikawa laughs, a chime of church bells and he pulls Hajime even closer.

“You won’t even notice I’m gone, Iwa-chan,” he says. The Tokyo sky is changing from orange to blue, and the sun smiles down at them as it drifts away.

Desperado - Verbrennung

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15735801

Clearly Iwaizumi had a checkered past. Kyoutani has never asked about it, nor has Iwaizumi ever brought it up. He knows it’s a sore spot for his mentor, just like the gorgeous Monte Carlo he keeps hidden away is, so he leaves it alone. Out on the streets, you learn a little something about when to turn a blind eye in order to survive; Kyoutani knows better than most to leave the past of men like Iwaizumi well alone.

It’s probably got something to do with the boy in the polaroids, though.

Retired pickpocket & conman Iwaizumi Hajime receives an invitation he can't possibly decline, pulling him back into his old life to work a job with his old friends and ex-lover Oikawa Tooru. His mostly-legit apprentice Kyoutani gets dragged along for the ride. It's a complete mess.

The Loyalty of a Traitor - DeathBelle

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12429639

Iwaizumi Hajime was an undercover officer with a single objective: Infiltrate the Seijoh Syndicate of the Yakuza and tear them down from the inside out. His primary target was the boss, Oikawa Tooru. The job itself was simple enough, until Iwaizumi got in too deep and absconded not only from the mission, but from the city itself.

Now, two years later, he’s dragged back into Tokyo’s unsavory underworld. A grisly string of murders is plaguing the city, and the culprits are most definitely Yakuza. The problem is discovering which Syndicate is responsible, and Iwaizumi – the leading expert on Yakuza affairs – is the man most suited for the job.

Despite his determination to stay away from Tokyo – and from Oikawa – Iwaizumi finds himself right back in the middle of Seijoh, and it feels a lot more like home than he’d care to admit.

And All the Prince‘s Men - FindingSchmomo

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11495643

"Father only loves that which he owns, and I am the one thing that can never truly be his."

In which Iwaizumi Hajime is a young orphan suddenly thrust upon the royal court, and Oikawa is the Prince he's been assigned to. A story of their friendship and love, of their years spent together and apart, of their losses suffered and their wins hard fought.

i‘ll never feel whole (but you‘re as close as i’ll get) - earthworms

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28684854

The three great truths of the universe: the sun rises in the east, the birds will always come back in the spring, and Tooru loves Iwaizumi in an irreversible, illimitable way.

dyspnea/arrhythmia - carafin

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3865561

In which Iwaizumi Hajime is a junior doctor suffering through his medical rotation, and Dr. Oikawa Tooru is his insufferable mentor. Medical AU.

‘I heard your internal medicine rotation’s going to be at Miyagi Central Hospital,' Suga says, turning to Iwaizumi. 'Who’s your mentor gonna be?’

‘Dr. Oikawa Tooru,’ Iwaizumi replies, and barely has time to yank his body back as Suga chokes on and almost sprays out a mouthful of alcohol.

‘What is it,’ Iwaizumi says, feeling a little unnerved.

In response, Suga simply drags a pitcher of alcohol from across the table, and starts to tip more beer into Iwaizumi’s glass. ‘You’re going to need this,’ Suga says.

the chrysanthemum looking glass - izayas

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27054028

“in a life where everything has been decided for us, i choose you to be mine, as you choose me to be yours.”

the story of a prince and his guard.

we shine like diamonds - whitemiists

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3918325

Oikawa is nine when he first hears the word. The boys on the playground whisper it like it's dirty, like the way they daringly mutter the word fuck and then look over their shoulders to check their parents hadn't heard.

"You know Abe-kun from class?" they snicker, hands cupped around their mouths like they're passing along a filthy secret. "I hear his older brother is... gay."

my castles in the sky are tumbling down - ohhotlamb

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7192292

He doesn't think about those familiar dark eyes staring numbly into his own. He doesn't think about the remnant staleness of sake on his breath. He doesn't think about the cup with which he had to share wine; he doesn't think about the rim in which their lips shared drink.

He does not think about his husband.

primavera - tothemoon

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23864761

They say it takes twenty-six years, for certain breeds to fully bloom.

Full Bloom - bumbebeesknees

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32621017

After the closing ceremonies, Oikawa and Iwaizumi head back home to Miyagi. Turns out this thing between them that’s been a lifetime in the making – that probably should've been made whole years ago – still needs a little more time to form.

It should be difficult to find any single instance that stands out brighter than the rest, all of them powered by the same steady current of lifelong affection, but there are two moments Hajime keeps going back to:

In the first, they’re eighteen.

the courtship ritual of the hercules beetle - kittebasu (chanyeol)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6422014

Tooru is pretty sure he could manage the mating habits of a mosquito. It’s the mating habits of people he can’t seem to get right.

i wanna ruin our friendship - roseknight

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5926129

Oikawa can't pretend he doesn't know what he's feeling. He's far too accustomed to jealousy for that. But there's no reason to feel such intense jealousy towards two guys he doesn't even know, that he just happened to catch kissing.

No reason he can accept.

In which a single confession letter unravels Oikawa's control over his life and forces him to realize he wants something besides friendship from Iwaizumi.

* and here a link to my own fanfic: *

major choice - dearoldfriend

Oikawa went to Shiratorizawa.

matsuhana

and indeed there will be time - plumtrees

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6807781

Between volleyball and the looming end of their high school years, Hanamaki thinks he’s already dealing with more than enough, thank you very much.

Unfortunately, no one else gets the memo.

Alternatively: “I am not in love with my best friend!” says Hanamaki Takahiro. Nobody buys his bullshit.

plus one - orphan_account

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6727414

"Did you know we're dating?"

"What? Says who?"

"Says everyone apparently."

"Oh," Hanamaki frowns for a few seconds before shrugging and turning his attention back to the chocolate fountain. "Nice."

rated m for - orphan_account

https://archiveofourown.org/works/4549605

He should have known that there was a Specific Reason™ why it was so absolutely vital that he and Matsukawa specifically meet for a reading of the script. He should have known that there had to be some evil catch beyond sitting in a tiny, cramped studio with his newly sworn enemy.

Hanamaki stares at the title of the script he’d so gracefully neglected the night before.

FORBIDDEN PARADISE

“Excuse me,” Hanamaki starts, raising a pen in the air while staring blankly at the packet in his free hand. “Just to clarify, you want me to record a boy's love CD with Matsukawa?”

nebulas - tothemoon

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5866984

“You'll have to let me think about it,” Hanamaki says to him while they're looking at soup stocks in the supermarket one evening, because he knows being with someone is not as simple as he'd like it to be.

(At this, Matsukawa does not fret. He goes for the snack aisle, instead.)

it’s cold out there - bishounen_curious

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6994705

Seijoh's parties are always a mess, but this one takes the cake.

talks firmly and calmly - warmly

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25595224

One morning, Matsukawa wakes up and decides he will fall out of love.

poolside - tothemoon

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7301821

At eighteen, it'd been a matter of wading.

At twenty-five, Hanamaki tries not to fall in headfirst.

kyouhaba

Mint and Pine - snoqualmie

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10817886

Yahaba yanks at Kyoutani’s uniform in the club room and ties his tie so tight after morning practice that sometimes Kyoutani thinks he’s trying to fucking strangle him.

kuroken

the walk home - skiecas

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12968754

Kenma reluctantly spoons vanilla into his mouth, watching the sun set. And when everything is dusted in stripes of pale orange and purple and gold, he glances at Kuroo’s profile muddled in the shadows of the descending sun, and wonders whether he had somehow accidentally made friends with an impressive sort of boy. The ice-cream melted under his thumb feels maddeningly sticky, like he’ll never wash it away thoroughly enough and it would leave its mark wherever he touched before he could.

Kenma has never really thought of anyone as good-looking before, never really cared enough about these things to notice them. But Kuroo is objectively so, in this light, in this angle—maybe all the time.

(A Kuroo and Kenma life story, told in five acts).

How Kuroo Found Kenma - SuggestiveScribe

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3988276

"Oh my God," Kuroo said, eyes growing wide. He slowly turned to fully face Oikawa, "I'm in love with Kenma."

Oikawa brought his tea to his mouth. "Yeah," he said, smiling through the steam rising in front of his face, "I know."

pretty girls make me nervous - ebenroot

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3509384

(Yaku had to wonder if his captain was listening to himself talk and could realize on his own how much he sounded in love with Kenma.)

"So, what is going to happen is this! Friday night, Kenma will be going to the mall with no video games around. His natural attractiveness will show, some love struck girl will ask him out and bam! Kenma isn't single anymore."

(Yaku supposed not.)

that fic where Kuroo does everything he can to get Kenma a significant other. Meanwhile, everyone bets how long it'll take before Kuroo realizes that Kenma's sorta already dating him.

i’ll make you happy (just wait and see) - newamsterdam

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091924

“I’m not repressed,” Kuroo hisses. “I’m definitely one hundred percent aware of the fact that I’m in love with Kenma, okay? I’m just not ready to tell him. See? No repression. Perfectly self-aware. Thank you very much.”

Kuroo is perfectly aware that there's no good reason for him not to confess his feelings to Kenma. But that doesn't mean he's ready to make his move just yet.

you’re the brake lines failing (as my car swerves off the freeway) - ghostpot

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25906996

Kenma thinks that Kuroo looks ugly with his head bent against the arm of the couch like that. Then Kenma thinks that he wants to marry him, and is promptly thrown into the 5 stages of grief.

aofuta

long way home - asynchrony

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30097446

All the ways Futakuchi pushes limits, and all the ways Aone lets him.

On the 2011 Tōhoku quake and tsunami. On being displaced, then being found.

bokuaka

i made myself a metropolis - tothemoon

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24319474

In which it takes six years, stories, and science to learn that love is not just the road ahead.

one in a hundred - norio

https://archiveofourown.org/works/8189225

Though he has no proof, Bokuto suspects dating would be a lot easier if Akaashi stopped trying to break up with him.

Behind Bricks - DeathBelle

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11502159

Akaashi has always had a good idea of what his future would look like.

Becoming a prostitute hadn't been part of the plan.

Bokuto Koutarou wasn't part of the plan, either. Akaashi meets him by chance, and is drawn in by Bokuto's optimism and authenticity. He's never met anyone like Bokuto, and despite his initial reluctance, Akaashi finds himself getting a little too attached.

Crisis Converted - valiantarmor

https://archiveofourown.org/works/3168116

Akaashi Keiji is just a normal cop with a penchant for getting himself into trouble, when quite suddenly he finds himself with a big promotion and a brand new partner.

But his habit of finding trouble hasn't gone away -- if anything, it's only gotten worse.

sakuatsu

Northern Downpour - hatsuna

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32866930

“The Kansai region—which includes Kyoto, Amagasaki, and Osaka—experiences a rainy season known as tsuyu (alternatively: baiyu). It is written with the characters ‘plum’ and ‘rain,’ as it coincides with plums purpling and plumping. Beginning toward the birth of June and lapsing in late July, tsuyu lasts approximately six weeks.”

Your name is Miya Atsumu. You have learned that life is armed to the teeth, and you have bared your fangs in return.

Under Pressure - ghostystarr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26633329

Hinata and Bokuto realize that perhaps, just maybe, Sakusa might show affection differently than most. Unfortunately, it seems Atsumu is the object of such affections.

"Don't worry," Bokuto assures, "we're gonna teach you how to flirt with Tsumu."

i’m begging for you to take my hand - comfortcharacters

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29530146

If really good setters can bewitch their spikers, then Atsumu wouldn’t rest until Sakusa’s fully under his spell.

Atsumu is the best, after all.

He pushes the thought of hands – Sakusa’s hands, Sakusa’s hands around the ball, Sakusa’s hands in his – directly out of his mind.

(or, atsumu doesn't realize why he's so desperate for sakusa's attention. until he does.)

Hide and seek - badreputation

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23177344

It’s just a fleeting infatuation. As long as he pushes through it he’ll manage. So what if nowadays there isn’t a night where he doesn’t dream of Sakusa pinning him down on his own bed, in the shower or make Atsumu go down on his knees in the hallway? Those are just pesky details.

Some Memories, We May Keep - mika60

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25637944

The missing panels, the missing games, the missing moments.

The them we never saw.

Pas De Deux - hatsuna

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25482076

The mystery athlete gives Kiyoomi a once over in the mirror. “Yer pretty tall,” he observes. The twang of an accent rasps low in his throat. His brazen eyes drift to Kiyoomi’s legs, and something like exhilaration glints gold in his gaze. “Good quads, too. Ya ever played volleyball?”

Ah. So it’s volleyball.

“I’m a dancer. Ballet and contemporary, mostly.”

Burden of Blame - DeathBelle

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24215773

Atsumu has a long history of pissing people off, but this time he’s gone too far. Someone wants him dead, and although he doesn’t know who or why, it becomes clear very quickly that both he and Osamu are in danger. After a couple of close calls, Kita - the Kumicho of Inarizaki - decides it’s not safe for the two of them to stay in Hyogo; not until he finds out who placed the hit and eliminates them.

Atsumu reluctantly finds himself in Tokyo, taken in by a yakuza group that’s nothing like Inarizaki. The Black Jackals are a different breed, more lethal than he’s used to, and Sakusa Kiyoomi is the worst of them all. Of course that’s who Atsumu gets stuck with, and he and Sakusa are in constant competition for who hates each other more.

Tokyo should be a safe haven but between Atsumu’s bloody new assignments, the lingering threat on his life, and all the days trapped with Sakusa, Atsumu isn’t sure he’ll make it out of Tokyo alive.

authors you need to check out!

Verbrennung

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verbrennung/pseuds/Verbrennung

(iwaoi…)

valiantarmor

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/valiantarmor/pseuds/valiantarmor

tothemoon

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/tothemoon/pseuds/tothemoon

themorninglark

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/themorninglark

ghostpot

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostpot/pseuds/ghostpot

sundowns

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundowns/pseuds/sundowns

snoqualmie

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/snoqualmie/pseuds/snoqualmie

skiecas

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/skiecas/pseuds/skiecas

silvercistern

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvercistern/pseuds/silvercistern

shions_heart

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/shions_heart/pseuds/shions_heart

Rossie_H

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rossie_H/pseuds/Rossie_H

ohhotlamb

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhotlamb/pseuds/ohhotlamb

norio

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/norio/pseuds/norio

newamsterdam

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/newamsterdam/pseuds/newamsterdam

mika60

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/mika60/pseuds/mika60

marssram

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/marssram/pseuds/marssram

lazykawaaa

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazykawaaa/pseuds/lazykawaaa

knightswatch

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightswatch/pseuds/knightswatch

kazzydolyn

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazzydolyn/pseuds/kazzydolyn

IncessantOblivion

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncessantOblivion/pseuds/IncessantOblivion

Hyeyu

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyeyu/pseuds/Hyeyu

hatsuna

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/hatsuna/pseuds/hatsuna

h_lovely

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/h_lovely/pseuds/h_lovely

fandomverse

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomverse/pseuds/fandomverse

devote

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/devote/pseuds/devote

DeathBelle

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathBelle/pseuds/DeathBelle

kittebasu (chanyeol)

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/chanyeol/pseuds/kittebasu

buu

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/buu/pseuds/buu

bumblebeesknees

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumblebeesknees/pseuds/bumblebeesknees

brella

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/brella/pseuds/brella

bluu

-> https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluu

+ all authors who wrote the mentioned fanfictions

Can’t wait for the last movie to come out! What are you guys expecting from it?

112 notes · View notes

morihaus · 3 years

Text

Betrayal

Waves splash against the rocky shores of Betony as a small ship rows into port. The docks of Whitefort town are quiet in the dying light of the evening, busied only by sailors and dockworkers as they fix ships to the moorings and ferry cargo about, hurrying to get their work over with so they might retire for the night. There are few people, and of them, the lone passenger of the sailboat blends into the crowd, steel boots stepping onto the dock, cowl held close around her head.

She keeps her head down, not attracting any attention as she takes a circuitous path around the shipyard, pausing only to spare a glance over her shoulder every now and then. It's not her first time here, and she knows where she is going- the grand Imperial ship affixed to the far dock lies foreboding in the corner of her vision- but even miles from the mainland of High Rock or Hammerfell, she feels eyes all over her, grasping hands reaching out for her. She's walking into a pair of them right now.

It's with this note of fatalism that she climbs aboard the Imperial galley, its captain waits for her at a table on the deck, seated warmly in her fine Skyrim furs. Lady Brisienna Magnessen smiles cordially, cheeks rosy, but not bothered by the winter chill as her visitor is, letting her fair hair curl down her shoulders without hat or hood.

"Agent Delarda," She greets her with a refined tone, coarse Nordic tongue dipped in honey, smoothed and shaped to suit the needs of an inter-provincial operative. "Please, take a seat. Let's conclude this as quickly as possible."

Against her better judgement, the agent sits down. Her amber eyes, sitting in dark circles, peer out at the Nord from under her hood. "They know." She says flatly, her voice quiet and weak for the first words she's spoken in days. "Gothryd, Eadwyre, Athoriki, Gortwog-" She slings her pack down one shoulder and reaches inside, producing several written correspondences. She sets them on the table in front of her, unsealed, slightly crumpled. She looks down at them now, rather than Brisienna. "Even Mannimarco, and the Underking. They know, and they want it. They're making offers now. I'm not sure how long they'll wait for me to make up my mind."

Brisienna takes a letter into her deft hands, unfurling it and scanning it over.

Arduirel- code name Delarda- lets her hands lie limp on the table, numb with cold and nerves.

After a minute or so, the Lady speaks up. "They're making quite the hefty offers for it."

"You believe them?" Arduirel says.

Brisienna looks half-insulted. "No," She shakes her head. "I wouldn't be surprised if any or all of them were lying. All that gold, those artifacts, nothing but bait."

"Should I assume the Emperor was lying as well?" She says curtly, still not meeting her eye.

Brisienna purses her lips some, but reaches over into her own pack, producing a small jewelry box. She places it on the table, turning it to her fellow agent. "The Warlock's Ring, as promised. Feel free to check. I wouldn't lie to you."

Arduirel's ears burn under her hood at that. Still, she reaches forward, unlatching the tiny chest and taking a peek at the ring inside. Gold-banded, covered in ancient runes, inlaid with a dazzling red gemstone. She closes it, satisfied with its authenticity, more or less. She looks back up at Lady Magnessen, who peers expectantly at the elf.

"The Emperor has been planning this reward for some time, Delarda. Your efforts, both here and in years previous, are greatly appreciated." For a moment Arduirel looks and only sees a mouthpiece, a puppet; she wonders whether Uriel said any such thing, whether these words were really his, or mere lip service from the Nord woman. She's sick to her stomach either way, not helped by the gentle rocking of the boat in the harbor.

"...I'm curious. What would the other rulers have done with... the Totem." She asks, quite aware of the fact she's expected to be taking it out by now. She doesn't want to touch it, to let it be seen by anyone. Her whole body feels wired, jittery, as though the other agent were about to make a desperate lunge for her pack.

It doesn't come to pass, though, Lady Magnessen remains seated, glancing down once again at the letters on the table. "Nothing good." She shuffles them around, laying one on top of the other, leafing through the names on the pages and thinking on what she knows of the Illiac's politics. "No doubt Daggerfall, Wayrest, and Sentinel would use the Numidium in their petty war games. Perhaps they would even realize the extent of its capabilities- they could undermine the whole of the Empire with this power." Arduirel feels a chill as she speaks. She wonders what Brisienna knows about Numidium. How much does the Emperor know about Numidium? The Nord frowns as she continues to speculate. "Orsinium would no doubt crush its age-old enemies, claim all of Wrothgar for the Orcs, maybe beyond. I cannot begin to wonder at what nefarious end the King of Worms has in mind... he claims he wants godhood?"

Arduirel gives a shallow nod.

Brisienna shakes her head. "By the Nine, what a travesty that would be..."

"Could that even work?"

"If what we are led to believe about big Numidium is true, it very well could. It could be as easy as it plucking him from this world and placing him high up in the heavens." There's an attempted humor to what she says, but Arduirel can only fight to keep up a veneer of composure.

"Is that what Tiber Septim did?" She blurts out.

Brisienna gives her a judgemental stare. "Is that... what? What are you talking about, Delarda?"

Arduirel clenches her fist, grinding her teeth together for a moment. "I just mean-" She looks out into the horizon, the now black sky meeting the edge of the water. "He became a Divine. He also used the Numidium. Is that related? Is Mannimarco trying to do what he did?"

Without looking, she feels the icy stare of her superior. She lets out a sigh. "Tiber Septim didn't become Talos through some... automaton. He was always Talos-" She trails off, shaking her head. "We can discuss theology when you're back in Cyrodiil, Delarda. You have the Totem, don't you?"

"Yes." She quickly replies.

"Where is it?"

Arduirel looks back at her. Brisienna's face is creased with irritation- she knows a diversion tactic when she sees it, she's starting to wise up to what's going on here.

"What is the Emperor going to do with it?" Arduirel asks.

Brisienna pauses. Arduirel stares and picks her apart with her eyes, trying to figure out what she knows. "That's none of your concern, agent." She replies with a blunt, forceful tone. "Just know that he's the only one who can be trusted with it. These petty kings will rip each other- and the Empire- apart in their bickering, and those undead sorcerers will only do the same. This thing belongs in the hands of an Emperor, a Septim, not some pack of quarreling insubordinates."

Her words hang in the air, burning against Arduirel's ears like the cold night air. Her hands begin to shiver. "The last Septim who got his hands on it..." She furrows her brow, glaring from under her hood at the Nord. "The Underking, he's Zurin Arctus, Tiber Septim's battlemage. He claims to have made the thing- that the Mantella is his heart, and that Septim used the thing to conquer all of Tamriel, to destroy all his opponents, to replace all royals with those who would swear loyalty to him." Brisienna tries to get a word in, but Arduirel plows on ahead. "And when he disagreed with this use of the Numidium, Septim fought with him, and both he and his creation were destroyed." She produces another letter from her person, one she hadn't intended on sharing. "This says that the Blades have been gathering parts of the Numidium for centuries- what is the meaning of this??? To what end does it serve???"

Brisienna leans in with a dour expression. "You take the word of a rotting, undead wizard over mine? Over the word of the Emperor?"

Arduirel stands up with a start, frost crackles in her palm as she glares down at the Nord, who reaches for her blade. "What is he planning!? Why reassemble it?! Why use it now??"

"Delarda, stand down!" Brisienna barks out the order with her sword leveled in the elf's direction. "Think for a second! If you don't relinquish the Totem, you'll be branded as a traitor to the Empire of Tamriel- you'll have one more agency hunting you down, is that what you want!?"

"I am NOT giving you the Totem! I won't let this happen again!" Before Brisienna can even question her, Arduirel shoots an ice spike into her chest. She staggers back as it pierces a rib, she wheels back her sword-arm before another spike finds its way into the hinge of her elbow, icing the joint over and sinking deep into her tissue. She cries out in pain before Arduirel charges into her, bashing her off the side of the ship with a forceful elbow to her collar.

The Nord falls into the icy water, right arm stiff and inflexible, lungs pierced by a spike through her ribs. She cries out at Arduirel- "YOU CANNOT DO THIS!" But a torrent of frost is already firing down at her, freezing the water she's fighting against, encasing her in a thick sheet of ice. Her body temperature drops rapidly, she trembles and struggles as her muscles grow stiff and weak.

The small block of ice containing her body floats out into sea. The Agent absconds with the Warlock's Ring and the Totem, forcing her way through the confused crowd and boarding someone else's ship, pushing it out to sea with the force of her magic, arrows from the guards loosing in her wake as they piece together that she had something to do with this.

It doesn't matter. The Emperor will not get the Totem. As soon as she's out of sight from the isle, she makes course for the east, for Hammerfell, as a traitor to the Empire. Her true colors are finally revealed. It's exhilarating. It's sickening. It's the only way to avoid another Summurset.

#tesfest21 #mori writing #oc: arduirel #cw for murder and death

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bookofjin · 3 years

Text

Annals of Chuping 1 (190)

[From Yuan Hong’s Houhanji 28]

Annals of Emperor Xiaoxian [“Filial and Offering”], Part 1

1st Year of Chuping [“Beginning Peace”]

[23 February 190 – 11 February 191]

Spring, 1st Month, xinhai [4 March], a great amnesty Under Heaven.

Palace Attendant Zhou Bi and Colonel of the City Gates Wu Qiong, argued to Dong Zhuo, saying:

In all cases the affairs of deposing and installing are great, and not attained by regular people. Yuan Shao did not comprehend the greater structure, and fearful and afraid set out and ran without having other aspirations. Now with the urgency of a bounty, circumstances are certain to make him change.

The Yuan clan have planted kindness for four generations, the students and former functionaries from their gates are everywhere Under Heaven. Suppose they gather the prominent and outstanding so as to assemble a crowd of followers. The gallant and bold will follow them and rise up, and East of the Mountains will not be possessed by Your Excellency. It is not as good as forgiving him, and designate him the Warden of a single commandery. Then Shao will delight in avoiding punishment, and there is certain to be no worries.

Zhuo considered it to be so, and therefore used Shao as Grand Warden of Bohai.

On guichou [6 March], Zhuo killed the King of Hongnong.

Zhuo sent the Prefect of the Gentlemen of the Palace, Li Ru, to advance with poisoned wine to the King, saying:

Ingesting the drugs can expel the foulness.

The King said:

I am not ill. In truth [you] wish to kill me this way.

He was not willing, they forced him. And so the King was together with Concubine Tang and the palace people to drink the drugs. The King himself sang, saying:

Heaven's Way is easy, and destiny why so hard.

Forsook the ten thousand vehicles, and withdrew to guard the border.

A traitorous subject is coercing, and fate will not be delayed.

Going away [I am] about to leave you, and depart for the hidden darkness.

Concubine Tang rose up and danced, she sang, saying:

August Heaven collapses, and Sovereign Earth crumbles.

Somebody is Emperor or King, and fate is cut short and swept away.

The dead and living have different paths, and following this [will] turn aside.

Dismayed, I am alone and solitary, and within the heart is sorrow.

Following that she wept, and those sitting there all grieved. The King spoke to Concubine Tang, saying:

You are the former consort of a king, and in the circumstances will not become the wife of a functionary or commoner. Take care of yourself, from that [I] bid farewell with you.

Thereupon he drank the drugs and died. The Emperor heard about it, he came down from his seat and thoroughly grieved.

At that time, the Inspector of Ji province, Han Fu, the Inspector of Yu province, Kong Zhou, the Inspector of Yan province, Liu Dai, the Grand Warden of Chenliu, Zhang Miao, the Grand Warden of Bohai, Yuan Shao, the Grand Warden of Donghai, Qiao Mao, the Grand Warden of Shanyang, Yuan Yi, the Grand Warden of Henan, Wang Kuang, the Chancellor of Jibei, Bao Xin, the General of the Rear, Yuan Shu, the Consultant Gentleman Cao Cao, and others all rose up with righteous troops, wanting to execute Zhuo. Their multitudes each numbered several tens of thousand people, and they pushed forward Shao as master of the oath. Shao titled himself General of Chariots and Cavalry. Cao was Acting General who Exerts the Martial.

The Grand Warden of Changsha, Sun Jian, likewise raised troops to execute Zhuo, and by the time he arrived in Nanyang, his multitude numbered several tens of thousand people. Zhuo used Jian as General who Routs the Miscreants, hoping he would be agreeable and restrained. Jian denounced Zhuo as being past his prime, and advanced to station at Yangdui. Zhuo was greatly angered, and dispatched Hu Zhen and Lü Bu to strike Jian. They fought at Jianping, and Jian greatly routed them.

Zhuo, since the troops East of the Mountains were abundant, wished to move the capital to Within the Passes. He summoned the Excellencies and Dignitaries to discuss it, saying:

Gaozu's capital was Within the Passes for eleven generations. Later during Han's middle flourishing, the eastern capital was Luoyang. From Guangwu until now there then has been twelve generations. Leaning on the the Stone-Wrapped Chamber Prophecies, [we] ought to again return the capital to Chang'an.

Among the hundred officials there were none who dared to respond. The Minister over the Masses, Yang Biao, said:

Moving the capital and changing the regulations are the great affairs of Under Heaven, and always must follow the heart of the people and ensue from what is proper for the times. Formerly Pangeng made the fifth move, and the people of Yin where altogether resentful. For that reason he composed three chapters to shed light on and explain it.

In the past when Wang Mang usurped and rebelled, he disarrayed and made chaos of the Five Constants. And in the disarray of Gengshi and the Red Eyebrows, they burnt down down Chang'an and harmed and wounded the hundred families. The population drifted away and absconded, and out of a hundred not one remained. When Guangwu accepted the instructions, he altered the capital to Luoyang, and this was appropriate for it.

Just now [we] have established and installed a sagely ruler, brilliantly raising high Han's benediction. But then for no reason to give up the ancestral temples and palace halls, abandon the former emperors' parks and mounds, the hundred families will be frightened and alarmed and not figure out these intentions. There will surely be boiling gruel and an assembly of ants, and so cause disturbance and chaos. The Stone-Wrapped Chamber Prophecies is a book of bewitching perversity, how can [we] trust and make use of it?

Zhuo changed colour and said:

Excellency Yang wishes to obstruct the strategies of the House of State? East of the Mountains, the Yellow Head-scarves make chaos, and is where thieves are rising up. Chang'an's strategic points of Yao and Han are firm, they are the important defences of the state.

Also from Right of Long [one] obtains timber, the work is not difficult. And below the Southern Mountains of Duling there are Emperor Xiaowu's old place for kilns to make brickwork, in one morning and one evening it can be managed. The palace houses and official storehouses, how are they not sufficient to talk about! The hundred families and small people, how is it sufficient to discus with them! Suppose there are [those who] go forward and come back, [we] will use our great troops to spur them on, how will they get to be by themselves?

The hundred companions all lost colour. The Grand Commandant, Huang Wan, said:

This is a great affair. Excellency Yang' speech, might it not be [you] could think about it?

The Minister of Work, Xun Shuang said:

How is the Chancellor of State enjoying moving the capital? Now East of the Mountains, troops are rising up, it is not possible to corral them in in a single day. But West of the Passes is still quiet, and for that reason we will move there to plan, as in the circumstances of Qin and Han. Stand firm and fight, without stop, and misfortune is certain to be what comes back. I will not do that.

Zhuo caused to have the ministers memorialise to dismiss the two Excellencies.

2nd Month, dinghai [probably a mistake for yihai, 28 March], the Grand Commandant, Huang Wan, and the Minister over the Masses, Yang Biao, were retired by bamboo slips.

Earlier, Zhuo made use of the opinions of Wu Qiong and Zhou Bi and selected the famous scholars of Under Heaven. When Fu and others had set out, they all raised up troops to plot against Zhuo. Zhuo considered that Qiong and Bi had sold him out, and in his heart was angry with them. Reaching the discussion on moving west, Qiong and Bi firmly admonished. Zhuo, greatly angered, said:

You Lords said [we] must draw out and employ good scholars. Zhuo followed the two lords' scheme, and did not dare to disobey the heart of Under Heaven. When the various lords arrived at their offices, they raised up troops and plotted, how can Zhuo count on [you]?

Thereupon he beheaded Qiong and Bi.

Biao and Wan were fearful and afraid, and hastened to Zhuo to apologize, saying:

It was because of small people's fondness for the old, not a wish to obstruct the affairs of state. [We] request to consider [our] shortcomings as accepting punishment.

Zhuo was not fully furious with them at the time [?], and when he killed Qiong and Bi, he had come to regret it, so for that reason the petitioned for Biao and Wan to be Brilliantly Blessed Grandees.

Zhuo used the Governor of Henan, Zhu Jun, as Grand Coachman, to be considered as deputy for himself. Jun was not willing to accept, and because of that advanced to say:

The state ought not to move, it is certainly undeserving of Under Heaven's expectations, and will complete the rift with East of the Mountains. Your Subject does not see that it is possible.

There was a minister who said:

The summons to audience was for you Lord to accept the designations, but you Lord resisted it. [We] did not ask about the affairs of moving, but you Lord put it forth. Why so?

Jun said:

To be deputy for the Chancellor of State is extremely weighty and is not something Your Subject is capable of. That moving the capital not be planned is what is pressing for Your Subject. To decline what he is not capable of, and advance what is urgent for him is what is proper for a subject.

There was a minister who said:

The affairs of moving the capital, earlier there were no plans for that, and even if there are, they have not yet been exposed. How did [you] gain knowledge of it?

Jun said:

The Chancellor of State, Dong Zhuo, arranged to make Your Subject talk about it.

The ministers were not able to bend [him] and so the great subjects of the court, and the Gentleman of the Masters of Writing, Hua Xin, and others all commended him.

Owing to that, they desisted and did not make him deputy to Zhuo. Zhuo increasingly hated him, and he feared he would certainly be destroyed by Zhuo, he therefore ran to Jing province. The Intendant of the Brilliantly Blessed, Zhao Qian, became Grand Coachman. Wang Yun became Minister over the Masses and caretaker Prefect of the Masters of Writing.

On dinghai [9 April], the Son of Heaven transferred the capital to Chang'an. Zhuo stayed behind to station at Luoyang, he thoroughly burned the palace houses, and moved the people to Chang'an.

On renchen [14 April], a white nimbus passed through the sun.

3rd Month, jisi [21 May, possibly an error for yisi, 24 April], the Chariot Drove to arrive at Chang'an. During the chaos of the Red Eyebrows, the palace houses had burnt down completely, and there was only the Exalted Temple and the Jingzhao office buildings. Thereupon they went and made the capital there.

On wuwu [10 May], Zhuo killed the Grand Tutor, Yuan Wei, and his three sons.

At that time, Yuan Shao was stationed in Henei. The Grand Warden of Chenliu, Zhang Miao, the Inspector of Yan province, Liu Dai, the Grand Warden of Dong commandery, Qiao Mao, and the Grand Warden of Shanyang, Yuan Yi, stationed at Suanzao. The General of the Rear, Yuan Shu, stationed at Nanyang.

The Inspector of Ji province, Han Fu, held a great assembly at Suanzao, wanting to make an oath. The various provinces and commanderies in turn pushed forward and yielded to each other, nobody was willing to be the one in front. The Board of Merit Official of Guangling, Zang Hong, climbed the altar holding the blood, and said:

The House of Han is ill-fortuned and the kingly guide-ropes have lost control. The traitorous subject Dong Zhuo exploits feuds to indulge in harm. Calamity is inflicted on the most venerable, cruelty flows to the hundred families. There is great fear for the loss and destruction of the altars of soil and grain, and the shearing away and overturning of the Four Seas.

The Inspector of Yan province, Liu Dai, the Inspector of Yu province, Kong Zhou, the Grand Warden of Chenliu, Zhang Miao, the Grand Warden of Dong commandery, Qiao Mao, the Grand Warden of Guangling, Chao, and others, have brought together and joined righteous troops, and together hurry to the state's difficulties.

All of us in the same oath must unite our hearts and join our strength, so as to cause a subject be steadfast, and that perished heads and lost principals are certain to not cause division. [If] there are those who pull out from this oath, they will tumble to their fate without having offspring. August Heaven and Sovereign Earth, the founders, ancestors and luminous spirits, will truly all oversee it.

The spirit of Hong's speech was sorrowful but strong, with weeping tears flowing down. Of those who heard his words, even among the squads of footsoldiers, the servants and cooks, there were none who were not excited and brought up.

Zhuo's troops were strong, and Shao and the others did not dare to be the first to advance. Cao Cao said:

[We] raised up righteous troops to punish violence and chaos, and now the multitudes have already joined together. How can you Lords be doubtful afterwards? [When we] caused Dong Zhuo to hear about the troops of East the Mountains rising up, [if he] had relied on the veneration for the kingly house, occupied the defiles of the Two Zhou, and turned to preside over Under Heaven, then even though he was without the Way in how he acted, it still would be enough to troublesome.

But now he burns down the palace houses and forcibly moves the Son of Heaven. Within the Seas shake and stir, and do not understand where to resort to. This is the time when Heaven destroys him. With a single battle Under Heaven will be settled, [we] cannot neglect it.

He guided his army to go west and fight at Xingyang. Cao's troops were greatly defeated.

At that time, the Inspector of Qing province, Jiao He, also raised troops to chastise Zhuo, [but] He and the various generals when they travelled west, did not make protective defences for the common people. When they started to cross the He, the Yellow Head-scarves had already entered their region. Qing province was flourishing and wealthy, and the army strong, [but] He looked at the robbers and ran north, not once catching the wind and dust, or mixing with the banners and drums. He excelled at divining with stalks and trusted ghosts and gods. When one enters to see his [kind of] person, Pure Talk impinge the sky. When one sets out to observe his government, rewards and penalties are in smashed disorder. The province thereupon is barren and bleak, and thoroughly becomes hills and wasteland.

Soon after, He became ill and passed on. Yuan Shao sent Zang Hong to take charge of Qing province. He consoled He's people and multitudes, and the thieves and bandits ran off and fled. Shao admired his ability, and moved him to be Grand Warden of Dong commandery.

Summer, 4th Month [22 May – 20 June], used the Great Minister of Horse, Liu Yu, as Grand Tutor.

The Prefect of the Masters of Writing, Wang Yun, memorialised, saying:

Grand Scribe Wang Li explains the Classic of Filial Piety' Six Secret Affairs. Make the Imperial Court act on them, to dispel and hold off calamity and evil. He has increasingly the body of a sage.

A decree said:

[We] have heard a king must study virtuously. [We] have not heard that Master Kong made the Classic of Filial Piety to be [like] this, and then held off evil.

Yun firmly memorialised his request, saying:

Li's studies are deep and substantial, these are the confidential mysteries of a sagely person. Act on them without reduction.

The Emperor therefore followed it. Often on auspicious days, Wang Yun, together with Wang Li, would enter to make the Emperor recite one section of the Classic of Filial Piety, and use canes and two bamboo mats to delineate the Nine Palaces on top of them [?]. On subsequent days, [he?] at times then set out from and entered them. When Yun came to harm, he then did not again act it out.

Yuan Hong says: The gods in truth are perceptive, bright, principled and straight, they comply with people and then act. For a king who esteems virtue, to abundantly make offerings to be used as banquets for Heaven and Earth can be said to be the utmost. Suppose in all regards the affairs of the Six Secrets was not the Way of a sagely person, and for a regular fellow it is in the same way still not possible, then how is it with the fates of emperors and kings!

5th Month [21 June – 19 July], the Minister of Works, Xun Shuang, passed away.

Shuang, courtesy name Ciming, was the son of the Prefect of Langling, Shu. Aged twelve, Grand Commandant Du Qiao taught him. He was recommended as Filial and Upright, and Worthy and Good. During the partisan affairs, he was proscribed and forbidden, and went in seclusion by the sea. He again went south to hide at the banks of the Han. When the partisan affair was loosened, nominations and instructions arrived criss-crossed, there was summons to be [Scholar] of the Way and Broad Scholar. In all cases he did not go.

At the beginning of Emperor Xian's reign, Dong Zhuo endorsed Shuang as Chancellor of Pingyuan. He had not yet arrived at his post, when he was summoned to be Intendant of the Brilliantly Blessed. After being in his office building for three days, he moved to Minister of Works. At that time, those who were loyal and proper had a brave forbearance, and those who held close the Way were deeply silent. Shuang had dispersed calamity at the court of Dong Zhuo, and also in the space of a ten day ranked at the pinnacle of subjects, a lordly person would use this to deride him.

Earlier, Shuang and his brothers, eight people, were titled as the “Eight Dragons”, and Shuang most of all was praised as a Ruist and for his refinement. His older brother's son Yu's fame carried weight in his generation.

6th Month, xinwei [22 July], the Brilliantly Blessed Grandee Zhong Fu became Minister of Works.

Zhuo opened up the various mounds of Luoyang and the graves and tombs of the great subjects. He destroyed the bells and bell frames that were within Luoyang city, and melted them down as coins. In all cases they did not complete the engravings. Furthermore he melted the Five zhu coins, the engravings and the outer rim were impossible to hold on to. Hence money became cheap and things expensive. One hu of grain reached several millions.

The Grand Warden of Liaodong, Gongsun Du, titled himself as Shepherd of Ping province, and erected a Temple of Shizu of Han.

When the Chanyu, Qiangqu, had been killed by the people of his state, his son Yufuluo should have been installed, [but] the people of the state installed Xubu as Chanyu, and Yufuluo went to the imperial palace to lodge a complaint. It happened that Emperor Ling collapsed, and the kingly house was in chaos. Yufuluo brought along several thousand cavalry, and, together with the White Waves thieves, he robbed the region of Ji province. The hundred families had all made tall walls and emptied the countryside, so there was little to obtain by plunder and robbery. He wished to return home to his state, but the people of state did not accept it, and he thereupon halted in Hedong.

#hhj26

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futelco · 3 years

Text

2020 Operator Log Excerpts

Eleven operators logged over 42 operator calls in 2020, providing information, assisting users, and sharing conversations, many quite boring but also many not boring at all. Here is a sample of logged calls, with some sensitive and many less interesting examples removed.

2020-01-07 Caller asked, "which operator is this?" I replied that it didn't matter and disconnected.

2020-01-21 Caller asked if I could place a call and gave me a number, I told them how to get a dialtone. Caller asked a long confusing question, something about whether this was a government benefit and which organizations were involved. I told them I didn't understand the question but I hoped they benefited from it. Caller talked about what they were doing, again something confusing about telecommunication abilities or maybe telepathy, I told them I was glad to hear it and said goodbye.

2020-01-31 Caller asked for the number of a retirement community.

2020-02-04 Talked with caller, who appreciated the chair. Isn't it cold there right now? You f-in know it's cold.

2020-02-05 Caller asked for a residential number. I advised that I was just googling and probably couldn't help. Caller provide a name and street in Albuquerque. I was able to recite three numbers off one of those stupid name lookup sites and advised caller about their source. Caller repeated numbers to verify, I corrected two mistakes, caller apologized and said they were writing them down in the rain in Portland.

2020-03-25 Dude called to report “hello operator? I’m calling to let you know that the phone on the corner of Killingsworth and (??) has been wiped down and sanitized with bleach” I told him thank you and to stay safe out there.

2020-03-30 Caller requested the number for Henry Ford Hospital, which I provided.

2020-04-09 Caller asked how to celebrate their best friend's birthday, I told them to give them a hug.

2020-05-26 Caller wanted to know how to make a call. Operator explained dialing 1. Caller blessed operator and everyone involved in providing this heavenly service.

2020-05-31 Caller wanted to place a call, I told them how to.

2020-06-01 Caller asked for information on manufacturing PCP. I found instructions on Google, but was unable to summarize them over the phone. Caller nevertheless appreciates the service.

2020-06-18 Caller was confused about what they they should say after I answered their hello, I hung up.

2020-06-23 Caller wanted the number for OHSU, asked if I could forward them because they didn't have a pen. I could not but repeated the number with them.

2020-06-26 Caller wanted to know “what the fuck is a Futel?” Caller was trying to make a collect call. I suggested they try a free call instead. Caller hung up.

2020-07-01 Caller asked what time it was, I told them. I forgot to tell them that there was a utility menu entry for that.

2020-07-01 Caller asked me to call 911, I told them to hang up and call 911.

2020-07-04 Caller and friend asked why I/Futel exist. Attempted to explain. Caller hung up mid-attempt.

2020-07-13 Caller asked for the number of a Happy Valley hospital, which I provided.

2020-07-20 Caller wants to make a call, Asks if the phone is working. Explained dialing 1. Caller hung up mid-explanation.

2020-07-21 Caller reported static on the Clinton St. phone. Then she/they/it asked all sorts of weird, intriguing questions re: the meaning of September 5th 2020, the Willamette Valley Dream Survey, the manifesto printed on the Futel payphones, etc. We had a long-ranging and interesting discussion about the nature of reality and the meaning of the various texts on the Futel telephone.

2020-07-25 Caller asked how to report a dream, I told them to use the directory. Caller asked what happens to the dream recordings, I replied that it was an external number and I didn't know. Caller started telling me an obviously fake dream, I suggested that they report it and hung up.

2020-08-07 What is this, is the dream survey available here, what other interesting choices are there, blah blah blah, just try it already.

2020-08-23 Caller wanted the number to report their dreams. I told her the WVDS is in the menu system, tho i could not recall where. I offered to record the callers dream in the Futel log instead. Caller dreamed they had just killed two people — they didn't recall who — and was running from the law. They found their child, confessed the crime, and they absconded together. I wished them a better dream tonight.

2020-09-06 Caller asked how to call the Druid, I told them to use the directory.

2020-09-09 Caller's grandparents are visiting in the house upstairs. Caller also has a spider living in their window. Caller attempted to conference in the spider, but could not operate the speakerphone. Caller explained that spiders have their own telephones built into their webs. Discussed literature, comic books, etc. Then caller had to go.

2020-10-07 Caller asked for the police non-emergency number, which I provided.

2020-10-12 Heard a series of tones, after I announced myself sounded like the caller was using the phone keypad. Tried announcing myself again but when the tones stopped there was what sounded like hold music. Girl from Ipanema. Ended the call.

2020-10-22 Caller asked the Operator if they could help them reach a named individual. Operator asked for more information about them. Caller told her Nevermind, and ended the call.

2020-11-22 Caller needed to get in touch with a friend or family member but had no phone numbers. i searched for a few names for them and expect they will call back for some additional number hunting.

2020-12-08 Caller wanted the number of a motel in SW Portland, which I provided.

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psychopersonified · 4 years

Text

Three Little Words

Post Are we ever going to talk about this? and Where was the wooing? (AO3)

Highly recommended to read the series first to get emotionally invested in their story arc. This short piece will feel a lot more satisfying once you know their backstory. But you can still read this as a stand alone.

Mallory cottons on and worries, Bond tries bubble tea (sorry, I couldn't resist), very important words that haven't been said are said...

Tags: Sharing food, some groping, newly established relationship, humour, fluff with feeling, tiny mention of PTSD, minor hurt/comfort.

-------------

London, Air Street - Hawksmoor

They arrived together, Mallory was sure of it. He knows because he saw them leave their Vauxhall HQ together. What was even more unexpected was that 007 was in the passenger seat of Q’s red Hyundai at the time. Rumours abound about those two; but M had chosen to ignore them up to now for the sake of his own sanity. Sorting fact from fiction would take up all his time. Even Q’s new car was subject to gossip - some preposterous story about it being a gift from 007.

However, now partway through the evening of Agent 008’s retirement party at a seafood and steak restaurant on Air Street - Mallory can’t ignore the rumours any longer.

Moneypenny had organised the event, booking out the entire floor of the glamorous art deco restaurant. Dark wood panelling matched with emerald green upholstery and decorated with gold accents, it oozed perfectly understated style. 150 or so people were invited, all part of the MI6 community with more or less direct involvement in the Double-0 Program. So practically everyone knows everyone, making it a safe and comfortable setting to let loose a little. Which might be why M is noticing behaviours that were not usually on display within the SIS building among general population.

Which brings M back to his observation. The pair is ensconced in one of the semi circle booths with Eve, Jenny, Mark and Dr Chen. Bond is seated on the outer edge, an arm slung casually over the back of the booth with the Quartermaster sitting much close than propriety would deem necessary - practically nestled in the crook of the agent’s arm. They are laughing along and joining in free flowing conversation with the other occupants of their table and generally having a good time.

No one on the table appears to find the unusually close proximity odd. In fact no one in the entire party seems to have given their behaviour a second glance except for Mallory.

As the evening progressed, M sees more and more that worries him. He’d caught them sharing food, eating right off each other’s plates. Bond cutting bits off his steak and setting the pieces aside for Q to pick off. Even offering Q his red wine, chosen specially to pair with the steak, holding it up to his nose for a sniff. Then instead of getting the server to pour a new glass, he just lets Q drink from his, keeping the glass between them throughout the main course.

Then there was the seafood pasta, and the utter ridiculousness of it. Q eats half of it and hands it over, cutlery and all for Bond to finish. The agent obliges without hesitation, and couldn’t be bothered to get a fresh set of cutlery.

At one point the young quartermaster places a hand on 007’s thigh to draw his attention. Bond is immediately attentive, pausing to lean close so Q can whisper something privately. Whatever Q says makes him nod and smile.

M panics internally, perhaps he’s been ignoring the rumours for too long and wonders if it might be too late to do something about it now. Alec making his way round a willing secretarial pool is one thing, but this does not look ‘no strings attached’. However on the plus side, 007 has been a lot more manageable lately.

Sure, he still had problems with authority and argues incessantly about his orders, then goes off improvising his missions and continues to destroy things that he shouldn’t have… BUT he hasn’t gone dark for a while now - regularly checking in with HQ before he decides to execute a high risk strategy. Not for approval mind you, just to let them know where they might recover his body… which is a step up considering his track record. And he hasn’t absconded in a while, always returning to London immediately once the job is done, without MI6 needing to use the threat of arrest as motivation.

If whatever this is between them is the root of the behavioural change in 007, then taking it away is a sure way of inciting rebellion. Considering their combined skillsets, it would be impudent to underestimate them. However, should the relationship sour, it would cause a whole set of other problems. It puts M in quite a bit of a conundrum. How long has this been going on and why hasn’t Psych highlighted this.

—

“How are you with driving?” Q asks as he holds up the coat for Bond after retrieving it from the coat check

“Still good,” the agent answers as he slips his arms into the coat.

“Excellent, because I’m decidedly not.” Q declares, emphasis on the T in the ‘not’. Bond can tell, Q’s a little giggly and handsier than usual. And he’s had to help Q down the stairs from the first floor restaurant.

“Keys?” Bond asks as he turns around to return the favour, helping Q into his jacket and scarf.

“Left poc— *yawn*—ket” Q yawns midway though his answer, using his hands to cover his mouth as Bond dips a hand into his trouser pocket from behind to fish for the car keys.

Once they dispense with the goodbyes to those lingering in the lobby, they head out. Q’s car is parked in an hourly garage a short walk away.

—

Unknown to the pair, their little interaction was overheard by Mallory and Tanner.

M turns to Tanner, levelling him with a serious look, “Those two, I want to know what’s going on. How serious is it?”

“Sir?” Tanner hesitates, then smiles tightly, unsure if the next thing he says will get the pair in trouble, “Fairly serious…”

“Why wasn’t I told?” M huffs annoyed, though more at himself than anyone.

Tanner looks genuinely perplexed, “Sir?… I believe there was a general assumption that you knew? And because you haven’t reprimanded them that you were willing to… look the other way?”

Mallory sighs, “So the rumour about the car is true then?”

“Ah... yes. They’ve also been seen coming and going from HQ together whenever Bond is in London.”

“Ahh… shit.” M sounds resigned.

“What are you going to do sir? You’re not going to stop them are you?” Tanner’s looks like someone just kicked his puppy. He wants to add -that would be beyond cruel-.

“I can’t very well do that anymore can I? Not if it’s that serious. Not if 007 has found his reason to keep himself alive.” Mallory knows first hand what that psychological incentive can do for men and women in their line of work.

“I want to talk to Dr Epstein next week. If I’m going to allow this, I want to know what I’m getting into and how we can make sure this stays to our advantage.”

“Yes sir.”

——————————-

London, Knightsbridge - Saturday

The garishly colourful interior is the first thing that strikes him as they enter. Pastel primary colours splashed everywhere. Next is the crowd; they are both much older than the average customer with Bond likely being 20yrs senior than most everyone including the staff.

The menu is a cheery if confusing list of options. The drinks equally colourful, befitting the kindergarten decor. He lets Q place an order on his behalf, because otherwise he wouldn’t even know where to begin.

“What is this place?” Bond asks when Q is done placing their needlessly complicated order.

“It’s called bubble tea, because of the toppings you can have them add to your drink. I’m told it’s a cultural phenomenon sweeping the student scene.” Q explains.

“How do you even know about this?”

“Marcus introduced us to it. He has the whole of Q-Branch hooked on this. It’s become a Friday night Cyberwar games staple. Bubble tea, fried chicken and curry,” he updates Bond.

“I see Agent Park has been busy giving all of you diabetes.” Bond remarks rather unkindly.

Agent Marcus Park is the new 008, the latest recruit and by that token the youngest in the current lineup of Double-0s. Dripping with cool, savvy with social media current affairs - he’d quickly ingratiated himself with the boffins in Q-Branch who were mostly around the his age.

In the short time since he’s arrived, Marcus has managed to affect the culture and language in Q-Branch. He’s even developed some idiotic ‘special’ handshake that everyone was keen to get in on - officially making him the coolest agent and everyone’s new favourite. So if Agent Park says bubble tea is cool, then officially, it’s cool.

All this annoyed Bond more than he cared to admit because it meant Marcus spent more time in Q-Branch than any of the other agents save himself. Aside from his early faux pas of mistakenly using Q’s mug (which 008 has since learned NOT to because no one in Q-Branch liked that), what Bond particularly disliked was Park taking up -his- sofa in the lounge. He can tolerate 008 swanning about the place, but draws the line at the sofa. Every time he sees the upstart stretched across it, he gets an irrational flare of temper.

Q smiles indulgently at him, aware of the minor quarel between the two agents, “Oh don’t be jealous James. Besides, it’s better than the horrid energy drinks.” Their order comes up then and Q goes to collect it.

When Q gets back, Bond is presented with a monstrously large Roasted Oolong Milk Tea with tapioca pearl toppings, half sugar and one-third ice. The drink comes with a supersized straw whereby he is expected to siphon out the dubiously coloured pearls resting at the bottom of the cup (why they are called toppings when they sink is question for another time). Bond isn’t a particularly picky eater, he can’t be for survival - so he’s open to trying anything. He’s not impressed, still a too sweet and far too milky for his liking, and he could have done without the weirdly chewy pearls that had a tendency to get stuck in his teeth.

“How’s your tea? Feeling hip with the crowd yet?” Q pokes, waiting for his response.

Bond gives his verdict on the tea then the establishment, “…. but these stools are incredibly uncomfortable. And the height of these tables; ridiculous. My hip joints are aching.” Bond grouses. Also the excited high pitched chatter of the other patrons, is starting to give him a headache.

Halfway through, Bond switches drinks - curious about Q’s pale green Honeydew Melon Tea with black herbal jelly, three-quarter sugar and half ice. The drink is interesting, lighter than the tea, but the texture and taste of the soft slightly medicinal jelly takes some getting used to.

Inexplicably, Bond feels his mood start to slip, “What are they nattering on about?” Bond pinches the bridge of his nose and tilts his head in the direction of the largest and noisiest group.

Every so often, one of them would explode with shrill laughter that was closer to a hysterical scream than anything resembling normal mirth. It was grating on his nerves in more was than one. God, when did children get so annoying?

Q shrugs, looking up from an incoming notification on his phone. He’s not really caught up on pop culture himself. What a pair they made - the basement geek and his curmudgeon. Q returns to his phone and the unusual forwarded notification from the Smart Blood implant. One of the agents is experiencing a spike in heart rate not associated with any physical activity ::Agent 007::.

Bond takes sip of his drink, expression still pinched. Another teen suddenly wails like a banshee about to be murdered before peeling off into laughter. Q is about to show him the readout from the app when in a surprise move, Bond reaches out to take Q’s hands in his.

The agent shifts seats to sit alongside Q. He then gathers him close, the entire length of their sides, from shoulder to knee pressed together - before burying his nose in Q’s temple and taking a deep breath. Despite Bond’s penchant for peacocking himself, as a couple they’re not one for flagrant public displays of affection, so the unusual move sends Q’s mind ticking with concern.

There is a slight tremor that runs through Bond, muscles twitching, not quite relaxed as it should - a precursor to fight or flight perhaps. It triggers Q’s memory, something in 007’s psych file as with most of the Double-0s; a mention about higher risk of experiencing PTSD - and it clicks. The screaming teens were enough to send a fright through normal people, how must it feel like for a veteran of violence like Bond.

Q squeezes back in understanding, “Let’s get out of here shall we? These kids are giving me a headache.”

“Excellent suggestion,” Bond agrees without hesitation, pulling Q along as he gets up. They retrieve their shopping and drinks, and head out into the open air.

Once outside, Bond starts to cheer up significantly but nevertheless, he clings to Q with a tight arm around the shoulder. Q reciprocates with an arm around Bond’s waist; letting him know that he’s there and he understands; without coddling the agent or challenging his ego.

Occasionally Bond would slow their pace, the hand clutching Q’s shoulder would shift to stroke the back of his head, pulling Q close to nuzzle his hair - always taking deep slow breaths. They meander around Knightsbridge before Q suggests taking a turn inside The Natural History Museum. By the time their walk takes them there, Bond is for the most part back to normal.

Q had always loved the natural history museum. The large echoey stone galleries, the ornate architecture and of course the prehistoric displays in their modern glass cases. The hushed space provides Bond with some respite to recover as well.

They wander around aimlessly for the first twenty minutes - Q steering them down one gallery after another, providing soothing commentary about one display or another and Bond was happy just to tag along stuck to his side.

But at the first deserted corner they find, Bond unexpectedly jerks him close - sending Q colliding into a wall of muscle. The kiss that follows is deep, emotionally brimming with gratitude and affection. The hand that’s buried in his hair and roaming his back is not salacious but reverential. The kiss lasts an eternity. When they part, they are both breathless - noses and mouths rubbed pink.

Bond steals several more brief kisses after that before looking Q right in the eye. What he says next, floors Q. In a venerated whisper, James declares with every fibre of his being, “I love you.”

It’s the first time either of them has said it. They’ve made it this far into their dizzying convoluted dance, circling one another with playful oblique references to their relationship without ever once saying these words. They’re living together now for christssake!

Q reaches up to cradle Bond’s face in his hands, thumbs stroking the craggy cheeks and worn crows feet around the eyes. “Likewise…,” Q thinks to leave it at that, but it feels like he’d be shortchanging something so significant. So he pulls Bond in for another deep kiss and mumbles against his mouth, ”I love you, I love you, I love you”.

Simple. Uncomplicated. Love.

When they part again, the gallery isn’t deserted anymore. An elderly couple had wandered in and was nearby, viewing the exhibit they were standing adjacent to. Bond bends down to collect their shopping bags. Q smiles apologetically at the couple as he tries to make himself presentable again.

“No worries dear. I remember how it was like on our honeymoon,” the lady tells him with a wink.

Honey-what-now?! That catches Q completely off guard. Did he just miss another milestone? Q nods awkwardly just as Bond tugs on his hand, “Uh… Please excuse us.”

—

Outside again and the street is awash with light as the sun peeks out from behind a bank of clouds. Bond is back to normal, without a trace of his earlier vulnerability. But he does continue to rest an arm on Q’s shoulder.

They decide to walk home. Unhurried, just enjoying each other, not a care in the world, even if it was just for the afternoon. Strolling along the streets, window shopping until dinnertime, before popping into a restaurant close to home.

Bond spies a discarded bubble tea cup as they pass by a street bin and is reminded of Marcus.

“Do me a favour? Could you kick Park out of the lab once in a while?”

That earns him a sarcastic reply, “Oh yes, because I’ve been highly successful at kicking agents out so far. Besides, on what grounds?”

“He’s taking up my sofa,” Bond grumbles petulantly.

“Hardly grounds for expulsion. And it’s not your sofa. If anyone has the right to be upset, it should be me. That was my kip out sofa before the two of you decided to install your arses on it.”

“Ahh… so its -our- sofa then. He has no business being there.” Bond looks for a loophole he can exploit, “Surely sleeping with the Quartermaster has its perks?”

“You’re a right bastard you know that?” Q admonishes. “Besides, you sleeping with the quartermaster is precisely why I can’t kick him out.”

Bond still doesn’t get it so Q has to spell it out for him, “Haven’t you noticed that Marcus is sweet on Jenny? I can’t kick him out or I’ll be accused of double-standards.”

“Huh… Is he now?” Blonde eyebrows climb to the hairline in surprise, “And how does she feel about him?“

“We’re not sure yet. She went out with him a couple of times. But then just this Friday, she threw a half drunk cup of bubble tea in his face. At the moment she thinks he’s a bit of a prick… I can understand exactly how she feels,” Q looks over at Bond pointedly.

James grins unashamed, “M is really going to love this development.”

Q hums in agreement, “Hmm… if she files a complaint against him, I suspect M will put a moratorium on Double-0s dating Q-Branch techs.”

A thoughtful smile spreads across James’s face, “Well then, I suppose we’d better set a good example.”

——FIN——

Notes: If you liked this story, there’s more on the blog or AO3. Please like, reblog, comment etc. Enjoy!

#00Q #00q fanfiction #00q fic #q #quartermaster

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split-n-splice · 4 years

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More self-indulgent fluff. :B My power is still out, but driveling on~

[Chapter Guide]

18. The Nature Of – 6

His bedroom wasn’t soundproof. If anything, he swore the cavern walls amplified every noise from adjacent rooms. So when Drakken heard the television flick on in the den, he could only groan to himself and muffle the sound with a pillow. He blamed the TV for keeping him up.

Although Shego still had her own room to retire to, it seemed she was as adamant as ever against using it, as he found her asleep on the couch the next morning. He vaguely recalled tossing her a blanket, so it wasn’t a complete surprise she was exactly where he’d left her. He wasn’t ready to complain just yet either, even though the television was still on.

His head still throbbed anyway, and self-medicating took precedence. Careful to keep the noise down for the sake of his headache and not waking his guest, the sobering doctor took care of the morning business of brewing a fresh pot of coffee before gravitating back to the living room with his mug.

Grabbing the remote from the armrest on the way to his chair, he flipped to the local news to wait for any indication that the mess they’d stirred last night had made headlines. He listened more than watched it though, his heavy-lidded gaze soon straying back toward the couch where his partner in crime was still sound asleep.

Finding comfort or any joy at all in finding her crashed in his living room was downright backward considering she’d moved out in the first place to keep him safely out of the equation in preparation of her inevitable discovery by her superhero family. He really had missed the regular sight of her lounging wherever she pleased though, be it his couch, computer chair, or even his desk. Uninvited or otherwise, her presence alleviated the weight of solitude, and now that he was getting used to it, he was becoming rather fond of it rather quickly.

Watching her now, he had the sense that maybe she wasn’t really as far out of reach as she’d come to seem as of late. It couldn’t have been as simple as asking for her company, but maybe it was. He knew his chaotic chosen company could detach his head from his shoulders if she so wished, but maybe the hazard was part of the appeal.

News reports eventually fell on deaf ears.

Dr. Drakken didn’t really mean to stare so long at the slow breathing of the slumbering superhuman curled up comfortably nearby, bundled in a blanket he’d spared last night in his haze.

He especially didn’t mean to relocate to the spine of the couch or reach down to part her hair to inspect the neat little slice across her temple. The cut had nothing on the gouge that had nearly taken out his eye just a few years ago. At least the bleeding had stopped and it had scabbed over. He couldn’t be sure if she’d ever mentioned a superhuman healing rate or if he’d just gathered that from observation, but the thought of being familiar enough already with her wounds to not be too worried about them was enough to worry him.

There was no telling when she would next spend the night, let alone in the open and vulnerable to prying eyes, but he still blamed last night’s poor choices for his staring.

He didn’t care to hear what she’d have to say about it if she caught him, so at the first sign of her stirring, he was out of there, hopping up so fast he nearly spilled his now-cold coffee on himself as he abruptly decided his time was better spent tinkering in the lab.

He was taking inventory of the crates of materials he had at his disposal when he heard the door to his quarters creak open, followed by a notable lack of pitter-patter of his guest’s feet absconding to her room. If only he’d turned to glance back, he might have seen her sneaking up on him like a blanket-swaddled ghost, and he might not have jumped when she cleared her throat just behind his back.

Drakken spun, and she leaned back from the inadvertent swing of a crowbar he’d been using to wrench open the crates. He threw the offending tool and winced as it struck the stone floor with an ear- and head-splitting clang that reverberated through the cavern.

“Hnnng! What?” he grunted, rubbing his brow and making a point to relax his jaw. Through squinted eyes and throbbing headache, he saw Shego clutching his blue blanket tighter around herself.

“Can I bum a sweater off you?” she all but croaked. Her cheeks tinged pink and she reached for her throat as she quietly cleared it to get the frog out. Drakken squinted incredulously at her, questioning silently, and she glanced off toward the hall leading to her quarters. “I don’t have much left here since you kicked me out, and I’m not wearing this in public,” she explained, parting the blanket to flash a glimpse of the googly-eyed sleepy-time owl graphic on the front of her tank top.

“Will I get it back?” asked Drakken warily, though he was already working up the nerve to take a step around her to fetch her something regardless.

“Maybe,” was her blunt and carefree answer.

He yielded despite the lack of assurance. He had enough sweaters lying about anyway, he could stand to lose one. Just to spite her, he had half a mind to select a gaudy cable-knit his mother had fashioned from lumpy yarn, but it had sentimental value even as ugly as it was, so he grabbed one of the cheap black pullovers from his closet to toss at the woman slumped sideways and already half-asleep again in his computer chair.

She unwrapped herself from the blanket, revealing she’d already dressed from the waist down into jeans and sneakers, and Drakken tried not to pause or stare as she added his sweater to her outfit. He was just being a good host, as his mother had brought him up to be. Nothing about the sight of his accomplice should have spurred a warm swell in his chest.

He could tell himself that all he wanted, but it didn’t make it go away.

After she’d taken a catnap in his computer chair behind him and sucked down a mug of coffee – since when did she keep her own mug in his cabinets anyway? – Shego swaggered up to him to hover over his shoulder for a moment.

He tried to ignore her as he crouched to set up a handy tripod kit to serve as the base stand for a new laser cannon he hoped to realize and auction off soon. He shut his eyes to visualize it and shut her out but didn’t get far in the wistful train of thought.

“I take it your hangover must not be too bad, huh, Doc?” Shego mused, her voice clearer now and closer to normal. He could feel her critical eyes on him and the skeletal folding legs of the tripod he was bolting together. At a flap of paper, he turned a sharp glare over his shoulder up at her to see Shego flipping through pages of schematics and blueprints. “Think you can take a break from this bizarro-techno cannon thing you’re articulating here or are you gonna assign me an escort? ‘Cause I’m not walking home.”

“Give those back,” Drakken grouched, rising from the floor. He reached for the papers, but she held them out of reach only to whap him on the head with them before returning the crucial plans. He grunted and stooped to grab his wrench from the floor. The motion made his head pound. He grimaced and rubbed his eyes, answering, “It’s the boys’ day off. Who knows where they’re scattered.”

“Well aren’t you lucky,” she said dryly, snatching the tool from him. He hoped she wouldn’t hit him over the head with it next. “Looks like you’re taking me home.”

Drakken barked a laugh. In her moment of surprise, he swiped the wrench back only to toss it down into the toolbox sitting in disarray at his feet. “How do you propose I do that?” he scoffed. “You drove my car into the ocean and then wrecked my van in a desert. I’m going to have to replace those—”

“Oh, you wished on a star for a station wagon, and you know it,” she mocked.

He blew a raspberry. “That run down piece of junk was not one of my wishes,” he said with a shake of his head that only fed the migraine.

Shego stood quietly as he skulked away to return the blueprints safely to the desk where they belonged. “What did you wish for, then?” she called after him.

He nearly tripped before he got there. A shrug and a scratch of his neck and a mumbled, “I haven’t the faintest,” was the safest possible answer. Because wishing she’d stick around long enough to see him make a name for himself and for hers to be broadcast on television beside his was just that: wishful thinking. Sooner or later, he’d be backstabbed or make a grievous mistake, and everyone he’d ever known drifted away eventually. It was best not to get too attached.

Although it was too late for that. He’d already made a grievous mistake. He’d left an opening and she’d wasted no time wheedling her way in past his walls and planting something in his chest, and the fact was indisputable when he couldn’t look at her in his sweater without feeling the invasive weed bloom.

He was doing favors. He was being nice. He was only playing his cards right so he could take advantage of her invaluable services, and nothing more. The idea that it might be manipulative twisted in his gut, but they had an understanding of what they wanted from each other from the get-go. Her company wasn’t part of the deal and contractually she didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to, so he surely must be disillusioned if he thought the hand on his shoulder now was some form of amity.

Shego was tugging him back from his desk. “Come on, doc,” she said. “It’s almost noon, but if we hurry, we can catch breakfast at Cow-n-Chow before the menu change.”

His stomach growled at the mere mention. He wrapped an arm around himself and bit back a groan. “I can cook—”

“I have to go home eventually.”

Drakken sighed and straightened up. “You have no shame in taking advantage and bending me to your will, do you?”

She smirked and his knees felt weak. “None whatsoever,” she answered wryly. She grabbed him by the necktie next, and like a dog on a leash, he was towed away from his desk and cannon project.

Even if she was leaving sooner than he would have liked – and involved risking taking the stolen car back out in public in broad daylight, identifying busted rear window be damned – at least the venture wasn’t without some benefit. Shego directed him to hit up the drive-thru, her reasoning being that leaving the stolen vehicle too long in a parking lot visible from Main Street raised the likelihood of a patrol car cruising by and recognizing it. Although Dr. Drakken was fairly certain he’d never seen an officer in town before, Shego assured him there were. When questioned how she knew, she clammed up.

He might have been more irked by her causing trouble around town if it didn’t sting to know she’d been causing it without him. Glaring at the road only served to spike his lingering headache.

Drakken expected to drop her off, but once he stopped at the curb, she grabbed the single paper sack of Chow and nodded to the apartments as she popped her door.

“It’ll be cold by the time you get back,” Shego explained, an offer in her tone.

It didn’t require much effort on her part for him to take the bait, even as hesitant as he now was to leave the stolen vehicle in the open for prying eyes. If it was swarmed by police or impounded in the next few minutes, so be it.

It was worth it to watch her climb the staircase ahead of him, allowing him an opportunity to imprint in his mind the way his sweater hung around her. It reminded him of her slim figure in contrast to his own frame, and he squared his shoulders with a small flicker of pride, which was blown out when she turned to glance down at him as she reached the top.

He tore his stare away, peeking back at the exposed station wagon once more before following his accomplice inside.

The studio was still bare-bones, but beginning to look lived in. It was cold though, and the space heater required a thump before it began glowing and radiating heat. The bed in the niche was off the floor now, and unmade but at least there were blankets and pillows. Across from it was a television with a small stock of disorganized VHS tapes, a few of which Drakken was sure came from his own entertainment center. On the floor in between, more blankets and a spare pillow, which Shego was quick to kick under her bed along with the betraying rattle of cans.

Drakken rolled his eyes, deciding not to comment on the mess. Her face was flushed enough already as she flicked on the TV, tweaked the rabbit-ears, and rejoined him once she had the news playing across the room.

A round café table stood on a single leg in the dining area in the heart of the kitchen, paired with mismatched chairs, one folding and the other a proper wooden dining chair. It was all undoubtedly second-hand and Drakken had a hunch also stolen property. But it served its purpose.

His gaze shifted to the VHS tapes and back to the old table. “Did you take that from Jackass's?” he wondered. What other decor had she stolen?

Shego scoffed. “Steal from my boss? Never.” A wily smirk flashed across her face for a split second.

Drakken rolled his eyes. “Of course not.”

Plastic utensils and styrofoam platters of warm flapjacks with Cow-n-Chow specialty maple syrup had a certain charm, though he still wondered inwardly if she had the supplies on hand to whip up a second serving. Which was a ridiculous thought, given he was barely halfway through his own meal by the time she’d nearly cleared her tray. She’d made quick work of her breakfast, even with her eyes glued to the television clear across the room.

He couldn’t be sure when she’d paused to look his way with an arched eyebrow, but suddenly she was calling his name – pet name, rather – and he blinked away the stupor.

“Dr. D? You good, buddy?” she chirped, breaking the silence that had settled, otherwise interrupted only by the droning weather forecast. She stabbed at her side of scrambled eggs to mix up with her chopped sausage patty. He was starting to gather she had a big appetite she was hesitant to show. “You look tired,” she added after a moment, making him realize he was mute and still staring.

Drakken shook his pounding head and took an idle look about the shabby little studio. His eyes fell on the dripping faucet. “I’m dandy,” he uttered, the most he could manage at the moment as he got his thoughts in order.

“You sure? You kinda zoned out there,” said Shego critically.

“This syrup is too sweet. It’s giving me a toothache,” he griped, reaching to rub his cheek, but maybe it was a poor attempt to hide behind his hand. It wasn’t completely a lie anyway, although he still had to hope he didn’t sound too defensive or deceitful. He wasn’t about to admit he’d been marveling over something as trivial as having someone to share a meal with, even if it was in a crappy apartment and served on styrofoam. He knew better, but he couldn’t quite freeze the warmth in his belly. Letting her lure him inside may have been a mistake.

Shego hummed and popped up to get into her fridge, almost as if intentionally putting herself back in his line of sight.

He frowned back toward the television instead, the weather having shifted to something about holiday festivities. A hectic Friday night was enough for one week, so he kept his lips zipped tight, lest he ask for her Halloween night as well. The bluffed toothache was really beginning to get to him anyway, making it easier to divert his thoughts. He glared to the cup of syrup, deciding there had to be some creative way to twist the offending condiment into something devious and profitable.

A mug was pushed across the table to him then. He stared at it and up to Shego still stirring what he had to guess was a tall glass of tart lemonade. She shrugged and mumbled, “Hot cocoa. Something to wash it down might help the toothache.”

He was reluctant to admit that it did the trick. All the more reluctant when she was watching him. She took a couple more bites of her breakfast before she shook her head and snorted on a small laugh, earning his glare. “I’m sorry,” she muttered behind her wrist, waving a hand. “You know you’re still, uhm. Still wearing those?”

Drakken checked himself over, unsure what she was gesturing at until she reached across to grab his wrist to push back his sleeve. He had only a fuzzy recollection of how a pair of separated metal cuffs may have wound up clasped around his wrists, and in all honesty, he was so used to wearing wristwatches that he’d been obliviously numb to them until now.

He took his hand back from her to rub his aching head. “What did we do last night?” he grumbled. He wasn’t expecting an answer.

Shego gave a hearty laugh as she stood. “You don’t remember?” she called back teasingly just before shoveling the last of her food in her mouth to toss her cleared tray in the trashcan.

“The officer,” he mumbled, and suddenly he jumped up, gawping at her. “You killed a man last night!” he accused.

Shego shook her head, unkempt hair bouncing around her face. “I’m sure he’s fine,” she dismissed and nodded to the television as she sauntered back across the room on her way to the dresser beside it. “Nothing about it on TV, anyway. He probably woke up and didn’t remember a thing.” She sounded optimistic.

Drakken grunted, deciding she may have a point. Total amnesia might be the best-case scenario, but if last night’s mischief involved the murder of an officer, then it would surely be all over the news. He supposed he was somewhat to blame as well for letting things get so far out of hand. So he sat back down to sip on his hot cocoa and push his tray of half-eaten pancakes aside, deciding he wasn’t very hungry anymore.

Returning to the table, Shego scooted her heavy wooden dining chair over, and Drakken arched his brow at her as she yanked his wrist across the table toward her. A couple of simple pins did the trick to free his wrist, and he gladly surrendered the other.

No sooner had she given him his hands back to let him rub his wrists did the trill of a telephone give him a start. Shego was frozen on the edge of her seat.

“Are you going to answer that?” he uttered when she didn’t move a muscle.

Shego sighed and slowly stood. “Probably,” she said lazily. She patted his shoulder as she sidestepped around behind him, noting, “You need to get going, huh? You’ve got a cannon to build. I’d hate to keep you.”

He understood the hint, but he wasn’t one to take being brushed off so readily. So he hummed as he rose, savoring the fact she hadn’t stepped away, so he could stare down at her impatient frown. He cracked a smirk. “I take it then that you don’t want to hear how I plan to tamper with the production of leading syrup brands to cause mass hysteria and sell an antidote for a pretty penny?” It was a stretch, but he’d decide if he was joking or not depending on her reaction.

Shego rolled her eyes. She didn’t need to verbally tell him what she thought of the ludicrous idea, but she did anyway. “You are indeed a madman, Dr. Drakken,” she said, giving him a thump on the chest. Her eyes dropped, and she tugged his tie snug around his neck. “Good thing it suits you.”

His stare was momentarily locked on the teeth sinking into her lip.

Drakken decided suddenly that he really did have that cannon to get back to. He stepped back hastily, searching for the door. “Well, see you around,” he chimed with a betraying nervous waver. “Thank you for the cocoa moo – uh – hot cocoa.”

The sound of the telephone ringing off the hook followed him out the door, which reminded him of something important. It could wait though. Now probably wasn’t the time to double back to ask his accomplice for her number.

She could keep the sweater.

#The Company You Keep fic #Drakgo #Drakken #Shego

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atlasenduring · 4 years

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What's the worst thing you've ever done to your muse? Also hello~!

「ali speaks」– accepting

What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done to your muse?

I haven’t done it yet, per say – but Toshinori is probably not going to live to see himself turn sixty, or if he does it won’t be to long before he dies.

His remaining lung isn’t in the best of conditions, his body is only functioning by a combination of heavy medicine and his newfound refusal to die, and something’s inevitably going to give within the next five or so years.

I have an entire thing written about this! Toshinori knows he’s going to die, and his character arc culminates in him accepting that fact, and deciding to make the absolute best of however many years he’s going to be allotted. He signs ownership of the Might Agency over to Midoriya after he graduates, making him All Might’s sucessor in more ways than just One for All, and absconds himself to a retirement home near the beach.

I actually! Have an excerpt about exactly this, so if you’d allow me to break some hearts.

———-

Shōta looks around the room, again.

He sees, then, what he didn’t before. The gaggle of people in black and white — are all the same people who spent any available free time at the retirement home, in his tiny little room with a view of the gardens, brimming with mementos.

Pro Hero Deku bowed over with fat tears rolling down his cheeks, huge, scarred hands drawing in the air between him and the Pro Heroes Creati, Froppy and Pinky as he half-mumbles, half-shouts a story about Yagi-sama tricking him into eating his hair, the underground hero he took as sidekick, Shinso, shaking his head like he’s heard the story a thousand times by now. They, too, all have tears in their eyes, but they’re laughing.

Ingenium, Red Riot and Shōto huddled together with Uravity and Charge Bolt, Kirishima standing on the pew with one fist raised high above his head, proclaiming how he’d never felt so scared in his life as he felt in Kamino, and how he’d never felt so safe, either, when All Might appeared for his last battle. The cacophony of agreement that rises is nearly deafening.

The heavily guarded American man sitting on the back, one arm around the young woman he came in with, free hand holding up a cellphone, showing whatever is there to Tsukauchi, Bakugou, and Hizashi. Shōta watches when the police chief laughs, wipes the tears from his face, and mouths ‘this fucking idiot’, as the American swipes across the screen, and Hizashi breaks out cackling.

Shōta looks forward again. Mirio with Eri on her arms, the young child nearly a teen, still too short to reach the coffin on her own. He bounces her on his hip, smiles with shining eyes, and she kisses her own palm, pressing it on Toshinori’s cold face. They walk away, Mirio whispering something to her, maybe a story, maybe a memory. Nemuri walking up next, a flute of something on her fingers that she raises high in the air, a bubbling toast he can’t hear, downs nearly the whole thing in a sip. Leaves the flute with a lipstick mark on the rim and a bottom full of the drink besides Toshinori.

There’s even more people — some Shōta knows well, some he’s only seen in passing. They’re not mourning, not in the usual way people do. There’s no wailing, no somber silence to betray their grief. The air isn’t stale with the taste of death, it’s filled with the sound of laughter and cheering and someone (probably Hizashi if only by the volume, likely that whole portion of the funeral, plus Midoriya) belching out that god-awful All Might theme song that used to play ad nauseum to promote his Golden Age merchandise.

Aside from Nedzu, there are no long, stricken eulogies, and even the Principal’s was more a retelling of a student named Yagi Toshinori learning how to become who he wanted to be under the tutelage of his ambiguously furry homeroom teacher.

It’s not that I want to die, Shōta, he suddenly remembers Toshinori say, I am going to. Why not make it as painless as possible?

He understands now. It was never about making it painless to Toshinori — funerals are never for the dead anyway, grieving is not for who leaves. It’s for the people left behind. It was never going to be entirely painless, but how can it not be a moment of celebration of the life and deeds of the retired Symbol of Peace when he died as he wanted the world to feel, in peace.

There’s no looming threat of a unkilled enemy, no shadows cast that could possibly touch the sun that still emanates from his presence. Toshinori carefully chose the plot of land he’d be buried in, and he cultivated a world of flowers across the grounds so people could look and think of him while he lived and breathed, could be reminded that his light is never going to be extinguished, even when he is.

Shōta cries, partly to spite him, but mostly because he feels like a fool for not seeing it sooner.

——

Outside, with the closed casket and the flower arrangements sent by a thousand and more fans, with the media circus arranged under a tent in a way Shōta would normally hilariously ironic, the Number 14 Pro Hero Deku stands on a podium. Someone has given him his costume, somewhere in the time between they all leaving the private funeral to here, a couple dozen microphones pointed at his face.

His dark-green cape flutters in the wind, teary eyes exposed by the way he pushes the visor up to rest atop his head, entire face opening in a smile.

Midoriya pulls an envelope from a pouch, smooths it on the podium. “All Might-sama — he knew this was going to happen. Not the dying part, per say, but that I’d be asked to speak and that I wouldn’t be able to think, and that’s his words verbatim, ’because I would be too busy blabbering like a crybaby’.”

That gets a roaring laughter from the crowd, and Midoriya’s smile widens. Shōta can see on that smile how the tabloids could go off on their theories of love children and nepotism.

Midoriya clears his throat, holds the envelope up. “So, he wrote what he wanted me to say. I haven’t read this yet, so — apologies in advance for all the weeping.”

Rubbing the heel of one hand on his eyes, he rips the envelope open. Shōta can see, from where he’s seated, the ink bleeding through to the back of the page, Toshinori’s large, bold handwriting, black ink blotted where he pressed down too hard. It makes his throat lock up, reminded of the dozens of times he’d chided the older man for it.

Midoriya clears his throat again, louder, closer to the mics.

“Young Midoriya,” the fact that the young man chokes up at that is telling that it really was for the best this was written for him, “I do hope you’re not — you’re not crying enough to have soaked through your suit’s sleeve. That would be unbecoming of my — my — my inheritor.”

He pauses, sniffles, and raises his free arm. The sleeve is, in fact, sporting a large, wet stain. He rubs his face into it, muttering that ‘it’s a moot point now’, before continuing: “I want to be brief, for I am not a man of words, I lived by and through my actions every day of my life, and I hope those are the things the world will remember me by.

“Remember me for the legacy of peace I attempted to establish. Remember me for my kindness, my patience, my temperance. Remember me for the people I saved, but remember me for the ones I failed to as well. Remember me for my faults, for my failures, lest they be repeated, for the things I changed and those I could not. Remember me in my prime, and remember me in my fall, let my story be one of glory and the warning of what that might bring.

"To the ones who criticised me — thank you. One who lives surrounded by only yes-men is bound to forget that he’s flawed and human,” Midoriya chokes on the next sentence, wrinkling the paper between his fingers. His eyes find Shōta’s, he takes a deep breath, continues: “To the ones who loved me, thank you. I cannot offer comfort for your pain, but know that I have lived and died as I wanted to, w…with a brave smile, and I want you to do the same."

Shōta can barely register how much that feels like a sucker punch, because Midoriya is on a roll now, gripping the podium hard enough for the wood to creak in his hand.

"To the ones who wanted me gone, those who hated me for what I stood, I hope you find no comfort in my death. My legacy is not one that will die with me — I am gone, but the generation I saw being raised to the ranks, and surely those to come, will uphold the lessons learned from my mistakes, and peace will rise even stronger.

"To the ones who are afraid — fear not. I can no longer say that I am here, but — but they are.”

The podium creaks and cracks under Midoriya’s hand as he bows his head forward, the paper now crumbled in his fist. The only sound for a long beat is the pitter-patter of his tears falling on the wood like rain.

When he looks up, there’s a fire in his eyes.

“I — I was raised watching All Might rescuing a hundred by himself,” he declares, level and fierce. “I know I can’t be him, not one person can. The hole he’s left is too big, too all-encompassing. But—!"

Shōta watches, dazed, as Midoriya motions and twenty, forty people rise, gather around him. Almost in slow motion, his entire year — their children, in a way — join him behind the casket, them and Kan’s kids and some more they’d gathered along the way. Heroes in formal clothing and tearstained, smiling faces.

Midoriya grasps the podium with both hands now, leaning into the mics, "I am his legacy. We are his legacy. We learned from him, from the things he didn’t want us to do like him as much as the ones he did. And no one will have to live in fear of the space his death left…”

Shōta looks, eyes going from face to face. They’re not —

“And you know why?” Midoriya bellows.

As if on cue, as if this was rehearsed, forty-some young pro heroes and sidekicks raise their fists into the air, a choir rising from their ranks, a single voice yelling, “Because we are here,” into the skies, and Shōta has never felt quite so proud, nor quite so sad.

#death tw #general sadness #I make myself cry every time I read this why do i gotta hurt myself like that #shiftingsupport #» my tongue's getting real tired of me biting it ━━━━ askbox

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thecleverdame · 5 years

Text

The Woodsman - One

Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: A/B/O Fairy Tale - You’re a sheltered, thirty-something princess on the run from your brother, the newly crowned ‘Mad King’ of France. When you’re waylaid by marauders and left for dead in the forest, a gruff woodsman nurses you back to health.

Warnings: A/B/O smut, knotting, language, violence, assault, non-con

Word Count: 32,000

The entire story is complete and available now on Patreon. subscribe for a pledge of $2.50 a month and get access to this and other Patreon exclusive content.

You’ve ridden since you were a girl, but leisurely weekend rides through the French countryside with your father did little to prepare you (or your buttocks) for this never-ending journey. The pain from weeks of travel has set in and you find your day-to-day is little more than an exercise in controlling the pain. Your backside and thighs are so sore that every step the horse takes results in pure agony.

“Do you need to stop?” Peter inquires, trotting up beside you with a hand on his hip. He is truly in his element.

You hired two men when you fled France, offering them just enough money to ensure loyalty, or so you thought. Peter had been a member of your father’s personal detail, a former knight of the king’s inner circle. When your brother took the crown he retired Peter, an act the old knight is unlikely to forgive in the near future. He’d been all too happy to assist you, eager to leave the past behind him and, although he’s getting on in years, it appears that he can still wield a sword and take a punch.

You gave him the liberty of choosing his second.

Peter chose Luther, a young blacksmith whom he trusted. Luther swore he’d traveled to Scotland so many times that he could make the trip without a map. Now, as you wander lost somewhere near the border, it’s becoming increasingly clear Luther often exaggerates his navigation skills.

“I’ll be fine for a little while longer.” You force a smile, flinching as the horse jerks forward.

“I think we should stop here for the night, it will be dark soon and you’re in pain, m’lady.” Peter slows his horse and you follow suit. Dismounting with a grunt, legs chattering.

“We should find the river by midday tomorrow,” Luther’s looking at a hand-drawn map that you’re fairly sure he’s holding upside down.

“I certainly don’t want to be the one to shake your confidence, Luther, but we’ve been moments away from this elusive river for days now.” You shake your head as Peter takes the reins, leading your horse to a small tree.

“She’s right,” Peter confirms. “We can’t keep investing time in a plan that doesn’t seem to be working. I’ll ride ahead at first light and scout our path. If we fail to cross the river to the east, we’ll head west instead.”

Luther builds a fire and Peter divides what’s left of the food rations, which is little more than bread and water. You unroll your pack, finding a patch of thick moss for padding and make your bed for the evening. Sleeping on the ground doesn’t get any easier. If your thighs aren’t throbbing from the ride there’s a twinge in your back that takes over.

You unpack your things, subtly checking the small sack that contains all the wealth you have in the world. You absconded with your late mother’s collection of jewels and enough gold to start a comfortable new life if you can just lay low for long enough.

Making your bed for the evening you settle in as close to the fire as one dares. The meager heat helps your bones from chattering in the night and you drift off to sleep on the naked ground under the wide, open sky.

The thieves come in the middle of the night. You’re awakened to the sound of shouts in the dark, rolling to your feet in a panic. Two men have Luther by his arms, dragging him across the ground.

“Don’t kill me! I can help you. She has gold in her pack!” Luther cries, pointing to you. That little shit.

While his defection isn’t a complete surprise, you’re in awe it happened so quickly.

“It’s in her saddlebag,” Peter confirms, turning on you just the same as Luther. There’s a man behind him with a knife to his throat, and you might’ve forgiven his treacherous words if he’d put up at least some fight. The old man’s betrayal is just as swift as your useless blacksmith-turned-guide.

This is how you find yourself alone in a strange land at the mercy of ruthless marauders.

The man behind Peter drives the knife into the knight’s gut and you scream in horror. Two men flank you when you try to run. In the blink of an eye, there are hands grabbing your arms, pulling and tugging as you thrash, fighting as hard as you can until it becomes a futile effort.

The rock to the back of your head abruptly ends the struggle. It’s a quick blow that doesn’t hurt, more confusing than anything as your vision goes blurry, then dark. You don’t feel your body hit the ground with a soft oomf.

If one were to look for a positive in the situation perhaps it could be found in that the men who robbed and beat you had no interested in dominating you sexually. After the hit to the back of your skull, they could easily taken advantage of your limp body. Whether they assumed you dead or simply had no interested in rape, they leave you bleeding and lifeless.

And that’s exactly how Dean finds you.

Your mind wakes up before your eyes open.

The smell of the hearth is overpowering and the flames are close enough to warm your arm. You blink once, twice, then wink all the way open. The world is blurry, the muted outline of shapes moving the shadows. Groaning and twisting you try to sit up only to be stopped by a hand on your shoulder pushing you back down.

There’s a rush of panic and confusion. You try to move again only to be held down as two rough hands hold you in place. You can feel the touch of calloused palms on your bare shoulders. The voice that speaks to you from somewhere in the ether is low and distinctly male. “Try not to move yet, you were hit on the head.”

“What…” you mumble, blinking again and this time it shakes the clutter free. Your vision clears and the crackling fire in the dark of the room comes into focus. Suddenly, there’s a face above you, that of man. He tucks hair behind his ear and looks down with a grimace.

“How many fingers do you see?” He asks holding up two digits.

“I, uh,” your throat is on fire and you sputter before answering. “Two?”

“Two is right. Are you thirsty?” You nod empathically and he disappears from view. Feeling a tad more lively, you begin to take stock of your situation. You reach up to explore the throbbing at the back of your head and wince when your fingers make contact with a sizeable goose egg. The man chastises you immediately.

“Don’t touch it.” He commands as if he’s quite used to giving orders that are summarily followed without question. While you’re not accustomed to being spoken to so harshly it’s the least of your concerns as you begin to inspect the rest of your body only to find that you’re stark naked under the thick blanket. Panic rises in your chest at the scent of this man who’s apparently taken such liberties.

He’s an Alpha.

He must be watching this realization because he snorts from across the room. “Your clothing was in tatters and you had wounds that needed to be dressed. I have clothes for you but they needed to be washed. They’ll be dry by morning.”

He kneels beside you again and this time you get a better look at him. He’s tall and imposing with wide, strong shoulders, he’s no doubt a manual laborer. His face is handsome if one prefers a jugged, scruff of a jaw. When he hands you a cup of water his enormous hands dwarf yours and you gulp. He could take anything he wanted from you with minimal effort.

You drink the water, sputtering before pulling yourself together and tipping back the entire glass. When you’re finished he takes the mug from you and offers you a hand to sit up. You’re weary but in no condition to refuse him so you accept.. His palm is wide and rough against your soft skin and you curse your Omega biology when your body responds to the contact, eliciting a low stir in your belly.

“Thank you.” Snatching your hand away you hold the blanket over your chest and sit up straight, determined to preserve what little modesty you have left. Your mother always said that personal fortitude in the face of adversity could make any situation better. So, you gather what confidence you can muster, lifting your chin. “May I be so bold as to ask who removed my clothing?”

“I did” he retorts, sitting on the floor next to you, his arm draping over a bent knee. You pray that he doesn’t see the blush in your cheeks.

“You found it necessary to leave me nude on the floor of your…” you look around taking in the surroundings, “your small hut.”

His eyes twitch. It won’t be the last time you manage to insult him without a second thought.

“Yes, I did.” He states, watching you intently.

“Well, I can see you are a man of many words.” You quip refusing to be intimidated.

He forces a strained smile. “My brother found you in the woods along with two other men, both of whom died. It would appear that you were left for dead as well. He brought you to me. I dressed your wounds and did my best to keep you alive.”

“Oh,” You feel a bit foolish, but the reality of the situation is that you’re an unclaimed Omega in the presence of an Alpha who’s motives remain unconfirmed.

“I wouldn’t have expected you to be a healer.”

“I’m not.” He shrugs. “I’m a forester, a woodcutter.”

“There is no healer in the village?”

“There is,” he nods “but I wouldn’t trust him with my brother’s pig.”

He just compared you to a barnyard animal.

“Well, I am glad that to know that I hold the same value as your brother’s beloved swine.”

“You are quite bold, madame,” he runs a hand over his mouth.

“Would you prefer it if I were timid?” You raise an eyebrow toward him.

“No. I would prefer that you don’t speak at all.” He appears to enjoy the look of shock on your face. He stands up and hands you one of his oversized shirts. “It’s clean enough. I’ll let you dress.”

He moves to the other side of the room and turns his back to you, offering privacy. You pull the shirt over your head, wincing as the sore muscles of your arms strain with the effort. Gathering your strength you stand on wobbly legs and the tunic drops down nearly to your knees.

He is large indeed.

Glancing to make sure he’s not watching, you lift the hem of the linen and twist, inspecting the massive, dark bruise on your buttock. There’s a bandage around your thigh just above the knee and it aches enough for you to know the gash must be deep. Satisfied that with state of your injuries you look to him, “I am dressed. You may turn around.”

“Good. Are you hungry?” He asks moving to stir the pot over the fire.

Your stomach clenches at the mere mention of food, making you realize that you’re starving. “Yes, very much.” You watch him stoke the fire. “May I ask your name?”

“Sam Winchester, and may I ask yours?” There’s an air in his tone that irks you, but you chose to let is pass.

“Y/N,” you offer only your first name with no details. He doesn’t press the issue.

“Take a seat,” Sam gestures toward the small table.

You sit gingerly in the chair. Your bottom is bruised, not only from days of riding but the fall you took during the attack. You’ve got sore parts you didn’t know you had.

“Samuel,” you begin.

“Sam,” he sets a bowl of rabbit stew in front of you. It’s been more than a day since you last ate, and then it was only a meager amount of flatbread. Your stomach growls as you watch him carefully prepare his own meal before settling in across from you.

“Eat, you must be hungry and you need your strength.”

“Samuel,” you start again. You think it’s best to stay formal, there’s no need for such familiarity with a stranger, especially an Alpha. It’s important to set boundaries. “How long have I been here?”

“One night, two days.” He tears the end of a loaf of bread and hands it to you. “Eat.”

“Would you mind telling me exactly where I am?” Picking up a spoon you stir the soup, finding chunks of meat along with carrots and potatoes. It’s a heartier meal than you imagined from a man with such meager surroundings.

“A village just north of the Midsomer outpost. You’re in Scotland.”

“Thank goodness,” a sense of relief falls over you. Peter was sure you were out of England, but he couldn’t be sure. You’d been lost for days wandering in the wilderness. “My party was lost when the marauders attacked. Even our tracker wasn’t sure if we had crossed the border. The men that I was traveling with were both...less than courageous when the assault took place, I thought for sure I’d be killed, or worse.”

“You want to tell me what you were doing lost in the woods with two men who barely knew where they were?”

“We were,” you stumble over your words. The cover story you prepared fades away as your head wound throbs. “On our way to visit relatives.”

“You’re a long way from France, Princess.”

You freeze, dropping your spoon back to the table. “You know who I am?”

“Yes,” he replies casually, shoveling stew into his mouth.

“How?”

“I tended to the man that was with you, the younger man survived for nearly a day. Once the fever took him he said a lot of things. I thought maybe he was delirious until you started talking. You’re clearly accustomed to giving orders, not taking them. ”

“Well, I-” You’re also not used being spoken to in such a brazen manner. “So much for discretion.”

“Drink your wine.” There, he does it again, telling you what to do. You hesitate, it’s been days since you’ve eaten a full meal and wine always has effects on you. No, it’s best to keep your wits about you.

Sam seems rather subdued, but you’ve heard stories your whole life about Alphas of his stature. The very nature of an Alpha is that of barbaric fulfillment, or at least that’s what you’ve been lead to believe. In your circles the few Alphas that exist have spent their lives learning the finer points of refinement, they’re fastidious in their gentlemanly arts, restrained and polite but only because they’ve had the restraint of social obligation to do so.

A man like the one across from you has had no such civilized training, and, although he’s not yet tried to mount you like an animal, you don’t know that he won’t.

“My head hurts quite badly. I don’t think the wine will help.”

“The nights here are very cold, you’ll do well by drinking now to keep warm later.”

“And I am to spend the night...here?” You look around at his small cottage, the thatched walls and dirt floor. Sam watches somewhere between wonder and amusement as you lower your voice and lean across the table, whispering. “I’m not sure it’s appropriate for me to be here with you...in the night.”

Sam chuckles, it’s a good thing he’s the only one here, and he already knows your true identity, because there is no way you’d last in the real world. You’re as out of your element as a fish on dry land. “It’s here or it’s the barn, your choice.”

“I don’t, well I…” you sit back in your seat. He might be teasing you or he might very well serious but you’re not having either one. “I hate to point out such an obvious circumstance but you are an Alpha.”

“I’m aware,” Sam nods trying to hold back a smile.

When he doesn’t have a reaction you shake your head and look around as if there might be someone hiding in the corner. Whispering again, as if you’re telling him a secret, you explain “And I am an Omega.”

“Yes, I had noticed that.” He sits back in his chair. You’re struggling to explain what’s concerning you but he has a pretty clear idea. “Are you worried what people will think? Or that I’m going to take you like a wild beast in the middle of the night?”

“Both.” You admit looking at the uneaten dinner in front of you. Embarrassment doesn’t begin to describe the regret you instantly feel. Here is a man who’s brought you into his home and done nothing except for tend to your wounds and feed you. The fact that he’s already seen you naked notwithstanding, he’s mostly been a gentleman save for a few cheeky remarks.

“Not to worry,” he stands up and moves to the pot, refilling his bowl. “My brother and Martha are the only ones who know you’re here. And as far as my uncontrollable urges, I can assure you that I’ve no interest in someone like you.”

Someone like you?

You’re partly offended by his statement and you want to ask him to clarify exactly what he thinks you are. Are you not desirable? And royalty at that? But you force down your objections and set your jaw. “Well, I am pleased to hear there will be no misunderstandings.”

Sam picks up his mug and reaches over the table, clinking it into yours. “Now drink so that you don’t freeze to death.”

Taking a small sip, you look to the nest of fur on the floor by the fire where you woke up. “Won’t I be warm enough by the fire?”

“The fire dies down in the night. Besides, you’ll sleep in my bed tonight. I’ll stay down here.”

“I’m fine on the ground.”

“Your body is covered in bruises, the ground is only going to make it worse. I only had you sleeping out here because I had to keep an eye on you to make sure you didn’t die in the night. You’ll sleep in the bed. I won’t have a woman sleeping on my floor like a stray dog.”

Sitting in silence you fill your belly with stew and allow yourself two glasses of his questionable wine before excusing yourself for the remainder of the evening.

As you climb the ladder to the small loft at the back of the cottage you’re glad you didn’t protest. The entire platform is a giant soft bed lined with layers of wolf pelts. You stretch out in the soft nest closing your eyes and running your fingers through the silky fur. After weeks of sleeping on the ground, this is a welcome indulgence. You turn onto your side as Sam’s smell washes over you. While your rational mind doesn’t desire him, his Alpha scent is undeniably consoling. The Omega in you purrs at the comfort of his smell enveloping you as sleep sinks in fast and deep.

You sleep hard, better than you have in ages. When you do awake it’s to sunlight streaming through the small window above the loft. You roll to your side slowly coming back to reality. Stretching your arm above your head you forget where you are as the warmth and comfort of the soft bedding cradle you.

It’s a combination of Sam’s scent and your sore body that wakes you up. Opening your eyes, you lie still, listening to the silence and the distance chirping of birds. If given the option, you’d sleep for days curled up in this secret refuge but you need to get your bearings and attempt to formulate a plan.

You allow yourself a few more minutes of leisure, rubbing the side of your face into the fur and drawing in a deep breath of the Alpha scent. It’s been an agonizingly long time since you’ve shared a bed with a man and woke up to his aroma. Even then it was not an Alpha. You’d be ashamed if anyone knew you were rolling around like a happy kitten in the bed of a man you hardly know, but as long as it’s a secret you’ll allow the indulgence.

Clad only in the woodman’s enormous shirt you descend the short ladder to find the dim cottage still and tranquil in the morning light. The fire is nothing more than embers and the makeshift bed where he slept the night before has been folded into a neat pile stacked beside the hearth. On the table, there’s a mug of milk and a bowl with two boiled eggs. You take an egg, feeling the weight before rolling in on the table and carefully peeling the shell. You sip the fresh milk as the morning chill leaves goosebumps up and down your legs.

You’re not sure you’ve ever eaten in complete solitude. Even when a meal was brought to your chambers you ate while maids prepared to clean and dress you. There was always someone nearby waiting to fulfill your next request. Finishing your breakfast, you pick up a cloak laid over his chair and wrap it around you.

Sam is nowhere to be found, a fact for which you’re thankful. Last night left you feeling like a newborn fawn, confused and weak, trying to stand for the first time. Taking advantage of his absence you explore the small cottage. While it’s certainly of humble means, everything is in order, herbs placed with care above the fire and tools lined along the wall.

Above the stone mantle of the hearth, there’s a mighty sword affixed to the wall. It looks to be heavy and old, uncleaned from its last use which was no doubt long ago. You wonder if it belongs to Sam. If in a former life he was an infantryman or perhaps the weapon has a deeper meaning.

Much to your surprise, you find a narrow bookshelf hidden away in the corner, it’s shelves lined with many titles you recognize. It’s nothing compared to the grand library where you completed your studies as a young girl, but it’s certainly more than you expected to find tucked away in the shadows of a Scottish cottage.

You jump as the heavy wooden door groans open and Sam ducks under the doorframe. He sets a satchel on the table, the contents clanking together. It takes him a moment to spot you and when he does you detect a subtle look of displeasure across his masculine features.

“You found the food I left for you?”

“I did, thank you.” You smile, determined to be more charitable than you were last night. Perhaps you’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. For an unattached Alpha of a certain age, he seems to have a remarkable lack of interest in you, which is fortunate but surprising. You’re not exactly as young as you once were, but you’re a Princess after all and there have been many songs written about your beauty. It’s an allure that seems lost of the man in front of you. “I was just taking a look.” You gesture to his bookcase.

“You’re welcome to borrow any of them.”

“Thank you but I doubt I will have the time to invest. I don’t plan on staying long.” You chatter, unsure of exactly why you’re nervous. “And that’s not a testament to your hospitality. You have been more than generous with me. Once I have established myself I will be sure you’re compensated in full.”

“Repayment is not necessary,” Sam wipes his hands on his trousers and comes to stand beside you. Feeling the need to shift his focus, your finger trails over the leather spine of a thick volume of Chaucer.

“And you are able to read?” The question falls carelessly out of your mouth. The delicate wrinkles around Sam’s eyes crinkle.

“Quite well, actually.” He nods stiffly.

You’ve insulted him and the realization makes you feel ashamed at the assumption. You’ve always fancied yourself a better person than your brothers, who often compare the commoners to livestock. If there’s one thing your father instilled in you it’s the importance of refined social manners, no matter the station of the person before you.

You square off your shoulders, holding your head high. “When I hit my head it must have knocked my manners right out of me. What I meant to say was, as a man who spends his days in the woods, working with his hands, I’m surprised to find that you have the occasion to read. Perhaps what I should have asked is: how is that you read so well?”

You seem very proud of the way you’ve reworded your insult. Sam would be irked if he wasn’t partially entertained. You’ve spent your life surrounded by dandies and handmaids, he doubts anyone’s ever corrected you before.

“When I was a boy my mother worked for a Lord in the south country. When their son’s tutor came for his lessons my brother and I were permitted to observe. They had a vast collection of books stacked floor to ceiling and I read whatever I could get my hands on.”

You smile, imaging this tall brute of man as a tiny boy with a novel in his hand. “And now you have your own collection.”

“A meager one, yes.” Sam turns toward you, “this may surprise you Princess, but it’s difficult to get one’s hand on literature out here in the countryside.”

“It does not surprise me,” you seem to miss his sarcasm and it entertains him all the more. “And you should not call me Princess.”

“There is no one here to overhear us. I will refrain if we suddenly have an audience.”

“Still,” you continue. “You’ve made some very fine selections. I love Chaucer.” Sam watches as you take the book from the shelf and look over the worn bindings.

“I haven’t read it in years,” he comments.

“Time and tide wait for no man.” you recite and then look to him. “It’s a quote.”

“Thank you for clarifying.” Sam narrows his eyes and a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, “I believe he also said Women desire six things: They want their husbands to be brave, wise, rich, generous, obedient to wife, and lively in bed.”

Your mouth falls open at his forward statement and a wide smile spreads his face. You blush and Sam grunts.

“I’m not sure this is an appropriate conversation.”

“You slept in my bed last night, we’ve moved past royal piety.” He takes the book from you and sets it back on the shelf, the apples of your cheeks glowing red. “If your plan is to fit in among us common folk, you’d better get used to a crude word from time to time. You can’t walk around with that look on your face.”

“What look?” You snip.

“You wouldn’t like my description.” He turns, picking up the sack off the table. “I’ve brought you clothes. You can dress, then we can discuss where we go from here.”

The entire story is complete and available now on Patreon. subscribe for a pledge of $2.50 a month and get access to this and other Patreon exclusive content.

Tags: @smallgirlbigpersonality @mereka18 @gryffindorable713 @trainlikeawinchester @winchesterprincessbride @bamby0304

@kittenofdoomage @saxxxology @notyourtypicalrose @mariekoukie6661 @little-big-mac2 @emoryhemsworth @mystriee @atc74 @holyfuckloueh @bunnybaby121115 @mogaruke @darkmystress00 @jaspesangriento @kazuha159 @mirandaaustin93 @crispychrissy @schilj79 @wilde-abandon @hennessy0274-blog @bojabee @miss-samantha-winchester @impalaimagining-mainblog @andkatiethings @astephez @ladycynthia @mrswhozeewhatsis @lenawiinchester @feelmyroarrrr @mrs-meghan-winchester @har-rystyles @mistressofallthingsgeeky @theamuz @maui137 @stars-and-seas @vale0413 @impala67trenchcoat @curly-haired-disaster @ericaprice2008 @livelikeawinchester @althehufflepuff @itsthesamegametoday @bohowitch @spnwoman @just-a-normal-eccentric @gallifreyansass @StoneyGGirl @lonely-skys @81mysteriouslyme @missrandomista @soupornatural @stars-and-seas @natura1phenomenon @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @81mysteriouslyme @likhelbentin @mrooks0205 @zombiewerewolfqueen @winchesterprincessbride @squirrel-moose-winchester @fortisetgloriosusinarduis @closetspngirl @dominodoll @rainflowermoon @cleighwrites @camelotandastronauts @imarockstar45 @thebeastinside19 @courtney-padalecki @itsthesamegametoday @virtualgirlfriendsan @daisymoder72 @fandom-is-my-middle-name @mysticmcu @luciferseclipse @malinda1997 @malinda1997 @sunlight-dean @rockhoochie @collette04 @sandlee44 @ohnowin-chester @maddiepants

#the woodsman #Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader #alpha!sam winchester #supernatural a/b/o #sam winchester fanfic #sam winchester smut

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justsomewritingsandshit · 6 years

Text

Thor’s King-Consort

Thor x Male!Reader, Loki, the Avengers, Nick Fury, Warriors Three, Lady Sif

Length: 1894 words

Warnings: none really fam, let me know if y’all enjoyed

Y/N, King-Consort to the King of Asgard, sat upon the planet’s golden throne. Said King-Consort’s face was drawn into a longing look, as he gazed towards the mural on the roof of the throne room. It was a royal mural, on which his husband was central. Y/E/C eyes grazed the painting’s features…

Missing Thor had become the new normal for Y/N, as the Asgardian in question was often away from his home. He spent six Midgardian months at-a-time on Midgard, defending said planet with his Avenger friends. However, considering the way that time works on Asgard, and the way that Asgardians age, six months should feel like nothing to Y/N. Yet, Y/N found himself constantly longing to see his husband… to kiss him… to touch him…

It felt like eons to Y/N, and though Thor was due back in only a few short weeks… it was decided that it was not going to be soon enough.

Like the lightning Thor produced, a mischievous thought struck the King-Consort. “Warrior’s Three, Lady Sif,” They stepped forward, “Will you inform my advisors’ that I shan’t be available today? I seem to have been suddenly taken ill,” Y/N let out a pathetically quiet cough, which fooled literally no-one, “Oh, there I go. See, ill. I’m much too unwell for any meetings, and as such I believe I should take rest in my chambers. It would behove me to ensure I do not allow such illness to spread to the kingdom.” His mischievous smile was very much reminiscent of his brother-in-law’s own.

The warriors that stood before him, all shared a lengthy look, before nodding to each other in confirmation. Turning back to their King-Consort, Lady Sif’s eyes sparkled with mirth, “’Tis the best course, indeed, majesty. Shall I also let the staff know to ensure your rooms be vacant, all day?”

Fandral was already nodding, “Hmm, that is a wise suggestion, my lady.” The man did not shy away from hiding his grin, “It would be awful to infect the servants with such ill-fated health.”

Agreeing wholeheartedly, Volstagg added, “The kingdom would be unable to run if the staff were taken ill.” The comment was true, and why the servants throughout Asgard were ensured payment for their services (payment that allowed them to afford anything they’d ever need).

“Truly. Well spoken, my friend.” Hogun patted the larger man on his back, nodding at the words.

“Thank you all.” Y/N stood from the throne, brushing down their copper tunic, “I shall retire then. ‘Goodnight’.”

“Sir,” Captain America’s blond head tilted up as he heard FRIDAY’s artificial voice filter into his personal quarters. “I’ve been informed that an incoming ‘Bifrost’ transportation tunnel is about to make contact with Earth.” Before Steve could even ask where, FRIDAY continued, “On the lawn in front of the building, sir. I’ve also told this information to King Thor, Prince Loki, Tony, and Director Fury.”

Steve quickly thanked the AI before he rushed out of the room, at top speed. He walked swiftly down four hallways, two sets of stairs, and then crossed the building’s foyer. Even still, he seemed to be the last to arrive on the scene. “Do we know who is coming?” Steve asked to the two members of Asgard’s royal line, only to receive negative head shakes in return from them.

No-one in the group spoke for a while, and during this silence they felt the air get muggy and dense around them. Loki, a seasoned Bifrost traveller, identified the beginning of the portal opening. He let his lips curl into a smirk, “We shall find out whom is arriving momentarily, Mister America.” Flashing lights suddenly wracked the front lawn, resembling what one could assume was the love-child of a rainbow and a lightning storm. When the dust and grass settled, a single man was kneeled in the space that had previously been light and commotion. Loki let out a slight breath, “Y/N?”

Instantly, Thor was off, running at the figure. His sudden movements put the others on edge – was this man a threat? “Y/N!”, the pure unadulterated happiness in Thor’s voice let his colleagues (and friends) know he trusted this ‘Y/N’. Thor launched himself on top of the man, causing both of them to stumble as they grasped each other tightly. The two stumbling men embraced, which left a chance for Fury, Tony and Steve to fully examine this person. He wore Asgardian-looking clothing, and a circlet-thing on his head… Steve let himself wonder if this was another member of Thor’s royal family? “Oh, what an amazing surprise!” Thor’s smile seemed impossible to diminish, “Have the Warriors Three and Lady Sif absconded from this trip, or do they follow shortly?”

Y/N shook his head, jostling Thor’s clothing slightly as he was pressed tightly to him, “Nay. They have allowed me this brief intermission in ruling, to see you.” Y/N gazed at him from beneath his lashes, he then murmured tenderly, “Far too long have you been gone.” His ran his hand over Thor’s hair, tugging at the strands. It was too intimate for Steve to watch.

Thor’s smile altered from his joyous grin to a sweet smise, “I, too, have missed you.” The words were uttered softly, as the two’s heads grew closer together. Ignored were the two gaping Avengers, and Steve who was looking the other way with a red face. Loki, also, had already removed his eyes from focussing on the two – he was a seasoned veteran when it came to avoiding his brother’s public displays of affection. When the two lovers finally parted, Thor gestured to his friends, “May I introduce you to my friends?”

Coyly, “I’d be delighted.”

Natasha Romanov stared at Y/N in deliberation. He was very attractive (as all Asgardians seemed to be). Vaguely, she wondered if she’d be able to get permission to have her next few vacation days on Asgard. Thor’s permission would be enough to get her in, surely, he is the king after all. And, if all else fails, she used to be a super-spy; Natasha was trained to infiltrate places she wasn’t supposed to.

Next to the Russian spy sat Clint Barton (formerly a circus-man), Sam Wilson (he wore wings, and saved lives, dammit!), Bucky Barnes (literally just a confused, old man), Wanda Maximoff (whom Loki had ‘agreed’ to ‘teach’ ‘magic’), and Vision (a confused, new man). They had all been beckoned to their shared living space, only to come face-to-face with an unknown but handsome Asgardian.

Clint, who had immediately perched himself on an armchair when he’d wandered into the room, threw his legs over the side of said chair and glanced at Loki’s barely-concealed amusement. He shared a look with Natasha, both in silent agreement on their appraisals of the situation.

Sam, who had been called to this weird sit-down half-way through teaching Bucky how to properly google something (he was damn tired of being asked stupid questions from the former military man), sighed loudly. “Are we all going to stare at each other, or can you tell us what’s going on, so we can leave?”

Fury gave him a single look, “Shut up.” Then, he gestured towards Loki, silently telling the ancient god to do the introductions, because he didn’t want to.

“This is the King-Consort of Asgard, Y/N.” Loki lazily waved his hand towards his tunic-wearing brother-in-law, “He is Thor’s husband.” It was a simple introduction really.

Natasha, who looked to be the least shocked out of everyone present (she was just well-trained), asked the question they all seemed to be thinking, “So, how long have you been married?” She then took a moment to whack her partner on the back of his head, stopping his gape, “Hey, I don’t know why you’re so shocked, Barton! You did the same thing to everyone else!”

“Which is why you would think Thor would have mentioned it then.” Tony muttered under his breath. Steve let out the tiniest smile having been close enough to hear him. “Be like, ‘Oh, you too have a hidden spouse! Astounding!’.” The impression of Thor was ridiculous, but it left Steve silently cracking up behind the hand covering his mouth.

Thor gained a focused look, “I believe,” He paused, “I believe that it is coming up to our centennial anniversary?” He looked to his husband for confirmation.

Y/N flung a sly look onto his face, “I would have thought you to remember it, what with how greatly you enjoyed the ‘honeymoon’.” Clint sputtered out some of the drink he’d picked up. “Thor, my love, I am offended.”

“Of course, I have not forgotten such wonderous times, my love!” Thor’s voice was distinctly sensual, which forced Loki’s eyes to roll upwards – just when he thought he was free of their ridiculous flirtations (separation by way of a universe should have been enough!), they persisted.

Despite feeling a little uncomfortable by the couple’s overt flirtation (if they were alone, he strongly felt like they might have been doing something not-safe-for-work), Bucky managed to ask about Y/N’s title, “What exactly is a King-Consort on Asgard?” To his knowledge, no such title existed on Earth. He wondered if he should use ‘the google’ or ‘Alexa’ to look it up, like Sam had been yelling at him to earlier.

“It is very much like a King-” Y/N began, only to be cut off by his ill-behaved brother-in-law.

“Well, Mister Barnes, the royal blood does not flow through Y/N’s veins,” Loki’s words dripped with his usual levels of arrogance, “As such, Thor has the royal title of King, whilst Y/N has King-Consort.” Y/N, from behind Loki’s turned head, pursed his lips at having been interrupted. Thor eased his irritation by pushing him into the love-seat, then sitting close enough to sit on his lap.

Steve was left perplexed by Loki’s half-explanation, “But what do you do, Y/N?”

Thor let out a loud laugh, thoroughly amused by his friend’s puzzlement to what he considered obvious. “Y/N rules Asgard in our stead, of course!”

“Seriously?”

Y/N frowned at the shock in the voice, “Should I be offended by their disbelief?” He tilted his head back towards his husband, “Do I not look capable?”

The blonde muscle-man shrugged, “Perhaps it is because you do not wear the clothes that Midgardian politicians do?” Y/N understood his logic, it was true that the popular tunic-and-long-pants of Asgard weren’t always the widespread items worn on other planets – Plurpline 7 enjoyed wearing undergarments only, while the peoples of Sempt X-4 wore tunics paired with their bare legs and tails only. Thor turned to his friends once more, “It is impossible for me to run Asgard whilst I am here on Midgard.”

There was silence, which was slightly awkward. None of the Avengers had ever put much thought into the fact that Thor had an actual planet, and a people, to lead.

“That is true,” Loki put in, “But truly, Heimdall could run Asgard by himself.”

Y/N playfully shook his head at Loki, “Don’t give Thor any ideas! He may replace me!”

A voice rumbled, “I would never.” Y/N let out a sensual grin and began to lean in, fully prepared to share a kiss with his lover. They were stopped by an invisible barrier that abruptly formed between them. Thor let out a sigh, “Loki.”

“Be quiet Thor. No-one here wants to witness that again.”

TAGGED:

@iamwarrenspeace, @stilesloverdaily, @itsnotnormalteen, @snowbubby1, @misskd94, @the-crime-fighting-spider, @glimmering-darling-dolly, @seninjakitey, @theshortegg, @gqlqxies

#thor #thor odinson #thorodinson #thor x reader #thor odinson x reader #thorodinsonxreader #thor imagine #thor odinson imagine #thorimagine #thorodinsonimagine #reader #reader insert #readerinsert #male reader #marvel #marvel imagine #marvelimagine #thor: ragnarok #thor: ragnorak

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douxreviews · 5 years

Text

Gotham - ‘Ace Chemicals’ Review

Bruce: "Jeremiah, this ends tonight!" Jeremiah: "No Bruce. Now it begins!"

At the end of the day, I realize Gotham wasn't just trying to tell the story of The Joker's origin (for the sixth time now I believe) in Season 5 – they were also showing a very devoted competition between Selina and Jeremiah to become Bruce's one true love interest.

Judging from the title 'Ace Chemicals', many, and rightfully so, were led to suspect that this episode would depict at long last the iconic genesis for The Joker's bleached mug and green locks, and yet, I took a slower pace to finally starting my own takeaway from this episode, simply put, because I was curious to see how other viewers were handling this episode's turn of events. And to my surprise, I was seeing frustration stemming from other's reviews, not as a result of the episode itself, but because of the showrunners' staunch assertion that Jeremiah was in fact not The Joker, even in spite of the depiction we just witnessed of one of the character's most exemplary origins. Personally, I don't see what all the fuss is about, because I've always believed it is important to judge a product based on what you as the viewer take away from it, and not what a showrunner or writer says they intended for the takeaway. So for the time being, my judgment is no longer reserved and I'm pretty content with Jeremiah being effectively Gotham City's official clown prince of crime.

To recap, Joker's maddened state has led him to believe that he needs to be ingrained in the tragedy of Bruce's parents' death, because if he cannot bond to Bruce through love, then he'll try to do so through hate. This, combined with his antics involving the recreation of Thomas and Martha's likeness in two ordinary civilians and having Mad Hatter hypnotize Alfred into becoming Jeremiah's loyal servant, felt wonderfully in spirit for Joker's crazed logic, even if at times it felt a little too contrived and convenient. And I express sympathy too for Alfred, it doesn't feel that long ago since he was abducted and tormented by Joker and Scarecrow back in 'One Bad Day' – when does he finally get to retire from all this action so that he can hold a silver plate, announce that "dinner is served", and call it a day?

I also enjoyed, as well as finding it oddly appropriate too given its premise, Joker's incorporation of, or rather his own incorporation into The Mark of Zorro to further taunt Bruce, and the twist right to the very end that Joker was intending to use a hypnotized Gordon and Lee as part of his ploy as well had me taken aback. Unfortunately, 'Ace Chemicals' had to be the first episode this season that possessed such a divide between its two subplots of the week in terms of enjoyment. As a matter of fact, it's practically a crime that the Bruce-Joker subplot gets less screentime than the subplot regarding, yes, you guessed it, another love triangle between Gordon, Barbara, and Lee. Because Gotham's only gone the extra mile to do that every other bloody season before.

After Barbara revealed to Gordon, in front of Lee no less, that she was pregnant last week, I was holding out that Lee may actually be the mature adult here and not let the revelation affect her in any way.

But silly me, I was foolish enough to think Gotham's writers could resist such an opportunity to fill up a quarter of this episode with dialogue so played out, Gordon even admits firsthand that he's going to recycle his words last spoken to Lee in the Season 4 finale. And if I'm being fair, in regards to Lee's stance, any person in the right frame of mind could reasonably say Gordon's proudest moment would not be sleeping with a mob boss who has attempted on multiple instances in the past to murder him. But that doesn't mean Lee's off the hook either. For example, I was shocked that Gordon never called her out on her hypocrisy by bringing up how she spent half of Season 4 sleeping with the riddle-obsessed psychopath that not only framed Gordon for the murder of a police officer, but also indirectly led to Lee's miscarriage in Season 2.

The rest of this episode features various and piteous attempts on Oswald's life. Selina and Barbara both still want revenge on Oswald for killing Tabitha, but this late into the season, not only do these sudden yearnings for Oswald's head seem a bit abrupt, but I'm struggling to remember the last time Selina and Tabitha even shared a scene since the spring premiere of Season 4 last year. Furthermore, Barbara is hastily, and I do mean hastily, talked into sparing Oswald in a shoehorned effort to make it seem as if Barbara suddenly wants reform for herself for the sake of her unborn child. I am thrilled though that Oswald and Ed are going to be working together again to abscond from Gotham City, though I have a sneaking suspicion that Oswald's offer to Ed concerning an escape was really, in disguise, a romantic plea to run away with him. I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't watch a spinoff featuring those two on the lam.

Aaron Studer loves spending his time reading, writing and defending the existence of cryptids because they can’t do it themselves.

#Gotham #Bruce Wayne #James Gordon #Oswald Cobblepot #Selina Kyle #Harvey Bullock #Gotham Reviews #Doux Reviews #TV Reviews

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veliseraptor · 6 years

Text

this weekend I’m alone in the apartment and not probably going to be leaving much on account of being at least semi-sick and possibly more than semi

so I think it’s time for a, you guessed it, 150 WORDS MEME

the rules, for those who haven’t done this one before, are: send me one of the numbers from the list below and I will write 150 words in that fic. please send a maximum of three numbers. if you don’t recognize the title, or want to know more about the fic in question, you can look at my WIP masterlist here.

you don’t actually get much out of this meme in terms of immediate results but I have finished chapters largely as a result of doing this meme so...you’re getting something in the long run?

for this round we have ELEVEN OPTIONS. excerpts and possibilities below the read more.

1. In the end, it felt utterly inevitable.

On the one hand, he probably had seen something that other night, out in the darkness. On the other hand, it had probably been a product of his own mind. His treacherous mind, turning on him, making his nightmares real. So he was not just mad, but dangerous. A mad dog snapping at every hand.

Inevitable. Better if he had just been put down two years ago. (Steve Rogers’ Halfway House)

2. “Would you stop acting like you’re in charge, here?” Stark said. “As far as I’m concerned I trust you about as far as I could throw you.”

“I don’t care,” Loki said. “I do not expect you to trust me, and I do not need you to. You may do what you like, stand around talking with each other while Thanos bears down on you, but I--”

Except. What was he going to do? He didn’t know where the Mind Stone was. He was exhausted, and while he could probably reach the location, roughly, he would still have to find its bearer and be ready for a fight with Corvus and Proxima. And in his current condition, he wouldn’t be.

He was helpless. As he had been helpless on the Statesman, watching Thor scream.

And now Thor was dead and Loki was alive, dead for Loki’s mistakes, and this was not how things should be. (half a league onward)

3. Loki had absconded with one of the relief workers’ computers (honest? no, but he didn’t particularly care), and it was on that where he conducted his research. He ended up reading a great deal, following links that argued seemingly endlessly with each other, engrossed in astonishingly vicious dialogues that made up the commentary of people responding to the events surrounding the Sokovia Accords. He tracked down the Accords themselves, reading through the entire thing, and some of the stonewalling Thor had experienced made more sense. Stark’s brief description really didn’t do the whole thing justice.

Of particular interest, of course, was the splintering of the Avengers.

It took some doing to track all of it - in part because of a number of names he didn’t recognize, Norns but Midgardians moved fast - but the basic shape of the events was clear enough: a falling out over these Accords that had led to Captain America and a number of others being declared outlaws and fugitives.

After a moment’s consideration, Loki did some further searching to see what had become of Clint Barton: apparently he had ‘retired,’ which seemed unlikely to Loki, but he supposed it had been a few years. He toyed briefly with the idea of sending a postcard - he knew the address he’d use - and decided that was probably the sort of thing that Thor would take poorly. (the first steps stumbling forward)

4. “You’re not - getting impatient, are you?” The Grandmaster asked. “Because I just...I want to be clear. Tonight’s not about you, Lo. That’s your problem, you think everything’s...all about you, you, you.”

Loki wanted to laugh. I think that?

“But right now - right now, this is about me. And what I want. And right now, what I want is to just...have a drink, relax...take it easy, you know? You’re just...decoration.” (it’s a mean world that I’ve known)

5. “Where did you get that,” Loki asked. The thing tickled at a vague sense of familiarity, but he couldn’t pin down where it was from. He did know that things with that much power were dangerous, and one simply appearing out of nowhere was...unlikely.

“It was here,” Steve said. “On the table when I came in. I assumed it was yours. Are you saying it isn’t?”

“No,” Loki said. “It isn’t. I haven’t seen it before just now.” He looked toward Steve. “Did you feel anything when you picked it up? Do you feel anything now?”

Steve’s eyebrows furrowed. “No,” he said slowly. “Nothing.” (even underneath the waves)

6. For the first ten miles, Loki didn’t speak at all.

Of course, Clint wasn’t speaking much either, other than the vigorous swearing he was doing in his head, the screaming of what are you doing, what the fuck do you think you’re doing, and the certainty that any second now he was going to be surrounded by a convoy of black cars that would bury him deep down somewhere, this time for good. If he was lucky. And Clint wasn’t, as a rule, very lucky.

Witness the fact of the asshole sitting silently next to him, the hand on his good arm loose in his lap and staring straight ahead, unnervingly still. (the enemy of my enemy)

7. Loki picked up his pad of paper after a moment and wrote what is it? His handwriting was steady even though Clint could feel the renewed pulse of pain from the knot of awareness at the back of his mind.

“Nothing,” Clint said. “Just checking in. Things are progressing well.” He shifted. “I still don’t like the plan. It puts you in too much danger.”

I need to be there. In their midst, to cripple them. Loki set down the pad and pressed his fingers to his temples. His jaw worked carefully. There was some fresh blood on Loki’s chin and Clint felt the urge to wipe it away. He walked over slowly and knelt down.

“It’s not too late to change course,” he heard himself say. “These people, whoever they are – they don’t own you. We can break off. Get those things off your mouth – hate to say it, but maybe Stark has something that’d work.”

For just a second, Loki hesitated. Then he shook his head, and stood. Hold to the intended course, he wrote, and then paused and added, for now.

Clint didn’t like that answer any more than he liked sending his master to the lion’s den of SHIELD. But it wasn’t really up to him. At some point, he just had to trust, and obey. (Seams and Scars)

8. “Okay,” she said slowly. “So if you weren’t looking for me, who were you looking for?”

Loki’s mind went unhelpfully blank. He blinked, and she tapped the flat of his blade against her thigh.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, after too long. “Go back to bed.”

“You don’t tell me what to do,” she said, and looked him up and down. Loki became aware that he was only wearing the simplest of bedclothes and resisted the urge to summon something more substantial. “Hm,” she said.

“What?” He snapped. Valkyrie breathed in through her nose and exhaled loudly.

“Trying to decide if it’s worth calling you on lying to me.”

Loki flushed. You must be in a state if you can’t even lie to her, murmured a nasty voice that he focused on ignoring. “And?” He said finally, trying for nonchalance. He wanted to go back to his room and shove his fist in his mouth and scream for a good ten minutes. (in our bedroom after the war)

9. “I would never have expected to find such a distinguished person at such a far corner of the universe,” Loki said smoothly. The Grandmaster smiled.

“Flatterer. You’re a sweet-talker, aren’t you? A regular…” He paused, stopping in front of Loki, standing just a bit too close. “No, that’s not right. Nothing regular about you.”

A prickle floated down Loki’s spine, a peculiar mixture of pleasure and nerves. “I like to think so,” he said, with a teasing smile. The Grandmaster drew a little closer, and meeting his eyes Loki recognized the expression there.

He shifted his strategy slightly. (the rapture of that cruelty)

10. “Loki?” He heard. Thor’s voice, but Loki didn’t call back, standing frozen, staring at the thing he’d unleashed. “Loki! Where are you?”

“You had better answer,” it said. “Or he will leave without you. As he always will. Every year, he leaves you further behind.”

“Be silent,” Loki said, and hated how his voice quavered. “You know nothing. You are nothing.”

“I only speak what you do not want to admit,” the shadow said.

“Loki!” Thor called again, and he took a step back.

“Begone,” he said, finally calling on his magic and lashing out with it. The shadow melted away, but Loki could have sworn he heard it laughing as it did. His throat burned and he wanted to scream at it: you’re wrong, Thor will never leave me, we’re brothers, no one is bound so closely together as we are. (Mirror, Mirror)

11. “Loki,” Sam said. “That’s fucking Loki. Right?” Wanda’s eyes widened, but he - Loki - just shrugged one shoulder.

“So I am. Or was. I’m not certain of the appropriate tense.” His gaze swept across them, indifferent, disinterested.

“You’re dead, too,” Wanda said. Loki glanced at her, eyes focusing briefly before they slid back into dullness. No, exhaustion.

“Or something,” he said.

“‘Or something?’” Sam said. Loki’s eyes flicked in his direction.

“This doesn’t feel like death,” he said, “but I remember the feeling of my neck breaking in Thanos’s hand fairly clearly, so…” Wanda flinched, and she thought she saw Sam’s eye twitch. She remembered Thor coming roaring down from the sky, thunder and lightning in his voice, and understood. She looked down.

“What do you mean that this doesn’t feel like death,” T’Challa said into the silence.

“I know a little of what death tastes like,” Loki said after a moment. “This isn’t it.” (Dead Superheroes Walking)

#fic excerpt #confessions of a frustrated writer #meme

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