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papurgaatika · 2 months

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Scarcely Can Speak For My Thinking, What You’d Do To Me Tonight

Pairing: VA! Joel Miller x f! reader

Minors DNI with my work please!!

A/N: howdy howdy my lovelies. I know what yall are thinking: papaya didn't you post a fic literally less than two weeks ago? And to that I would say yes, yes I did. However, I have been working on this one for a while and somehow managed to finish it on the plane! Thank you as always to my lovely beta readers @carlynkurin and @joelsdagger The title is a Hozier lyric (are yall really surprised?) This is officially dedicated to my beloved @joeloverture and despite my darling vetty's step off of tumblr, she truly deserves the world. also if you're mean to her i will find you. that is a threat

I hope y'all enjoy the read, and that the filth keeps you going in times of need. Peace and love on the planet Earth from me!!! Remember that TLOU is created by a zionist so please look at the resources at the end of this fic and in my bio on ways to donate and educate yourself!!

Tags: Erotic voice actor Joel! AU, Young Joel, No outbreak AU, smut, condescension, degradation, f! masturbation, praise, squirting, smut, LOTS of dirty talk, oral (f receiving) friends to lovers, fingering, voice kink, Joel loves thighs, Joel Miller arm appreciation, the reader is a mess, no use of y/n, Joel can pick reader up but he’s HUGE so it makes sense, no description of reader, 18+ Word Count: 5.2k

Summary: you have been using audio erotica to get off for a month, and manage to accidentally let it play in Joel's car, leading to an awkward night in

You let out an exhausted huff as the dim light of your phone reflected on your face. Your headphones connected, your vibrator was charged, but in some godforsaken twist of fate, there was not a single thing worth listening to on the newest audio erotica page you could find. Videos hadn’t been doing it for you, the ethical concerns were too high for you to be horny, and as much as you liked a good fanfic, you had gone through most of the ones you liked and needed something new. You click on a post with semi intriguing tags, immediately rolling your eyes and exiting out of it when you hear the all too familiar vocal fry of men trying to sound hotter. News flash: you don't.

You were moments away from calling it a night and opening your backlog of smutty ao3 fics when another post caught your eye. You let out a snort at the username save_a_horse and glance at the tags. Okay you were definitely interested now, a degrading instructional… you hit play with baited breath, prepping for the worst, but you were so mistaken.

“Filthy little thing aint ya?” the voice rings in your ears, heat pooling between your legs embarrassingly quickly. “Must be so pathetic if you’re clicking on a mean stranger's voice to get ya’self off” his voice was like hot honey. Sickly sweet and keeping you waiting for his every word but with an edge that stung in the best way. You shuffle yourself back onto the pillows and throw your covers off, fully prepared to enjoy this rare gem. Your breathing picks up, heavy with want as the man in your ears calls you a desperate little slut.

“Go on, get your toy wet slut” his voice croons out at you “know ya have one, too fuckin’ needy not to.'' Always eager to please, your lips find the base of your curved g-spot vibrator and let the soft plastic fill your mouth, drawing sounds that were almost too debauched for you to be sitting in bed alone. “Bet you love havin your mouth filled like that.. Lord, I'd love to have your pretty little lips around my cock” your eyes practically roll back at that, spit running down the base of your toy before he finally tells you to put it in.

“Atta girl, such an eager thing” The toy sinks into your sopping cunt with ease as the voice envelops your mind, solely focusing on him. You listen with intense obedience as he tells you how deep, how quick, how much you were allowed. “Go on then, fuck yourself on it. We both know you want to”

You let out a soft cry as you slip the toy in and out, the curve just hitting the spot that makes your back arch. Your breathing hitches as you press down on the button to turn the vibrations on. “Creamin’ all over yourself I bet,” it was like he could see you. Like he was able to see your arousal dripping onto the sheets below you, how the damp sheets clung to your thighs as they shook and twitched with pleasure.

“Bet you’re so damn close.. Go on then slut, cum while listenin’ to me'' he taunts slightly as your orgasm washes over you in waves. “Gonna ruin ya,” his words are assertive, less of a promise and almost a threat “ain’t gonna cum unless it's to my voice anymore. Good fuckin’ girl” You take a few steadying breaths as the audio clicks off, and you blink up at your ceiling unsure of how to go on from there. You glance down at your phone which has made its way to the opposite side of your bed and move to grab it.

You hit play on another audio.

As the weeks go on, you and the mysterious cowboy in your ears have an immensely good time together. You practically spend every night listening to every one of his audios, leaving silly comments on the ones that make you cum particularly hard. It might have been an issue, how often you found yourself waiting for him to upload, how quickly you would pause your tasks to listen to new updates, but you were having fun and it wasn’t like you were hurting anyone in the process.

You had just finished an audio before the blaring noise of a horn outside your door rattled you. The clock on your phone taunts you as do the several missed calls and texts from your best friend. “Fuck. fuck okay” you grumble, grabbing a towel and wiping yourself off before tossing a pair of comfy shorts on and grabbing your bag, and heading outside “have you never heard of a virtue called patience miller?” you quip as you slide into the passenger seat of his truck

“Had it for the first five minutes, but about 10 minutes after that, I was damn ready to break your door down myself” he scoffs “what took you so damn long?” he rolls his eyes as you fiddle with the bluetooth in his car, not wanting to be stuck with what you call ‘old home music’

“I was just finishi-” your words are cut off when the sound of a moan plays over the speaker. Just your luck. You kept the grumpiest man alive waiting and then played porn in his car. Hooray for you. “Jesus fucking-” you squeak, fiddling with your phone and closing out of the app “Joel-” you start, cheeks burning and excuses already at the tip of your tongue, before he silently shakes his head and puts the car in reverse.

The ride back to his house is awkward to say the least. “Joel listen I didn't mean for-” you mumble out meekly, but his sharp gaze on yours has you clamping your mouth closed immediately. You fiddle with your fingers, thinking about playing music, but it just doesn’t feel right anymore. The grip Joel has on the steering wheel is practically iron-clad, his knuckles almost white with the tension as he pulls into his driveway and puts the car in park. You walk into his house with a huff, your weekly game nights off to a bit of a rocky start, but you’ve had to deal with worse with him. Joel had given you moral support when your menstrual cup had gotten “stuck” during one of your first times using it, he could deal with knowing you listened to porn.

You plop down onto his couch, stretching your legs out on the coffee table while he gets you a glass of iced tea. You take a sip of your drink and mentally prepare yourself for how bad he was going to tease you about this, but are met with shocking amounts of silence. For a man who is ruthless on game nights, the lack of trash talk and absolute avoidance was almost irritating you. Finally, after you beat him in uno for a third time in a row, you snap “What is your issue tonight miller?” you groan, placing a +2 card down “Listen I know that was awkward but we’re both adults I don't see what the big deal is''

Joel groans and places another +2, changing the color (much to your annoyance,) “just drop it, nothin’s the issue” You, petulant and stubborn as ever, did not drop it. You huff as you have to take like 5 cards from the deck before getting one that you can play, and narrow your eyes at him.

“Bullshit” you move to sit cross-legged on the couch “I never beat you in this game, something is wrong with you tonight,” it was almost as if nobody had ever taught you not to poke a sleeping bear. Or maybe you figured that the bear was your best friend and probably wouldn't bite your head off… probably.

“Just drop it peaches,” his words are terse, hands gripping his, now slowly diminishing, uno cards much tighter than he needed to. You groan again when you have to get another few cards. The irritation at his childish behavior, coupled with the stack of 20 cards in your hand makes you more of a menace than you probably should.

“Don't be such a baby, Miller,” you poke his leg with your foot knowing full well he hates it, a yelp leaving your lips as he grabs your ankle and pulls you forward “Joel!” Your cards fly out of your hand

“Told you to fuckin’ quit it peach.” His voice is a low timber, stirring something deep in your belly. “Never fuckin’ listen to me”

You just snort at him when he releases your ankle, moving to pick up your cards, “you suck at uno today Joel” you hmph, rising to your feet “'m gonna get something else” you hear Joel protest and try to grab at your arm but you’re too determined and he’s far too comfy to get up quick enough. You manage to make it to his spare room, swinging the door open, imagining you’d see a shelf with his board games only to stop dead in your tracks, “what the fuck-”

What you had always assumed was just his spare junk room or random linen closet, was what looked like an at home recording studio. A desk with a PC and speakers, full microphone set up, and what you could only assume was something to help with soundproofing “What the fuck Miller?” Your voice is slightly full of awe, “are you recording shitty male superiority podcasts now?” you tease, a sly grin on your face.

Despite how pleased you are with that crack at him, he looks absolutely unamused. He practically clomps over at you, big finger poking your ribs ``you know damn well I ain't doin’ that shit.” He rolls his eyes at your teasing. The idea of Joel Miller getting on the internet to talk about women in a way that wasn't him sitting at his desk going ‘they’re the best damn thing’ was laughable. He was a perfect gentleman to everyone, except maybe to you, but frankly you deserved it for all the shit you gave him.

You squeak when his finger prods at your skin “okay, okay well what creepy shit are you doing in here then?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him, sauntering to his PC set up. The computer and speakers were calling out to you like a siren, and you did not have the common sense to plug your ears.

Joel knew you. He could read you like a fucking book with how close the two of you were. He used to say that the one braincell you had spent fifty percent of its time inside his mind with how predictable you were to him. “Peach do not fuckin’ dare-” his voice is low, warning you.

If you had better self preservation skills you would have probably heard the alarm bells ringing in your head telling you that he was serious, or paid better attention to the way his sweats were a little more tight. But you unfortunately were a complete menace, so neither of those items really registered to you. You clap your hands in an evil little giggle when you move the mouse “still no password? Shit you make my life so fucking easy-” you grin as you see the different clips of audio layered together in whatever program he uses

Joel has somehow silently appeared behind you, his hand pulling you away from the computer. “Quit it peach, I’m not fuckin’ around,” he grits out, the hold on your wrist almost impossibly tight. He means business this time, and despite how much of a hellion you can be to him, you didn’t have a death wish.

You scrunch your nose at him trying to pull your wrist out of his grip “okay jesus chri-” you yank your hand away from his, elbow bumping into the keyboard and are cut off with the sound of a gravely moan coming out of the speaker. Both you and Joel look like deer caught in the headlights. Your eyes flick between Joel, whose face has gone impressively red, and the screen of his computer. “I- joel this is-” you stumble over your words, unsure of what to say in this situation.

“Not a fuckin’ peep.” he practically growls at you. Your mouth clamps shut as he leans over you and presses pause on the audio. Your mouth is drier than it had ever been. That was a clip of your best friend, the one who was looming over you at this very moment, moaning into a microphone. You were certain that if you had listened any closer you would have been able to hear the sounds of his hand stroking his cock. The slight creak of his chair, the wet noise of the lube, or was he a spit guy? He however, was not interested in sharing any more of the audio with you, and you would deny it if anyone asked, you were a little disappointed.

You need to say something, you had to, and despite your better judgment telling you not to, you do. “I mean you sound nice-” You sound nice?? You were so fucking ridiculous, even you knew that wasn’t the thing to say. Joel’s eyes darken at your words, and for a moment you fear he’s going to kick you out, to get truly pissed off at you for the first time since you finished his Dr. Pepper stash. “I didn't mean-” you try to backtrack “I just meant- it... You sounded like you were enjoying yourself at least-'' you were actively digging the hole that you were in deeper, rambling and stuttering, all while Joel just stared at you silently, his eyes burning into you

You swallow hard, his eyes still not leaving yours “listen I can go I'm sorry I shouldn't have-” you go to make a beeline out of the room but a firm hand pulling you back into the chair stops you. You fall back with an oof and look up at Joel, who by all accounts looked pissed but there was something else. His pupils were blown and his eyes trace every single one of your movements. The bear had managed to lock in the own cage you had set out for him.

“Didn't tell you to leave.” he practically grunts at you. Ladies and gentlemen, your best friend, always the most well spoken person in the room. You move to protest again, but the look he gives you stops the words before they even form on your tongue. you bite your lip and fiddle with your fingers unsure what to do “think I sound nice peaches?” his voice cuts through the anxious rambling in your brain and you're almost certain you've heard him wrong

“Huh?” you look back up at him through your lashes. He was leaning against the wall where his microphone was set up. His sweats were riding low on his hips and his hoodie covered the toned muscles of his arms, that if anyone asked you had never stared at. The tanned skin you never dared to fantasize about in your bed. The hair that covered his arms, the veins that often made more appearances when you asked forced him to do manual labor that you refused to do yourself.

“Asked if you think I sound nice, Peaches?” he hums, raising a questioning brow at you. your mouth opens and closes ridiculously a few times before you simply just nod at him “that's good..” he muses as he comes back up to you “do you think about me?” he prods, a patronizing pout on his lips as you gape up at him. “when you're listening to those dirty little audios and lettin’ your fingers touch that needy cunt?” you can't help but squeak at his words. the way he said them, the way he spoke was just so… familiar “come on, pretty peach, tell daddy what you think about when you're fingering that slutty little pussy” he practically grins at you and it fucking clicks.

Daddy. Daddy. It was him. The stupid cowboy, the random man whose voice sent your tummy into knots, the one who had been getting you off for weeks now was your best friend. “Joel-” you practically whimper at him. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest and also very distinctly between your legs. “Listen i didn’t know it was you-” there’s a shit eating smirk on his face, one that you would have told him to wipe off his face before you smack it off in any other scenario.

“No?” he hums at you, his brow quirked up as he towers over you in that stupid recording chair “didn't know it was me when you were commenting all those pretty little reviews?” You whimper out a noise, somewhere between a no and a general sound of timidity, as his hand tilts your chin up to meet his eyes “Lemme see if I can remember what it was you said before I got you in the car today peach?” he takes a moment to obnoxiously tap his forehead mocking the way you recall things “what was it you said? ‘This made me late to see my friend, but it also made me ruin my sheets’? Was that it peaches?”

You take a shaky breath, your skin burning under his intense gaze, chin still in his hands. You nod softly at his question, knowing that if you didn't, he would just push you until you did. His grin turns wolfish at your confirmation, and you feel him shift his legs between yours, pushing them apart “yeah peach?” he tuts at you “made me wait for almost 20 minutes outside your house. just so you could cum to my voice… ain’t real nice of you” You take a wobbly breath at his words and try to reply, unsure of what you would even say. An apology maybe, an explanation? But before you can even move to open your mouth he’s cutting you off again

“Woulda just given you the real thing baby,” he tuts at you “all you had to do was ask.'' His voice is low and almost condescending. You shouldn’t let it turn you on, you should tell him to fuck off, but you feel yourself gush at his tone, your bottom lip getting caught between you teeth. He whistles at the look on your face, his cock practically straining against his sweats, “bet you’re just creamin’ in those slutty little shorts baby'' his words aren’t a question, he’s stating it like he can read you like a book because he knows he can. His legs shift to press your legs further apart until your knees are bumping into the arm rests, your eyes unwavering from his.

Your breath is caught in your throat as he leans down to you, his lips pressed up by one of your ears “Listen to me like this peaches?” he whispers into your ear, a warm breath making you shiver before he moves to the other side “like having me in your ears with your legs spread?”

“Yes.. fuck yes yes I do-” your words are rushed and lustful as you feel his hands dip into the waistband of your panties. Your hips jolt up into his touch, panties absolutely drenched with your arousal. Your eyes flutter shut for a moment, lips parting with a silent cry of pleasure.

“Knew she’d be droolin’ all over” he hums as he brings his slick covered finger up to his lips and tastes you with delectable pop when he pulls off. “Tastes like I fuckin’ imagined. Like a fuckin’ peach” he groans and for a moment you swear you could cum just like that.

“Shit Joel please-” he cuts you off with a shake of his head and a shushing noise, as he steps away from you. Your legs are still spread against the chair and you practically whine when he moves away from you, flicking on his recording set up. “Joel what-” he shushes you again, giving you a look that leaves no room for argument.

“Quiet,” he mumbles, fiddling with the mic and pulling the rolling chair closer to it. “Like listenin’ to me so much, thought i’d use you for better effects. You okay with that peaches?” he asks, looking down at you. Despite the teasing and the mockery, you knew he would stop if you told him you didn't want it. But the idea of him stopping, even for a moment was going to make you explode. You nod, maybe too eagerly for someone about to get fucked on microphone, and he grins.

“God always knew you were fuckin’ desperate for it” he kneels between your legs, and you stifle a giggle when his knees pop. “Quit it you menace” He swats at your thigh playful smirk on his lips, making you jump slightly. “Gotta stay real quiet for me, understand?” you watch with bated breath as he moves the mic so it rests delicately in the tension filled space between your spread thighs and his face.

You nod, lips parted, pupils blown, cunt practically dripping for him. He lets out a soft hum of approval, lips pressing a soft kiss to your thighs “nothing fuckin’ softer than a pair of soft thighs” he muses, half to himself, half to you and the mic “could just live between them forever, die happy if a girl pretty as a peach would let me bury my face there.” You feel yourself clench around nothing, feeling maddeningly empty all of a sudden. You shift to try to gain some friction, the chair giving a slight creak at the change in position. Joel looks up and glares at you, your body going still immediately under the intensity of his eyes.

He sticks his hand out behind him, pausing the microphone from recording. “You need to stay. still.” he grits out at you “don't need the whole internet hearing how much of a desperate little thing you are.” You nod at his words, hands gripping the armrests so hard your knuckles turn white. He flicks the mic back on and his lips find your thighs again. Nipping and kissing the soft flesh just below the hem of your shorts. He slides his hands further up, popping the button open and you have to bite down on your fist not to moan when he drags the zipper down with his teeth. He shimmies you out of your shorts, leaving your bottom half clad in your embarrassingly wet panties.

He lets out a growl at the sight of your cunt, clothed and practically dripping for him. “Look at her… practically creaming already and I ain’t even touched you yet” He lets his thumb press against the wet spot the slight pressure just barely teasing your sopping hole dragging a breathy sigh out of you. You look down at him, eyes hooded and lips parting, practically begging for him without uttering a damn word.

He looks up at you as he slides your panties to the side, blowing a stream of cold air straight onto your clit, making you jump. “Pretty fuckin’ pussy…” he practically salivates at the sight of you “nothin’ fucking better than seein’ a drippy, needy, little cunt in front of me…” he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, right next to where you want him, where you need his lips

You feel a shiver run down your spine at his words. Somehow it felt filthier being able to see the look on his face, the absolute need he had to taste you. The grip he had on your thighs was bruisingly tight, not helping your arousal die down in the slightest. His mouth finally finds your slit, tongue licking a hot wet stripe at an agonizingly slow pace. He lets out a guttural moan and practically salivates at the taste of you. “Taste so fuckin’ sweet” he groans, tongue dipping back down to taste more of your slick. One of your hands leaves the armrest of the chair and moves to cover your mouth when his lips place three gentle kisses around your clit before relenting and wrapping his lips around the aching bud, with a quiet hum.

You bite down on your hand to stifle the moans threatening to spill, desperate and eager to please him. Your thighs shake when he slips a finger into your dripping cunt and curls them to hit that spot. He lets out a chuckle, lips still sucking on your clit. The vibrations of his warm breath on your aching clit elicited a desperate wine from your mouth, despite how hard you were trying to be quiet for him “Ffffuck-”

He raises a brow at you, not even pulling away from your skin, his baby eyes just gazing at you from between your legs as his fingers work at you. Your bottom lip gets caught between your teeth in an effort to stop your sounds, but your attempts seem futile as your climax starts to draw near. Joel slips a second finger inside of you with embarrassing ease, the sound of his fingers curling inside you, joined only by your soft little breaths and his lips on your clit. His fingers stretch you in ways your fingers never have, scissoring and sliding inside of you with practiced precision. “Atta fuckin’ girl..” he growls as your toes curl instinctively, heels digging into his shoulder blades as the coil inside of you finally snaps. You feel yourself gush on his fingers, your thighs clamping around his head as he works you through it “squirtin’ all over daddy’s face huh like the needy thing you are.”

He pulls your legs off from his legs and hits save on the audio, before glancing back at you with a smirk. “Ain’t posting that anywhere..” he whispers, the gentleness a shocking turn around from the filth he whispered to you earlier. Your breath is still coming out in shaky pants, looking up at him through hazy lids “keepin’ that all to myself” he hums, pressing a little kiss on your head.

He scoops you up like you’re a ragdoll and practically clomps over to his bedroom, throwing you onto the bed. His fingers work deftly at the tie of his sweats, pushing them off. You squeak softly when you see the trail of hair going down his pelvis, the lack of boxers making heat rise to your chest. You work your top off, while he throws his hoodie across the room, a guttural groan leaving his mouth as he sees your breasts. “Fuckin’ perfect..'' His words aren’t necessarily for you, his thoughts just find themselves being voiced aloud. His calloused hands grope and knead at the softness of your tits before he presses wet kisses to each of your nipples. “Need to be inside ya” he practically begs, cock hard against his stomach leaking pre-cum.

You could salivate at the sight, hell you truly might have a little bit. “Fuck me, Daddy, need you to fuck me Joel, please i can be good im ready, I'm on the pill-” your words were babbled, fast and rushed together, your intense desire for the man in front of you the only thing your brain could comprehend. Your legs part on the bed, your arousal dripping down your thighs calling to him like flowers call to a honeybee.

“Christ, baby,” he groans before grabbing your legs and pulling you to the edge of the bed. He fists his cock and slides it through your aching pussy, both of you letting out simultaneous cries of shit when your wetness coats his length. He slides into you with gentle thrusts, letting you adjust to his size slowly, before sinking in all the way with a soft whimper “take me so good…” his words are quiet and breathless, almost as if he was in awe of how your body made room for him.

“Oh my god-” you cry out, your hands fisting in the dark sheets under your skin. “so fucking big joel..” you clench around him, body on fire with how good he felt inside you, with how perfect it was. It was like you were made to take him like this. His thrusts get faster and your legs curl around his waist, pulling him in as deep as you possibly could. The feeling of his hand pressing on your lower stomach has you arching your back into his touch.

“Perfect fucking thing,” he grits huskier than usual, with a thrust that knocks the air from your lungs. “Feel me peaches?” he thrusts into you again and presses on your tummy “right fuckin’ there.. Right where I god damn belong…” his words were lust filled and hazy, his own need and orgasm clouding all judgment. Your hips roll against his, the coarse hair brushing up against you, and your head lolls back into the mattress as his thrusts get sloppier.

“Inside, Joel fuck-” you whimper at him, eyes wide and pleading as your second orgasm builds in the pits of your belly “please cum inside me, wanna feel you please..” for a moment he swears he’s died and gone to heaven. The sounds of your pretty little moans and begging are like a dream come true for him. He just nodded and shifted so he was practically cradling your body under his, cock buried so deep inside you that you knew you’d be feeling it for days afterward.

He grinds his hips lazily against yours while his thrusts are shallow and pointed. Your legs shake while you meet his lips in a sloppy kiss, all tongue and teeth as you both fall apart practically molded together. “Jesus christ-” his breathing is ragged and hoarse “takin’ me so damn good, gonna fuckin’ fill you up” he gives a few more thrusts before he pulls out of your quivering pussy, your own orgasm sending stars into your eyes.

You both stay like that for a moment, Joel's forehead resting softly on your shoulder as his cum spills out onto his bed. You shift softly to pull him next to you and curl into his touch, giving him a cheeky smile as you tilt his face to meet your eyes. “You…” a breathless little laugh escapes your lips “how long did you know I was commenting on your posts?” you ask softly, brows raised at him.

He snorts at the question and flicks your forehead gently, earning a playful pout to be thrown in his direction. “Bout damn near two weeks ago” he replies, classic shit eating grin plastered to his face. “Figured it was you when you came over lookin’ like you’d won the damn Powerball and some little fan called peaches_and_cream left a comment about cummin’ three times to one damn post” you let out a muffled groan and bury your head into his chest, mumbling something about him being an asshole before you both shift into a comfortable silence.

He moves, patting your hip and telling you to go use the bathroom after a few minutes, preaching his favorite safe sex speech and you roll your eyes at him before you saunter over to his bathroom. “Oh and Joel-” you call out before you walk in, eyes meeting his as he waits for you to finish your sentence “send me that audio, would ya?”

A/N: From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free

READ: This account stands with Palestine unequivocally, and so— I require everyone who interacts to educate themselves, and support/donate. READ THESE; 1, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. Silence is complicity, do not scroll past this.

DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist.

PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS.

Thank you for reading, and free Palestine

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picnokinesis · 9 months

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thirteenth doctor and spymaster fic recs

all clear by wreckageofstars (8k, 1 chapter, thoschei/gen) summary: London’s on fire, the Doctor’s trapped in her own head, and only her worst enemy can save her. //I know I literally always rec this author in these lists, I know, but like if you've read these fics, you'll know I'm justified because they are all just brilliant. This one is no exception. The doctor and the master are so wonderfully on point, with this antagonistic push and pull between them both, whilst they both desperately try and avoid the fact that they actually still care deeply for one another - but they also hate each other's guts at the same time! And the master is there to cause problems on purpose whilst the doctor is an absolute mess post-Orphan 55 and making everything worse. An absolute joy of a fic.

the gardener by riptheh (6k, 1 chapter, thoschei/gen) summary: The Master kills because it's all he has left. Until it's not. //I had a reaaaally hard time picking fics for this post, because there are so many fics with thirteen and spymaster that I absolutely adore - but I knew from the get go that this one had to be on here, come what may. It's much more of a character study focused on the master than anything else, but of course anything about the master is also about the doctor - and it's such a beautiful exploration of the master and his relationship with death (and then, life). Just absolutely gorgeous - and surprisingly uplifting by the end? Anyway. This fic got me good, so definitely make sure you check it out.

the art of dying by lupescx (10k, 4 chapters, thoschei) summary: The Master resurfaces into the Doctor's life only to die—one burst of regeneration energy and he's back on his feet. And then he dies again. And again. She can't keep doing this. //The title might have clued you in, but this one is angsty. Extremely angsty. But, wow, it's absolutely brilliant! What a fantastic exploration of the doctor and the master pushed to their absolute limits and unable to escape from an awful, inevitable cycle. It is pretty dark in places (actually a lot of these fics are, so always heed the tags!) but if that's your jive then this story is just such a treat. Highly recommend!

The Frayed by luchia (90k, 16 chapters, thoschei, wip) summary: The TARDIS recruits a rescue team for the Doctor after the Judoon take her away, and the Master really shouldn't go. Particularly if it includes having to hang around a freakish temporal monstrosity like Jack Harkness. Then again, what does he have to lose? He could die, sure, but that means nothing when he always (always always always) comes back, whether he wants to or not. //Okay so, in my humble opinion, this fic is some of the best spymaster characterisation that I've ever seen across the entire fandom. It's exceptional - the prose is just so full of character, brilliantly unreliable and just so SO fascinating and painful in equal measure (can you tell that I like angst? I love angst so much). And also just the imaginativeness of the story itself is absolutely incredible? There's some fantastic things in there about gallifreyan as a language and Time Lord culture and TARDISes - and, of course, the doctor and the master are completely awful in the best kind of way. And if the word count looks too much for you - consider just reading chapter 16. Yep. Just that one. Like, that rewrote my brain. I read it three times the day that it posted, and I've lost count of how many times I've read it since then. So, like, please. But also you should really really read the entire thing because it's brilliant

Ust-Kut by yonderdarling (1k, 1 chapter, thoschei) summary: Unfortunately, the Master survived. Unfortunately, he finds her TARDIS. Unfortunately, he wants to talk. //Okay. So, this fic? Is possibly one of my favourite spydoc fics ever. And you might be thinking "but, taka, it's only 1k, how can it be?" - well, trust me, it just can. Short but sweet but an absolute gut-punch at the same time. Such a fascinating look at the relationship between these two, the push and pull and the knife edge that they're both on all the time - and it's so tactile? I think that's what gets me about it, if I'm honest. Anyway, absolutely beautiful writing - succinct, but boy, does every word count. It's just so so good, guys.

and without you (is how i disappear) by empty_of_dust (4k, 1 chapter, thoschei) summary: “It’s simple,” she says, impassive, like she’s not holding their very history at knife-point. “Start talking, or I start cutting.” //So, funny story, this author only started posting spydoc fic about a year ago, but oh my word, my guys, they are insanely good. They just get these two in a way that drives me absolutely feral, and their writing style is such a joy to read. I was extremely torn on which fic of theirs to rec, but I settled on this one in the end. The sheer concept of it is absolutely brilliant and gut-wrenching in the most spydoc way ever: a mid-s12 doctor uses the history between her and the master as a bargaining tool to get him to tell her what he discovered in the matrix, blood and biting including. But, yknow. just do yourself a favour and read this author's entire body of work because it is extremely worth it. You won't regret it, I'm sure.

i only speak in silences by daring_elm (2k, 1 chapter, gen) summary: The Doctor can't just leave the Master behind, so she sends him a hologram. //do you ever get a fic that you forget exists, and then you find it again and go OHHHH THIS ONE??? That was me with this fic (and, honestly, this author, who has a ton of great stuff that you should all check out). We all know that the doctor and the master are awful at communicating, but this fic is such a wonderful exploration of it - of the ways that they refuse to be vulnerable with each other, the ways that they are so angry with each other, but also can't help but be drawn back to each other all at the same time. An absolute cracker!

awake and unafraid (asleep or dead) by SleepyMaddy (5k, 1 chapter, thoschei) summary: The Doctor has trouble sleeping. The Master, in typical fashion, makes it worse. //There are so many fics by this author that I could recommend on a post like this, but a spydoc rec post has got to have at least one fic on there that plays with O/13, because it's just such brilliant, painful angst in the softest way. And there are a great many fics that explore it, but this one just takes the cake. Impeccable s12 angst wrapped up in o/13 softness, complete with thirteen making terrible decisions for literally the entire thing. Absolutely astounding writing, beautifully in character and just so painful in the best kind of way. This one killed me, guys. It killed me.

chaos theory by BlueLillyBlue (61k, 11 chapters, gen, wip) summary: The TARDIS has crash-landed in England, 2019, and the Doctor is acting cagey. Also, spacetime might be collapsing. So... Yaz's week isn't off to a great start. //Ohhhh man ok ok. This fic. Is a goldmine. This author is just absolutely SPOT ON with how they write thirteen, and their plots are just an absolute delight and tick soooo many boxes for me. They always make the world they're writing in feel so rich and real, whether that's a starving community on a frozen moon or a hotel in Cornwall. But this one is just so up my street because the master is in it, and oh my GOODNESS guys, it's just - it's just so, so good. If you haven't been following this one along already, then get going on that, stat!

together, we average out to dry land by hawkeishest (1k, 1 chapter, thoschei) summary: If she thought about it, really, this was all Ryan’s fault. He was the one who’d touched the statue. Though, to be fair to him, she should have known the temple would have some kind of psychic defence system. And now her head felt like it was cracking open. //I feel like most people have read this one because it's such a classic, but for anyone who missed it or is new to the fandom - this one is a must read. Absolutely fantastic exploration of the doctor and the master's psychic abilities and the connection between them, written with the most gorgeous descriptions. Just brilliant. Go check it out!

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shrekgogurt · 8 months

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Well folks. I’m on my substitute teaching grind again this week! Scheduled each day up in hopes of getting some good writing done. I did on Monday! And then proceeded to finally start reading @ninemagicks Game/Set/Match yesterday and did that every bell so uhhhhhh. Today………..well ummmmm…..yeah today I worked on chapter graphics because I’m in big procrastination mode. I want to keep riding this wave of engagement (that sounds corporate gross) but I’m also very much in my head about delivering. I should probably channel this energy into writing the chapter since such pressure is Baz’s literal arc but uhhhhhhhh why do that when I could Simon avoid. I love being mentally well!

One might say I need to find my own bravado. (more under the cut)

lol the chapter title for 13 is bravado by lorde

youtube

ok anyway

“Work In Progress Wednesday” right? That means I can talk about the progress of every part of the process? Huh? Yeah? Are you gonna stop me? TRY! TRY TO STOP ME!

Aggression aside, let’s get into it.

As previously stated on Sunday, we find ourselves at intermission. But that’s just the theatrical way of slicing up the story. The fun thing about 24 chapters (I got rid of my originally planned intermission chapter because I didn’t want to write it anymore) is that math really loves the number 24. It’s scrumptious. Yummily divisible. Ergo, IKABIKAM also has/is/will be deliciously divided. Afterall, I do keep saying I’m cooking on it.

Now, to put @alexalexinii on blast (sorry for perceiving you), they wrote in the tags of a Chapter 12 reblog: #made me realise that this fic had proper arcs? And I grinned. I cackled. I rubbed my grubby little hands together at the top of my tower as I’ve been doing this whole time because oh ARCS???????? YOU WANT ARCS???????????? I’VE GOT ARCS LYING IN WAIT LIKE YOU WOULDN’T BELIEVE. (I love overselling myself.)

Allow me to let you in on some of the building blocks thus far.

Chapters 1, 2, 3: a complicated reunion which is shaky but ultimately sets up

Chapters 4, 5, 6: developing the friendship which is a crucial foundation for

Chapters 7, 8, 9: the gay (Baz’s increasingly more external “hi i’m gay”, Simon’s internal “oh wait me too”) which then explodes into

Chapters 10, 11, 12: all that political parent stuff that’s been hinted at in passing which is BIG relevant and incredibly intertwined in this tangled up mess that leads into the work of….

You get it. They’re mini trilogies. Don’t ask me about dividing the chapters into groups of four because I didn’t have that in mind while writing. I like threes better. Always have. Absolute banger of a prime number.

If you for some reason want to read more about the structure, I write a little more about it in this wipsday from when I was procrastinating 9.

Now, @cutestkilla keeps telling me I’m at the downward slope now but honestly delivering on what I’ve set up scares the shit out of me WAY more than the grunt work. I’m uhhhhh yeah. This is why I’m chronically unable to finish projects but by GOD I will finish this one. I swear by it.

So here are three sentences. You get to guess from who and when.

Loving him comes as naturally as breathing. It’s intuitive when I’m not thinking. Or rather, when I’m not panicking.

If you want to follow along with all the songs I’m hyperfixating on as inspiration I’ve been sharing them over on the “shrogurt” instagram. There’s nothing I love more than talking way too much about this damn fic. Thanks for reading!

And thank you for the tags today: @nausikaaa @facewithoutheart @hushed-chorus @artsyunderstudy @prettygoododds @emeryhall

Now tagging: @brilla-brilla-estrellita @captain-aralias @dani-vc @ebbpettier @excalisbury @facewithoutheart @fatalfangirl @hagnoart @iamamythologicalcreature @ileadacharmedlife @imagineacoolusername @ivelovedhimthroughworse @j-nipper-95 @larkral @letraspal @martsonmars @messofthejess @moodandmist @mooncello @nightimedreamersworld @onepintobean @palimpsessed @raenestee @rimeswithpurple @theearlgreymage @theimpossibledemon @thewholelemon @valeffelees @whogaveyoupermission @youarenevertooold @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

#as i was typing this an eighth grader started singing that jack harlow song help #wipsday #ikabikam #vainposting #Youtube

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horizonspurple · 3 months

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I need advice from a fellow sub… and your blog is the first one that came tho mind. Absolutely okay if you don’t feel comfortable. You can just ignore me! It’s okay!

How…do I know a Dominant partner is good for me? What are some signs of a partner being a healthy choice? Like what are some things a “green flag/good”Daddy/Dom does..? Or what should we look out for. I just don’t know. I’m afraid to mess up. I want to explore, but I’m afraid to get hurt. Or to find the wrong people.

Heyy!

I think this is a very good question and I will try to answer it to the best of my ability <3

When I first stepped into the world of kink I also was struggling a lot with what to look for in a healthy Dom/partner It can be super overwhelming and there are a lot of unsafe people out there, so it's good to be aware and protect yourself and your space

How do I know if someone is good for me? To know if someone is good for you, it is first important to know what qualities or things you think are important for someone to have and what things or qualities are dealbreakers For example, I really value people who don't mind taking things slow Because this is important to me, I make sure to look for that in people who I might want as a partner/Dom Another one is that I really dislike it when people smoke, so someone who smokes would be a dealbreaker for me These are very basic things, but they are important to think about and be mindful of when you look for a Dom/sub/partner/whatever it is you are looking for If there are things or qualities you find super important, it's likely that the match will be better if someone has those things

Another one is to ask yourself: 'What do I want/need in this relationship or dynamic and what are limits or boundaries?' These are very personal, but very important If for example, you are looking strictly for a 24/7 dynamic, it is important that the person you are looking for has a similar wish Ofcourse there is always room for talk and negotiation, but if there are things you specifically need or absolutely do not want, then you need to be aware of those and communicate about them

Green flags

having a normal conversation first, about vanilla interests, hobbies, who you are as a person

when they specifically ask about boundaries or limits that you have, and more importantly, when they don't try to push or negotiate on those (EVERYONE HAS LIMITS!!!)

when they are willing to explain what certain things mean for them or to them, for example 'what does being a Daddy mean for them?'

when they are aware of their own boundaries and limits and communicate about those clearly

they discuss safewords before doing any type of play, even if it's online play

they will respect your privacy and won't ask for pictures or a meetup right away

Red flags

they demand you call them a title (Sir, Daddy etc.) straight away, titles are earned not demanded

they are only interested in sex or kink talks

they send you sexual scenario's or fantasies without you telling them you want that

they don't talk about limits

they don't ask a lot of question and do not try to understand you

they say one thing but then do something else, or don't keep their word in some way

This is all I can think of right now, but just in case I'm tagging @lord-of-dice-and-kinks because I'm sure he has some other useful advice to add :)

I hope this helps, it's a lot of text but for sure important to be aware of Kink and dynamics can be super fun and safe with the right person, but it can be a tricky and dangerous road to get there Be mindful and take care of yourself, and trust your gut feelings If it doesn't feel right it probably isn't right <3

#horizon posts #the silly little dom #anon #important #horizons advice

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squidyyy23 · 1 year

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au game! ⚔️🖐️

okay, this was a fun one. thanks for tag @creepkinginc @crossmydna @metalheadmickey @energievie @auds-and-evens @mmmichyyy!

rules (more or less): use this au generator to assign you an au, this fan fiction trope generator to give you a trope/situation/sometimes another au, feel free to keep clicking until you get something that inspires you.

then try to come up with the title, plot, vibe, and details of a fic including whatever the generators gave you. you don’t actually have to write it, just put the concept into the world! this is basically just a thought experiment.

au generator gave me: galdiator au

fic trope generator gave me: have one of your characters give the other a tension-filled, flirty palm reading. bonus points if their reading is total bullshit they're making up on the spot as an excuse to touch the other.

title: nope. stealing for jessie's playbook. this is supposed to be fun and titles are anything but fun.

let's plot: - mickey: becomes a gladiator to run away. doesn’t give a shit if he lives or dies. just has to get out and away from terry and it’s the only option he sees. he’s been doing this a while. managed to keep himself alive. is actually really good at it. but he hates it. is starting to think he’s just going to let it end soon.

- when in waltzes ian: new recruit. green as can be. far too innocent for this kind of work. but he’s got his family to take care of and he’s made some kind of deal with a gladiator owner(?) that once he brings in x amount of wins or money or whatever the fuck he’s free and will have enough money to set his family up real nice.

- mickey’s certainly keeping his eye on the new guy but also keeping his distance because it’s not like he’s going to be around much longer. maybe he’s got a fight coming up up in the not so distant future against a guy who actually stands a chance of beating him and he’s thinking he’s pretty much going to let it happen.

- right before ian’s first fight. all the guys are prepping in their little gladiator locker room. everyone does these good luck/here’s some advice kind of palm readings (palms don’t seem right but let’s roll with it) before the fights. except mickey. mickey’s never believed in any of that bullshit.

- but mickey’s chilling in his grump corner and ian, the new guy, doesn’t have a buddy. so he timidly approaches mickey and asks if he’ll read for him. mickey’s first instinct is to tell the guy to fuck off but of course he’s way too in love with this stranger already to actually say no to the excuse to hold his hand. so he makes up some shit, makes the kid feel good about himself because lord knows the newbie’s about to go out and there and get his assed kicked. least mickey can do is make his last few minutes nice. he also flirts a little harder than he means to but again, who cares, not like he’ll be back.

- except of course ian makes it back. he’s actually a bad ass fighter and mickey is turned on as hell.

- they keep going with this routine of mickey reading for him before fights. eventually ian offers to read for mickey. questions why he never does it. and mickey gives him his cynical speech.

- they grow closer and closer of course. could be some good excuses for some nice sweaty, blood covered smutty moments.

- something happens to mickey one fight. ian’s got him distracted somehow. maybe ian had a big fight coming up and mickey was worried about it. mickey’s off his game and gets hurt pretty good. he’s still healing and has to sit out for the next week’s fights. ian doesn’t have mickey to read for him and is all kinds of messed up about it. mickey’s watching for somewhere and sees ian fighting like crap. has to run his wounded ass self down to the pit to cheer ian on. convince him it’s not mickey’s readings that are making him good, that he’s got it.

- the big fight mickey planned to throw finally comes up. he’s really torn. he loves ian, yeah, but he does still hate this life. and ian’s eventually going to get out. leave mickey behind alone again. this opponent is the only one who could ever beat mickey. if mickey kills the dude today, he’ll never have another chance. before the match, mickey finally asks ian to read for him. they both know mickey thinks it’s bullshit but ian does it anyway. ian somehow suspects mickey’s plan. so he says whatever sneaky coded shit he needs to say to pull at mickey’s heart strings. the famed moment of mickey out there on the battlefield. about to take the game ending hit. but locking eyes with ian and making the choice to save himself.

- we get our great omg i love you and i could never be without moment.

- but of course, that night, the gladiator owner guy tells ian (when mickey isn’t around) that he’s fulfilled his deal. he’s free to take his money and go. but now he’s conflicted. he can’t leave mickey behind. but he also can’t abandon his family. he has to talk to fiona about it. she of course tells ian to follow his heart. not to worry about the family. she can take care of it. but he knows she can’t. so ian goes back to the owner. proposes a plan where he keeps fighting until xyz and then both him AND mickey are free. the dude reluctantly agrees, but mickey’s his best earner (did they bet on these things or something? they do in my world) so it’s a steep price tag.

- they keep doing their thing and eventually mickey starts to get suspicious why ian is still around. he should have fulfilled his contract by now. somehow finds out about the deal ian made. and of course he’s all pissed about it. he tires to convince the owner guy to take back the deal but he won’t (because reasons. whatever). now mickey’s terrified every time ian has to fight. if something were to happen to him now, he’d blame himself.

- obviously mickey can’t stay mad for long and question mark, question mark, question mark they come up with some kind of scheme that gets them both out and back to ian’s family with plenty of money to all live happily ever after and mickey to find his whole new family.

too late to tag anyone but if you haven't played and want to, do it! it's a fun little exercise!

#i kept pushing the button too many times and had too many fun combos to pick from!#i actually did a different one first. but then like this one better. ha.#this is like the most fun part of writing to me?#can't we just post everything in and then and then and then form???#tag games

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racerchix21 · 1 year

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Title: Tag Teaming (Good lord get your mind out of the gutter)

Word Count: 1123

Summary: After Danny talks some shit to Alex Shelley, TK decides that a good ole fashioned Best 2 out of 3 falls trios match is a great idea. The ensuing mess that follows is partially Danny’s fault but also really really Wheelers too and Ricky’s just along for the ride because getting his hands on the Motor City Machine Guns is too good an opportunity to pass up.

Warnings: Mentions of blood

A/N: I realize that the Motor City Machine Guns are currently signed to Impact (irl) but work with me here. I just watched a Danny match against Alex Shelley and Yuta was sitting in the crowd watching and it sparked this idea.

Relationship: Wheeler Yuta/Ricky Starks/Danny Garcia

Work Text:

Trios matches were some of Wheelers favorite things in the wrestling world. He’s not a huge fan of the best 2 out of 3 falls trios matches. He could deal with it since he got to tag with his boys, especially since seeing Ricky and Danny work together proved to him time and time again that they could and would one day take over the world.

Watching Danny in the ring absolutely going insane on Alex Shelley, Yuta had to laugh at the look on Shelley’s face. Little, scrawny Red Death beating the holy hell out of him was obviously the last thing he’d expected and he looked lost for a moment. The last time Shelley and Danny had wrestled been an adventure in Wheelers patience and willpower since everything Alex did to Garcia had him seeing red. No one but him was allowed to kiss Danny on the forehead or touch him like that but there Alex Shelley was touching Yuta’s boy like he had permission.

Hearing a yelp from Danny and feeling Ricky’s hand on his arm, Yuta’s broken out of his thoughts as he watches Shelley manhandle Danny and put him in a painful looking submission hold. “Come on, D. You got this! Break the hold like Bryan showed you,” Wheeler yells hoping with a little encouragement his boyfriend can crawl close enough to tag out.

He stops himself from jumping in because he has to keep his promise to Danny that he’d let him handle Shelley by himself. Danny wanted to redeem himself and he’d made Ricky and Wheeler both swear not to interfere on his behalf. Yuta could tell it was killing Ricky just as much as it was him to not jump in.

“You got this, Daniel! Come on keep fighting!,” Ricky shouts and if by some miracle they watch as Danny somehow manages to catch enough of Shelley’s arm to bite down to force the hold to be broken. He crawls towards them and grins with blood running down his face and tags Ricky in to have his fun with Alex.

Danny may have blood in his teeth but if anyone asked Wheeler it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen him. They stand there on the ring apron and witness the beauty of Ricky kicking asses when Shelley’s partners try to interfere and pay the price. A couple more quick moves and Ricky’s tagging Danny back in to score the first pin fall via Dragon Slayer.

Now normally Yuta would be upset that his boys did a majority of the work except for starting the match but he’s not.

Tagging Wheeler in, he’s suddenly face to face with an irate bloody, exhausted Chris Sabin. Thankfully the rest of the match seems to happen quickly enough, because honestly all Yuta wants to do is shower and go curl up with his boys. Wheeler thinks that if Danny and Ricky play their cards right, he might do a little more.

They both appreciate a good massage but from the way Danny’s moving as they walk up the ramp he’s gonna need more than a hot shower tonight. Wheeler’s trying to remember what all he’s got in his suitcase that he can use to help them both relax. He knows he’s got Icy Hot in his bag from the last indie show they’d done when he managed to get thrown shoulder first into a ring post. That night had been another adventure since Danny and Ricky had tried to take charge and take care of Wheeler. It would’ve been adorable to listen to his boys bicker back and forth about who was doing a better job of taking care of him if he hadn’t been in so much pain.

He’s been blindly following Danny backstage and he’s suddenly broken out of his musings when he feels Danny grab his arm and squeeze it as Doc begins stitching up a couple little spots on his scalp. Wrapping his other arm around Ricky, he quickly kisses both of them not caring that he’s probably just inadvertently outed Ricky to the entirety of the medical staff. Not that many of them actually care given the circumstances and the fact that Danny hasn’t been nearly as careful with the PDA recently as Wheeler and Ricky have been.

“Baby boy, once Doc clears you to head back to the hotel I want you and Ricky to go take showers and relax. I’ve gotta make a quick stop to pick up a couple things then I’ll meet you there and give you all the cuddles you can stand, okay,” Wheeler says before turning his attention to Ricky, “Prince Charming, I need you make sure that Danny doesn’t do anything he isn’t supposed to and I’ll be right behind you.”

Glancing at Danny’s scowling face, they both laugh at the fact that they know how difficult Danny is when he doesn’t feel good or is any sort of pain. Hearing them laugh at him makes Danny pout and he gets a kiss for his troubles since his boys both seem to be suckers for his puppy eyes. “Honey, I promise I’ll be there before you know it and I’ll have a surprise for both of you if you behave.”

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

Letting himself into their hotel room carrying a bag full of drugstore purchases, Yuta can hear the shower running and soft moans. Setting the bag down and peeking into the bathroom he sees a very wet Danny pushing Ricky against the counter and has to quickly turn away before he does something that’s gonna completely derail his plans.

Calling over his shoulder, “Whenever you two are done come here,” he starts unpacking the bags he’s brought in to find the surprises he’s gotten them. And before he knows it he’s got both of them standing on either side of him and Danny’s already poking around to figure out what Wheelers plan is for the rest of the night.

Grabbing the lemon scented lotion he’d found, he pushes at Danny to climb on the bed, before telling him to lay down on his stomach. “D, you’re beat all to hell so I figured Ricky and I could spoil you for the night and give you a nice rub down. If you’re really, really good and behave maybe we’ll do a little more than that. Ricky, you wanna do everything from the waist up and I’ll handle everything else?”

“So a little tag team action, eh? Didn’t know you were into that kind of stuff Yoots,” Danny mumbles out as Ricky and Wheeler begin to work all the knots out of his body.

Yeah it’s gonna be a good night if Wheeler has his way with both his boys.

#Wheeler Yuta x Daniel Garcia x Ricky Starks #The Pure Brat Chronicles

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writing-frenzy · 4 years

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Plz let Airplane be awesome- Fic Rec

So I have a hankering for our favorite disaster of an author plz and thx. I went searching, daydreaming, and sometimes down right spelunking for some of that good Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky character fics. Did I also find some good tasty Moshang on the journey? Yes and it was good.

So, here is a place for all the treasure I managed to collect. Hope You all enjoy!~

(And any recs for more goodness will be fully accepted, plz!)

A Well Wherein Serpents Are Coiled by Nighthaunting - I am poison / And you will drink me / And you should be so lucky

Shang Qinghua transmigrates into his own terrible novel as a baby. The fact that this seems to be a world based on his first draft, where things actually happened and the plot did matter, is less than comforting. Having a second chance is nice, but ending up as cannon fodder and dying offscreen are the last things he wants to do. The only way to avoid his 'canonical' fate is to do as the System demands and try to fix his mistakes from within the world he created. Somehow this ends up with a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Luo Binghe as an An Ding Peak disciple, because writing about a kid being miserable and seeing a kid being miserable are apparently two entirely different skillsets.

The best, my heart will not move on, I am sinking with this story, it has consumed me and all I can say is ‘thank you, but can I go even deeper?’ like... it has the best world building I have ever seen for any SVSS fanfic, it is canon in my mind and I just end up loving An Ding Peak even more? like wow, I did not know that was possible. Read the fic and the only regret you will have is that you have reached the last updated chapter so soon.

pride is not the word I'm looking for by Tossawary - A Pre-Canon Canon Divergence fic. Shang Qinghua goes to take a self-indulgent peek at his baby protagonist son and gets a kick to the shrivelled heart for his troubles. Ahhh~! He gave up on changing canon or preventing character deaths years ago! What is he doing, helping his protagonist son's adoptive mother like this?

This story, this story, was one of the two to make me so damn hungry for all the Airplane!Shang Qinghua goodness. It leaves me wanting for more. (Also, give Airplane more family bonds and friendship, make our favorite little disaster feel things.)

it must follow, as the night the day by Tossawary - Airplane Bro transmigrates into his own web-novel only to find out that the System messed up his world! Shang Qinghua is a demon in this world! All the characters supposed to be humans are demons in this world! And all the characters supposed to be demons are...?Moshang's first meeting in a Role Reversal AU.

Look, if I mention their first one, of course I have to mention the amazing Role Reversal au; I can’t not miss this beautiful piece of Demon!Airplane awkwardness of being hot for the icy cultivator who could easily gut him in a second. it is so good, I love.

The An Ding Peak Lord's Holy Cheat Sheet by JerichoJaspersJeromeJr - There's a dozen basic things that Shang Qinghua should know but somehow doesn't. There's a hundred mysterious secrets that Shang Qinghua knows even when he shouldn't. There's a thousand profound mysteries that Shang Qinghua knows even when no mortal should. Mobei-jun has noted it all.

*Cackles* Kneel before our mighty god Airplane!

Keep Your Friends Close by HeavenlyDusk - The one where Shang Qinghua and Scum Villain Shen Qingqiu become friends, except neither of them really know what friendship actually is.

This series, by all good fiction is so damn great! I live for this disaster friendship of Shen Jiu and Airplane (and only shit, I shouldn’t laugh, but cockblocking Shen Jiu is not something I expected, but Gives me a mighty need, even if he made it his mission for Moshang to never happen.)

The Eye of the Emperor by fishpoets - The attention of Great Lord Luo Binghe is not something to be coveted.

Now, this is Mobei-Jun’s POV in this one-shot, but just how soft he is with his hubby is so cute, and we get to see Shang Qinghua being a sneaky crafty and protective of his own hubby. for all of Luo Bingge’s threating aura, I can’t help but grin at how this couple, so determined to be there for each other, and ready to plot.

A Political Match by tuesday - It was the day of Shang Qinghua’s wedding, and he was going to be sick.

So... BL author Shang Qinghua accidently seduced his fav character, Mobei-jun, the fic. my only regret is that there isn’t more.

unplanned by fencesit - Shang Qinghua doesn't mean to do it. Okay, okay, from the outside he totally gets how it looks purposeful. Definitely! It definitely looks like he planned it really carefully! Like, you can't just slip and whoops break someone out of Huan Hua Palace's Water Prison, you know?

:D Alternate first meeting and a tasty prison break? go get yo man my disaster fav.

Sea foam and grenades by Sunnystar - Long before the Peaks were known for their esteemed cultivation, An Ding had another title. [A world where Shang Qinghua goes off plot for his children disciples.]

Ow, oww, owwww owwwwwww ouch! be prepared to have your heart pickled before your eyes, before it is roasted over an open fire and then promptly eaten before you. and with the left over crumbs of it left over, still find no, you have not had enough, you need to make sure your tear ducts are still existing after all... Just, make sure you mind the tags with this story, because it gets dark, bits of fluff seen here and there to at least trick you into thinking there is still a light hanging around. it is a lot to take in, but oh man are the emotions delicious even as I have to take breaks from this story because of all the feeling I have to face.

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So, there ya have it; might have more added in the future, but for now, I at least wanted these up. Part Duo Here~

And feel free to add more, I am always up for more of our boi!

#Scum Villain Self Saving System #SVSSS #SVSS #Shang Qinghua #Moshang

330 notes · View notes

sunflowerheartsandstarryskies · 4 years

Text

The Red Viper and the Honeybee - Oberyn Martell x Bridgerton AU

Bridgerton AU!Oberyn Martell x Fem!Bridgerton!reader

Author’s Note: I fell down the rabbit hole of Oberyn content and I watched Bridgerton on Netflix, it is terrible from a historical standpoint but from a story standpoint it is fantastic. So that is why I am labelling this as Bridgerton as its own au instead of a historical au and also I am putting you (reader insert) as the diamond of the season or Daphne Bridgerton, but trying to be as inclusive as I can be with your skin, hair, and body type (by not putting my bias involved). Also I will be basing a lot of etiquette and phrasing from the regency and romantic era. I hope that clears things up for you.

TL:DR: Bridgerton horrible for historical fiction but fantastic for story inspiration. Bridgerton is basically the Regency Era!Lite with a dash of modernism in it. Also you are 21-23 years old and Oberyn is mid 20s-30s years old in this fic.

Warnings: Men being pretentious, some misogyny happening, society having expectations for women, historical misogyny in general (please take care of yourselves before and after reading this if these sort of things can hurt you, I love you all), Game of Throne characters being OOC (I mean like all of them, sorry)

Taglist: @ ilikechocolatemilkh , @janelongxox Thank you for being interested in this mess enough to be tagged in this

Word Count: almost 10k (this got over me, yikes)

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For a man to capture my whole heart and attention, they must treat me as their equal and partner in life, for if they don’t then I would be a fool for yearning for them in the first place. My mother was the one to instill these ideals in me since I was young and wants me to find a partner that will be my best friend in all that I am and the same for him.

I debuted in the social market of Westeros rather late in the standards of high society but my father recently passed away so it was overlooked in that sense as my family was given a grieving period to be allowed to be secluded from the world to grieve properly. My father and mother are my favorite people in the world who I adore as well as my younger sisters and older brothers. I am the eldest daughter whom I’ve been giving responsibility to secure finances with suitors, but my family (may the gods bless them so) will forever love me even as a spinster if I never find one in my lifetime.

My homeland is Honeyholt and my mother is the Duchess of Honeyholt, my family is in a unique standing with the high society of Westeros so our family may seem odd and quirky but society is keen to overlook that factor because of our business. Honeyholt prides itself on being fair and equal to all members of their county and business, which lends itself to the citizens and workers of Honeyholt giving us high praise for our practices.

Our land and business is best known for our signature honey wine, brandy, and teas specifically floral teas are our best ones. The Bridgerton name is branded with pride on each bottle and jar of our products.

My older brother, Anthony, is being groomed to take the title of Marquis of Honeyholt. He is very protective over me whenever we go out to social dances, so even if I wanted to find a suitor he yanks me away from them to dance with him or my other brothers Colin and Benedict. It is exhausting between the three of them, Benedict is just as protective as Anthony, but less overbearing, and Colin is much like a guard dog, silent but ready to bite the hands off any man who comes near me. My two allies against them are my younger sisters Eloise and Hyacinth, when I want to dance with a young man they both cause mischief on my brothers before they intervene.

My family got invited to a ball out in the Westerlands near the House of Lannister, and that meant great news to my mother who was excited to show me off in the Westeros season of dancing. Which hopefully by the good graces of the gods that I will be allowed to find a potential suitor. This ball would be a formal social event to all that attend, and my good friend and mentor Lord Tyrion Lannister promised me to make an appearance there.

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We all got dressed in beautiful formal wear, with our signature bee insignia placed somewhere on our persons. My brothers have it embroidered on their collars, while my sisters and I have bee hair pins in our hair styles. The bees do a lot of hardwork in our county and business, so we wear it proudly on our coat of arms and whenever we go out to social events. It is a sign of a united front to us, and that family is of the utmost importance to all of us.

We are all in the carriage riding to the Lannister mansion’s assembly room that was used for such occasions.

“I hope you are not looking forward to the company of Jaime Lannister, this evening? You know how much I oppose his character,” Colin starts.

“I agree with Colin on this one, you know of the gossip that is surrounding him dear sister,” Benedict states.

“Yes dear brothers, if there is one thing in this family that you have taught me to be is to be wary of all of the Lannisters. Except for my dear friend Lord Tyrion I hope,” I say.

“Not to mention the salacious scandal that the Kingslayer has with his oh so dear sister, Lady Ceresei,” Eloise mocks. Me and Hyacinth snort behind our hands in response.

“That is exactly the reason why we don’t want you to hang out too much around ‘The Kingslayer’’ Anthony spits out the last part.

“Then why are we even going to visit the Lannisters then if all we are going to be doing is to bicker around them?” I inquire.

“Because there are some rather interesting bachelors that have promised their arrivals in Westeros that I am certain will be a great match for you,” my mother states reaching over to squeeze my hands in assurance.

“I hope you’re right mother,” I say, “But let’s hope my brothers won’t do too much meddling then.”

“Oh I’ll make sure they don’t darling,” mother soothes me leaving my brothers with gaping mouths trying to argue back but was cut short with our arrival at Lannisters’ ballroom.

We all made our ways out of the carriage with my mother and I being escorted by my brothers. As we entered the ballroom my ears were immediately greeted with beautiful orchestral music played by the band that the Lannisters hired were quite skillful. Benedict immediately led me into the first dance of the night so I was too occupied to catch a glance at all the handsome men in attendance.

“Thank you for the dance, dear brother” I remarked with a curtsy.

Benedict returns the curtsy with a bow as he says, “my pleasure”

Colin, Eloise, and Hyacinth comes over to us with Hyacinth saying, “Do you see who is in attendance (Y/N)?”

“No, who?” I ask as I immediately glance around the room. As soon as I said it my brothers soon said, “On guard,” and immediately tried to disperse themselves.

“Too late, I already caught your eye,” a woman said. I turn to fully look and it’s the Lady of the House, Duchess Joanna of Westerlands.

I curtsied at her attention as did the rest of my siblings as we say, “Lady Joanna”

“Ah Lady (Y/N) Bridgerton I was hoping that you would come to visit me again. You know my dear son Tyrion remarks about how intelligent you are,” Duchess Joanna states.

“Your Grace flatters me, I merely have a good teacher is all,” you say.

“I wish you were as flattering to me to my face, my lovely student,” I hear a familiar voice say to me. Tyrion soon appears in my vision right next to his mother.

“Is there a reason why I haven’t seen you on the dance floor, for I have heard and seen you are the brightest star this season,” Lady Joanna states.

Benedict stands a bit straighter as he hears her say that and states, “All in good time, Lady Joanna. One mustn't rush these matters.”

She raises her eyebrows at him then takes her leave away from them, as I take my leave to walk with my friend Lord Tyrion.

“Oh dear me, (Y/N) you always seem to have your hands full with your guard dogs don’t you?” Tyrion teases me.

I huffed as I reached for a glass of champagne, “Don’t I know it. I know my family says they’ll love me forever if I never get married but what of the rest of the world? I hardly wouldn’t want my family to be shunned simply because I am not desirable.”

“Now who would say that my dear, hmm? You are quite desirable simply on your looks alone, but coupled with that of your smart wits and sharp intelligence, you stand on equal footing with any man who even dares to look at you,” Tyrion expressed.

“Oh if only that were true, but no man in today’s society would hardly want or look for a woman who can stand to attest to what he or his business has to say. Merely look at the fact that my brothers won’t even let any bachelors come near ten feet of me let alone get a word in,” I argued.

“That I do agree with you on the count of your brothers, but to the argument of your abilities to be undesirable to men I do have to argue on that for if I was even close to an eligible match for you, you know I would propose to you but if a man comes to know that you are knowledgeable on all the great poets of our age and the classics, but are also quite fluent in the language of economics and business as well as just the languages of the Old Tongue, Dothraki and both levels of Valyrian my word all the men would be rushing to you as we speak. Also do not ever volley my teaching like that again, I am quite proud of what you have accomplished in my stead,” Tyrion lectured.

“I-Tyrion, thank you for those kind words, I will take into account my skills, because it does seem I need to seriously improve on my self-confidence so to speak,” I agreed.

We then fell into a comfortable silence of us standing on the edge of the dance floor with us sipping on the glasses of champagne that come to greet us, when a handsome man comes into view of me.

“Ah Duke of Dorne, what a surprise it is to see you after all this time,” Lannister greets the handsome stranger.

“It is good to see you again, old friend. I wanted to see how you have been holding up, seeing as your siblings have come back from the big city,” the Duke of Dorne says.

“Ah well you know how they are, I’ve been trying to avoid their company as much as possible so I have been keeping busy with my studies along with my teachings,” Tyrion responds.

“I’ve heard that you’ve become quite the scholar. I assume this is one of your students then?” the Duke of Dorne asks, glancing at me.

My face immediately feels like it’s on fire just from his gaze alone. What is wrong with me? Has it really been so long that I forgot what a handsome man’s gaze felt like?

“Ah! This my dear friend and student, Lady (Y/N) Bridgerton of Honeyholt, Lady (Y/N) this is an old friend and classmate Duke Oberyn Martell of Dorne,” Tyrion introduces us both.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Duke Oberyn says as he takes my hand and kisses it.

I curtsy in return as I say, “and I you, Duke”

“May I have a dance with you?” Duke Oberyn offers.

“It would be my pleasure.” I accepted as I let him guide me to the dance floor.

A new song started to play as we entered the dance scene, and I was immediately taken by the beauty of the music and the strength that hides beneath the Duke’s clothes as he falls into the role of taking the lead in the dance. With his lead, dancing felt as natural as breathing to me, and I got so taken by the charm of his onyx eyes and the scruffy facial hair as he gracefully takes the lead on the waltz we started together.

This particular waltz I knew so well by now because of my brothers and my own learning of it, but to dance it with him, it was enchanting and I became mesmerized with our own beating hearts becoming intertwined with each other and the music.

Then as soon as the dance started, it ended and we both dutifully took our bows and thanked each other for the dance as we began to walk back to our places. As soon as we do so, the Duke is still standing by me when my brothers almost tackle me with how fast they were coming towards me.

“What are you doing near my sister?” Benedict demands.

“You are not to be near our sister, Viper,” Colin reprimands.

I jump between the Duke and my brothers as I object, “What is the meaning of this, brothers? The Duke of Dorne had graciously asked for my hand in a dance and I accepted, had I known that you would be so up in arms on me wanting to dance I would’ve looked for him earlier.”

The Duke turned his head to try to hide his smirk at my comment but I saw it at the corner of my eye.

“You see dear sister, he has quite the reputation of being a rake around the molly houses of Westeros,” Benedict explains. (Molly houses is a word for brothels in regency era which has both male and female prostitutes, and rake is basically a womanizer used for male protagonists in romance novels of the time)

“What is so wrong with that? From what I’ve heard our dear Kingslayer has been rumored around molly as well, and what is the point of this information I doubt he has any intention on taking me there,” I rebutted.

“I thank you for your kind argument for my reputation but I must apologize to your brothers here because they think that I have an intention on taking your flower before courting you. I apologize to you both, however I will not apologize to the fact that I am very much looking forward to courting you in the near future. From what I’ve heard from Lord Tyrion and now your brothers, it seems you are quite the Incomparable,” the Duke states.

“You flatter me sir,” I bow my head to him.

“I am very much looking forward to seeing you in the near future Lady Bridgerton, please think of my proposal?” the Duke insists as he takes my hand and kisses the palm of my hand as a way of goodbye.

I blushed at the small gesture of his all the way back home. However as soon as we got to our home, things were soon broken into chaos with my brothers surrounding me asking how I managed to get the attention of the Red Viper of Dorne.

He was apparently quite well known in the boxing circles of both the Westerlands and Dorne, but equally well known was his pernicious nature with that of the ladies of the night surrounding Westeros and the Reach.

“I don’t know what you all are rambling about. Have you not opened your eyes when the two were dancing? The Duke and her were very much smitten with each other and were not looking at anyone else when in each other’s company. Also I can think of many ill-fitting matches that could be worse then for your dear sister to be paired with a duke,” my mother rebutted.

I grinned in victory at hearing my mother’s words knowing we won that round against my protective brothers.

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Three days laters we were in the drawing room with me practicing my piano skills, and everyone was casually doing their own activities. Hyacinth was reading her favorite book, Eloise was writing, Benedict and Colin was playing chess, and mother was listening to me playing. Anthony was in the study deeper in the estate most likely taking care of the finances of the business and estate.

A butler came in and announced, “Lady (Y/N) we have a bouquet here for you.”

I jumped out of my seat at the piano along with my mother, we both exchanged excited looks at who could’ve brought me flowers. What arrived was a beautiful large arrangement of red, pink and orange honeysuckles, tulips, and bachelor’s buttons. They were beautiful, I gasped when they were placed on an end table in the drawing room, they were even placed in a beautiful crystal vase. I went towards them and smelled them, when I realized what they all meant: declaration of love and hope.

As soon as I was taking in the splendor of the bouquet I saw the letter placed next to the vase. I opened it and the letter read:

To the lovely Lady (Y/N) Bridgerton of Honeyholt,

You have quite literally and wholeheartedly enraptured my heart and mind with thoughts of you. I know it may seem like I am making haste with putting my thoughts in letters and ink, but I hope you may like that sort of thing. I am hopeful to see you in the dance of the season to arrive and for you to reserve a dance for me if you so can. I hope your brothers may allow me to accompany you in this way. May the gods and you bless me with your company. I wish you and your family good health and wealth for the rest of your days.

Sincerely and Earnestly,

Duke Oberyn Martell of Dorne

“Oh mother, come look it’s from the Duke of Dorne, read this letter it's so thoughtful,” I gush as I hand her the letter.

My mother gasps and reaches the letter from my hand, and as she reads from my periphery I see my brothers whisper to one another from their couch and I see Colin leave while Benedict stays.

“This is wonderful news! It’s only been half a week in this season, and it seems like you’ve already found yourself a suitor, my dear,” mother said.

“It’s all thanks to you mama, my wonderful wit and looks must’ve charmed him and I got them all from you,” I replied. We then looked at each other and bursted out laughing, hugging each other as we giggled at the letter and bouquet.

“Do you really think he likes me though? Because I have heard what my brothers said about him and they went to the Academy together,” I said suddenly.

“Oh don’t be ridiculous, you two are about to begin a beautiful courtship I can sense it,” my mother assured me.

“What is going on here?” I hear Anthony stomp over in the room.

“It seems like your sister charmed the Duke of Dorne,” mother explains.

Anthony grabs the letter from the end table and reads it, he hands it over to Colin and Benedict to read, who then turns just as angry as Anthony.

“This is ridiculous, don’t you think he’s going a bit too far and fast with this, mother?” Anthony questioned.

“Well sure it may seem a bit fast but it’s not like he asked for her hand in marriage yet, it’s the start of a courtship, have you seen the flowers he sent her?” my mother reasoned.

“Expensive ones,” I jumped in.

Anthony glared at me for a moment but then returned to his normal posture as he then gestured to all three of him, Colin, and Benedict as he says, “Just know that we are only looking out for you sister, and if he even dares to touch a hair on your head without your consent, just give the word and we will fight him for you.”

Benedict and Colin nod in agreement but I scoff and replied, “Three against one, seems hardly fair does it?”

“It does when it accounts towards the family honor,” Benedict says.

I just huffed at that and grabbed the letter from their hands and replied, “Well I think his charming, but if you can think of a better match than him I am all ears, however for now you will to be contempt with the fact your sister is in the dating season in Westeros and I hope you three can wrap your heads around that.”

With that I kiss my mother on the cheek as I bid my farewell to the rest of them as I take my leave to my bedroom where I laid on my bed clutching the letter to my chest. I laid there motionlessly for a minute before a smile spread across my face at the thought of Oberyn Martell writing the letter and handing the flowers himself.

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The time has arrived for my family and I to arrive at the next gathering, which is to be hosted by the Tyrells this time. The House of Tyrell is known for their lavish spending on the decorations and music, the only family that comes close to their lavish spending are the Lannisters. Lord Mace Tyrell of Highgarden is rarely seen during the parties rather he has a much permanent stay over at the King’s Palace, as he is the King’s most renowned advisor, however the Lady of the House, Lady Alerie Hightower has a graceful demeanor and peaceful aura that one hopes they can be graced with in their lifetime.

We all gathered into the carriage together when we were all dressed and ready to go, with Anthony being the last to arrive. Mother and I sat next to each other giggling to ourselves and clutching each other’s arms thinking about Oberyn. My brothers sat across from us sulking with their arms crossed, probably scheming about ways to get me away from Oberyn.

The carriage stopped and the rider signaled us that we have arrived at the Tyrell estate at Highgarden. The estate is beautiful with the castle stretching for miles on either side of the front entrance, with the renowned beautiful rose gardens stretching around the landscape of the castle. It was beautiful, as to be expected of the Tyrells.

We entered the ballroom in which the party is primarily at, and I soon saw Tyrion talking to the hosts of the party, Lady Alerie and her daughter Lady Margery. They both are the belles of the ball tonight, it was also seen as Lady Margery’s debut into the social season, we haven’t talked much so I can’t really say anything about her character.

Tyrion sees me and waves me over so I do with my mother in tow, we come to greet him and the hosts.

“Lady Alerie, Lady Margery, we are grateful for your invitation,” my mother greets her as we both curtsy in greeting.

I turn to Margery and say, “you look absolutely beautiful this day, might I add the color green really takes to you.”

“Why, I am quite flattered to hear that because from what I heard around the town, you are the Incomparable this season,” Lady Margery remarks.

“It is quite true, even if she doesn’t want to admit it, she is the best student I ever had,” Tyrion says for me.

“Who cares for me when I heard that a certain prince caught your eye?” I question.

Margery blushes under the question and Tyrion raised his eyebrows at me in response. Before anyone can further the conversation I heard the band begin to play the first song of the ball. Lady Margery excuses herself as she readies herself to be asked on the dance floor. Within the first verse she did get asked by a handsome bachelor.

The prince in question was Prince Joffrey Baratheon, he was being groomed to take the role of King of Westeros quite soon, however room speculates about how prepared he may be. In the eyes of high society he was supposed to debut as a bachelor if he was anyone else, but he is the Platinum Prince as people liked to call him. Tyrion likes to call him the Plastic Bastard behind closed doors.

My mother soon takes off as she told me that she was going to try to fend off my brothers from scaring off any suitors my way which I thank her for.

“So you are hearing things about that loathsome child?” Tyrion questions in a hushed tone.

“Quite, but don’t worry it’s all gossip, it seems like Lady Margery is getting favors from Prince Joffrey. He seems to be quite adamant that he has found her princess, however the Queen might feel about it,” I state as I watch the dancing.

“That is quite the speculation, but it does appear you are right, because Lady Alerie seems to think that this debut was only to announce that Lady Margery has come of age into the social season, because it seems like Lady Alerie already picked out and secured a quite permanent suitor for her daughter,” Tyrion speculated with a sip from his glass.

“I wouldn’t even be surprised if the prince came here uninvited to try and win the people’s hearts with a grand spectacle. How the royal family do like their toys,” Tyrion continued.

“Bite your tongue Lannister, I don’t want to lose a friend simply due to gossip,” I paused then leaned down to whisper to him, “But you are quite right about the toys. It would be a shame if the prince realized he was also a pawn to the Queen’s game as well.”

“Aren’t we all,” Tyrion muttered. We both glanced at each other and shared a smile at that, we clink our glasses together as we drink with smiles on our faces.

“I see you two are together often,” I hear a voice approach us.

I turned and saw the Duke of Dorne smiling at us, in a very catching navy blue, and golden yellow suit with a dappled blue ascot tied and tucked around his neck. His olive skin seems to glow from the ensemble, and I start to blush at how intense his gaze was at me.

“You see, your grace, it’s merely a ruse so my brothers aren’t as intense at protecting me, they don’t see Lord Tyrion as a threat, so I am able to breathe freely from such scrutiny,” I say with a conspiratory smile on my face.

Tyrion pretends to gasp as he clutches imaginatory pearls around his neck.

“My word, Lady (Y/N) if only your guard dogs can hear you now,” Tyrion states.

We both laugh at that while the Duke has a huge grin on his face, watching us.

“Well now that I know the truth, may I have this dance, I do believe they are about to start the Cotillion Dance if you care to join me?” the Duke offered with his hand out.

“I would be honored, Lord Martell,” I say cautiously as I take his hand and he leads me to the dance floor.

The music begins and we all stand in formation at the start of the dance, then the dancing commenced. The man of course led this dance as well, and from our first dance together I took well under his lead in the dance. It felt like we were gliding on the dance floor with us twirling and spinning around each other, but I felt safe and confident as we danced together. I felt beautiful and radiant, I looked into the Duke’s eyes and it felt like he had his eyes on me the whole time. The Cotillion ended as we took our bows and he led me off the dance floor.

We found a corner of the ballroom as he took me there, and he began to speak.

“So, I was wondering and I know this might be too soon after our second dance but I would like to propose something to you,” the Duke began.

“Yes?” I urged.

“Well, I would like to begin a courtship with you,” the Duke says.

I let out a startled laugh at that as I immediately put my hand on my mouth at that, I grew hot with embarrassment almost immediately.

“I don’t mean to embarrass you, but you see my brothers are quite adamant at protecting me and if they heard you propose that to me, they would all beat you to a pulp. They also seemed to warn me against you as well I might add,” I warned him.

He quirked his eyebrow as he heard me which he then replied, “I wonder what those warnings might be? Is it that I am a rake? Or is it that I had frequented brothels?”

“There was that, but also that you are a bit of a brute,” I added.

He gave a quiet laugh at that as he shook his head and then let out an exhale. I gave him a soft smack to his torso as I reprimanded, “Don’t laugh! So tell me is it true then? Should I be cautious of you then?”

He gave a dramatic pause as he gave a thoughtful stroke to his facial hair and he looked up to the ceiling as if in quiet deliberation.

“Well all those rumors used to be true a couple months ago, I was quite rebellious towards my family affairs and myself I suppose. I didn’t want to take responsibility quite yet,” he said.

“Well what changed?” I inquired.

“Well to put it quite simply, my older brother, he has his own state of affairs with his own estate at Godsgrace and with our sister Elia passing away so suddenly from influenza we were both stricken with grief,” he pauses as if in reflection.

I nod in understanding, I put my hand on his as I squeezed it in reassurance waiting for him to continue talking.

After a moment of soft silence between us as the music and society dances around us, we were caught up in each other, in this moment.

“Well, I suppose that brought things in perspective for both of us, let’s say. I know she loved us until the very end of her life, but I suppose that grief has left me stricken to try and chase anything that made me feel something other than grief and molly houses, duels, boxing, and fencing were all things that did,” he seemed to emphasize the past tense in his sentence.

“Well I am sure if she saw you now, she would not blame you for what you have done. Grief does strange and terrible things to us all. I was similar to you as my papa had just recently passed away this past year, I had locked myself away in my room and not talked to anyone except my mama and even then it was short sentences. They loved each other dearly, my parents,” I explain.

“What got you through the grief?” he asked.

I paused in thought then answered, “Well to be honest, there will always be an ache in my heart for him but what got me through in acceptance was my family and the world outside my window. Nature allowed me to relapse in my head and to just breathe fresh air without thinking of my father, my family, businesses or anything else. It allowed me for a moment to collapse and I think I needed that.”

“You are quite wise for someone so young,” the Duke remarked.

“Well three older brothers and two younger siblings someone ought to be,” I answered.

He smiles at my comment and then replies, “Well I think that does it for our serious conversation. Would you like another dance, my lady?”

“Why I would be happy to, sir.”

The next dance was led by a bright happy tune and we instantly knew the dance was to be of a country dance. We beamed at each other as we both realized that, it was as if the band realized we needed a reprieve. The dance was filled with bouncing and skipping around the entire floor, and it led to us with bright smiles on each other’s faces as we continued to stare at each other throughout the whole dance. From the corner of my eye I saw my brothers with concerned expressions as they saw me dancing with the Duke, and I also saw my mother and Tyrion both smiling at us.

“It seems like we have fans,” the Duke whispered to me.

“And critics,” I added, which made both of us lean back a little and let out a small laugh.

“I assure you that the criticisms that your brothers may have me are of past consequence,” he tells me.

“Oh I’m quite confident in that,” I say.

The dance then ended with us as routine in society, we take our bows and he leads off the dance floor. Which we were then greeted with three angry faces and two smiling ones.

“What are you doing with him, (Y/N)?” Anthony questioned.

“Well I'm having a lovely time, if you must know, brother,” I answered.

“I was also going to ask you something before your family came over,” Oberyn says.

“Oh what is it?” I asked.

“Since we have twice tonight, and from our conversations I would like to make our courtship public and to get approval from your family,” Oberyn announces. (In regency era, if a lady dances only with one man, especially twice in one night, it is seen as either she is “easy” or she is engaged to that man)

“How da-” Anthony started.

“Wonderful,” my mother finished as she elbowed Anthony.

“It seems you have taken fascination with my student, eh Red Viper?” Tyrion asks.

“I sincerely have, and I want to make this an amazing courtship, I know that your family is known for honeyed alcohol but what of sweets? There is an amazing cafe that I would love to take you sometime this week,” Oberyn offered.

“I would love to, Duke” I answered.

“You could take her this weekend, that’s two days away, I’m sure you can take her then,” my mother responds.

“That sounds wonderful,” Oberyn answered.

“Then it’s settled, I can’t wait to see you that day. Well I think we’ll take our leave then,” I say and my mother reached for my arm and we were escorted home leaving Oberyn and my brothers to their own disposal.

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

Two days have passed with relative ease even though all three brothers have badgered my ear off with the countless requests to put Duke Oberyn in his place by way of a duel, which I vehemently denied. My sisters have taken to making fun of me for being so enchanted by the Duke of Dorne, and it seems the only person who was my confidante in this new relationship was my mother.

The clock in the drawing room has struck 12 o’clock meaning that it was time for me to be heading out towards the main town in the Reach which was only 30 minutes away from our estate by foot, so it was easy for me. I took to wearing my riding boots and my favorite dress and wearing my hair in a simple updo fashion, well as simple as one can make it with the fashion trends these days.

I ended up making it to the main road of the town in enough time that I was allowed to stroll around the town window shopping, until I heard my name being called.

“Lady Bridgerton, there you are,” I heard a familiar voice call out.

I turned to see the Duke of Dorne walking my way to me with a lazy grin etched on his face, which got me to smile back at him.

“Why hello Lord Martell,” I say as I do a small curtsy to him.

When he fully approached me he presented his hand to me and as I took it he said, “Shall we?”

“We shall,” I grinned at him.

We made our way to a small cafe that he was adamant that was amazing about their sweets and pastries that they are known for. We found ourselves at a corner of the shop sitting on opposite sides of the table. He ordered for the both of you when it came to that, because he insisted that there were some things that he simply must do for me and to trust him.

I huffed and playfully glared at him as we got our treats in order for us., and he returned my glare with a stare of his own. A smirk plays across his features as he takes a dip into a lemon custard that he got, wrapping his tongue around the spoon.

I inhaled sharply as I watched and I got flustered when he caught my eye, I hurried myself with drinking my hot chocolate that I got. I saw his expression become bemused at what he saw me doing from my periphery, and I tried to shake my head of the thoughts that were swirling in my head.

“So, I was thinking…”

“Oh a dangerous activity indeed,” I teased.

“Hush, I was merely about to ask, what are some things that you would like to do while we are courting, because I would like this to be a worthwhile endeavor for the both of and make this the best courtship for you”

“Well, that’s rather kind of you, but I am sure you are aware that I have not courted anyone at all, and to be quite honest with you I don’t know a thing about courting. Sure I know mannerisms and what to say as well, but what goes beyond that? I simply don’t know. My brothers won’t tell me a thing, and my mother won’t tell me a thing about it.”

“Hmm, well we’ll take it slow then, okay? If I do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable or strange tell me, hmm? I have every intention of making you my wife, so let’s get to know each other during this courting period and don’t worry about not knowing certain things about life because from what I heard you are quite the scholar,” Oberyn responds to my rant.

“Well I try to be, I would love to be a writer one day but that is off limits in today’s society, I’m afraid, so I make do with learning as much as I can with the limited options I am able to. Lord Tyrion makes an excellent teacher, whenever he is not professing his love for alcohol or gossiping about the royals,” I let out.

“Lord Tyrion is quite the conversationalist and wine tester, he knows about everyone and everyone’s cousins, unlike his siblings people have no problem extending an invitation his way. Now, what is your favorite thing that you like to learn? There has to be something that you enjoy out of all your lessons,” he asks.

“Well, I do enjoy painting, and I’m rather indifferent towards my sewing lessons which I suppose is mandatory, but I also deeply enjoy playing music. Painting and music are something I am deeply in love with, I love to go to the Opera theater in town. The touring groups that play there are almost always amazing. I also love going to the art galleries whenever they have a new exhibit to display,” I respond.

“I heard there was going to be a new exhibit opening up in a few days from now, I’m bringing my sister’s favorite painting to be displayed there,” Oberyn states.

“I will be there, I got an invitation from Lady Joanna to be there actually, I’m sure she just wants to keep an eye on me, “ I say.

“Who wouldn’t want to keep an eye on the diamond of the season?” Oberyn questions.

“I hate that people are calling me, as well as the Incomparable? What am I that the other women are not?”

“Well I am not sure how to put it, but you surely have captivated me, and it seems like your focus and intellect has in fact enraptured all that talk to you,” Oberyn assured me.

“I surely hope not, for there are some that I would happy to never come near me again,” I state.

“Oh? And who would that be? You surely couldn’t be talking about the Kingslayer or the Prince?”

“You listen to about as much gossip as my mother, I swear.”

“Well is the gossip wrong?”

“No, not exactly but even if I was interested in them, I doubt that my brothers would even think about letting them breathe in my general direction.”

Oberyn laughs at that.

“Well, then I shall count my blessings that I allowed to still be alive so I may take in your beauty,” Oberyn flatters.

“You already got an outing with me, I hardly think you need to do anymore flattering, Duke,” I respond.

“Hmmmm, I think if we were to continue this courtship I think it would only be fair if you would call me by my first name?” Oberyn insists.

I got flustered by his sudden request but then I went to say, “Of course, only if you do the same.”

He raises his eyebrows at me and had a light smile on his face as he says, “Well of course it’s only fair, (Y/N)”

“Oberyn”

“How sweet it is to hear my name from a lovely flower,” Oberyn compliments.

“Well I think that’s enough pandering today, I am sure you must have more important business then just hanging out with me all day,” I say as I brush my dress and start to stand up.

“Oh there is no more important business then spending time with you, honeybee,” he comments and he winks at me when he calls me that new nickname.

My face got hot with that new nickname as I tried to make my way out of the cafe with Oberyn hot on my trail. He suddenly pulled me aside into a walkway that was a clearing in a park that I hadn’t fully noticed before.

“What? Oberyn? Where are you taking me? I thought we were just heading back,” I questioned him.

“You didn’t think that I would want to part with you so soon, honeybee?” Oberyn asks in return as he spins back to face me.

“I assumed so, my brothers make a point to make sure there are no suitors within an arm’s length of me and I thought you would be the same yet you keep coming back. I thought you would be scared to come near because of my family,” I admitted.

“Ah well, I know how my family is, I am lucky that I was able to grow an estate of my own because my elder brother is the viscount of our family estate and he can be a pain on trying to get me a wife and my personal schedule in general, so believe me when I say I understand siblings. Maybe, not to the extent of your family but to an extent,” He explains.

“Well that explains some of it, I suppose,” I replied.

We were walking side by side at this point and I noticed the sun was just about to set and I realized that we were out together for at least 4 hours, and I was starting to worry what my brothers would think.

After a few moments in silence Oberyn breaks it as he asks, “I just want to ask, why are you so hesitant about this relationship? Is it truly just because of your brothers that you are not willing to enter this relationship or is it something else entirely?”

“It is mostly because I am afraid Oberyn,” I tell him.

We now stood in front of a beautiful ficus tree with its branches spread all in different directions but the leaves always reaching towards the sun. I turn my focus on studying this tree instead of looking at him, embarrassed for admitting my fear. For I want to love him with my whole being already but scared of the novelty of it.

Oberyn hummed in thought as he heard my fear and after a moment of silence he spoke up, “Well then we shall take it slow, as slow as we can in this season anyway. The gods know how the Queen loves a good wedding.”

I turned to him and I smiled softly at how gently he spoke. “Thank you Oberyn then I will see you at the gallery then,” I say to him.

“Yes you shall, now let’s get you back before your brothers come looking for us and to take my head.”

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

The days seem to blur as I wait in anticipation for my next meeting with Oberyn, it has been less than a week since we have started courting but I am already infatuated with the man. Relationships have started off with less in these times, right? I mean Countess Daneryes had an arranged marriage with Count Drogo, they seem happy enough from the little times they do make a public appearance but I can only imagine if things were to have been worse.

During the few days between my dates with Oberyn, I had been pressured to practice my music skills more, as my mother thinks that a Duchess should know the masterpieces of the piano. I just hope one day I’d have the liberties to be able to compose my own piece on the piano.

Benedict had recently taken art classes, Colin also started taking fencing lessons, and Anthony has been Anthony. When I announced that I would be attending the new painting gallery, Benedict showed his interest in escorting me there as well as wanting to see the new art in general. With that settled, Colin and Anthony begrudgingly said that they’ll let me go on my own with Benedict. My mother seemed equally as excited as I am about the art gallery, because I have talked to her about Oberyn and she approves of the relationship.

Benedict and I went off to the gallery once we were already ready to go. We stepped foot in the carriage and off we went to the main city’s art gallery. The ride went quickly and rather quietly as well, but I didn’t pay any mind to the silence. I was just excited to see Oberyn again.

We arrived at the gallery, and once we stepped inside I was absolutely mesmerized by the decor and ambience of the entire place. The paintings were displayed in front of a beautiful burgundy backdrop all throughout the place. My brother and I bid our farewells to each other as we went to go look at the different paintings.

I explored and looked at the different types of paintings that were displayed around the gallery.

“Well if it isn’t Lady Bridgerton, how very nice to see you,” I heard a voice coming up to me.

I looked to my right to see Duchess Joanna, I bowed my head towards her and gave her a polite greeting as well.

“I’m glad to see you got my invitation well, how is your relationship going with Duke Oberyn?” Duchess Joanna asked.

“I think it’s going well, at least I hope so,” I respond.

“So when do-”

“Ah Duchess Joanna, how good to see you here. I want to thank you for extending an invitation and for me to display my family’s paintings here,” I hear a familiar voice interrupt.

I tilt my head to Oberyn as he made his appearance between the Duchess and I, it seems he must’ve heard the conversation and wanted to circumvent the question the Duchess was about to ask.

“Of course, and I see you have found each other so I will be taking my leave,” Lady Joanna says and with that she walks off.

Oberyn turns to you and as you meet each other’s eyes you both smiled.

“It seems that you were about to meet a very uncomfortable question with Lady Joanna,” Oberyn began.

“So you decided to intervene then? Ah, my hero,” you stated.

The smiles never faded from either of your faces as you two began to walk around the gallery. When you were passing by an entry to a hallway of another gallery, Oberyn nodded towards it and guided you to walk through it, and when you got there you were amazed by the two pieces adorned on either side of the wall.

The first one we saw was on all accounts a technical masterpiece, but as I was looking at it all I felt was cold calculating movements and techniques that are being taught today. The second one however was of a landscape, and it looked like it was of Dorne, there was a familiarity to it and a warmth surrounding the piece that I felt like I was home already.

“So what do you think?” Oberyn asks.

“Well, the first one felt frigid like it was only made to be appraised for its techniques and nothing else. However this one, this one, felt so warm, so comforting, it feels like hiraeth,” you say as you turn to him.

He hums in acknowledgement and looks at you with a small smile on his face.

“This was my sister’s favorite, and behind was our father’s commission piece, I think you spoke well on the differences here. I feel the same, I began to feel that this was my favorite as well, after she died. What is hiraeth? I’ve never heard that word before,” Oberyn responded.

“It means to be homesick for a home that never existed,” I answered.

Oberyn nodded in acknowledgement and we both turned to the painting again, looking at the beautiful image in front of us. The distant voices of the rest of the guests slowly faded away as we continued to stand almost shoulder to shoulder with each other. I felt a pull towards him, I wanted to hold his hand so badly, it was strange, but did he feel the same? I glanced quickly to see our hands reaching for each other and we felt our fingertips touch. As soon as we felt them we heard a loud crash. With that loud crash, our little microcosm came crashing down with that sound.

We turned to the source of the sound and we were greeted with the sight of my brother Benedict sliding on the floor and met my eyes.

“Ah there you two are, I was wondering where you ran off to,” Benedict states.

“Like I didn’t see you running off to see your mentor just in time to avoid Lady Joanna,” I bounced back at him.

“That doesn’t prove anything, dear sister, and anyway we should be getting back, I should escort you back to the house, even if you do have a suitor now,” Benedict eyed Oberyn as he spoke.

“I hope to see you soon, maybe we shall go for a picnic?” Oberyn asks you.

“Speaking of picnics, well not really, how would you want to come to dinner one day? Our mother seems keen on meeting you properly, you know my brothers, and my precious little sister, but pray my mother, so here is an invitation for you to come over tomorrow. Don’t worry, mother knows about it (Y/N),” Benedict interrupts.

I just gaped at him as I heard him talk, I knew my mother wanted to talk to Oberyn, but have him over for dinner? Isn’t that a bit much? I turn to Oberyn, I see he had a lazy grin stretched across his face.

“Well, how can I say no to such an invitation,” Oberyn lamented and he claps his hands together looking between the three of you with a smile on his face.

With that you all started to head back into the thrums of the gathering in the gallery, as Benedict walked ahead you walked a bit slower with Oberyn.

“I am eager, adamant and sincere about this relationship, honeybee, and I hope you and your family see it that way as well,” Oberyn tells you.

“Oberyn, you make my heart burn with such sweetness that you say to me, and if you keep that up I’m sure my mother will fall under your charm as well,” I murmured to him.

After that my brother and I said our farewells to the appropriate guests and we headed our way back home.

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News has reached all of my brothers and sisters about how Duke Oberyn has finally decided to make an appearance to the Bridgerton estate, which got my sisters and mother very excited about this new man coming to visit that wasn’t family.

My brother, Anthony, seemed to be brooding the most about this new development, which I could’ve seen coming from a mile away. Colin and Benedict were taking it better then expected except now they have decided would be an excellent time to warn me against Oberyn even more vehemently before. I still don’t understand why my brothers are so against this, I like him, isn’t that enough? Or is it because they were friends in the same academy?

The preparations have made for the table and the maids and butlers have made sure that everything is pristine in the household, and as the time ticks down for Oberyn to arrive, I’ve become increasingly more worried that something might go wrong.

Then once the hour arrived, we got word that Oberyn had arrived and we all got ready to greet him. Oberyn walked into the drawing room where we all were loitering, Hyacinth and Eloise were reading and embroidering, I was talking to my mother, and the three brothers were all talking amongst each other. Once we were aware of his presence we all said our polite greetings, with my mother going straight away to compliment him which Oberyn took and reflected back to her.

We all made our way to the dining table where the food was already present on the table, as we all took our seats Oberyn moved his way to me and sat down with me.

Then dinner began and with that our usual chaotic family conversation began. Hyacinth refusing to eat her vegetables, Eloise teasing her, Benedict and Colin teasing each other and shoving each other at the table and my mother chastising every one of them.

Oberyn leans to whisper to me, “I didn’t know family meals could be so entertaining.”

“Oh you should see them during the holidays, they’re entertainment all by themselves,” I whisper back.

I look up and see Anthony glaring at us, I turn back to Oberyn and asked him, “Why is Anthony so opposed to our relationship?”

“He’s your brother, ask him,” Oberyn answered.

“And he’s your friend, plus he won’t talk to me no matter how many times I ask,” I pressured him,

“I think it’s all about my past, I normally wouldn’t have seen myself with a longtime commitment but with you I do, and I think your brother is having difficulty realizing that I grew out of my adolescence,” he answered.

I nod and smile at him in understanding, I reach for his hand under the table and squeeze it in reassurance, which in turn made him smile at me.

“Well, Duke, I have seen and heard that you have become quite attached with my dear daughter,” my mother spoke up.

Oberyn straightens his back in his chair and he replies, “I am very much attached with her, Lady Violet. I’ve come to nickname her honeybee.”

“Did you allow him to call you this?” Anthony glared.

“Yes I did, brother, and he allowed me to just say his first name as well, I do hope you realize that we are sincere about each other,” I replied.

Anthony sighed while mother gave me a soft smile in return, and I looked to see Oberyn beaming at me.

“Well, Duke, I do hope to see you marry her before the season ends, it’d be a shame to see this season go to waste,” my mother pestered.

“Mother,” I warned her and all I got in return was a confused look from my mother.

“I have every plans on doing so actually, I hope for every one of you to see how sincere and earnest I am with your daughter,” he turns to me and takes my hand and he kisses it lightly, “she has me so under her spell, she has me bewitched body and soul, and I am not sure how any marriage proposal would befit how she has me feel.”

I felt my whole body flush with heat and tears pricked my eyes at the praises and endearments he was giving me. He was ethereal, otherworldly, with how he treated me and I swear to the old gods that if that wasn’t his marriage proposal then-

“Well I think that was as good of a marriage proposal as any,” Hyacinth quipped from the other side of the table.

Oberyn’s face turned as red as the roses set on the table. I see from the corner of my eye my mother nods to Oberyn and he takes a deep breath. He stands up and kneels before me with both of my hands in his and what I saw in his eyes made it click in my head what was happening.

“(Y/N), my honeybee, we may have known each other for two months and started courting for half of that time, but I already know in my heart of hearts that you own my everything already. Whenever we part I am always thinking of our next meeting, and I may have already talked to your mother about this, and I want you to make me the luckiest man in all of the world, and let me call you my wife as I am already yours fully, so you can call me husband. So will you marry me?”

Tears flowed down my face as I slid off my chair to cling onto him tightly as I said, “Yes, a thousand times yes, I will marry you Oberyn Martell, I love you so much.”

“As I do you, my love, I love you too,” he whispers to me as he caresses my head.

Applaud littered the dining hall with my family congratulating us as well as the staff on our new engagement. As we stood in this new feeling, I reveled in it and I felt elated, like I was floating and I couldn’t get down even if I wanted to.

I looked at Oberyn and he looked at me with such love and adoration that I knew I made the right choice. I found the love of my life and I found it in him.

#oberyn x reader #Oberyn Martell #oberyn martell x reader #the red viper #game of thrones #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #midnight post #sorry i had to get this out here #bridgerton inspired #bridgerton #bridgerton au #regency era au #au

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smaidjor · 3 years

Text

and i pay for my place by the ring (Chapter 3)

Hey everyone and welcome to the third and likely final chapter of this saga! When I was writing this, I told my friends it might end up the shortest chapter.

Spoiler alert: it was not, in fact, the shortest chapter.

Anyways, thank you guys for sticking with me through this insane journey of angst writing! The story doesn't end here, but the fic does because I think I'm going to be switching how I write it a little bit. You'll see if I ever get the energy to write the continuation.

(Also, I've stopped putting AO3 links in the actual post because then it doesn't show up in the tag.)

Anyways, enjoy this chapter!

Chapter Title: to turn at last to paths that lead home

Chapter Wordcount: 4686

Content warnings: mentions of death, violence, blood, mild injury, religion, self-esteem issues. There is also something that could be considered similar to deadnaming, though the character is not necessarily trans, so read with caution if that could be triggering to you.

Actual fic under the cut:

That night, Scott dreams he’s a child again, playing amongst the peaks with Xornoth by his side. They laugh as they dart out of his reach, and he jumps over a rock to try and catch them.

“Too slow,” Xornoth snickers, and Scott glares at them.

“Someday I’ll be ten times as fast as you, and stronger too!”

They laugh again and tackle him into the grass, forceful enough to push him down but not enough to really hurt. “Alright, little bro.”

“You’re only older by seven minutes!”

“Seven minutes, more like seven times cooler than you!”

Scott reaches up and tickles them, grinning wickedly as they yelp and roll off him.

The scene shifts, and this time it’s a teenaged Xornoth laying on the hill beside him, staring up at the sky.

“Hey, Scott?”

“Yeah?”

“If anything ever happens to me-”

“It won’t,” Scott interrupts, heart in his throat. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

“It could-”

“No.”

They sigh. “Alright. But if it ever does, I need you to promise me one thing.”

“What is it?”

“I need you to promise that you’ll take care of Rivendell.”

Scott glares at them. “Rivendell hates me. Don’t ask-”

“Please. Scott, please just promise me this one thing.” Their face is deathly serious. “I don’t- nothing’s going to happen to me, but I need to know that Rivendell will be safe if anything does.”

"But-"

"Please, Scott. I know you would do brilliant at it, and I need the guarantee.

He sighs but ultimately gives in. “I wouldn't, but fine. I promise.”

Xornoth nods, seemingly satisfied. “You’re leaving tonight, right?”

“I am.”

“Then take this.” They roll over and press something into his hand. “You’ll need it.”

Scott looks down to see Vilya, the silver band gleaming in the sunlight. “Xor, you can’t give me this. This is-”

“I know perfectly well what it is, little bro.” He looks up to find them smiling sadly. “And I know you’ll need it. Now better wake up, your husband’s calling.”

“My wha-”

Scott’s plunged back into awareness to the sound of Jimmy calling his name.

“Scott? Please?” He sounds shaken, but it barely registers in Scott’s sleepy brain.

Scott rolls over and blinks his eyes open to see Jimmy watching him with concern. “Five more minutes, darling.”

“I think something’s wrong,” Jimmy says, urgent. “It feels wrong. Really wrong.”

That wakes Scott up, alright, the fear in his husband’s voice sending a spike of worry through him as he sits up. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. It’s alright, go back to sleep.”

“No, no, I trust your gut.” He trusts Jimmy more than anything else, really, which is why he gets up and out of bed. “Let’s go look, and if it’s nothing then I’ll sleep more, okay?”

Jimmy nods, hurrying after him. “I have a really terrible feeling, Scott. Be careful, please.”

“I should be telling that to you,” Scott teases.

“Hey, I’ve gotten more careful!”

Scott can’t help but laugh at how offended his husband sounds, but his mirth dies as quickly as it came. “You’re right, Jimmy. Something isn’t right.” It’s making the hairs on his arm stand up, a prickling unease similar to what he felt before the battle where Jimmy died.

“I know, it feels awful!”

“Mhm.” Scott grabs his favorite axe, glancing back at Jimmy one more time. “Stay behind me, just in case.”

He swings the door open. It takes a moment to spot what’s wrong, but once he does, his heart plummets; Xornoth is standing across the valley next to his enchanting tower, their face and body twisted with corruption but still unmistakably Scott’s sibling.

“That’s the demon!” Jimmy hisses. He sounds terrified, and Scott can’t blame him, much as it feels like a punch to the gut to know that his sibling is the one who’s been harassing his husband.

Scott grits his teeth. Protect Rivendell, that’s what he promised Xornoth all those years ago. “That?”

“Yes!”

“Right. Okay.” He takes a deep breath, trying to compose himself. “Jimmy, I need you to listen to exactly what I say right now. If I say get down, you get down. If I say run, you run and don’t look back no matter what you hear. Can you do that?”

Jimmy’s response comes a second later. “I trust you. If you say run, I’ll run.” The pure faith in the words is enough to make Scott’s throat close up for a moment, choked with sudden emotion at the level of trust Jimmy’s showing him even after everything that happened.

He shoves that feeling down. “Alright. Give me your engagement ring.”

“Wh-”

“Trust me. Please.” Scott’s nearly begging, voice cracking a bit on the last word. Jimmy must hear how weak he sounds, because he gives in without question, handing over Vilya.

Scott slides it onto his finger, hands trembling just a bit as he does. He remembers being given this ring, being just as terrified by how much Xornoth trusted him then as he is by how much Jimmy trusts him now. Ironic, really, that now he’ll be using this ring against the person who gave it to him to begin with. “Okay, Jimmy. I’m about to go out the front door, and when I do, I need you to go out the side door over there and run for the stables. When you get there, roll in the mud and then run for the village. Speed over stealth, corrupted elves track by smell and sound rather than sight.” He keeps the instructions quick and clear, praying that Jimmy’s not stubborn enough to disobey. He can’t lose Jimmy, he can’t.

Thank god, Jimmy nods.

Scott takes another deep breath, brain awhirl as he tries to figure out how he’s going to keep both Jimmy and Rivendell safe. “From there, I need you to track down an elf called Gilnar and tell them to lock down the kingdom and warn everyone of the danger.” After a moment's thought, he adds “I also need you to tell them that Lord Smajor orders them to protect you.” Gilnar’s trustworthy, they’ll look after Jimmy.

“What about you?” Jimmy asks. “Will you be okay?”

His heart aches at the concern, and it aches more when he opens his mouth to lie. “I will, I promise.” He doesn’t meet Jimmy’s eyes, knowing he’ll break if he does.

Thankfully, Jimmy says nothing about it, instead reaching for one of the spare swords. Good, good, he can protect himself.

“Ready?” Scott asks.

“Ready,” Jimmy confirms, though his voice trembles.

Scott shoves down the part of him that screams that this wasn’t supposed to be his responsibility, that he should just run while he can. He made a promise to his sibling all those years ago, and he’s going to keep it even if it’s now them that he has to defend Rivendell from.

He steps out the door.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jimmy bolt for the stables, but the greater part of his attention is focused on Xornoth, still floating ominously across the valley.

“You do not belong here,” Scott calls out in Sindarin. It’s a challenge more than anything, practically asking them to come fight him.

He knows he’s messing with forces he doesn’t understand and cannot win against, knows it as surely as he knows his own name. Xornoth has always been faster and stronger, after all, ever since they were children.

And yet-

And yet he has to try regardless. After all, when they were children, Scott always tried to win anyways, even if it never worked. And now, the weight of an empire resting on his shoulders and his husband somewhere in the village behind him, the stakes are higher than just his pride. So he squares his shoulders and doesn’t back down as Xornoth appears in front of him with a ripple of smoke, a cruel smirk on their face.

“Well, well, well, dear brother. Never thought it’d come to this.”

“Neither did I,” Scott retorts.

They grin again. “I belong here just as much as you, you know.”

He raises his axe, gritting his teeth. “You did once, but not anymore.”

Xornoth laughs as they dart out of the way of his blows, tendrils of corruption curling around them and reaching for him. “I belong here more than you ever will.”

He stumbles back, trying to get out of their reach. “That’s not true either.”

“Oh, but it is. I thought you’d be too much of a coward to ever face me, you know. Spineless little Scott, running away from his problems like you ran away from our family.”

“We had no family left! It was just you and me!”

“And you left me to be consumed by my own greed and despair. The sibling you know died years ago and it’s all because you’re a coward.”

Scott flinches, barely bringing his axe up in time to block their next strike. “That’s not- that wasn't my fault! I didn't mean for that to happen."

“Do you really think that? Are you really foolish enough to think that you didn’t hurt me by leaving?” Xornoth’s grin is razor-sharp.

“You told me to leave if it would make me happier,” Scott cries, lapsing back into English without thinking about it.

“You shouldn’t have wanted to leave in the first place. No real elven ruler would want to leave the oldest sanctuary of the elves.”

They have him backing up again and again, barely holding them off. “I tried- I was-”

“Look at you, an elf speaking a human language,” Xornoth hisses. “How did you ever think you were going to be good enough for them? You’re never going to be the real king of Rivendell, Elinar.”

“Don’t- don’t call me that,” Scott pants.

“Elinar,” they taunt again. “Stupid, stupid Elinar. Weak, pathetic little Elinar.”

Scott stumbles backward, landing on his butt in the grass as Xornoth towers over him. His axe falls to the side, snatched by a tendril of corruption as they reach out, digging their claws into his shoulders and pushing him down. Scott’s helpless to do anything when those same tendrils reach for him, the smell of rot permeating the air. They hesitate for a moment, hovering above him, and then Xornoth grins sadistically and the corruption snatches him.

It hurts. It hurts more than any pain he’s ever felt. More than Etho’s arrow in his throat, more than Martyn’s arrow to the chest, more than Ren’s sword through his back. More than even waking up back in Rivendell. The corruption wraps itself around his throat and wrists, pinning him to the ground as his older sibling grins. Scott distantly registers that he’s screaming, writhing as he tries to get out of their hold, but everything’s fuzzy with his brain clouded by pain. He doesn’t want to die, not like this. Anything but this.

There’s a faint, familiar voice in the distance, though Scott can’t focus on what it’s saying through the haze of pain. It sounds comforting, though, and he clings to the noise like a lifeline.

All of the sudden, the pain stops and the corruption draws back slightly as Xornoth turns away.

“What did you say to me?” they hiss, in English this time.

“I said you’re ugly!” The same voice calls, and this time Scott recognizes it as Jimmy. Oh, god, Jimmy. “And you suck! Leave my husband alone!”

Xornoth loosens their hold on Scott’s shoulders, turning towards wherever Jimmy is, and Scott’s gets a rush of determination. He can’t let them hurt Jimmy.

Scott backhands them across the face, kicking his way free of their hold with strength he didn’t know he still had. They give a tiny yelp of surprise, a familiar sound, and he staggers to his feet.

This time, he doesn’t bother with the axe. Instead, he forces his will into Vilya, praying to any and every god that it will work for him. He doesn’t even believe in the elven gods any longer, and yet he’s still praying to Aeor, to Varda, to Manwe, to any deity out there that he’s enough of a true elvenking to make a ring of power bend to his will.

“You are not welcome here!” Scott shouts, and he feels the ancient strength of Vilya behind his words.

Xornoth hisses, staggering backwards. “Fine! Banish me, then, if you’re a true enough king to do it. Run back to your mortal lover, Elinar, and pray to all the gods that he doesn’t ever see how worthless you really are.”

He doesn’t flinch, though it’s a close thing. “Leave! Leave and never return!”

This time, Vilya pulses more strongly, and Xornoth is forced out of Rivendell with a hum of power.

Scott stumbles as that rush of power leaves him, collapsing to the ground. His entire body aches from the fight, but more than that, Xornoth’s last words are still ringing in his mind. Pray to all the gods that he doesn’t ever see how worthless you really are. They’re right. He knows they’re right, and that’s the worst part about it.

“Scott! Scott!” He can hear Jimmy call, and within a minute, Jimmy’s standing in front of him.

Scott looks up at his husband- his beautiful, brave husband who he’s never once deserved- his breathing ragged as he tries to reach out. “Jimmy,” He manages, a hoarse whisper.

Jimmy kneels by him, concern written across his face clear as day. “What’s wrong? Where- what’s hurt? I’ll fix it, I promise, I-” Scott grabs him and yanks him into a hug, hardly daring to believe he’s real.

“Oh,” Jimmy says, quiet, dumbstruck. He hugs Scott oh-so-gently, though his embrace isn’t enough to soothe Scott’s trembling. “It’s alright, Scott, we’re alright.”

“Jimmy,” Scott gasps. He needs his husband, needs him to be okay. “Jimmy, I can’t.”

“I-”

“I want it to be over.” It sounds so childish, but he’s so tired. “I don’t want elves or nations or politics. I just want you.”

“I know, I know,” Jimmy soothes.

‘Why does it have to be me? It wasn’t supposed to be! It wasn’t supposed to be me!” Scott wants to shout it, scream it to the world, because it’s not fair. He wasn’t supposed to be heir to Rivendell. He wasn’t supposed to have a ring of power. He wasn’t supposed to be forced to fight his own sibling. It’s not fair, but it happened anyways. It happened anyways, and that’s what breaks him, voice cracking as he begs for something, though he doesn’t even know what he wants at this point. Peace, maybe. Happiness. “I- please- shouldn’t have- Jimmy. Jimmy .”

He repeats Jimmy’s name over and over, searching for any small scrap of comfort as his sobs tear him to pieces, clutched in his husband’s arms on the grass. Jimmy’s so gentle with him, his embrace so kind as he presses soft kisses to Scott’s head and murmurs in a comforting tone, though Scott’s too far lost in his own head to hear any of what Jimmy says. His world narrows to warm arms around him, the texture of Jimmy’s shirt clutched between his fingers. Jimmy smells like dirt and swamp water- it’s the silliest thing to notice when Scott’s busy sobbing over having to fight his own sibling, but it’s easier to think about than anything else. It’s easier to think about Jimmy than anything else, really, easier to cling to the sound of his voice and his hand on Scott’s back than confront the way Scott’s grief is eating him alive.

Distantly, he can hear footsteps approaching. They’re too light to be anything but elven, not that that’s a surprise when they’re in the home of the elves. He can’t bring himself to lift his head and face them, not when his breath is still coming quick and ragged.

Gilnar’s first to speak, hesitant concen leaking into their words. “Uh, milord?”

Scott can feel Jimmy’s grip tighten protectively, can practically imagine his affronted look as he opens his mouth to snap back. “Give him a goddamn minute! He just fought a demon for all of you, let the man rest! I know you’re all elves and you’re all- all elegant and composed or whatever, but you can’t expect someone to be perfect! We’re all human, you know!” He winces a little, knowing the elves are going to tear Jimmy to shreds for that.

Indeed, one of his advisors speaks up, disdain clear in their tone. “You are human, Codfather. We are not. Lord Smajor knew the responsibilities and difficulties of ruling.”

It’s ever the way of elven royalty- their rulers cannot dare be flawed.

“He’s too young for this,” Someone else mutters. There’s as much pity in their tone as there is disdain, a strange mix of concern and derision.

“I- well I don’t think anyone could have expected a demon! And probably even less people’d be willing to fight one!” Jimmy’s voice rises with every sentence. Scott wants to tell him to spare the outrage- he’s not worth it. “Scott’s one of the bravest, kindest, smartest people I know, so lay off him, will you?”

“You know nothing of the affairs of elves,” his advisor sniffs, and Scott’s blood boils at how rude they’re being to Jimmy.

It’s that outrage that gives him the energy to raise his head, forcing his breathing to steady out. “It’s fine, Jimmy. They are correct, I do have responsibilities.” You shouldn’t be defending me, he doesn’t say. I’m not worth your outrage.

“They can’t expect you to be perfect,” Jimmy argues back.

Scott almost laughs, knowing full well that they can and should. Instead, though, he breaks free of Jimmy’s embrace and gets to his feet with far more effort than that should really take. “Gilnar, get the village out of lockdown and make sure people are aware of the threat of Xornoth. Celebear, search the library for any books on corruption of elves, and Lauriel, translate any you find that are not Sindarin into it. Elder council, I need research done on any rings of power that are strong enough to counteract Vilya to that degree, that will narrow down what Xornoth has.” His voice comes out hoarse, and he’s barely aware of what he’s saying, but he forces himself to carry on. “Now, the Codfather and I need to negotiate wool and fish trades,” Scott adds, the quickest excuse he can think of. He grabs Jimmy’s hand, dragging him away as quickly as he can manage, and ignores the stares that follow him.

They make it up the hill and into Scott’s house before Scott’s legs give out, sending him into a chair with an undignified thump. “Well, fuck me to the End and back.”

“Are they always like that?” Jimmy sounds more concerned than anything.

“Pretty much. Gilnar’s okay, just tough as shit, and so are Celebear and Lauriel, but...I wasn’t- well, I wasn’t meant to inherit Rivendell, and the Council of Elders takes every opportunity to remind me of that fact.” That’s just how it is- he doesn’t bother getting upset over it at this point. He’s always going to be second-best.

“Oh.” Jimmy hesitates, and then asks “Who’s Xornoth?”

Scott would be lying if he said he wasn’t terrified of Jimmy’s reaction, but he has nothing left to lose, so he laughs bitterly and answers honestly. “My twin, also known as the demon that’s been terrorizing you.”

“What?”

“My twin. My older sibling.” He gives another little laugh. “The person who was supposed to inherit the throne of the elves.” Who was better than Scott in every way.

“What?” Jimmy sounds shocked and confused, but not angry, not yet, so Scott elaborates.

“Let me start from the beginning. My parents were two elven monarchs, one of the Sindar, and one of the Noldor. With other bloodlines mixed in, but the Sindar and Noldor is the important bit since those two groups haven’t always gotten along. Somewhere around fifty-five years ago, they started trying for kids. What they didn’t expect was that Xornoth and I are identical twins, only the fifth set of elven twins ever recorded.” Old legend says that elven twins are only born in times of great conflict, and Scott can’t exactly say it's wrong.

“Whoa.”

“Mhm. Xornoth was- is- technically the older one, who was always set to inherit the throne of the elves and unite our divided people. They were compared to Elrond, wise and powerful leader of another land named Rivendell far in the past, and I was Elros, his twin. Impulsive, snarky, human.” Scott spits the word a bit like a curse, not because he hates humans, but because he hates himself and all the ways he’s too much like them. He closes his eyes against a fresh set of tears, blinking away the memory of Xornoth’s face when he left Rivendell. “Our parents died when we were both quite young, and we were brought up expecting Xornoth to take the throne as soon as they came of age. I spent my time hanging out with mortals, instead, getting involved in things like mcc and 3rd life.”

“Ohhh,” Jimmy says intelligently. It’s such a Jimmy way to react to something so serious, Scott might laugh if the mood were lighter.

“When I was the elven equivalent of seventeen or so, Xornoth gave me a ring. This ring, specifically.” Scott taps the ring that’s still resting on his middle finger, feeling it hum in return. “Vilya, an elven ring of power. They told me to leave Rivendell and not return.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know at the time, but they were being corrupted by a ring of their own, not to mention their own desire for power.” Scott feels Jimmy take his hand, and looks up to see gentle concern written across his husband’s face. He has to blink again, turning away and forcing his voice to stay steady. “I returned after coming of age while away to find that Xornoth had fled and I was now the heir of Rivendell. Which absolutely no one wanted.”

“Why not? You’re amazing!” Jimmy protests. He sounds so very sincere about it, which makes it all the more heartbreaking how utterly wrong he is.

“Remember when I told you that I’m not a very elven elf? That. I’m too human for their tastes, spend too much of my time with humans.”

“Well, I think you’re wonderful.”

Scott squeezes his hand tight, letting a little of his fondness show. “Thank you, Jimmy. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Something like confusion flashes across Jimmy’s face, and then he opens his mouth again. “Wait. Scott?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Did you give me an elven ring of power for an engagement ring?”

Scott looks away again, his cheeks heating up. “….Maybe.”

“Me! You gave me, little old Jimmy Solidarity, an elven ring of power?” JImmy’s half-laughing, but the sentiment behind the words sounds real. Too real, Scott thinks; it’s as if Jimmy doesn’t know just how incredible he truly is.

“You’re the most precious thing in my life,” Scott tells him, and he means every word. “I gave you everything I could offer.”

It’s kind of adorable how quickly Jimmy flushes, his face going red and his voice rising an octave. “Stop that!”

“Stop what?” Scott asks- perfectly innocently, mind you.

“Saying that stuff and giving me that look, you know what I mean!” He definitely doesn’t. “That soft one that- that makes me all blushy and stuttery!” Jimmy adds, and Scott grins a little. Jimmy’s just too fun to fluster.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he denies, though he’s sure his smile is giving him away as less innocent than he claims.

“I’m trying to scold you for giving me a ring of power that’s super important, stop- stop flirting, for goodness sake!”

“You’re hot when you’re flustered, though.” Scott barely restrains a yawn from slipping into his voice, trying to wipe some of the blood off his face so it’ll stop getting in his eyes.

“Let me get that,” Jimmy offers. Scott’s too tired to protest his fussing, letting Jimmy dab at the cut with a wet rag and bandage it. Jimmy moves on to cleaning out smaller cuts and scrapes, then the bruises, handing Scott some ice to put on the largest ones. It’s sweet, really, how fussed he is over even the smallest injury. Scott doesn’t think he deserves Jimmy taking care of him this gently, but he can’t bring himself to push him away.

Even if it is a bit annoying that Jimmy’s making him do math to check if he has a concussion. “Ninety-two, ninety-one, I swear I’m fine, Jimmy,” Scott huffs, “Ninety, eighty-nine, eighty-eight, eighty-seven, I literally explained elven rings of power to you, eighty-six, eight-five, can I stop counting now?”

“No.”

“Jimmyyyyyyyy.” Scott must sound like a whiny child, but he’s tired.

“Just a bit more? For me?” Jimmy asks. And oh, that bastard, he’s giving Scott the face that Scott can’t ever say no to. Bastard. Absolute bastard. Scott won’t give in, he won’t.

That determination lasts all of ten seconds before Scott sighs and gives in. “Fine. Eighty-four, eighty-three, eighty-two…”

Jimmy makes him count all the way down to seventy and then multiply together thirteen and twelve, which Scott doesn’t hesitate to whine about

“I can’t believe my own husband made me do math.”

Jimmy’s laughter is worth every second of the math, actually, Scott decides as his husband bops him on the nose. “I’ll make breakfast to make up for it?”

“You better!” Scott tells him. He’s trying to sound affronted, but it just comes out fond, much to his exasperation.

Jimmy laughs again and sets about making pancake batter, which Scott doesn’t hesitate to steal bits of even when Jimmy scolds him for it. It’s peaceful, being able to lean back in his chair and laugh when his husband tries to scold him for flirting. The morning light streams in through his window, casting the side of Jimmy’s face in a golden glow, He looks so alive silhouetted like that, a grin splitting his face and bits of flour in his hair. Scott’s breath catches for a minute just looking at him, the familiar ache in his chest returning, though there’s nothing truly tragic about the scene before him.

He shakes that off when Jimmy offers him the first pancake, shoving thoughts of the future aside. For now, he’ll drink hot chocolate in a sunlit kitchen and pretend his hands don’t tremble just enough to nearly spill it. He’s not going to think about the cuts and bruises scattered across his body, not when Jimmy is looking at him like that, with such utter adoration that Scott can barely believe his luck. How did he get a husband so sweet and warm when he’s as bitterly cold as a Rivendell winter? But whether he deserves it or not, Jimmy’s right there laughing along with him, and Scott can’t find it in himself to be unhappy about it.

This won’t last, he thinks as he watches Jimmy try to fit an entire pancake in his mouth just to see if he can. If Jimmy doesn’t die to his own idiocy or the cruel will of Xornoth, time will take him from Scott as surely as the stars shine above Rivendell. Scott is not Luthien or Idril or Arwen, the elven royals lucky enough to spend the rest of eternity with their mortal husbands; Jimmy will die, likely sooner rather than later, and Scott will be alone with the cold weight of a crown to bear and no sunshine to warm him.

This won’t last, but Scott says nothing of it, sipping his hot chocolate and smiling a little sadly into the mug as Jimmy rambles about different types of fish and their personalities. And if his hands are still cold, and he can’t stop a small shiver? Well, Rivendell has always been a cold empire, hasn’t it?

#scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #elf ocs #empires smp #flower husbands

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just-a-poor-boy-queen · 3 years

Note

Credit goes to the anon who suggested Freddie and Jim having a date night while Kash babysits Khaleel.

Part 39 of Jimercury Kid series

‘We might have overdone it with the wine a bit, darling.’ Freddie slurred slightly, resting his head against Jim’s shoulder as the car went over a speedbump, making the whole world spin.

‘Agreed.’ Jim chuckled as he placed a kiss into Freddie’s hair. While he wasn’t quite as inebriated as his husband, he wasn’t too far behind.

When Kashmira had offered to babysit Khaleel so Freddie and Jim could have a date night, the two men leapt at the chance. Of course, they loved spending time with their little boy more than anything, but once in a while it was nice to take a break from parenting and have an hour or two to themselves.

Freddie treated Jim to a romantic meal at Shezan, one of his favourite restaurants. The last time they had dined there, in the early years of their relationship, Freddie had played footsie with the Irishman under the table and spoon-fed him ice cream until Jim was scarlet with embarrassment. Tonight, they recreated that infamous date; Freddie booked the same table in the basement, they held hands and blew each other kisses between courses, and when dessert arrived Freddie pretended the spoon was an airplane and Jim's mouth the runway.

Jim attempted to return the favour, but by then they had already consumed several glasses of wine between them, and most of the ice cream ended up on Freddie’s nose. This proved to be a fatal mistake; they completely fell apart, laughing themselves to tears, completely oblivious to the disdainful looks they were receiving from their fellow diners.

Fuck them, Jim thought. Life is too short to worry about what other people think of you. He and Freddie knew that all too well.

Once the bill was paid, they all but fell into the back of the car, still giggling like children and only just about able to sit upright while Terry rolled his eyes at them fondly through the rear-view mirror. The drive home was a mess of sloppy kisses and uncontrollable laughter until they pulled into the driveway and Jim managed to still his hand long enough to unlock the gate.

They stumbled through the front door, clumsily pulling at each other’s clothes, Freddie moaning loudly as Jim pinned him up against the wall and scattered kisses from his neck all the way up to his jaw. They somehow managed to navigate their way to the lounge and collapsed onto one of the loveseats; Jim had just shrugged off his jacket and Freddie was fiddling with the Irishman’s tie when the light was flicked on, making them both jump.

‘Fun night?’ Kash said from the doorway, her brows almost reaching her hairline.

‘Shit…’ Freddie mumbled, wriggling out from underneath Jim and getting to his feet, trying in vain to appear sober. ‘We were just-’

‘Don’t need to justify yourself to me.’ His sister cut in, waving him away. ‘It’s your house and you can fool around on your own sofa if you want to.’

Freddie’s cheeks went pink, and he quickly smoothed back his hair. ‘Did Khaleel get over okay without us?’

‘He was a bit upset towards bedtime, but Phoebe made him a hot chocolate and he settled down by nine. He was an absolute angel all night.’

‘Thank you for watching him.’ Freddie swayed slightly on the spot; he was a bit embarrassed that Kash had seen him like this. He had always made a point of keeping his more rambunctious side away from his family. ‘I’m sorry about…’

But Kash didn’t appear at all fazed. ‘Don’t apologize for going out and having a good time. Lord knows you’ve earned it. I’m a big girl Freddie, I can handle seeing my brother drunk. I’m not going to have a stroke like Mama would.’

From the loveseat, Jim sniggered loudly.

Once Kash had said her goodbyes and left, the unruly pair ascended the staircase as quietly as they could, poking their heads around Khaleel's door to check on him before retiring to the bedroom. They didn't even bother changing into their pyjamas as they tore off their clothes and fell into bed, too drunk to do anything more than exchange a few sleepy kisses and do a bit of fondling.

‘I love you.’ Jim mumbled against Freddie’s lips, his voice heavy with fatigue but nevertheless sincere. ‘I love you so fucking much, Freddie.’

‘Love you too.’ Was Freddie’s garbled reply, his head feeling like a slab of concrete. ‘Love you to the moon and back, you… you bloody Irish witch, you.’

Jim laughed so hard he was certain he would pull a muscle in his stomach.

Ahhhh I loved this😭😭 It's such a beautiful piece filled with references to Mercury and Me, and oh my heart I am crying.

And lmao, idk why but I find the idea of Kash walking in on them to be very funny, so kudos to the anon who came up with the prompt!

And ahh, bloody irish witch.... I love this nickname so much😂 I may have even written a fic titled a bloody irish witch as well sorry for this shameless promotion

(More drabbles by writer anon)

(All the parts of this series can also be found under the tag #freddie and jim and their baby on this blog)

#ask response #jim hutton #freddie mercury #anon writing #freddie and jim and their baby

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philliamwrites · 4 years

Text

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.6]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 5.1k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn’t help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

Chapter 06: From The Beyond

Ah! It is well for the unfortunate to be resigned, but for the guilty there is no peace.

[Mary B. Shelley, Frankenstein]

Thinking back on it later, the events during Garland Moon were probably what set the hare running toward its demise. Not that any of you could have known that. Not the students who joyfully spend their days in cherished halls where daylight passes through coloured glass; not Byleth with her gift to correct past mistakes with a flick of her wrist and change the course of time; not you with your foresight to see what dangers await in the future and prepare a different path for those you care for to walk safely.

Thinking back on it later, everything that followed surely ascribed to and served Fate, and not even Sylvain could charm her with his silver tongue and golden wit, for Fate’s lover is Time and she does not look kindly upon those who enslave him.

Maybe that is why things turned out the way they did for Byleth and you.

But that future is still far away and every single one of you still believes the goddess has Fate tightly leashed to her side, her benevolence endless and spreading to every corner in Fódlan.

That is why you don’t think too much about it when one day, Seteth disturbs your seminar, a deep frown settled in his features as you explain how to turn an ambush to your advantage to the students.

“Apologies for the disturbance, Herald. Lady Rhea asks to see Ashe.”

The boy gives a pitiful squeal but is up on his feet nonetheless. “Me? Why?”

“You will see. Please come.” Seteth holds the classroom’s door open.

You nod, a little worried about the frightened glance Ashe sends your way like he hopes you can actually say no and decline Rhea’s command. An encouraging smile is everything you can give him on his way before the door shuts behind him. Its sound wakes everyone else from their slumber and it takes a few minutes to reclaim order and their attention. It certainly does help that the Blue Lion House isn’t as chaotic as a certain other, not to name any names.

Said house proves again to be more difficult to teach. Or tame. You didn’t have the courage to ask why they thought it was a good idea to see whose shoe would leave the darkest stain on Claude’s bedroom’s ceiling. Even days after their mischief students kept talking about how they have never seen Seteth this furious.

“Herald, please,” Hilda cries, tragically draped over the back of her chair, a maiden in bittersweet agony over her loss of free time. “It was all Claude’s fault.”

“Liars never prosper,” Claude calls from the far back of the room. He’s hunched over his papers, working vigorously on Seteth’s punishment. He ordered them to write hundred times I shall not throw footwear against any ceiling in the monastery. They’ve been at it for about twenty minutes and Claude’s quill hasn’t stopped its furious scratching against parchment at all.

“I won’t mess with Seteth,” you tell them and lean dangerously far back on your chair to place your feet on the teacher’s desk. “And you deserve it. Or do they not teach you proper manners in your noble homes?”

“Well, it’s not like anyone taught us not to do it,” Hilda chirps. You throw a glare her way and she quickly dugs her head and continues writing. Quills scratch on paper for about seven seconds before Hilda stops again.

“Herald,” she says. “What do you think about Lady Catherine’s Thunderbrand?”

You look up from your book titled Noticeable War Generals. Smile gone from her face, Hilda looks up at you with sharp curiosity. It’s eerily silent now, and a quick glance towards Claude shows he is listening as well.

Catherine’s Thunderbrand. Its sight is still burned into the back of your closed eyes: Golden ivory forged into a grotesque sword, a blood red Crest Stone in its middle that seemed to pulsate—as if it breathed. As if it was a living thing with a heart. You had simply stared at it in awe and thought What a mesmerising weapon.

“It’s … fascinating,” you manage. “A Hero’s Relic. There are more than just Thunderbrand, right?”

“Ten exist,” Claude calls from the back. “Bestowed by the goddess upon ten heroes, they are passed down to their descendants. House Riegan and House Goneril have one in their possession as well.”

“Then why don’t you use it?” You certainly wouldn’t miss a chance to own and wield a mighty weapon like that.

“Wield that?”Hilda shudders in disgust. “No thank you. It looks so weird, pulsating and moving like an insect.”

“And we’re way too inexperienced to use it in a real battle.” Claude puts his quill between his nose and upper lip and tries to hold it there. “They’re locked away anyway and hidden from those who might misuse their power.”

Claude has a point. Nonetheless, you’d gladly take a look at them. Maybe even hold one … Did the Herald own one as well? A special weapon only forged for the Herald. A slight shudder runs down your spine at the thought of using it in battle.

Ten minutes later, Claude jumps to his feet. He hurries towards you, slams his parchments on the table and leaves just as fast. “Bye Herald!”

“No way!” Hilda pales. “How is he so fast?”

You wonder as well and take a look at his papers. Instead of writing what Seteth has told them, Claude simply left poor drawings of their crime and promised with one sentence he wouldn’t do it again.

And we of House Riegan never break our promises, reads the last line.

You groan. Now it’s your turn to think about a good explanation to Seteth’s questions why you haven’t paid more attention.

Month three passed within the blink of an eye. Garland Moon brought the sweet smell of white roses to Garreg Mach, a tradition much anticipated by the students. Everywhere you went, garlands and gifts made of white roses were given to each other as a sign of friendship or budding love. Some found their way to your desk, though your admirers preferred to stay anonymous whereas Byleth was busy to stow them somewhere—not a day passed without her receiving something or a group of giggling students following her around.

“I really don’t know what to do with all those flowers,” she told you one day during a tea session, a deep frown on her face. “They wilt. Then I throw them away. It’s a waste.”

“Your students love it,” you replied but were glad not to be in her place.

Another good deed Garland Moon brought with it is longer days and shorter nights. Students lounged outside in their summer uniforms after class, enjoying those last warm days before raining season arrived with fierce gusts and heavy pouring, forcing them back inside where they spent their free time inside the library or the dining hall, playing little games to kill time.

For a change of pace, Byleth and Jeralt decided they’d hold a grilled fish dinner on every last day of each week and most of the invited either didn’t have the heart or the courage to tell them once every week was once every week too much.

Everything happened too fast after that. Rhea informed the teacher’s faculty and her Knights of Lord Lonato Gaspard’s planned rebellion against the church. With that, the mystery of why Seteth had demanded to speak with Ashe was solved; it also explained why he spent so much time inside the chapel, praying and wondering himself about his adoptive father’s reasoning.

“There is no question about it,” Rhea says in her cool, demanding voice once every teacher and Knight of Seiros gathered inside the War Room to discuss the matter. “We will send a troop to meet them halfway in Kingdom Territory. They will pay for mocking our goddess.”

“Allow me to lead the Knights, Lady Rhea,” Catherine says. Even now, you can’t take your eyes off Thunderbrand strapped on her back. “I know Gaspard and what he’s capable of.”

“We did not forget what you’ve done back when—” Seteth starts. Catherine silences him with one look, leaving no doubt she doesn’t wish to speak of it.

“And that is exactly why I have to go.”

Rhea nodded. “So be it. I know I leave this mission in your capable hands.”

“But why is he leading this rebellion?” you wonder. “I thought the Kingdom is strongly devoted to Seiros’ teachings.”

“Every flock has its black sheep,” Rhea says, sounding sad. “We will get our answers once we defeat and capture them.”

“What about the surrounding villages and those who support Gaspard’s rebellion but don’t fight?” Byleth asked. Until now, you haven’t really thought of those not directly involved in it, but she does make a good point.

Rhea squared her shoulders. “What about them?”

“They’re not directly involved but might try to get in our way.” Byleth glanced at the strategic map laid out before her. There is a way through the forest for your units to approach Lonato’s stronghold. Surrounding villages are marked with a red pin. They surround the forest in a loose circle, making an intrusion possible, though sending Knights of Seiros out to watch them and stop them could be quite easy—

“Everyone who supports this foolish rebellion should receive the rightful punishment,” Rhea says, her voice so cold it freezes your thoughts of how to make the villagers stay out of this. Your head snaps up as you stare at her. Byleth raises an eyebrow but remains silent just like everyone else. Something about that makes you shudder.

“But they’re civilians, right? If we can avoid having them interfere—”

“By joining Lonato Gaspard’s rebellion they pledge guilty to his cause.” Rhea looks up at you, scorn flashing briefly in her eyes. “I will not have them simply go if it opens the possibility for revenge one day.”

If you squinted really hard, there was reason behind her words. Still, your stomach turned at the thought of endangering civilians even though it could be prevented. Without any protests, that was the plan for the operation.

You sat this one out. There was much to prepare for the upcoming Rite of Rebirth, a ceremony when the Church of Seiros and its believers unite to pray for the return of the goddess. Even though you wouldn’t call yourself a believer—many find it strange that you remember the way of war but not the way of the Church as if you lived somewhere without Seiros’ teachings—your presence was of outmost importance as well. Though after you heard how the mission went, you really wished you had joined the Blue Lions fighting against Gaspard instead of sitting around and deciding which ceremonial robes fit better.

Loud voices drift through the closed door of a classroom, voices you immediately recognise belonging to Dimitri and Byleth.

“Are you insane?” You flinch back even though a heavy wooden door separates you from what is undoubtedly Dimitri’s wrath. “Those were civilians.”

A reply is lost, too quiet for you to hear, but whatever Byleth said, it wasn’t the right thing. A second later, Dimitri storms through the doors. The distress in his features stops you from asking what is wrong, a flash of betrayal lurking in his eyes seals your mouth shut. You look after him until he disappears around the corner, only slowly turning towards Byleth. She is propping herself up on the table, learning on her strong arms and staring at the opposite wall, her mouth a grim line—solid rock that stands against the raging waves summoned by Dimitri, her grip on the edge of the table hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

“Everything okay?” An unnecessary question answered by a simple shake of her head. You lean your hips against the table. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Byleth is silent. Only slowly, like a tight knot finally coming lose, the tension in her shoulders dissipates and she takes a long, deep breath.

“Dimitri told me about their mission. How they dealt with Lord Lonato’s revolt.” She finally steps away from the table and kneads the muscles in her shoulders. You imagine they’re hard like a rock. “They faced simple peasants who defended their Lord. Peasants who didn’t even know how to wield a sword without cutting their own thumbs off.”

“And Rhea made quite clear how to deal with them,” you finish, summoning unwanted imaginations about a gruesome butchery in your mind. Byleth nods.

“Dimitri asked for my advice,” she continues, her gaze drifting towards the door as if said young man might return like a bad haunting if his name is simply muttered. “If there was anything they could have done different. I told him there wasn’t.” She tears her eyes away from the door and fixes them on you. “I told him that is the way of war.”

She is right, a part of you insists. Such facts cannot be changed and claiming anything different is foolish, naive. Yet, something stirs, a tiny tiny voice, a feeling, that challenges that thought. A feeling you didn’t expect to be part of you.

“I don’t know about the details,” you say, shuffling from left to right, “but maybe it was avoidable. Lord Lonato must have known how his subjects felt about it. He didn’t need to involve them.”

“I think they joined on their own. The students gave them a chance to lay down their weapons.”

“Still—”

“Still they decided to follow their foolish Lord,” a voice from the door joins, cold and imperious, chilling you to the bone. Rhea enters the War Room, her expression void of any warmth or kindness. “There is no place for doubt. We must punish any sinner who may inflict harm upon believers, even if those sinners are civilians.”

“And you think to have the students punish them is right?” Byleth asks, earning a sharp glare from Rhea. She quickly, but somewhat begrudgingly adds, “Your Grace.”

“I have heard that some students struggled with completing the task,” Rhea acknowledges, doing her best to show how unaffected she is by Byleth’s criticism. “I pray they learnt a valuable lesson about the fate that awaits all who are foolish enough to point their blades towards the heavens.”

An icy shudder crawls up your spine, cold fingers tighten around your throat to keep you silent—a leash forged of obedience and intimidation, the mistress standing before you. It would be wise to keep your mouth shut, not draw unnecessary attention; keep your head low and nothing can slice it from your shoulders. But the words, burning hot on your tongue, demand freedom.

“Fearing the Church isn’t the same as respecting it.”

Something sharp flashes in Rhea’s eyes. “If fear is the only way to control them, then so be it. They are traitors to the holy teachings.”

“They are people. People with families.”

“People who would be wise to remember it was the progenitor god who gave them these lands and their life,” Rhea answers, growing impatient. She notices something in the way you look at her, for she takes a moment to collect herself by taking a deep breath. “I do not enjoy seeing those who wronged our holy teachings punished, Herald,” she continues, now much calmer. “But punish them we must before they hurt those who are dear to us.” Upon her last words, her eyes dart to Byleth, looking at her with so much fondness and care, a sting of jealousy in your chest forces you to avert your gaze to the ground. It isn’t the first time you notice Rhea’s palpable interest in Byleth’s wellbeing though no answer comes to mind why it is like that. If Byleth noticed the same, she doesn’t show it.

After that, the incident is quickly forgotten, making room for the new incident occupying everyone’s mind: an assassination plot on Rhea on the day of the Rite of Rebirth found in Lonato’s possession. You aren’t the only one wondering why he’d carry something like that around where it’s easy to find. Multiple theories go around, one more farfetched than the other. One particular makes sense, its source none other than sharp witted Claude who thinks this plot is a simple distraction for something much bigger.

“If security is focused on the Rite of Rebirth inside the Goddess’ Tower, pretty much anyone can simply stroll around the monastery and do who knows what,” he told you on the day Byleth and her class set out to discover what important places might become a target. Garreg Mach hides many secrets and treasures. Some of them even you are not allowed to see like relics passed down from archbishop to archbishop, guarded by the elite of the Knights of Seiros, tall and bulky men and women with grim mouths and determined eyes rooting them in place day and night in front of locked doors only Rhea knows what they hide.

With every passing day, tension hangs in the air like a thick blanket waiting to smother you all. But it isn’t simply the anticipation for whatever the Western Church has planned. It is also the holy ceremony of the Rite of Rebirth, one you’ve practised under the stern eyes of Seteth who doesn’t settle for anything less than perfect. Every word, every step is engraved in your mind.

On the day of the Rite of Rebirth the sun relentlessly blazes down at the monastery. Your ceremonial robes are heavy and woven from thick jacquard fabric lined with fine golden patterns that depict the Herald’s Crest on the back. You’ve barely finished preparing everything inside the round chamber inside the Goddess’ Tower but perspiration glues your hair to your forehead.

A whole feast is prepared; food offerings and gifts from the townsfolk and priests served on golden and silver plates on long tables covered with white table clothes. In the middle Seteth prepared a small platform for Rhea to stand and speak in honour of the goddess that she may return to Fódlan and show its people her infinite grace. In short, you’d do anything to join the students who are securing the locations lacking in defence right now instead of standing around and waving at pilgrims. The only joy lies in Flayn’s bright presence and her never ending optimism. She’s a sweet girl and has been looking forward to the ceremony since the beginning of Blue Sea Moon. Looking upon her, it is hard not to catch her excitement and joy when the ceremony finally begins.

Because of certain circumstances you couldn’t quite follow, the holy relic used for the ceremony, the Chalice of Beginnings, has been missing for a long time. Because of that, a mock chalice was prepared by the cardinals, a handful of high authority men and women who make it no secret they can’t quite decide if they like or dislike you and your position.

“You must excuse them,” one of the cardinals says after a group of them simply shook their heads at you happily scooping tons of food on a plate. His dark hair falls to his shoulders and unlike the other cardinals, his brown eyes are filled with kindness. “They simply think in old patterns and value their old traditions. You are quite young, Herald. They don’t know how to handle that.”

“But you do?” you wonder and notice too late how unfriendly that sounds. But he simply laughs.

“I do frequent with young folk, yes,” he says. “They are my flock and I will do anything to protect them.”

“That again, Aelfric?” Catherine joins you and slaps his shoulder just when he was about to drink from his cup. You pretend the pastries on your plate are far more interesting than watching him choke on wine. “You’re way too good for them, you know?”

“Who is ‘them?’” you ask but Catherine just sways her hand as if he wants to get rid of a nasty fly.

“Unimportant. You did a good job carrying the chalice to the podium.”

“I did almost trip over these.” You pluck at the heavy robes, already looking forward to getting out of them.

Catherine laughs but it is short lived. Out of nowhere, a knight hurriedly approaches and leans over to her, muttering, “They are after the tomb of Saint Seiros.”

Glass shatters as her grip tightens around the fragile stem but without so much as noticing it she storms towards Rhea, fury blazing in her eyes. Something happened. Something far more exciting than playing a believer in front of everyone, so you follow her to listen in more.

“Those dastards from the Western Church infiltrated the Holy Mausoleum,” she says. Rhea pales. “I will take some knights and go there at once.”

“Go and be swift, Catherine.” Rhea’s words are barely a puff of breath, those news shaking her but she remains stoic in front of everyone to prevent panic. Her voice drops dangerously low. “Punish those heathens.”

Catherine’s head dips in a slight bow. “I will, Your Grace.”

“I want to help too.”

Both turn around at your voice. Catherine narrows her eyes to sharp slits, but it is Rhea who says, “No. I need you here for the ceremony, Herald.”

“Please, let me,” you beg. Something inside you demands to follow, demands to see what is inside the Holy Mausoleum that causes so much bloodshed. “I can’t explain, but I need to be there.”

Rhea presses her lips into a thin line. Before she reopens her mouth to decline your wish, you whirl around and leave the ceremony room, Catherine in hot pursuit. You manage halfway down the hallway before she reaches you and grabs your arm hard.

“Even though you are the Herald, I won’t allow you to show this disrespect towards Her Grace,” she snarls. “If she tells you to stay, you listen.”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” you say, trying to free your arm from her bone breaking grip. “But something calls me to this place and I need to follow it.”

Catherine isn’t pleased but she knows better than do you any real harm. With a crude nod, she allows you to follow. Several knights wait for you and together you make your way through the warm evening air towards the Holy Mausoleum that lies behind the chapel.

You enter right before chaos erupts. At the end of the hall, its ceiling so high up it’s barely visible in the dark, Byleth stands tall and rises a sword that flashes in a bright red light. A throb goes through your body and brings you to your knees. It feels like an arrow drove into your chest, the stinging pain unlike anything you’ve felt before—no, it’s a pain you haven’t felt since the Crest appeared on your eye for the first time. And then that thrumming energy within you exploded, a sharp crimson that drenched every corner of your right vision, rushing through your veins.

“Kill them!” an enemy mage commands, fury fuelling him to a last desperate attack. With his remaining companions, they summon a giant fire spell you’ve only read about in books, a combination of spells into a group flame that covers a large area—the pre-stage to a much more fatal blaze that can scorch the land. Blaze or no, the effect watching the giant fire ball curling and sparking until it grows large enough to wipe out anything in its way is the same. Fear paralyses your body. Move, your mind screams, but you can’t. Your muscles have locked up; a high whine of terror fills your head and fizzes in your blood like poison, yet you do not understand where this fear of fire comes from.

“Take cover!” Catherine roars but it is too late. The blast hits the ground right before you, dispersing your small group of reinforcements like wind scattering leaves in all directions. A loud crack beneath you makes your heart skip a beat, a rumble shakes the hall and before you can fully comprehend what is happening, the ground gives way.

The last thing you hear is Byleth shouting, not Herald, but your name before you plunge into darkness.

Wake up.

You have to wake up.

This darkness is terrifying, so utterly black and choking, curling around you like a tight fist. Like someone is holding you in their dirty, tainted clutches, smelling of death and horror. Wake up, you tell yourself, more urgent now, your mind struggling to escape from claws digging into your consciousness, their goal unknown but you don’t want to stay here to find out what they are after. What they want to take from you.

Wake up, this time another voice, the voice, echoing like a sweet bell’s chime, the flicker of light in a darkness so black it hums. You have to wake up.

Your eyes snap open, the sudden white ceiling hurting like a sudden flash of light. Once you’re used to the brightness, you realise this isn’t a room, this is … this is your consciousness—no walls, no windows. It’s just a space, and yet you can clearly determine borders. Somewhere is an exit you’re free to use, nothing holds you captive. It’s your safe place. Your haven. Which doesn’t explain how you’ve gotten here.

All you know is it feels safe. It feels like a warm embrace, the feeling of hope, watching a budding flower embraced by soft, fragile hands—asteritrope, your mind provides out of nowhere, the flower always turning its head towards the Blue Star.

It is like breaking a spell. First, everything is simply white, empty, a second later, you stand in a vast field of asteritropes, an ocean of purple, gently swaying flowers at your feet. Everything smells of sweet innocence, of honey dipped fingers and bittersweet regret. It is a familiar scent, one your body remembers and reacts to with a shudder so strong it rattles deep in your bones; a chill so cold it freezes you on the spot, the slightest movement threatening to shatter you entirely.

What is this grief, this sadness? Is it your own or have you fallen into a sea of tears wept by someone else? Your chest is heavy with a burden, a pulling towards the unknown that is yet so familiar. It is homesickness towards a place you have never been but long to visit.

The flowers shaped like little stars stretch beyond what you think are the edges of this place. If this is a dream, you don’t want to wake up anytime soon, relishing in this peace and quiet.

A peace and quiet that lasts only a moment until you notice it. Not it, him. In the middle of the field, a boy sits, bent over something that demands his complete attention. Dark curls fall against pale skin, his brows pulled tightly together as his fingers work something in his lap. He is wearing a simple white robe, though it is unlike any of the religious wear you've seen on the priests and nuns; it seem ... too old for that. Only after you approach, you see he is folding purple flowers and green steams into a crown.

“Hello?” you say, only now entertaining the idea you might have died and this is the afterlife, the first point before returning to the goddess’ side. It is a strangely tranquil thought. “Can you hear me?”

The boy’s head snaps up, his eyes wide as he momentarily forgets his work, and you take a step back, struck by how bright his steel grey eyes are. They roam over you, up and down, back up again, as he slowly raises to his feet.

“You’re here,” he says, awestruck. “You’re finally here. It is so nice to meet you after all this time.”

His voice is like a punch to your gut. You recognise it immediately, the voice who pulled you back from the darkness.

“You—” Nothing makes sense. “Who are you? What are you?”

“There is nothing to fear,” he says, offering you his hand. The tips of his fingers are purple from handling delicate petals. The crown lies at his bare feet, forgotten. He looks strangely vulnerable.

You take another step back, worry a steady, hard pulse against your neck. The air catches in your lungs. You feel like the ground is opening beneath your feet. “Are you … the goddess? A god?”

The boy blinks, then throws his head back and bursts out laughing, the sound like sweet bells chiming in the wind. “You people love to call everything you do not understand god.”

“Then what are you?” It comes out as a breath, and for a brief second you think it’s fear that seizes your body, but no. You should be afraid and yet instead of frenzy panic there is a calm spreading inside you as if you belong here. You can’t say if it’s the boy’s presence or the familiar scent of wildflowers.

The boy leans his head to the side, his smile as vibrant as early sunlight casting away leftover shadows from a dark night. “Hmmm … the End, perhaps? Or why not just … a friend?”

“The end? My end?”

“No, the end is never simply the end,” he says, shaking his head.

“Is that supposed to reassure me?”

“It may be a rebirth,” he continues. “Or the passing into a new era. Into a new dawn.”

“A new dawn,” you mumble. The realisation makes your knees weak. “Don’t tell me—” You suck in a sharp breath, unable to belief where your thoughts are hurling towards in lightning speed. You kneel onto the soft flowerbed, careful not to crush any flowers. “Why are we here … do you know me by chance?”

“I … cannot say for sure,” he starts slowly, uncertainty turning his features even younger. “I have been watching you since you awoke four moons ago. On that day, I as well awoke from a deep slumber. But I do not know why it is you that I am bound to.”

“Bound to?” Your head spins. “What do you mean?”

“You must have felt it by now, have you not? I am here because of this,” he says, and lifts his hand to point at your right eye. You flinch back as if he smacked you right across your face.

“So you are him,” you whisper, a shudder ripping through your body. “You’re the first Herald. You are Seiros’ Champion.”

The boy smiles.

45 notes · View notes

mikaelsrose · 4 years

Text

a great combination of fluff, smut, and angst: NSFW(ish) ABC

pairing: Tyril x human!MC (Selene)

word count: 4600

warnings: NSFW

an: nsfw alphabet template by this lovely soul with the slightest change

tag list: @brycesgirl @tyrils-star @lxdy-starfury @rysdumortain

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)Except for being exhausted, Selene is vulnerable, on full display for Tyril (quite literally), and a bit emotional. That’s actually when Tyril and her have the most personal, heart-to-heart conversations.“I met with Deryth today.”Tyril propped his head on his hand while lying on his side and looked down at his lover, carefully covering her naked body with duvet. His hand then rested on Selene’s hip where his fingers stroked the delicate skin.

Several weeks earlier, during a family dinner, Tyril’s father pointed out that ever since Selene and Tyril came back from Whitetower, he could sense a powerful, ancient energy from her. Adrina immediately agreed and encouraged Selene to meet with Undermount’s walking encyclopaedia/prophet/generally the one with no official title but the go-to lady when there’s any kind of trouble. Although Tyril made no remarks that evening, he agreed with his family. Ever since Selene their battle with the Shadow Court, since she wielded the Blade of Light and was able to open portals, he felt that something... unlocked. Something clicked into place.

“What did she say?”

“A lot of unsettling things, actually,” Selene bit her lip gently and turned to lie on her back. With her eyes set on the dark ceiling, she continued. “But also... nothing concrete. She said she’s been expecting me since I set foot in Undermount because she could feel my magic. She also admitted the same thing your father said.”

Tyril’s hand slowly wandered up her body to eventually rest flat on the blonde’s stomach, his finger outlining a faint scar on her abdomen.

“She confirmed that a war is coming, and I’m going to play a pivotal part in it but this time I might not... make it through.”

The elf’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What ar-“

“But it’s not anything I wouldn’t know for a few weeks now,” she interrupted. “I think... she just confirmed my worries. I could still play dumb when those were just my dreams but now... I don’t know, Tyril. I don’t think I’m strong enough to go through something like this again.”

“We’ll be right by your side, Selene,” he responded immediately, his gaze burning a hole in her face.

“I know, love,” she cupped his cheek in her palm and smiled faintly. “That’s exactly what worries me the most.”

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Tyril’s an absolute boobies-guy. The amount of time this man has spent on one-on-one meetings with Selene’s cleavage would make him the greatest warrior in the history had he spent it on trainings. Even (or rather especially) when they’re already going to sleep, his hand finds its way under Selene’s shirt where it rests throughout the night.

As for Selene... she couldn’t have possibly picked her favourite part of him. She adores every. single. body part of this man.

Due to her constant reminders of how much she loves his body and all the differences between the two of them, Tyril’s outlook on himself changed. He didn’t exactly begin to look out for himself when there were blades involved as she asked him, but he did want to look good for her. And himself. But mostly for her, although she started working on improving his way of thinking.

However, she does have a soft spot for his muscular back covered with several very old scars. She loves giving him a proper massage after a long day and placing kisses from one shoulder blade to another. But what she loves the most is watching his back as it’s covered with long deep-blue, purple, half-noon shaped and sometimes bloody marks that her fingernails leave.

C = Choking (basically an addition to Kink)

“I’m not sure about this, Selene,” he admitted, warring with himself whether to do what do asked and literally choke her or to simply refuse. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me. People do that, and they’re fine,” Tyril raised his brow, looking at her, all flushed, her hair a mess, a few finger-shaped bruises on her hips, and biting her kiss-swollen lips. “I’ve read that in a book.”

“Did you?”

“Just trust me,” she chuckled, turning to lean against a drawer and swayed her hips invitingly against him, basically impaling herself with his cock for the fifth time this evening.

He still wasn’t sold on this idea but Selene was so sure this would work he was willing to give it a try. However, the second an obscene moan left her lips after a rather hard and smooth thrust, all his inhibitions were forgotten.

Selene guided his hand from her breast to her neck, forcing him to put some pressure there, and he happily obeyed. Selene was like clay in his hands, always happy to fulfil his every wish and always making sure he felt at least as good as her. That night, he wanted to fulfil one of her wishes, however strange it seemed to him.

He pinned her hips to the cold wood with his, fucking her mercilessly as his free hand worked on her bud, leaving her a moaning mess within seconds. Just as his lips busied themselves with her shoulder, guided by her reactions he put some real pressure on her throat, careful not to hurt her.

“This is the last time we are doing this,” he concluded a minute later, holding a panting and somewhat cheery Selene in his arms.

“You’re no fun.”

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Tyril would never admit this out loud, especially to Selene, who’s known as one of the biggest gossip in the whole Morella and an even bigger tease, but for a rather short amount of time he was very jealous of Mal (actually, scratch that, he sometime still is), his light approach to life and his relationship with Selene. The way he could joke about everything and tease the hell out of her while Tyril himself was overcome with guilt and anger. When his sole mission was destroying every single piece of the Shadow Court, Mal would still find the strength to raise the group's spirits, cheer up and motivate them. The way he would make Selene laugh.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Oh, Tyril absolutely knows what he’s doing. He often leaves Selene breathless, red, and speechless because he’s that good.

Selene on the other hand... well, she knows a thing or two. She’s a great observer and a quick learner, but she doesn’t exactly have much experience. She happily takes everything Tyril’s willing to show her, though.

“So... I’ve found a book,” Selene stated, blushing a little. Tyril watched her curiously as they sat in a secluded part of the House Starfury’s garden, basking in the early afternoon sun.

“What book?”

Biting her lower lip, Selene began untying her dress, wanting her body to catch as many sun rays as she could until the sunset. She tossed the material aside and rested her head on Tyril’s lap. “Remember the one Mal was so interested in?”

“You mean the one he stole?”

“The one he borrowed,” she chuckled, raising a hand to cover her eyes from the sun. “For an indefinite amount of time.”

“I remember.”

“Well, I found a similar one.”

“Somehow I had a feeling this would happen one day,” the elf concluded, eyeing Selene’s slowly raising chest. “What about it?”

“Oh, please. You know what I mean.”

Of course, he did. But he also so happened to love teasing her.

“We need to work on your communications skills,” he commented, with a barely contained smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Don’t laugh at me,” she chuckled. “I just thought that we could give it a try. Also, I have a feeling I am really going to enjoy watching you as you read it.”

“I already did.”

“No way,” she grinned and sat up to look at Tyril’s sun-kissed face. “When?”

“I have spent a lot of time in the library and that is all I am going to say on this matter,” Tyril admitted, smirking as his hand rested on the small of her back, his fingers gently stroking the hot skin. “If you are so eager, I believe we can start our little experiment early.”

F = Favourite position (this goes without saying)

Against the window. Against the drawer. Against the door if they’re feeling risky. Honestly, even a boulder in the middle of the woods would do if it was big enough to lean Selene against it and fuck her from behind.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous?)

Due to Selene being a massive tease, they usually share a laugh or two during their bedroom playtime. Though there was also that one time...

“I am not ticklish,” Selene assured, sliding her hands up and down his muscular back. Tyril smirked, a devilish plan already forming in his mind, and

“I am afraid I will have to check that.”

“I see you have a death wish, Lord Tyril,” she teased, narrowing her eyes. “And since we both know I’m a much better warrior...”

The elf chuckled and raised his head from between her legs to admire the purple chain of love bites along her stomach. Set on not begging just yet, Selene bit her lower lip and watched her lover delightedly until she realized what he had planned.

“I’m willing to take my chances.”

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes?)

Honestly, I find it really hard to believe that the elves grow hair anywhere except for their heads.... I mean, they don’t even grow beards....... Therefore, elf boy is smooth as a baby. Not that Selene minds. Nothing obstructs the view, right?

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

Tyril knows that one way to make Selene aroused is dancing. She takes full advantage of how incredible a dancer Tyril is. She adores the fact that he’s willing to patiently teach her everything about his culture, which includes dancing.

“I actually practised this one,” Selene admitted, looking deep into the elf’s blue eyes. Tyril’s left hand slipped down just above her butt, pushing her towards him, leaving absolutely no space between their bodies.

“You have?”

“With your father,” she giggled, seeing the shadow of jealousy on her lover’s face. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Colour me surprised and impressed, then,” he smiled. The hand that’s been resting on Tyril’s back moved up to the side of his neck to pull his face closer.

“Since I’ve mastered this dance, I think we can already proceed with our activities,” she whispered against his lips. “I already got a head start.”

“I can see that,” Tyril smirked as he realized the only thing covering Selene’s body was a thin, white nightgown and definitely no underwear.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

The first week without Selene by his side was tough but the second week? On the 9th day, Tyril seriously considered moving to Riverbend forever just so he wouldn’t have to wake up alone ever again. This being said, the vision of seeing her in a few months was... depressing.

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you something to remember me by,” Selene smiled flirtatiously, making herself comfortable on his lap. Having freed his left hand of a book, she guided it to her waist and then higher, and higher until it reached his favourite plaything covered with a thin, lacy material.

Seeing that the strained smile fell of her face as she watched him carefully, Tyril sighed quietly. “I know.”

“No,” she protested immediately and brushed a strand of his hair behind his ear, stroking his cheek while doing so. “Quit glooming. This is supposed to be a good memory.”

He didn’t want her to leave. Not now. Not ever. But they’ve had that conversations many times now, and it wasn’t fair to try to change her mind again as she was clearly set on seeing her brother and taking a well-deserved break from Undermount. Not that he would be able to convince her to stay. She’s too damn stubborn.

“It’s our last night together for some time, love,” she whispered. “Take what you need. Remember me like this.”

Tyril’s hand slowly wandered up her thigh, trying to imprint the feeling of her soft skin in his memory. Trying to remember her taste, her scent, everything about her. Because when it came to Selene, he was greedy. He wanted to know everything about this woman, to know her every thought, every worry. He wanted to be the only who knows her taste and makes her make such sounds.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he begged in between kisses as his warm hands explored her body anew.

“I’m yours, Tyril. Always.”

Remembering how hot her skin felt under his palms, those sweet sounds she would make, and the way she called herself his over and over and over again with no hesitation, he would relieve himself to get himself through the day.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Let’s be clear: Selene is the much more extreme one here. She has a choking kink which actually made Tyril consider a lifelong celibacy for a second just so he wouldn’t have to do it to her again. The fact that Tyril is much older also does the trick for her. And much taller.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

Anywhere. Literally. Except for Tyril’s family’s private chambers, there hasn’t been a surface the two of them hadn’t christened when they were alone.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Tyril would never admit it, but he finds it extremely hot when Selene turns into a sassy/bad-ass/protective mode. He’s caught himself on that the first time after she easily took out one of Imtura’s corrupted pirates. And then when she fought like a maniac with the corrupted Captain, already using magic as easily as she’d been doing that since the day she was born and swinging her sword like it was her hand.

Selene is actually a sucker for some romanticism.

She would usually come home much earlier than Tyril, which had its pros and cons. The good side was that she had time to think, to write to Kade, and to just unwind. One of the biggest cons was the fact that she had to wait many hours into the night waiting for her man after a long day and – let’s just say – she was very excited. She categorically refused to touch herself, therefore, she was sentenced for waiting, wriggling in a chair, doing some stupid breathing exercises.

It was a quarter after midnight when she felt his familiar hands embrace her from behind and his warm lips already leaving wet kisses on her bare shoulder up to her neck.

A gasp, followed by a surprised moan left her lips when Tyril’s lips started leaving red marks on its way and his hand quickly made it inside her panties. Scratch the romanticism. After a whole long day she didn’t actually need it.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Tyril would never do anything to physically hurt her even if she asked – the choking she once asked for was the only thing he agreed to do and he swore to never do it again.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill)

To Selene’s delight, Tyril loves going down on her. For his own pleasure. He’s also become quite fond of getting quick blowjobs in the middle of the day. In the middle of the city. In a fairly secluded area. Or inconspicuous handjobs under the table during parties.

Selene’s hand was stroking Tyril under the table, as they watched most of the guests dancing around the ballroom.

“Are you sure there’s no room that we could escape to for a minute?” Selene muttered, playfully stroking his tip with her thumb and watching him clench his jaw and take deep breaths.

“If there was such option, we would be there for the last few minutes already.”

She grinned hearing the struggle in his hushed voice and put more pressure on him, motivating him for a bit quicker finale this time as the song was slowly drawing to an end. The elf swallowed hard, watching as she reached for her champagne glass with her free hand. After she’s taken a small sip, she leaned over and kissed the red-cheeked man, drinking his quiet pants off his lips. Selene grinned through their kiss, feeling some wet, sticky substance in her palm.

“It’s a bit hot in here, isn’t it?”

Adrina smiled as she sat across her brother with an elegant elf by her side. Selene smiled back at the beautiful woman and took another sip of her champagne. “It is indeed.”

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

Unless they’re short on time, they’re slow and sensual. Tyril takes his sweet time making sure not to skip any part of her body, driving her crazy at the same time. He pays special care to Selene’s scars, remembering how insecure they make her feel.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often)

“We have about five minutes before Adrina comes in here,” Selene mumbled and bit her lip to muffle the moans that threatened to leave her mouth. Tyril’s lips worked tirelessly on her neck as his hips slammed into hers.

“That’s plenty of time,” he smirked, pulling her butt towards the edge of a counter he sat her on. Selene wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, making sure he stays right where he is. “Although if you’d like me to stop-“

“Don’t you dare.”

Tyril’s right hand slipped between her legs, his nimble fingers irritating her soft spot expertly, just as his lips caught hers to muffle her moans.

They froze immediately when a soft knocking on the door followed by Adrina’s sweet voice reverberated in the room. Panicked, Selene pushed Tyril and jumped off the furniture, hurriedly smoothing her hair and fixing her dress. Tyril did the same, but he couldn’t stop himself from laughing at the terrified look on her face.

“Imagine if she opened the door,” Selene whispered, helping Tyril smooth his dishevelled hair.

“We wouldn’t scare her for lifetime, if that’s what you worry about,” he chuckled.

“It’s not her I worry about, it’s me! I could never look her in the face again!”

Tyril snorted and leaned over the balcony door nonchalantly, amusedly observing Selene as she opened the door and greeted his sister.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks?)

Not at first, no. However, the farther they are in the relationship, the more Tyril begins to succumb to Selene’s ideas of quickies in public places and trying out some positions from the notorious book.

“It feels wrong, Selene.”

Selene looked up to see his flushed face, and took him out of her mouth for a second.

“Oh, so I can just walk out right now?”

The elf’s Adam apple moved slowly up and down as he swallowed and bit his lower lip. “I’d rather you don’t.”

“Then shut up.”

Tyril’s hand involuntarily slipped down to Selene’s hair, guiding her not-so-gently, and he quickly looked around the secluded library row to make sure they’re still alone.

He gripped the bookshelf with one hand just as he was almost there and glanced down on Selene who watched him intently with her beautiful blue eyes. With his chest heaving and tensed stomach muscles, Tyril grit his teeth not to make any noise when he came.

Selene grinned as she pulled his pants back up and stood up to place a tender kiss to the elf’s under jaw. “One could think you kind of liked it.”

Tyril brushed the loose strands of hair out of her face and stroked her cheek with his knuckles.

“I wouldn’t mind repeating this in the future.”

Chuckling, Selene stood on her tiptoes and kissed her man, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“No bodily fluids exchange in my library, kids.”

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

Tyril Starfury doesn’t go for rounds. Tyril Starfury goes for proper sessions, no matter the time of the day, although he has a soft spot for the morning shifts.

T = Timid

Tyril’s anything but timid. The fact that he was willing to fuck in front of the whole city of Whitetower? Yes, there we go. Over time, he doesn’t even pay much attention to hiding his feelings for Selene from his family. Or the elves of Undermount. *cough* handjobs during parties *cough*

Selene on the other hand learns to be more confident. Tyril quite quickly learned that the teasing is just... a ruse. But with time and endless assurance from her man of his love and devotion, she learns to ask for what she wants.

U = Unfair (how much do they like to tease?)

Oh, Selene is the greatest teaser. There’s nothing in this world that makes her happier than watching Tyril flush because of her dirty comments, lose his composure, and get boners in the most inappropriate moments.

She loves to distract him as he’s reading the council’s newest proposals by sitting half naked on his desk, sneakingly squeezing his butt as he’s talking with the heads of other houses during balls, and leaving juicy love bites on his neck before they go out to the town. In this way she gets to hear him moaning before noon, and she marks her territory, letting other women know he’s taken. Two birds, one stone, right?

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc)

Tyril makes it his priority to get Selene as loud as humanly possible when they’re alone. Unless they’re in a public place for a stealthy quickie, then he does just enough to make her almost-as-loud-as-possible. He loves seeing her struggling to stay quiet, he loves teasing her like that, fully knowing she would rather chew off her own tongue than to let a moan escape her lips when they’re in public.

However, it cuts both ways, right? Selene is a mistress of drawing incomprehensible moans from her man, especially in the most inappropriate moments – like during dinner in a bar or in a library. Especially in the library, where they’ve earned a few warnings already.

“Selene, I swear, if we get a permanent ban from the librarian, I will send you back to Riverbend.”

“Feisty,” she chuckled, stroking his calf with her foot under the library table. “Do it more often.”

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

“I’m starting to think you’re letting me win,” Selene panted, smirking at Tyril whom she had pressed against a wall, with the tip of her blade an inch away from his throat. Tyril raised his hands defiantly, smirking at her.

“I would never do such thing.”

“Then I believe I have surpassed my master.”

Selene lowered the blade slowly and let it fall to the ground when Tyril’s strong arms wrapped tightly around her and picked her up to slam her against the wall. “You did indeed. Therefore, I believe I deserve a consolation prize.”

“We wouldn’t want you to go into pieces, would we?” she chuckled, pulling him close to crash her lips against his. They still had a few alone minutes left and like always they were more than willing to spend it a bit nicer than on pointing blades at each other.

Selene was also more than happy to use the fact that their trainings excited him to her advantage. “Are you certain you want to stay here? Someone will come-”

“Too bad for them, then.”

“I’m really liking this side of you,” she grinned and tangled a hand in his long hair as his lips sucked hard at the skin on her collarbone.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

A solid (and a bit scarred) six-pack and a thick, definitely-above-average package. If it was up the Selene, he would walk around Morella naked.

“What about this one?” she asked, kissing a long, purplish scar under his ribcage.

“Kaya.”

“It’s been over a year,” her brows furrowed a bit. “It still hasn’t healed?”

“Magic wounds take longer to heal.”

Selene nodded, and watched his face while placing tiny, tender kisses along the scar. “You have quite the collection, I must admit.”

Tyril chuckled.

“This is the last one,” he pointed to a rather deep scar on his left hip. “No distressful story behind this one.”

“For once,” she grinned. “Is this the one Mal gave you?”

“Yes.”

“It’s my favourite one.”

“It better be, I have it because of you,” he smirked, brushing the hair out of her face.

“You have it because you love me, and you wanted to defend my honour. I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“Touche.”

Placing a series of wet kisses down his abdomen, Selene wrapped her hand around him, already hard and waiting for her touch, drawing a surprised gasp from the elf. “Though I believe you deserve some acknowledgement for your courageous defence of my honour.”

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Tyril is a young, handsome elf, who happens to be the love interest of many, and have a gorgeous woman by his side. Of course, he’s horny as hell. As much as he’s trying to hide it, Selene knows exactly what and how often he needs, as it happens to be her.

“Not again,” Selene giggled, feeling something hard on her thigh. She slid her thumb over Tyril’s kiss-swollen lips, admiring how soft they are. “I would like to come out of this room eventually.”

“I’m afraid this is not going to happen today,” he chuckled as Selene pushed him to lie on his back and straddled him, taking him all in.

The sun was slowly descending, and they haven’t left their bed ever since they woke up this morning.

Tyril marvelled at how the orange sun kissed her pale skin, how beautiful she looked blush-glazed cheeks, and even at how eager she was to go for another round even though the tiredness was evident on her face.

“Selene, no.”

“Come on,” she sighed as he took his hand away from her neck where she guided it. “We’ve talked about this.”

“And as far as I recall I told you I am not going to do this ever again.”

“Fine.”

Z = Zzz (how quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?)

“I love you.”

A small smile crept up upon Tyril’s lips, and he subconsciously wrapped his arm around Selene’s body. He muttered something back, slowly drifting back to sleep. Knowing Tyril, Selene just assumed it was either “Love you too” or “I know.” A soft smile appeared on her lips as she felt his steady heartbeat on her back. Tyril would usually fall asleep first, hugging her so tight she sometimes had problems breathing.

Once she was certain Tyril had fallen asleep, she turned around to look at his peaceful face and was surprised to see a faint of a sleepy smile in the corners of his lips. “Don’t ever forget that,” she whispered, placing a featherlight kiss between his brows.

#tyril starfury #blades of light and shadow #choices blades #tyril x mc #tyril fic #the quintessence of my writing lmao smut fluff and angst(ish)#while writing this i might've motivated myself and i WILL be writing some additional fics with the use of those ideas #also i have no clue how tf the spacing in tumblr posts works so if there are weird looking space IM SORRY I TRIED MY BEST

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rodeoxqueen · 4 years

Text

DEVIL MAY GRIND

(I)- Can You Touch This?

Dante/ GN!Reader

Series Summary: From a surprise rendezvous to a male strip club on your birthday to a private dance, you end up seeing eye-to-eye rather than eye-to-groin with a cowboy stripper named Dante Sparda.

Work Summary: A shy and short homebody celebrating your birthday with friends, you end up somewhere you’d never expect: a male strip club. And what you’d also never expect is a certain red-devil/cowboy stripper to lay his special treatment on you.

Tags/Warnings: 18+, Gender-Neutral! Reader, Stripper!AU, Minors Do Not Try It, Wholesome Filth

Rodeo’s Two-Pieces: The rest of the series will likely be gender-neutral until the erotica in which I will include a gender-neutral sex scene.

You were never one for large crowds, alcohol, loud music, and nudity. So what a mess you were in, your friends dragging you into a strip club.

It wasn’t your fault, they promised you were all going for a quiet dinner at your favorite restaurant. No loud noises, no crowds, and especially, you didn’t even know why you had to specify, no naked guys! That’s what happened at first. You went and blew out your candles on your cake at a nice place, but then things got weird. Your friends had got you thoughtful gifts, except one of them who promised to give it to you after another “surprise.”

They practically herded you to their car, blindfolding and ear-muffing you while giggling. After driving in some unfamiliar directions, you were pulled into a strange building.

So when you couldn’t hear your thoughts due to the overbearing bass in the room you were in, you realized you should’ve known better. The blindfold and earmuffs were taken off and you opened your eyes to a neon-lit room with the most hard-cut abs right in your face.

“A strip club?! W-why would you think I’d want to go to a strip club?”

“Okay, first of all (Y/N). It’s a male strip club. Second, come on! I know you want to touch some diamond abs!” One of your friends exclaimed as they threw bills at one very tan and very oiled-up man named Diego. The box from before landed on your lap, and you unwrapped it to find a giant stack of dollar bills.

“Now stuff them bills down some hottie’s pants!”

The orange thong-wearing male with the most defined quads you had ever glanced at winked at your friend and opted to dance on someone else. Clutching your drink, you swallowed thickly as other males who went to the gym every other hour thrust their hips proactively at you.

Your friends had called ahead and bought the lot of you a table to the stage, much to your chagrin.

Luckily, your ability to disappear in a room, with your meek personality and small stature, came in handy in these situations. The tall and buff guys your friends screamed over seemed to prefer the company of the more extroverted and thirsty. While other tables farther from the stage had easy contact with the not-themed strippers, you were all confronted with the stage floor dancers.

“My god, how many themes do these guys dress in?” You squeaked as an entertainer dressed like James Bond (minus the clothes except for the bowtie and gun holster) ground on the stage floor.

“Not enough! Now make it rain, (Y/N).” Another friend demanded as she took another shot.

You made a noise as your hand was forcibly placed onto an eight-pack. You quickly threw a wad of bills at the man and ran off to the bar.

“I gotta go!” You panicked, speed-walking to the bar. Stomach quivering, you put a few bills down and asked for a stronger drink. Maybe you could pass out on the table and your friends would feel bad and take you home.

You sighed as you watched your friends have the time of their lives, although they noted your absence.

“First time?” The bartender asked, sliding your fruity drink to you. You fiddled with the napkin. A woman posed in the corner with the logo “Devil May Cry” to the side of her, all lined in neon pink.

“Oh!... Yeah, it is.” You mumbled shyly. You blushed at his blue-eyed stare. Luckily, he wore a collared white shirt so you could look at him without bleeding out of your nose. He was very handsome, with rugged features and slight facial hair. His stark white hair shined even in the dim lighting.

“Ah, could tell. Watched you get dragged in here.” He chuckled.

“I-I was tricked, first of all!” You exclaimed, tucking some hair behind your ear.

“It’s alright. Your next rounds on me if you stay a lil longer.” He winked, wiping a glass. A few other people came and went, requesting all sorts of raunchy-titled drinks. Despite that, he leaned on the table where you sat, making idle conversation.

“I’m Dante.”

“Nice to meet you, Dante. I’m (Y/N).” You impulsively stuck your hand out to shake and stilled at his strong and warm grip.

He whistled.

“Nice name for a nice person. It’s your birthday right?” You nodded.

“What did you wish for?”

“Peace and quiet.” He laughed at that, gesturing to your friends who screamed and clapped at a dark-skinned stripper who ripped off his pants.

“With those friends?” He chuckled.

“They’re a lot more restrained. This is an exception.” You whined.

The conversation grew longer. You learned that Dante worked here with his twin brother Vergil. He loved pizza and strawberry ice cream, along with nice motorcycles. A total manly man, if you asked yourself.

You found a safe space talking to him since you didn’t have to look at nude guys with your back turned.

You were hoping to talk the night away until a similarly white-haired male with a serious glare rounded the corner.

Swiping back a few stray hairs, the esteemed brother Vergil knocked the smile off his twin’s face.

“You fool! Your shift has been over for some time now.” He snapped. Dante rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, this is old douchebag.” You giggled at his comment, quickly stopping when meeting eyes with the frigid twin.

“Have you been speaking ill of me? I will-” Dante threw a towel at his brother’s face before leaving the bartending station. By leaving, he jumped over the counter.

“Hey, (Y/N), nice talking to you. I’ll see you later.” The white-haired man left to the employee’s room.

“Alright-” You muttered. You’d sit, but Vergil’s cold glare prompted you to leave and rejoin your friends.

“Where were you? Chatting up the bartender?”

“Look at you. Being social in a strip club.” They teased.

After a few more dancers, you couldn’t help but miss the blue-eyed bartender with his quips and casual flirtiness.

Suddenly, the music and lights went off. The crowd stirred. Your friend grabbed your arm.

“Oh lord they’re gonna need a mop after this.”

“Ew!” You cried out. Your friends sang that one horribly sexual song from the radio. Something about parking a truck in a garage and about wet-

A shirtless DJ grabbed the mic.

“And now, for our next entertainer, we have the Legendary Lady Killer. Hold onto your panties and your wedding rings, you’re all in for the ride of your life.”

The lights were turned back on from back to front. On stage, stood a muscular man with a cowboy hat and shawl. His legs were perfectly framed by black leather chaps and boots. You turned as red as his shawl as you could see his formidable bulge from yards across.

His spurs clinked on the floor as people began to cheer at his physique. Your jaw dropped in shock.

White hair.

“I got some questions for y’all.” He drawled, lowering his hat.

“Yes! I’m single!” Someone yelled from the back. He chuckled as others screamed with agreement.

“That’s nice ma’am. But really, I got three questions.” He made his way down the stage, his shadow covering your table.

He palmed his chest and abs, showing white chest hairs and slicked-down muscles.

“Can you touch this?” Everyone screamed for yes. He tutted.

“No, no, no.” He waggled his finger. He spun and exposed his lush tush. He was packing it front and back and you blushed while putting your face in your hands.

His hands groped his butt. Even with his giant hands, he still had more ass to spare.

“Can you touch this?” The screams grew louder. He waggled his finger again, wiggling his butt.

“No, no, no.” The crowd awed. He turned back around, a cocky grin on his face.

“Now,” He pointed to the crowd.

His palms groped the leather that concealed his huge package.

“Can you touch this?” Your friend threw a wad of cash at him, hitting him in the nipple. He stood unflinching.

“No, no, no.” He drew out each word.

“These are my laws.” Putting his hands on his hips, he rocked left to right, clicking his spurs.

“But I see a hell of a lot of lawbreakers here tonight.”

He shifted to walk around the chair placed behind him. He sat on it backward, legs spread to place his groin in the spotlight.

“And I don’t see a cop in sight.” He pointed at the DJ.

“Hit it!” Music blaring, he did his number. And boy, was the DJ right to warn you. Dante practically made sweet love to the chair, flipping his head back.

Hips circling and then pistoning the air, sweat trailed down his pecs.

You ended up throwing a few bills, hoping to avoid eye contact. It failed as he slid to his knees to the edge of the stage and crawled off the ledge onto your table. Like a preying tiger, he made his way over to you.

Thank god you had health insurance, your blood pressure was going off the charts.

Your friends lost their heads, throwing bills and screaming like banshees. But he wasn’t interested in them. His eyes preyed after your own, baby blues on an absolute beast.

“Wanna save a horse and ride a cowboy, good lookin’?” He purred as he traced your jaw. Your skin jumped as you internally imploded. This was was too sensual and people were watching, for goodness sake!

“(Y/N), if you don’t agree I will cancel your Barnes and Noble membership.” Your friend threatened.

“Come on, spare this outlaw some sugar?” You didn’t have a moment to think. Dante threw his hat on your head and carried you onto the table and to the stage.

“Oh my god! Oh my god!” You shrieked.

He ran hot. So hot. Your skin burned at contact with him, pressed up against his chest as he stood you in front of the chair he practically humped.

“Take a seat.” You blushed at his sensual persona, not sure where the kind bartender and the suave cowboy started and ended.

Obediently, you turned the chair around and sat with your ankles crossed. Dante tutted in disapproval.

His hands lingered by your legs.

“May I?” He asked. You shook your head slowly, feeling his callused hands on your thighs. He firmly spread your legs and stood over you on the chair.

As if that wasn’t enough, his arm muscles bulged and twitched as he ripped off his leather chaps. He ripped the chaps. There were no zippers or velcro straps. That was all him!

Your face a hair’s width from his abs, he gently took your hands and traced his pecs with them. He growled and winked at you.

Despite the one-in-a-million situation you were in, you shrank at the many peering eyes of the other women and bar patrons. Your anxiety was seen by Dante, who tilted your head up.

“Hey, it’s alright. Just focus on me. If you’re nervous, just give me a purple nurple or something, alright?” You laughed at his idea of a safe word and nodded.

“Okay, Dante.”

And like that, it was like you pulled a trigger. Dante grinded on your form and explored his peak-conditioned skin with your own hands.

You gasped as he led your hands down his front to his leather shorts. You couldn’t stop looking with widened eyes at his crotch. You had read erotica before, describing the male member in the throes of passion, yet this was the first time you had been this close to anything like those erotic novels.

It was obscene! Why did it seem to get larger? How was he allowed to carry that thing around without a license?!

“Hey, eyes up here.” He teased as you snapped your head up.

“O-oh! Sorry.” You whispered. Your blood had rushed to your head and you had grown deaf to your friends’ yells of validation.

“Grab him by the buns!” One of your friends yelled. Dante turned around to make eye contact with her.

With a grin, he slid your hands to the back. What he didn’t expect was you to squeeze.

“Whoa now, kitty.” He purred. You gave a watery smile.

Suddenly, a water bottle was thrown at his head. With lightning reflexes, he caught it after it bounced off of him.

“Hey! Stage times’ over, you fucking show pony.” A short-haired woman with mismatching eyes called out. Dante scoffed.

“Just givin’ a smokeshow some lovin’.” He argued.

“No, get off the stage, Dante.”

“Five more minutes?”

“NOW.” He sighed. Getting off of your lap, he kissed your hand that was resting on his thigh. Lord, if you died right now, that’d be fine.

“Glad to have this dance.” He flirted.

“Y-you too.” Taking your hand, he took you for another surprise and swept you off your feet. You squeaked as he handed you to another dancer on the ground. The club-goers cheered as dancers arrived, dressed like businessmen with briefcases.

You were promptly seated, head dizzy from everything that just happened. You watched as he took his leave as if he didn’t just cause you to get feverish from how hot he was. Your friend hugged you.

“Nice work! You were so lucky!” Another friend plucked the hat off your head.

“Ah! He left his hat!” You exclaimed as you took it from her hands.

“A souvenir.”

For the rest of the night, you held onto the hat and traced the red stitching. You never saw Dante for the rest of the night, his brother in charge of the bar service.

Finally, before the last round of dancers, you were tapped on the shoulder. You found yourself staring into much harsher blue eyes.

One of your friends threw money at him, which he growled at.

“I am not an entertainer. Well, not right now.” He explained. He handed you a drink with a napkin on the bottom.

“My buffoon of a brother said to keep the hat. Although, I’m not sure why you would.”

“I-”

“The drink is on the house. Good evening with you all.”

He walked off, and you took your drink. You realized it was the same one you ordered when you got to the bar.

“Hey girlie, take a look.” A well-manicured nail pointed to the napkin. You saw in red pen an arrow pointed to the folded corner.

You shakily opened it to reveal a series of numbers and words, along with a card that flitted onto the table.

Tonight was fun, wanna do it again? The card’s for a private dance, just call and ask for Dante Sparda. No crowds, only you and me. No Lady barking up my tree for appreciating beauty either - DS

A little heart with an arrow through its center was scrawled in a corner. You picked up the laminated card and saw it was for a free private dance. Your heart beat out of your chest.

Your friends laughed as you immediately stuck it in your bag, along with the note. The club closed and you were all ushered out. The night was pitch black when you emerged from the debauchery that was the Devil May Cry strip club.

As your other wasted companions were stuffed into the car, you sat shotgun to the sober and designated driver.

You were silent the car ride home, laying your head against the window. You thought about that white-haired flirt’s remarks and how gentle he was to you.

Waving and embracing your wonderful friends, you left for your apartment with all your gifts. However, the little slips of paper in your bag weighed the heaviest on your mind.

With your keys in your hand, you climbed up the stairs home.

After closing the door, you slid down the wall and let out a pleased sigh.

“Best birthday ever!” You said to no one in particular.

#dante x reader #dante sparda #gender neutral reader #devil may grind

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laurenkmyers · 4 years

Text

Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas, Marie @siennablake It’s been a pleasure being your Secret Santa this year, and I hope you enjoy the story (it’s the longest one I’ve ever written!)

Special shout-out to my two amazing beta’s @minimitchell and @ballumschmallum for helping me edit. Merry Christmas, angels!

Title: Halfway Kinda Love Words: 9,435 Rating: Explicit Tags: Angst, Smut, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Little bit of violence, Enemies to Lovers.

Summary: Ben Mitchell has taken over the family businesses after the passing of the late Phil Mitchell. He now owns pretty much everything on The Square, and the people who live there know him well enough to know not to get on his bad side. He has everything a man could ever need to live a very comfortable life. But what he doesn’t have, is someone to share it with.

Enter Callum Highway; ex-soldier, new bartender, awkward, and a little bit of a mess.

ao3

There weren’t many people on the Square that Ben truly hated. Being the crime lord that he was he didn’t have time for petty squabbles. But from the first few interactions he’d had with Callum Highway, as he made himself a home behind the bar in The Vic, and subsequently into his life Ben had hated him.

(And it wasn’t like it was completely unwarranted. He’d deliberately tipped a glass of expensive whiskey over Ben’s head the day they met- an accident- he’d claimed at the time.)

But more importantly Ben had wanted him. From the moment he’d stepped into his local and made himself comfortable behind his bar, pulling sloppy pints for the punters, Callum Highway had been on Ben’s radar. Not many men got a second look in.

But this man was gorgeous, all doe-eyed, and big eared. He had stubble for days that Ben would murder, torture, maim for. Just to feel the burn of it between his thighs- it was endearing in a horny kind of way.

So, being a man who usually gets what he wants, Ben made his quips and his horizontal jokes, laying it on thick trying to gage a reaction. He could tell that his not-so-subtle comments were starting to make the man uncomfortable. Could see it in the way Callum awkwardly shuffled from one foot to the other, looking left and right to make sure no one was watching their exchange, because god forbid Ben actually be allowed to enjoy himself and flirt openly in such a public place.

Ben had deduced that the only logical explanation for the stench of whiskey all over his head had to have been a deterrent for his advances, whether that was because the bloke was still closeted- he kind of understands that one, people do stupid shit when they’re trying to hide, and maybe he relishes the idea of helping him along on his big, gay adventure. But another part of him, one he doesn’t like to assume, is that the man simply wasn’t interested. Either way, Ben isn’t used to being so viciously denied what he wants. So naturally it rubs him the wrong way.

Therefore, from that moment onwards he’d made up his mind about Callum, never truly letting go of his grudge, no matter how ridiculous it was. Obviously, everything Callum did from that point on annoyed the fuck out of him, especially when he aims his clever little digs about being a good man directly in his vicinity.

***

Ben’s eyes start to water, he’s been under the same car for over an hour now and all the work he’s done so far has all been for nought. He closes his eyes and brings a hand up to wipe at them with the sleeve of his overalls. His patience is wearing thin and so he decides to finish up the job later. He’s also beyond done being gassed out by his own stupidly expensive, useless-piece-of-shit car. He slides himself out from under it and hits something on his way out; he’s halted in his position by a pair of long legs blocking him from going any further. He admires the way the jeans cling to the man’s calves and follows their path up the thickest pair of thighs he’s seen in a long time, and after a few minutes of mindless admiration he finally reaches the man’s face. He groans audibly and blinks up at the man, slapping the outstretched hand away as he stands to his feet.

“What do you want, Halfway?” He grunts. “I’m busy.”

Callum meets his eyes and frowns, but he eventually places a cup of steaming hot coffee on the table beside Ben.

“Thought I’d bring you this,” He says, doing that clumsy shuffling motion that Ben hates with his feet. “To apologise, for the other night…with the drink…and the, uh, assumptions I made.”

Ben eyes the man in front of him, looks him up and down- doesn’t notice the way the blue shirt he’s wearing makes his arms look solid, or the way his eyes sparkle with a sincere smile.

Nope, he only notices the way it makes his blood boil. The overly sweet ‘being the bigger man’ act makes him want to be the bad guy Callum so brazenly painted him out to be, so he chooses to stick to his guns and show him exactly the kind of man he is if pushed too hard, he amps up the bravado just for Callum’s sake and smiles.

“That’s real nice of you, Callum.” He clicks his tongue for emphasis, “But I only accept apologies in the form of blowies, so unless you’re here to get your knees nice an’ dirty, I’d be on my way.”

Callum holds his stare until the tension hits too close and he drops his head and nods in defeat. Or so Ben thinks as he perks back up.

“Why can’t you just talk to me like a normal person?” He exhales.

“Instead of what? The raging queer that I am.”

“No, that’s not- I didn’t mean-“

“Just leave it, yeah.” Ben snaps, “I don’t want your apologies, and I don’t want your coffee, so get back on your high horse and gallop away.” He twiddles his fingers towards the exit.

Callum shakes his head again and turns to walk away but just as he’s about to walk out he turns back to Ben.

“Everyone else in this Square might be scared of you, Ben- but I’m not. I see you. Deep down you want more out of life than making people fear you. You can’t run away from your feelings forever, Ben. Stop being such a coward.”

The words have a lasting effect; they leave a bitter taste in his mouth, one he can’t seem to purge- no matter how much dick and alcohol he consumes himself in that night in a pitiful attempt to forget.

***

About a month after their last encounter at The Arches Ben finds out that Callum is, miraculously, into men. He is watching him, clear as day, as he tries to flirt in all his awkward 6 foot something glory. Ben scrutinises the scene in front of him. Callum winks with both eyes shut (the man is insufferable) in the direction of a barely even average-looking bloke who’s given him what looks like a hefty tip for pulling a simple Guinness. It only amps him up further. Ben taps his fist on the bar and clears his throat loudly, interrupting the pitiful looks being thrown between the two men.

“Any chance of that drink any time soon, mate? I’m dying of thirst over ‘ere. And I’d like it in my mouth this time, not over my head.” Ben finishes, huffing impatiently.

He hears the nameless fool offer up some sort of apology in the form of a gracious stroke of his hand across Callum’s. The man catches his eye. He withdraws his hand and averts his gaze, heading over to one of the booths, a pint of a sloppy headed Guinness in hand.

Callum approaches him finally with a straight whiskey, no ice. His exact order. He nearly trips on the non-slip mat on his way over, which Ben sniggers at. His laughter settles the second Callum makes direct eye contact with him. He looks pissed. His cheeks are flushed and pretty and Ben momentarily loses all train of thought as he admires the way the flush brings out Callum’s sea blue eyes. The moment abruptly ends as Callum slams the tumbler directly in front of him. The amber liquid sloshes over the side of the glass and drips down his hand. It makes Ben want to laugh harder or lick it off- he isn’t sure which. But he notices Callum’s eyes narrow and the way he subtly puffs out his broad chest to try and assert some sort of dominance. Laughter is definitely the last thing on Ben’s mind now as he lets his eyes drift over the expanse of Callum’s shoulders and down his chest, before drawing them back to the eyes of a still very pissed off Callum.

“That was one time. And I’ve already apologised for it so give it a rest, yeah? Stop being so rude.”

Ben guffaws, “Rude? Me? Dunno what you’re on about, babe. I’m a delight.”

It’s apparently the wrong thing to say, or the right thing, considering the sound that erupts from Callum’s chest.

“Says who, eh? Everything I’ve ever heard about you suggests you’re an arrogant asshole whose only objective is to get laid, make selfish life decisions, and fuck with people’s heads, and every interaction since we’ve met only confirms it.”

The insult hits its intended target a little too accurately and all Ben’s defensive barriers bare their teeth as he tilts his chin and clicks his jaw into place.

“Is that right?”

Callum seems to take a physical step back at the malice in his tone, but he bravely stands his ground, “Well, the way you come in here all high and mighty like you own the place only seems to prove my point.”

Ben’s heard more than enough for tonight. It’s bad enough that he has to hear the whispers being spread about him on the daily, having to watch as people cower in fear and cross the street when he walks by, but to stand here in his local pub and let some infuriatingly gorgeous man insult him so boldly without knowing a damn thing about him?

Fuck that.

The rage rattles around in his brain at the sheer audacity of this prick. Ben takes a deep breath, downs his whiskey, and looks up at Callum with barely-concealed anger simmering in his eyes. He leans a little closer to the man hidden behind his bar.

“You really shouldn’t worry that pretty head of yours over rumours, Callum. Though, I am interested in knowing why you seem to be so invested in such an arrogant asshole. So much so that it seems you’ve been asking around about me.” Ben picks up the glass, swirls it around and necks the last of his shot without even waiting for an answer.

“If you’re so desperate to know what it’s like to have my lips around your cock, sweetheart- try asking nicely next time.”

He slams his glass back onto the counter, blows a kiss at the spluttering man, and walks out the door. He takes in a deep breath of fresh air to calm him. The unbridled rage simmers for a second as he recalls the interaction, but as he allows more air to hydrate his lungs he feels slightly lighter. The rage diminishes. The image of Callum gasping around like a fish out of water trying desperately to form a single, coherent thought at the end there is seared into his brain. He smiles sadly to himself and heads home to his lonely apartment.

***

The next time he sees Callum he bumps into him, literally, in his club The Albert, two bottles of beer in his hands that sway precariously as the two stumble back, but still very much in each other’s personal space. Ben can’t help noting how built Callum is; a strong, firm chest he’d happily spend hours exploring.

Woah. Nope. Absolutely not.

He nips those very dangerous thoughts in the bud before they have time to fester, but cleverly stores them away for another day. He straightens himself and pushes Callum away, but not far enough that he can’t still smell the musky aftershave that lingers in the air.

“Watch yourself, darlin’- wouldn’t want another drink to go to waste now, would we? Plus, my ass looks far too good in these jeans to be drowned in drinks this early in the evening.”

Ben feels it the moment Callum realises who he’s bumped into and he remarks, rather intriguingly, that Callum’s pupils have blown out any trace of blue as his eyes take him in. Ben’s inner turmoil coils hotly at the implication in Callum’s gaze. Maybe he’s not entirely fooling himself. Maybe Callum likes it a little rough. He’s tempted to push harder, do a slow dramatic spin, show off the old fife and drum*, and walk away. But before he can think too long on those particular thoughts, he forces himself to shake it off. He blames the second slip of sanity that evening on the alcohol flowing through his veins. He’ll also blame the alcohol for the fact that his jeans have tightened to an almost uncomfortable degree- because there’s absolutely no way he’s going to blame that on the way Callum is currently staring longingly at his lips, like any second he’ll be dragged down the aisle and forced to marry a woman against his will unless he takes what he wants right here and now.

Nope, it’s definitely, undeniably the alcohol he’ll blame.

Get it together, Mitchell, for fuck’s sake.

Ben yanks his mind out of the gutter, snaps his head up and away from Callum’s lips and pushes past him a little harder than is probably necessary in their current state.

“See you around, babe.” He says as he walks away, refusing to acknowledge the table Callum makes his way over to, or the ridiculously good-looking and entirely too broad man Callum hands the second beer he has in his hand to.

Doesn’t notice a damn thing.

***

The night drags on, and on, and on. And Ben is disappointed to realise he hasn’t once clocked eyes with Callum since their encounter earlier. It spins a little ball of unwelcome anxiety in the pit of his stomach. So loud is his current predicament that he can’t even enjoy the lavish treatment that the faceless man currently draped over his lap is offering him, whose head is buried so deep in his neck he can feel the heat of his tongue working overtime to secure victory.

Ben remains unresponsive. Because it’s not the tongue Ben wants working his body into full thickness. He’s too wound up with thoughts of Callum fucking Highway to give this guy a second thought. He pulls the bloke’s head away from his neck and tells him to get lost. The man looks at him in disappointment but doesn’t make a sound as he removes himself from Ben’s lap and worms his way into another couple’s face-sucking fest on the opposite sofa.

Ben’s head is hazy from all the alcohol he’s consumed. He rubs at his eyes and focuses on trying to find the man his head won’t let him forget- hoping to God he isn’t already balls deep in some asshole that isn’t him. And, as if by some divine miracle of holy intervention, Callum comes into view. He’s stood in the middle of the dance floor, swaying his hips to the beat. He currently has two men vying for his attention. But, it’s nice to note, that Callum seems so absorbed in the music that he’s drowned out all lusty intentions aimed his way, including his own, Ben reflects grimly.

Oh, but Ben is way past rational thought now; all he knows is that he wants. He needs Callum’s piercing blue eyes back on him immediately, wants those large hands wrapping around his waist, pulling him in as they gyrate against each other to the deep bass line. He knocks back another whiskey and makes his way over to where Callum is currently locked in amongst a throng of sweaty bodies.

Ben thanks his lucky stars that his over-inflated reputation can get him exactly what he wants in this moment, because as people lay eyes on him they deliberately move out of his way, paving an effortless pathway to his intended target. The two men drooling over Callum notice his approach, they recognise who he is, and identify the fire in his eyes as a clear sign to back the fuck off- because they do so without question.

The first touch is everything Ben hoped it would be. He trails both palms over Callum’s wide hips, gripping tight as he presses in close at Callum’s back, his crotch is now firmly against Callum’s ass, moving with him as he sways. Callum is utterly spellbound, letting the flow of the song take over, but Ben senses the shiver that runs up Callum’s spine and laments as he pushes back into him, latching onto the warmth of the body encompassing him. Ben knows Callum is clueless as to who the man behind him is. The fact that he’s allowing some random guy to touch him so intimately and without question makes him want to stake an irrational claim; to let Callum know exactly who it is he’s dancing with. So he does.

He ends up spinning an unsuspecting Callum around as he forces his way into the taller man’s space. He wraps his arms around Callum’s neck and wedges a knee between his parted legs which he rotates slowly to the beat. Callum braces himself as his eyes fall on his new dance partner, they widen a fraction and then a slow smirk sweeps across his face. He places a large hand dangerously low on Ben’s spine and draws him in, hitching Ben’s leg higher up his own so he’s practically straddling him mid-air. It stirs something hot and possessive in Ben’s stomach and his cock twitches at the delicious friction as he moves deliberately up and down Callum’s solid thigh. Not a single word passes between them as they continue their grinding- and little do they know that the bodies around them have shifted, leaving the two of them to their very enticing game of who folds first. The tension in the air is palpable as they practically dry hump each other on the dance floor.

The fast pace of the current song slows as it bleeds into a much heavier bass line, it prompts Callum to turn Ben in his arms and pull him tight against his chest with one hand firmly planted on his stomach. The grinding morphs into a deep thrusting motion as Ben lets his head fall back onto Callum’s shoulder. He takes the cue and falls into the crook of Ben’s neck, lavishing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the seam, running his tongue wetly over the protruding vein. It causes Ben’s legs to surrender under the ministrations, but the hand on his stomach keeps him rooted to the spot, thankfully. He lets out a low groan that rumbles through the palm of Callum’s hand and travels up to his ears. Ben feels the smile stretch out on Callum’s lips as he continues his soft sucking, not quite hard enough to leave a mark though, he thinks sadly. And since fucking when did he want someone else’s claim so clearly branded on his skin? He must be really fucking drunk. (Spoiler alert: He’s not that drunk.)

It feels too good to listen to rational thoughts as he loses all sense of himself, let’s himself be picked apart at the seams, strand by strand. His breathy pants give him away, getting sharper and more obvious with every flick of Callum’s tongue, working him into a frenzy. Callum’s hand slides down his body and brushes along his painfully hard erection, he grips it tightly and squeezes him over his jeans, and Ben swears he almost blows his load right there and then. Mortifying. But before he can truly enjoy the feeling of a clearly very skilful hand on his cock he’s violently wrenched out of Callum’s arms and pulled into the hard body of a vaguely familiar man, the one Callum was sat with earlier in the evening, Ben recalls a little too quickly.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” The burly man grunts in his face.

Ben pushes the guy away and squares his shoulders, making himself appear taller than he actually is; a trait he lives by, especially in his line of work: Never back down (no matter how big they are.)

“Thought that was pretty obvious, mate.” Ben spits back. “We were getting all hot and heavy on the dance floor, and you just rudely interrupted.”

The gruff man looks between Ben and Callum as if he can’t quite grasp the concept.

“Yeah well- you’ve had your fun, Mitchell- this one’s mine.”

Ben scoffs in his face and turns to raise an eyebrow at Callum, who he’s delighted to see has the most ridiculous look of panic on his face, like he’s been caught with his pants round his ankles in the middle of The Square.

“That right?” Ben goads turning back to the scumbag with the biggest grin on his face. He takes a deliberate step forward, “Coz I’m pretty sure it was my dick he had in his hands, not yours.” He can see the tick in the taller man’s eyes as he takes one more step, “And I’m pretty sure calling ownership over a bloke is considered indecent these days, mate. But that must be too modern for a dumb fuck like you to grasp. So why don’t you go on your merry little way, yeah, and get the fuck out of my club.”

The next few moments pass in a blur of knuckles, splattered blood, and incoherent screams as the man’s left fist connects with Ben’s nose. He’s slightly dazed as he gets back to his feet and wipes at the blood. The amped up adrenaline coursing through his veins, mixed with the courage of the alcohol running hot through his body allows Ben to get the upper hand. He launches himself at the bloke, gutting him first with a switch-blade he had hidden in his jacket, lashing him with a few accurate punches, and then grabbing a bottle from a terrified witness and smashing it over the guy’s head, effectively knocking him unconscious as he hits the floor with a loud thud. In all the chaos two more blokes have made their way over to the scene and look ready to have a go.

“Come on then, who’s next, eh?” Ben spits the remaining blood in his mouth to the floor and eyeballs the two men, waving his knife around as if goading them to come at him. They seem to think better of it because, despite his size, Ben Mitchell is notoriously known for his savage nature, will use all the dirty tricks in the mobster’s handbook to win a fight, so they simply bow out and hold their hands up in surrender.

The blood pumps loudly in Ben’s ears; still riled up- even knowing he’s won this round he feels he could go another ten. A hand on his shoulder makes him tense up and without thinking he jabs a hard elbow to the person who’d dared to touch him while he’s in this state. He turns around sharply to square up to whoever it is, but what he finds is Callum, sprawled out on his ass, fingers dabbing at his bloodied lip. All the fight drains from Ben’s body as he realises what he’s done. He bends down to apologise to Callum.

“Callum- I’m sorry- I didn’t realise it was you-I didn’t mean-” he splutters nonsensically. But Callum silences him with a hand in the air and the rest of his sentence dies on his lips.

Ben watches helplessly as Callum stands to his feet and rubs his bloody hand down the front of his too-tight jeans. “Just go home, Ben. You’ve proved you’re still the big hard man on the Square, now just go.”

Ben looks at Callum like a puppy that’s just had its tail stepped on by a heavy boot. He holds Callum’s eyes for a second and when he doesn’t look back at him Ben bows his head and turns slowly to face the eyes of his punters.

“The fuck are you all standing around for? Get back to your evening- night’s still young innit. Next round’s on the house.” He signals for his bouncers to come over. When they arrive, he nods towards the unconscious man on the sticky floor at his feet. “Clean this mess up, will ya? I’m heading out.”

The music starts up again and Ben leaves without a second glance.

***

The car lot lighting hits his eyes too harshly and he winces. He switches the big light off and blindly walks over to his desk to turn the lamp on. He clenches his fists and slams them both down on the desk before swiping furiously at the neatly piled paperwork on his desk. They fall to the floor with a dull thump. He doesn’t hear the door open and close behind.

“Your bouncer friend said I’d find you here.” A soft voice from behind him says, startling him somewhat. He composes himself with a deep sigh before spinning around so that he’s casually leaning against the now empty desk.

“What are you doing here, Callum?” He asks, rubbing his hand over his eyes in frustration.

An elongated silence follows his question, which only puts Ben more on edge. He eventually looks up at Callum to see he’s pacing, hovering, clearly nervous about something. It intrigues him. It takes Callum a little while longer to figure out exactly what he wants to say. Ben can see the conflict on his face as he tries to wrap his head around a single thought. But he’s also weirdly tuned into every emotion that passes over Callum’s face. Confusion. Anger. Lust. Defiance. And finally, back to confusion.

“What was that earlier?” Callum blurts, “Back at the club? On the dance floor. Thought you hated me?” He finishes quickly as that pretty flush from earlier makes its way back onto Callum’s cheeks. He shuffles awkwardly against the hard surface beneath his feet and Ben finds he doesn’t hate it as much as he initially thought.

Ben pushes himself up off the desk and runs his hands through his hair.

“I do-“ he says a little too quickly to be necessarily true, so he stumbles to try and cover himself, “You’re insufferable. Uptight. Judgemental. You’re more gorgeous than you have any right to be, Callum. But you don’t half grind my gears.” Ben sways a little on the spot, thinking he’s done, when more words come spilling out of lips before he can stop them, “And the way you came swanning into my town, fresh as a daisy, sprouting your preconceived opinions about my life, thinking you know me. When really, you have no idea what kind of man I am. So yes, I do hate you.” His shoulders sag in relief; it feels as if a bizarre weight has been lifted.

Callum eyes him fondly, “Feel better now?”

“Yeah, actually,” Ben huffs, “I do, yeah.”

Callum’s smile widens as he contemplates his words for longer than Ben’s patience can handle when he finally looks back at him with a goofy ass grin on his stupid, beautiful face.

“You think I’m gorgeous?” he says, derailing Ben from the inside out.

“Really? That’s what you’re taking from what I just said?” Ben tries to laugh it off.

Callum shrugs and takes a step closer to him. The air between them shifts. A spark of electricity crackles dangerously between them as Callum refuses to loosen his gaze. Ben’s traitorous legs wobble beneath him as he backs himself into the edge of the desk. Callum breaks the tension by taking the last few steps in his direction, crowding him in. Ben’s breath hitches in the back of his throat. He tries to swallow through it, but he’s far too distracted by following the line of spit Callum trails along his bottom lip before the sinful tongue ducks back into his mouth.

“Well, seeing as we’re being honest with each other, I think it’s only fair that I tell you the truth.” He leans into Ben so that he’s only a whisper away, the breath hot against his open mouth, “I hate you too.” He dips his head away from Ben’s eager lips, much to his disappointment and ghosts his own against Ben’s pulse point, before leaving a soft peck on the skin.

“Hate the way you look at me.” A kiss to his exposed collarbone.

“Hate the way you strut around like you own the bloody world.” A kiss to the soft spot behind his ear.

“Hate the way you hide behind innuendos just to wind me up.” A kiss to his jawline.

“But mostly, I hate the way all of that stuff just makes me want you.” The last kiss he leaves he applies a little more pressure, sucking a dark mark into his neck. Ben whimpers into it, grabbing the back of Callum’s head to keep him latched on, who takes the hint and bites down harder on the soft skin. Once he’s apparently satisfied he’s left a good enough claim, he lets go of the flesh and licks over the bruise to soothe the ache. Ben gets a good grip on his hair and drags Callum’s head up.

“God, you’re insufferable.” He growls as he dives in, connecting their lips together in a heated kiss.

Their first.

It makes his head spin.

The taste of Callum on his tongue is better than he ever could have imagined. He tastes of copper and whiskey, must have necked a shot after the fiasco at the club, because Callum had only been drinking beer tonight, he notes hazily, sounding like a madman. But the delicate mix of Ben’s favourite whiskey on his tongue makes his thoughts heady. He laps at Callum’s taste like a man deprived, and pulls the most gorgeous little mewling noise from Callum’s lips. He congratulates himself on a job well done and works on bringing them out again. He’d kill a man just to hear those sounds on a loop.

The two stay locked in a tight embrace, mouths moving frantically against each other. Callum slides his tongue over Ben’s bottom lip as the kiss slows. He feels one of Callum’s hands rest lightly on his neck, not quite squeezing but with enough pressure that it causes Ben to arch his back involuntarily. It allows their crotches to rub together and they both let out groans of pleasure as they continue the familiar grinding motion they’d gotten real good at back at the club. Callum bites down hard on his bottom lip now, tugging it further into his mouth and slides both hands between them so that he can start working on Ben’s jeans. He pops the button with ease and lowers the zipper, and without a second’s warning he grips the head of his cock. The unexpected skin on skin shocks a desperate whine from him as he rips his mouth away from Callum’s. He throws his head back, baring his throat as Callum rolls his thumb over the overly sensitive tip.

They waste no more time in getting to the good stuff, Callum teases him a little longer with his thumb, pumping him up and down in long, luxurious strokes before he’s withdrawing his hand. Ben’s eyes roll back into his skull and he’s stunned momentarily at the loss of contact, but his confusion doesn’t last long. His pants are being dragged down his legs and he kicks them and his shoes off in one go. He shrugs out of his leather jacket and is about to go for his shirt when it’s ripped dramatically from his body by the strong hands of the man in front of him, buttons flying left and right. It makes him chuckle darkly. The show of power goes to his head, so to assert his dominance once more he grabs Callum back in for another quick peck before he’s pushing Callum’s head down, down, down. He sinks willingly to his knees, and the look of genuine need on his face sets Ben on fire.

There’s a moment of silent appreciation as Ben let’s himself take in the view, Callum Highway, fully clothed, on his knees, with a firm cock in his face.

Sadly, he’s not granted much of a reprieve because Callum seems to be getting quite impatient at the lack of movement, desperate for a taste. He licks the palm of his hand and uses the slick to slide it down the length of him once, twice, three times. Before Ben’s even had a chance to enjoy the friction, Callum’s hot breath hits him. He watches Callum wet his lips before wrapping them around the head and taking him expertly all the way down his throat.

Ben has to hold onto Callum’s head with both hands to support himself. Lost in the feeling of Callum’s talented mouth swallowing him down with practised ease. He bobs his head up and down at a steady pace now, hollowing his cheeks to take him deeper each time. The man knows exactly what he’s doing. Ben sends a prayer- gesture of goodwill-whatever- to whoever it was that taught Callum to suck cock like this. It’s obscene, really, how well Callum seems to be able to work him into such a state with just his lips, tongue, and throat. Ben knows he’s not going to last long like this, needs to take back control, so he pulls Callum off with an indecent pop. Yet, all he can seem to utter the moment he’s free from Callum’s particular form of torture is the word ‘up’ on repeat. And like the obedient soldier that he once was (yes, he did his research, he’s no amateur), Callum follows his lead.

The idea of giving Callum exactly what he wants makes Ben feel strangely vulnerable. He needs to see Callum laid bare for his eyes, and his eyes only. It’s the only thing he thinks will help alleviate the nervous energy thrumming through him at the implication. It’s hard to feel in control when you’re stood completely naked, flaws on display for the world to see, whilst the man you’re with has every scrap of clothing still on his body, and yet- when Callum looks at him the way he is now he can’t help but feel powerful. But he still wants to level the playing field a little.

“Strip.” Ben orders.

And he does. Makes a little show of it too. Unbuttoning his shirt at a maddeningly leisurely pace, throwing it at Ben when he’s eventually done. He steps out of his jeans with a wink (blink, UGH) in his direction. And if that doesn’t infuriate Ben more. He knows Callum is taking his time on purpose, elongating their shared pleasure, but what he can’t seem to grasp is why. But Ben doesn’t dwell, waits it out like a respectable man would, knowing he’ll get his reward at the end of it all. And that reward comes in the form of a very well-endowed cock. Ben lets his eyes travel lazily over the exposed body in front of him, mapping him out, cataloguing every scar, every freckle, and every blemish- encase he never gets a chance like this again. He extends his hand out in front of him after he’s had his fill.

“Get back over here and fuck me.” Another order, another willing nod.

When they crash back into each other it doesn’t take long before Callum has him lifted up onto the desk and is slamming his back down against it. He’s now looming over him, snuggled perfectly between the v of his thighs.

The condoms and lube that Ben cleverly has stashed away for spontaneous moments like this are in his top desk drawer. They’re shoved into Callum’s eager hands. Callum eyes them both with a slightly raised brow and drops the condom onto the desk next to Ben’s head. He pops the lid of the lube and squeezes a generous amount on his fingers. He takes a step back and leans down to spread it around Ben’s awaiting rim. Wasting no time, he penetrates slowly at first with one long digit, watching Ben closely to make sure he can handle it. Ben would consider it sweet if he wasn’t so desperate for more. The second and third are inserted quickly enough and soon Ben is writhing on Callum’s fingers as they glide in and out of his body, he fucks down onto them and releases a slew of gratifying grunts on every upward curve.

“Fuck, Callum. I’m good to go. Get on with it- want to feel you.” He lets himself admit, way past the point of caring how eager he sounds.

The loss of Callum’s fingers as he withdraws is maddening. He feels empty, tries not to whine too loudly at being left so exposed. He turns his head to see Callum picking up the condom as he brings it to his lips. He tears the packet open with his teeth, spits it out and slides it on. Callum applies more lube to his now covered cock and shoves the bottle away. He tugs Ben closer to the edge of the desk and lines himself up to the already slick entrance. He looks down at him, asking silent permission. Ben holds his gaze, pupils blown wide, bottom lip stuck between his teeth, and nods.

That seems to be all the encouragement Callum needs as he slides inside, inch by devastating inch until he’s nestled all the way in. It’s a tight fit, one that Ben knew would be a struggle, but he breathes through it, soothed by the light circles Callum is rubbing on his hipbone. Callum holds his position to allow him to adjust to the stretch. But he soon gets impatient again and bends down like he wants a kiss. Ben’s legs fold even more into himself which presses Callum in deeper and he lets out a high-pitched noise that he’ll profusely deny if Callum ever brings it up.

However, Callum doesn’t appear to be faring any better than he is, but he does sense Ben’s discomfort at the new angle and moves to pull away, but that’s the last thing Ben wants. He wants him closer, so he pushes past the pain and drags Callum into a kiss so bruising it takes his breath away- distracting him from the burn. When they settle against each other, their kisses turn into heavy pants, and their foreheads press tightly together when Ben opens his eyes. He waits for Callum to open his baby blues before whispering his next order.

“Move.”

He thinks he hears the words so and tight in reply, as it muffles next to his ear. It makes him want to submit. But he’s suddenly hit with a jolt of electricity that runs through his entire body; it sizzles down his legs and curls his toes. Callum withdraws all the way out and then sharply thrusts back in. He angles it perfectly, reaching that sweet spot on the first few thrusts. It’s miraculous really, how perfectly they seem to move together to make this the most intense shag he’s ever had. Ben’s mind blanks out as Callum keeps hitting his prostate with pin-point accuracy, the initial pain he feels ebbs away and all he knows is utter bliss. Callum grabs his hips to steady himself after the overstimulation and then slams back in going deeper and deeper with each thrust.

“God, keep doing that.” Ben blurts without thinking, eyes screwed shut and head thrown back against the desk.

Ben doesn’t know how much longer he can hold on. His throat is scratchy and raw from overuse; the little uh uh uh sounds he produces only encourages Callum’s movements. The man’s got stamina. His hips eventually start to get choppy and stuttered as his breathing picks up next to Ben’s ear. Good, Ben thinks. He’s close then, and he wants Callum to get there when he does. Ben reaches between their sweat-slick bodies and starts pumping his cock in time to Callum’s thrusts, but Callum looks at him as he does it and swats his hand away, replacing it with his own.

“I’ve got ya.” Callum grunts, his voice hoarse from exertion.

And if that doesn’t send Ben’s brain into overdrive. He relinquishes control at last and let’s Callum take over. He lays there with his legs draped around Callum’s wide hips and moans low and long as he paints his own chest in pearls of white. He clenches around Callum in the come down and that pulls his orgasm from him almost immediately. He can feel Callum’s cock twitching as it releases into the condom. He suddenly has an armful of man as they both try to catch their breath. Ben drops his legs down and runs his hand through Callum’s hair, laying a soft kiss to the side of his head. It panics him how soft the gesture is and he stiffens. Callum lifts his head and looks down at him.

“You okay?” He mutters.

“Yeah, m’good. Just can’t breathe, y’know? There’s a naked bloke currently crushing my chest cavity.”

Callum laughs and fumbles awkwardly to get off him. He pulls out a little too harshly and they both groan simultaneously at the loss. Ben watches Callum take the condom off and ties it at the end. His eyebrows perk up as he chucks it into the bin behind him. It gives him the perfect opportunity to stare at Callum’s ass; he bites his lip to keep quiet as Callum bends down further to pick up his discarded jeans, pulling them on without the boxers he came in, he notes interestingly. The thought causes his spent cock to stir a little, but he pushes himself off the desk in search of his own clothes as a diversion.

They remain silent as they dress themselves. It should feel uncomfortable- he just let a man he hates fuck him relentlessly on his own bloody desk- and yet, Ben’s never felt more alive. He finishes before Callum does and watches him run his hand through his floppy hair- again, causing that traitorous stir in his lower regions. He clears his throat and looks away. He wants to say something, but feels like he doesn’t have the right words. Callum comes to his rescue.

“Ben Mitchell- will you go out with me?”

Ben gawks at him, not prepared for that at all, and just continues staring. He tilts his head, folds his arms over his chest- an automatic wall of defence- and draws the corner of his lip into his mouth. Callum waits for him to say words that just won’t come and then he laughs, out loud, and approaches Ben as if he’s approaching a skittish cat he’d just picked up from the shelter.

“Sorry, that came out a lot more blunt than it sounded in my head.” He says, placing his hand over Ben’s folded arms.

“I like you.” He says with nothing but honesty shining in his eyes. “And I know we’ve had our differences in the past, but I can’t get you out of my head, Ben. The moment you walked into the Vic on my first day I wanted ya. Felt like I’d found exactly what I’d been looking for. I was a fumbling mess when you introduced yourself. I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t get my words out, shuffling around trying to avoid staring at you for too long- didn’t wanna look desperate, y’know? But my hands started shaking every time you or someone else caught me looking and I lost control of the glass. You know what happened next…haven’t let me live it down since.” He laughs, trailing off.

The ringing in Ben’s ears lessens as everything clicks into place: that first night in the pub, the shiftiness in Callum’s body language, the shuffling from one foot to the other, the awkward fumbling. Callum wanted him. He wasn’t trying to warn him off by throwing a drink in his face.

Ben feels like a right tosser.

“I was a prick to you that night.” He sighs.

“Yeah, you were. And every time after. But despite all that- it just made me want you more.” He shrugs. “I dunno, I’m a mess. But at least I’m an honest mess.”

“That’s why I like ya.” He whispers back, the most honest thing he’s said all night. Callum’s eyes snap up to meet his.

“Because I’m a mess?”

“No, because you’re sincere. You were never afraid to stand up to me. Drove me crazy, mind, but I can’t deny, it’s incredibly sexy.”

“Yeah?” Callum says; blush high on his cheeks again at the compliment, shy as ever, as if they hadn’t just fucked each other’s brains out all over his office desk not ten minutes ago.

“Yeah, very.” Ben confirms with a wink.

They stay silent as they enjoy just being in each other’s orbit for a little while longer, neither one wanting to break the peaceful rapport they’ve created between them. The soft stroking of Callum’s thumb on his hand soothes him and he can’t help but smile.

Callum is the first one to ease his way back into Ben’s headspace by breaking the silence.

“So, is that a yes?” He asks, and Ben raises his eyebrow, having completely forgotten the previous conversation, distracted by how good Callum smells this close up. “Will you go out with me?” Callum prompts further when he realises Ben can’t tell his head from his ass right now.

“Yeah, alright. Think I might need a bit more persuading though.” He says, with another cheeky wink as he leans in to kiss Callum. They melt into each other as easy as falling snow on a hot tongue.

But Ben’s head starts to haze over and he lifts his hand up to the cut he procured during the fight with the oaf back in the club. He winces the moment his fingers touch the damaged skin and Callum pulls back at the noise he makes into his mouth.

“You should really put some ice on that.” Callum says, gently raking his knuckles over the swelling on Ben’s cheekbone.

“You know what,” he says patting down his pockets condescendingly. “Must have left my pack of frozen peas in my other jeans.”

“Funny…” Callum rolls his eyes playfully. “What about a first aid kit? I could clean it out for you? Make sure it doesn’t get infected. Don’t know where that bloke’s been.”

“No, but you might have. I think I recall the words: he’s mine.” Ben tilts his head in mock recollection.

Callum barks out an uncomfortable laugh, “Don’t remind me…”

A beat.

“Wait- hang on a minute, are you jealous?”

Ben scoffs, outwardly and a little too quickly. “What? No! Course not.”

Callum continues laughing, clearly not buying a goddamn thing he says. Ben pushes him away in a huff to walk around the desk and rummages through the drawer. He produces a simple first aid kit and waves it in Callum’s face.

“Oh, just shut up and be a good little nurse and tend to my wounds, yeah?”

The laughter slowly dies in Callum’s throat as he takes the kit from Ben.

“Sit.” He says.

“Yes sir.” Ben salutes mockingly as he gently hops up onto the table he’d previously occupied for much more enjoyable activities. When Callum steps between his open thighs Ben’s body reacts accordingly and Callum notices the shift.

“Really? Again?” He glances down at the obvious erection in Ben’s jeans.

Ben simply shrugs, not bothered in the slightest that Callum can see how insatiable he is.

“There’s a hot man between my legs. Can’t blame me for that.” In his distraction Ben fails to notice Callum opening a sterile wipe until he’s pressing it none too gently on the openly bloodied wound above his eyebrow.

“Ow!” Ben whines a little childishly, “Not so rough, yeah.”

“Thought you liked a bit of rough?” Callum quips back, a smirk firmly planted on his face.

“Oh shut up.”

“Make me.”

The sterile wipe is dropped unceremoniously to the floor as Ben dives in and their lips collide, exploring and hot as their heavy tongues fight it out in eager mouths. Callum is the one to pull back eventually. Though, Ben likes to see that he’s not entirely unaffected when he does, his pupils have blown wide and his kiss bitten lips are pulled between his teeth to try and stop himself from temptation.

“Stop distracting me, I need to get this cleaned up.” Callum scolds, opening another wipe.

“Fine, get on with it then.” Ben sighs dramatically, but a small smile appears on his lips as he awaits his final examination.

Callum cleans up the dried blood on his face and puts a plaster over it to wade off infection, as he so politely put it, and when he’s done Ben apologises for the cut lip he’d procured during the scene at the club.

“I didn’t know it was you.” He finishes lamely.

“I know. It was my own fault. Should’ve known better than to touch a man who’d just bottled a guy into unconsciousness.” Callum chuckles, though the words leave a rotten taste in Ben’s mouth.

“That’s not the kind of man I want to be, Callum. I’m sorry you had to see that.” He folds back into himself as the shame rushes down his spine.

“Hey!” Callum says, tilting his chin up so that he can look at him, “You don’t have to hide from me, Ben. I see you, remember.” He places a soft kiss on Ben’s forehead that initially triggers his fight or flight response, but the more Callum pushes forward, kissing his temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth, the fear wavers and Ben eventually lets himself be soothed by Callum’s compassion.

“You do see me,” he mutters against Callum’s lips, barely a whisper, “and it scares the shit out of me.”

He can already feel Callum’s response in the way he holds him tighter, hesitant and vulnerable, but sincere and true. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

And Ben realises before he even makes the decision, that he already trusts this man not to break his heart. He hopes it’s the right one.

***

Their first date is surprisingly ordinary- but Ben doesn’t seem to mind. He’s content to sit and watch Callum beam back at him as he smashes his third strike in a row. Only sulks for a little bit after he loses spectacularly, and when Callum offers to buy him a drink as compensation his smile comes back in full force.

They make it to the club, not his club, but some fancy gay bar in London and they have the best night of their lives. They throw all caution to the wind and dance like no one’s watching. Their happiness pings off them in waves, and apparently it’s contagious, because they don’t pay for a single drink the entire night. Beautiful men, from all walks of life, keep sending them cocktail after cocktail- the frillier the better and they knock them back until they’re seeing stars.

They stumble back to Ben’s once lonely apartment complex and drown themselves in each other’s bodies; lips, limbs, and muscles, all working harmoniously to bring them both to their climax. They don’t last as long as their first time, because they’re both completely rat-arsed. But they have fun with it. Ben finishes first and then Callum pumps his final stroke and flops on top of Ben and promptly passes out. Ben smiles, strokes his man’s hair, and lets himself be vulnerable without the burdens of the past keeping him caged. He thinks a man could get used to this.

Overall, it’s been a pretty spectacular night.

Ben can see his entire future laid out before him when he looks at Callum. On the surface it scares the shit out of him. But secretly, it also delights him.

He thinks maybe he’s finally found the purpose his life has sorely been lacking; thinks quietly that he might have found the man of his dreams; thinks he wants to give up his dark world for him, take those final steps into the light.

Yeah, he’d give it all up for Callum Highway. For just a pinch of the happiness he felt tonight, he thinks it might all be worth it in the end. He falls asleep with arms full of a man he thinks he might one day fall madly in love with.

…thinks he might be halfway there already.

***

The years fly by in a whirlwind of love.

They wake one fine, wintery morning securely entangled in one another beneath the sheets. Callum places lazy kisses over Ben’s chest to entice him out of sleep. He blinks open his bleary eyes and is greeted by a sleep-soft Callum watching him closely. His heart stutters and without much thought he drags Callum up his body to capture him in a silky lipped morning-breath kiss. He hums into it contentedly until Callum pulls back and then he whines, long and loud.

“Come back, wasn’t done kissing.” He grumbles with a low sleep-heavy voice.

But Callum laughs into his mouth, “Little Miss is going to be banging down our door if we don’t head down soon.” He replies with one final quick peck to Ben’s lips before hauling himself out of bed, leaving the duvet wide open so that the icy air trickles down Ben’s naked body.

Ben shudders at the cold and reluctantly gets up. He dresses in his favourite pair of jogging bottoms and tugs Callum’s oversized hoodie over his head.

“Don’t want our little princess turning into a fire-breathing dragon now, do we?”

They make their way downstairs where a little, overactive blonde girl waves at them from the living room.

“Fiiiiiiiiiinally!” She wails, shaking her fingers at the pair of them.

“Uh- excuse me, madam. Your dad and I were enjoying what little peace we could before you-” he scoops her up off the floor and swings her around. Delights at the excited squeal she lets out, “ya little rascal- could come in with your sass and ruin daddy’s beauty sleep.”

He plonks himself on the sofa with his baby girl still in his arms and snuggles his face in the back of her neck.

“Well, it didn’t work, did it daddy?” She giggles, and he can also hear Callum let out a snort from the kitchen.

“You hearing this, babe? My own daughter calling me ugly, me?! Cheeky mare.” He digs his thumbs into her ribs and tickles her as punishment. She thrashes about on his lap, trying desperately to stop him and scream-laughs her way out of the torture and onto the floor below.

At that precise moment Callum wanders back into the room and places three steaming cups of hot chocolate on the table in front of them; whipped cream, marshmallows, chocolate sauce- the whole shebang. Lexi pumps her tiny fist in the air and wraps her arms around Callum.

“Thank you, dad.” She says, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before settling down to pick at the spongy treats.

Ben can’t help the smile that lights up his face at the two of them. He never thought he’d be lucky enough to have something like this, and yet, here he is- basking in the joy of it all. The dopey smile is still permanently plastered on his when Callum snuggles in next to him on the sofa.

“You know I think you’re beautiful, babe.” He says as he leans in to kiss him, the glint from his wedding band catches Ben’s eye before he closes them to enjoy the warm lips of his husband’s against his own. The elongated ‘ewww’ heard from their daughter makes them pull apart with a laugh.

“Alright, alright sassy, enough out of you.” Ben continues laughing. He turns back to Callum and is overwhelmed by the love he sees reflected back at him.

“Merry Christmas, husband.” He whispers before kissing him again.

As they pull back, Callum smiles softly back at him. “Merry Christmas, husband.”

They both turn to look at their impatient daughter, who currently has a whipped cream moustache. They look back at each other and do a dramatic nod, gesturing toward their Christmas tree.

“Go on then, baby- let’s see what Santa brought you this year.”

The last thing Ben hears is the excited squeals of his little princess as she races towards the abundance of presents waiting for her under the tree.

Who says a self-confessed bad man can’t find love, eh? Ben Mitchell-Highway is one of the lucky ones.

(fife and drum* is cockney rhyming slang for bum.)

#ballum #eastenders #ballumsecretsanta2020 #ben x callum #ballumsecretsanta #bss2020 #myfics

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a-hundred-jewels · 3 years

Text

cruel summer ch 12: i have these lucid dreams

Ao3 Wattpad

Summary: sabrina starr, pegasuses, and oh no! the fourth wall broke! do we have a carpenter in the audience?

Word Count: 9000 ish

Tags: Rachel Elizabeth Dare/Jane Penderwick, Rosalind Penderwick/Tommy Geiger, Nico di Angelo/Will Solace, Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Jane Penderwick, Rachel Elizabeth Dare, Rosalind Penderwick, Skye Penderwick, Chiron (Percy Jackson), Martin Penderwick, Elizabeth "Batty" Penderwick, Elizabeth Penderwick (senior), Iantha Aaronson-Penderwick, Ben Aaronson-Penderwick, Nico di Angelo, Will Solace, Annabeth Chase, Jeffrey Tifton-McGrath, Percy Jackson, Demeter (Percy Jackson), Apollo (Percy Jackson), Camp Half-Blood (Percy Jackson), Camp Half-Blood AU, Demigods, demeter!elizabeth penderwick, demeter!rosalind (second generation), demeter!batty (second generation), apollo!alec mcgrath, apollo!jeffrey (second generation), demeter!jane (second generation), demeter!skye (second generation), all of that's in no particular order, main focus is on jane because i love her and she's so so fun to write, tomsalind is there (and stuff will happen - i can't really say what, it will really be eventful though), yes of course there's solangelo, takes place right before Penderwicks In Spring, After Trials of Apollo, more tags to come??, Minor Swearing

Notes and Full Chapter below cut:

Hello everyone and welcome back! I'll admit, this is a little later today than I'd been planning to post (was hoping to get an early start), but hey! If the Puppet History season 4 finale can be late, then so can I!

First off, a massive massive thank you to waterbottle_stickers for being the best beta reader ever. This chapter would be a mess without you. Also, if you haven't already, please check out their enola holmes fic wherever you stray, i follow it's truly wonderful.

If you've been following me on tumblr, then you'll know that, in addition to reblogging an alarming quantity of good omens fanart, I've been making some plans for fics this month. The original plan from back in august was to post every day of the month, but... ahhh.... I just don't work that fast lmao. I'll have to be content with just posting a fair amount this month. Happy october! Anyway, stay tuned.

On this fine day, we've got two lovely QUEER fanfic recommendations that I'm very excited to share. Up first is one from the tumblr blog izzielizzie (which you should all absolutely check out! especially if you're into the one of us is lying fandom!). it centers around the skye/melissa pairing and their senior prom, which Skye is said to have only gone to last minute, and also wearing a lab coat, in a passage of the penderwicks at last. featuring some oblivious lesbians and also jane. once again a massive thanks to izzielizzie, as this fic is one of my favourites!. click here to take a look! (also keep an eye on her blog in general bc her penderwicks fics are awesome!)

The second fanfic is also one I'm very fond of, as it focuses on the siblinghood of skye and jane, which is one of my favourite topics on earth. check out rolling down the ancient high street by hanchewie/ramblemadlyon (tumblr and ao3 respectively) for the sibling antics of aroace skye and bisexual jane when the latter visits the former at her college in california! and, if you like it, ramblemadlyon has two other penderwicks fics from the past couple days that look fantastic as well, and that I look forward to reading.

This chapter is dedicated to my therapist, since I've decided this will be the month of oddly specific dedications. thank you for telling me to stop referring to cruel summer as my "trash baby" and help me recognize the true worth that it holds in my life.

Disclaimer: not my characters, you know the drill. Jeanne Birdsall and Rick Riordan are lucky ducks indeed. chapter title is (obviously) from "lucid dreams" by Juice WRLD.

FROM THE POV OF JANE PENDERWICK

The woods loomed around me, seeming as tall as buildings as they invited me in further. I took another step, the sharp pain of a pinecone digging into my foot barely registered in my mind. I kept walking. A crack sounded throughout the air, and, behind me, a tree splintered round its base and fell down, only inches away from crushing me dead, and completely blocking the path out.

Frightened, I began to run, looking for a way out of the forest. But no matter which way I went, there were only trees in front of me. Where was the path? Where was the grassy hill I had walked down to get in here in the first place. Had I even walked down that hill to begin with? Now that I thought about it, I wasn’t sure I remembered coming here. I wasn’t sure I remembered waking up this morning, or going to bed last night, or anything besides existing in the forest. Who was I? What was I doing here? How could I get out?

Panicking, I stood in the middle of a clearing, looking frantically at the trees around me, trying to find something familiar. Nothing. I was exhausted. How long had I been here? An hour? A day? A lifetime? I collapsed at the base of a tree, sobbing as I tried to remember. Something. Anything.

Then, a voice echoed around me. “Welcome,” it said, and my mind went black.

I bolt upright in bed, a scream halfway out of my throat. I clamp it back, not wanting to wake my cabinmates. Thin light whimpers through the window--enough for me to see my white-knuckle grip on the sheets, but not enough to pass as daylight.

What time is it?

Our cell phones don’t really work here--that was one of the first things Miranda told us when we arrived, and Batty’s been gleefully lording it over us that her Mp3 player will still play music and, like, function, while our smart phones recline sadly in our duffel bags. That being said, I don’t feel quite brave enough to get out of my bed just yet and tiptoe over to the big analog clock that Rio bought at a pawn shop in Colorado. Maybe my phone will at least show the time.

I reach under my bed and fumble for my duffel, hooking my pinky through the zipper loop and yanking it out onto my floor. My phone’s in the front pocket, buried under two pairs of headphones, several gum wrappers, and some strawberry leaves (?????). A piece of gum peels off the screen as I disentangle my phone, and I mentally chide my past self for being so messy.

My phone does not turn on. Big clock it is.

I tiptoe across the cold tile and peer around the tree.

5:45 .

Jesus Pagan Christ.

It’s too early to wake anyone up (as I think this, Batty lets out a snore to rival any crabby Tyrannosaurus Rex), so I wrap a blanket around myself like a criminally attractive burrito, and creep out onto the porch, with my notebook and pen tucked into my shirt.

As long as I live, I will never get tired of summer mornings. There’s something deeply lovely about the soft light of the still-sleepy, pink lemonade sun, the quiet anticipation of the cool air, damp from dew and preparing for the upcoming heat. At home in Cameron, Skye’s woken me up many an early morning to go for a run or do soccer drills or for a grueling “Seven Minute Workout Except You Don’t Follow The Rules And Torture Your Sister by Making It Actually A Forty-Nine Minute Workout.” (But it’s okay, I’m not bitter). But, as delightful as those experiences have all been, I don’t think Skye really gets it. The beauty of the summer morning is not what it can do for your workout schedule, but rather in its gentle softening of an otherwise boiling day. It is to be appreciated in the way that I am now, sitting curled up on this frighteningly creaky porch (I mean, seriously, who built this?) and calling up the Sabrina Starr section of my brain to try and write away the residual panic from my nightmare.

Sabrina sighed as the plane took off. She wasn’t sure if she should have followed the voice in her head telling her to come here. Saying it out loud--even just thinking it--made it sound ridiculous. A dream, a voice in her mind. Barely more than a whim.

Worse than that, Sabrina wasn’t even sure where this whim was taking her. On a napkin in her pocket, she’d scrawled everything she remembered about the dream from the night before. The dark sky, lit only with spiderwebs of lightning, the shadowy figure huddled on a beach and soaked through with rain. The voice crying for help.

And a name. Aeaea.

After she’d woken up, Sabrina had looked up Aeaea, too tired to fully connect why the name felt familiar. Her heart had sunk further after reading the Wikipedia entry, and a breath of hopelessness had left her lips. According to the internet, Aeaea was not a real place. It had been the island prison of Circe. Fiction wasn’t new to Sabrina, and neither was mythology (she recalled an adventure spent with a ghost called Rainbow from a few years back).

Fictional places, though, were another matter. How could she get somewhere if she didn’t know where she was going? Was she trusting her gut with too much this time?

Sabrina folded up the napkin and put it back in her pocket. There was no point in worrying about that now. She’d looked at enough maps to make a guess at where Aeaea might be if it was real. When she got there, she could get more information. Sabrina Starr had survived this long in her career of rescues and whims. She could survive one more adventure. Worst case scenario, she said to herself, I spend a few days running around for nothing and have to brush up on my Greek.

She repeated it to herself like a promise. Worst case scenario, worst case scenario… Eventually, tired out from all her anxieties, and from trying desperately not to worry about what would come next, Sabrina fell asleep.

FROM THE POV OF RACHEL ELIZABETH DARE

“Okay, I give up. Tell me what’s wrong.” Annabeth’s voice startles me away from my plate of eggs, which I had been pushing around with a fork. Anxiety bubbles in my throat, just as it had been since I woke up, and food just doesn’t sound like a good idea.

“I--what?”

Annabeth waves her hand impatiently. “Don’t play dumb. I’ve been talking to you for five minutes and I don’t think you’ve looked up once. Also you’re always hungry in the mornings, so unless you, like, ate an entire cow before I got here, this ,” she gestures to my uneaten eggs, “is unusual behaviour.”

I give her a look. Sometimes, I get the feeling that Annabeth exists as a part of multiple different dimensions at once, like she’s having four other conversations that I can’t hear, and is still ten steps ahead of me in the one I’m actually a part of.

Or maybe I’m just easy to read.

“Nothing’s wrong.” I don’t want to talk about it. “I’m fine.” I’m terrified.

Annabeth sighs. “Is this about the prophecy?”

“No,” I spear another piece of egg, and don’t eat it. “Maybe. Yes.” I feel like going back to my cave and staying there for the rest of my life. Waiting with a book and some paints for the prophecy to get bored and go away. Maybe I’d take Jane with me, or Nico, for some company. That sounds nice.

My plate is pulled away from me as I aim my fork again. “I can’t pay attention when you do that,” Annabeth huffs. I think I wouldn’t invite her to stay in my cave. She’s too on the nose when I want to mope. Then again, she says the same about me.

“Fine,” I turn and face her. “Let’s talk feelings.” Connor Stoll, who had been making his way towards our table, abruptly turns around and walks the other way. I should get Chiron to hire a therapist. Gods know we need it.

Further proving my point, Annabeth’s eyes widen a little, before she remembers it is I who will be spilling. (I make a point to corner her later. It’s a routine we have). “Wow. You broke fast.”

I nod. “I’m tired and you’re annoying.” (False. We both know it. Another routine). “Like you said, I’m nervous about the prophecy.”

Annabeth nods. “And?”

I frown. “What do you mean, and ? There’s no and.”

Annabeth frowns back at me. A mirror, a mime, an annoyance. The nerve to look disappointed in me. “I thought you were spilling, Red.”

I roll my head back and study the roof of the pavilion, which Annabeth designed, and slowly lean my head down to stare at the table. I really don’t want to have this conversation. I go along anyways. “I’m worried about Jane.”

Annabeth leans back, triumphant. “Ah, yes. Your girlfriend.”

Maybe if I try reeeeeeeally hard, I can activate the Oracle of Delphi and freak Annabeth out enough to make her go away. “ Not my girlfriend. You know that.”

“You called Percy my boyfriend for weeks before we actually officially decided.”

I wave my hand dissmissively. “That’s different, you guys were dancing around each other for like three years. You needed a bit of a push. Jane and I kissed once! Over a week ago! And nothing came of it.” We actually haven’t really talked about it. We’re in this sort of in-between zone where we spend a ton of time together, but don’t have a label for it. Honestly, it’s been nice.

Annabeth grins, apparently reading my thoughts. “You’ve been eating lunch with the Demeter cabin, like, every other day. I saw you doing archery together yesterday. Both of you were awful at it, but you stayed there for hours. I’ve never seen you focus on something that long outside of your paintings.”

I stare at the ceiling again. Maybe Annabeth designed it so that a single square foot of rock might fall down onto my head and relieve me from this conversation. “Yes, fine, we spend a lot of time together. But that doesn’t make us a couple, and has nothing to do with what I’m actually worried about!” I can see in her face that Annabeth is more serious now, and is about to fully listen to me, when Percy and Malcolm show up, sliding into the seats across from us, and clanging several plates of pancakes down onto the table in front of them.

“Made them ourselves! Wanna share?” Percy gives Annabeth heart eyes and a kiss on the cheek when she folds a large blue pancake into thirds and bites it like a burrito. I roll my eyes at them because they are a horrifying and disgusting couple and also I kind of want to be them when I grow up. Malcolm ignores them, instead turning to me. “Were you talking about Jane?” he asks, pushing wire rimmed glasses up his nose.

I frown. “Sort of. Why?”

He shrugs, sheepish. “You know. Just, uh, just wondering.”

I narrow my eyes at him, then Percy, who tears himself away from looking at Annabeth to sigh dramatically. “Malcolm wants to ask out Jane’s sister. You know, the blond one.”

I snort. “ Skye? Seriously?”

Malcolm looks vaguely offended. “What’s so weird about that?”

“Sorry, it’s not weird.” I reach over the table to pat him on the shoulder with my fork. “Perfectly normal teenage hormones.” He glares at me and I smile sweetly back. “I just can’t imagine Skye going out with anyone, that’s all.”

Malcolm stares down at his pancake, disappointed. “Oh. You sure?”

I nod, feeling a little more normal with my friends and less doom-related breakfast conversation. My eggs are past the threshold of “warm and appetizing” but I take a bite anyway. “Pretty sure. Jane told me that she’s aroace and, based on past occurrences, there’s a seventy percent chance she’ll punch anyone who asks her out. Anyway, why the interest? I didn’t know you guys talked.”

Malcolm shrugs. “We don’t, really. She just seems cool.”

Percy pipes in, “He’s been practically obsessed with her since she won that soccer game against the Nike kids and made them cry.”

I nod approvingly. “Well, Malcolm, at least we know you have good taste.”

Annabeth pats him on the head, ignoring his complaints that her hand is covered in blue maple syrup. “Better luck next time, brother of mine.”

Piper and Leo join us next, contributing an alarming volume of grapes and a single hardboiled egg to the breakfast display. Leo grabs a pancake and wraps it around some grapes, before taking a big bite. “I hear you’re discussing Malcolm’s romantic failures,” he says around the world’s worst breakfast burrito. Piper gasps in mock offense, then swallows the unpeeled hardboiled egg whole, like a snake. (This is a regular morning routine. She’s trying to work up to being a sword swallower, since her dad did it in a movie once and she thought it looked like fun). “ Malcolm, why didn’t you come to me? I could have given you a verdict within five minutes!”

“I wanted advice on whether I should ask out that Heaphestus boy two weeks ago and you told me to fuck off.”

Piper pouts at him. “That’s on you, you caught me at a bad time.”

Annabeth holds up a pancake with the air of a respected royal and we turn to her. “As delightful as this is, Rachel and I were initially talking about her romantic prospects and also her worries and fears, and I feel that we should get back to that before she slinks off and avoids the rest of the conversation.”

I glare at her. “Why would you bring this away from the very nice conversation we were having about everyone else’s problems? Do you hate me?” Annabeth rolls her eyes. “No, dumbass, I’m just not letting you walk away from a potential breakthrough. Now, where were we? You were saying that you’re worried about Jane but it has nothing whatsoever to do with your relationship, or lack thereof.”

I give a long suffering sigh, and try to communicate telepathically with Piper that she needs to Save Me Now, but she’s looking at me in interest with her chin resting in her hands, her long fingers adorned with rings sent to her from her Mortal girlfriend, Shel, who bought them at a vintage punk store. The traitor. Defeated, I turn back to Annabeth.

“It’s just that, whatever ends up happening with this prophecy, I don’t want it to fuck her up, in the way the quests have sometimes done to us. Like, we’re used to this by now, but it hasn’t been a smooth road. I don’t exactly like going on quests, and at first I was really worried at the prospect of being included in a prophecy, since that’s fairly abnormal, but Jane was only made aware of her heritage a couple months ago! What if this turns out like Silena or Beckendorf or-or Jason, and the prophecy destroys her, and it’s all my fault because I’m the one who pulled her into all this?”

Everyone tenses up at the mention of Jason, but they continue to look at me with a mixture of concern and love that makes something soften inside of me. For the hundredth time, I think of how lucky I am to have these people who love me unconditionally. Even if they really, really need therapy.

“I know that I didn’t plan any of this, but we’re both tied in now, especially since both Chiron and I had the prophetic dream and I actually gave the prophecy that day in the woods, and, well, this isn’t her world yet. She’s only got a little bit of ichor in her, and she grew up knowing nothing of any of this. In a way, I did too, and I have no ichor, but I had clear sight. For me, it was ineffable, but she could technically leave any time, if it weren’t for the prophecy. She can leave, and I feel like it’s up to me to make sure that doesn’t change.”

“Oh, Rachel.” Annabeth reaches her arms out to me and I let myself be pulled into an embrace. “Jane’s going to be okay. We’ll make sure of it.”

Sabrina stood in line at the boat rental hut, her arms crossed and a frown plastered on her face. It had not been a successful afternoon. For hours, she’d been searching the coastal towns near where her plane landed, looking for some trace of Aeaea, or anything else she’d seen in her dream. She was used to working with dregs. It was normal for her to have to squint a little at the evidence, have to shuffle things together around big holes of “Maybe,” like she was working a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing.

But this was something else.

Sabrina had read about places where mythology shaped the culture. Places where the tourist draws were events that had supposedly happened thousands of years ago, or creatures that only existed in grainy photographs and people’s imaginations. Hell, she’d met the Loch Ness monster. Was it insane for her to have assumed she’d be able to find the same kind of thing here? All her training and years of experience had told her that, if you sniff around long enough, you’ll find a conspiracy theorist or a slightly off-the-rails guidebook.

So far, though, Sabrina had found nothing. Absolutely nothing. She hunted around, searching up library catalogs, checking every store on the street. “Aeaea,” “Circe,” even “the Odyssey.”

Nothing.

The line edged along slowly, and Sabrina ran her hands up and down her arms. The air was chilly from its proximity to the cold sea water. There were three people in front of her now. She just had to wait a little longer, then she would have a boat and be able to explore these waters herself.

Something was wrong with this place. Something was wrong with all of these places. And Sabrina was going to figure out what.

Later, Jane and I are taking our time walking to the pegasus stables to watch the riding lesson that Rosalind has reluctantly agreed to let Batty take (provided that Percy, who’s teaching today, doesn’t let her fly high enough that she’ll die if she falls off, and that Batty wears all of the necessary protective gear). Jane looks lovely, wearing a sunshine-y yellow bandana that sets off her dark curls and warm sepia skin. She has on her Camp Half-Blood shirt again, and a short green skirt, and all of it should clash horribly, but it doesn’t.

We’ve decided to cut through the strawberry fields, and I swallow a sun-warmed strawberry while Jane tells me about the dream she had last night. I think back to my conversation with Annabeth this morning when she tells me of the dark woods and the feeling of drowning, the memory warping and the echoing voice. At some point we sit down in a patch of grass, a simple circle amidst strawberry plants with a couple logs where the campers and satyrs take their breaks when they work here. Jane finishes her story and we sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, only broken by the grunts of annoyance Jane makes while trying to get her plant powers to activate again. She’s been doing that a lot.

“Well that sucks,” I say finally. “Have you been having other dreams like it?”

Jane shrugs, the neon orange fabric of her shirt wrinkling on her shoulders. “One or two, I think. Last night’s was the first one I really remembered. ” She smiles out of the corner of her mouth. “I hardly ever remember my dreams. It used to upset me. I thought I was losing potential writing material.”

I laugh. It’s such a Jane thing to think, that I can’t help it. She goes quiet, like she’s reminiscing, and I picture a tiny version of Jane, sitting crossed-legged on her summer quilt, writing. I look at her now, scrunched up nose and big brown eyes. Oh gods, she must have been an adorable child.

“My mother used to say that my imagination was the eighth wonder of the world,” Jane says. She’s looking down the hill at the cabins, plant powers temporarily forgotten, and I remember her telling me about her mother, the first Elizabeth Penderwick, who came here and was a daughter of Demeter and loved opera. The Penderwick siblings’ beloved mother who died so young.

I move closer to Jane on the log. “I can understand why she’d say that.”

Jane smiles again, a little sad this time, a little absent, but full to the brim with love.

“Bet you she’s in Elysium,” I say softly. I explained the Underworld to Jane a couple weeks ago, and she’d gotten this same absent look on her face, that I now know means she’s thinking about her mother. Jane nods, now, then turns to me. “Could we talk about something else?” Her voice is quiet, her eyes a little shiny.

“Course,” I say. “Shall I regale you with tales of dimwittery at this camp in the years past?” I told her last week about the time some Hermes kids tried to order pizza to the camp, accidently causing Chiron to think we were under attack. Jane had nearly fallen off the bench laughing.

She grins now, but shakes her head. “Tell me what it’s like being an Oracle.” I give her a look. She’s asked me before and I never really know what to say. When I give prophecies, it’s like I black out. I’m taken over by another entity who shares my body. (“Like that lady in Suicide Squad ,” Leo had said when I tried to explain it to him once, but I’d refused to be compared to such a gods-fucking-awful movie). So, in a way, I don’t know what it’s like to be the Oracle.

As if reading my thoughts, Jane shakes her head. “Not that part. I’ve seen you all green and smokey, and I know you can’t feel it. I mean the other stuff. How did you know it was you? What did you have to do to become the Oracle? That kind of thing.” I relax a little. Jane’s asked me all sorts of weird questions about Greek mythology and the gods recently. She calls it “research for her book,” but sometimes I think she’s just nosy. It’s cute.

Jane shrugs and looks off into the distance. If you tilt your head a little you can kind of see the stables from here. We have fifteen more minutes to get there, according to my watch. I decide to take it easy. “Delphi is this weird ethereal spirit,” Jane continues, “but there’s also just everyday, Oracle you, who likes paint and denim and bagels.” At that, I laugh. “I actually don’t like bagels that much. I’m just late to breakfast so often that they’re usually the only things available.”

Jane pouts at me and plays with the bracelet tied around my wrist--the one she gave me. “You know what I mean! You know all this weird shit about me because my siblings don’t shut up at lunch, and I know stuff about you, like the denim thing, which I still think is funny by the way. But you’re also the freaking Oracle! Your dormant self lies waiting!” I laugh at her, and she rolls her eyes, but I see the corner of her mouth tilting up. “Rachel, that’s very cool!”

I give in. “Honestly, there’s not much to say, that’s why I don’t talk about it.” I pause. “Well no, it’s that a lot of the stuff beyond the obvious is actually sort of creepy and weird, and not in a good way. There’s stuff I try not to think about, is what I mean.”

The edge of her yellow bandana sticks up as Jane tilts her head at me. “That makes sense. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

I shake my head. “No, it feels okay right now.” I mean it. Now that I’ve gotten into the swing of it, I do want to talk about it. Still, a small sigh escapes me. “I like being the Oracle, because that’s what brought me to a place where I feel like I belong and I have people who love me. It’s nice to know that I’m fulfilling my purpose in life.”

Jane pulls her knees up to her chest. “But?”

“But I also get lonely.” It comes out in a rush. “There are other oracles, but I didn’t know about any of them until the Apollo thing happened, and even then, they’re all supernatural beings--I know, I know, but not in the way I am. It’s not the same. Also, there are all these weird rules. Like I have to stay an unmarried virgin my whole life.”

“That’s fucked,” Jane says softly.

“I know! Chiron won’t even tell me why, just that it’s ‘the rules’” I let out an annoyed huff. “And, like, it’s not even that the idea itself bothers me. That’s pretty much what I was planning to do with my life anyway.”

“Same.”

“But it’s the principle of the thing!” I flick a strand of hair out of my face, offhandedly noticing that the tip of my pinky finger is slightly green. I ignore it. It’s not important. “Just because I don’t want to have sex or get married doesn’t mean it’s a fair rule to impose on me! Besides, why is it always the women in these things whose identities are tied up in who they do or don’t fuck? Last I checked, Grover didn’t have to sign an ‘I shalt not fornicate’ contract when he became Lord of the Wild!”

“Exactly!” Jane raises her hands and shouts up to the sky. “Don’t you fuckers realize we’re more than that?”

“The Hunters of Artemis, too!” I’m a jack-in-the-box, and something’s winding me up. “Thalia and Reyna send me letters all the time, and they seem really happy! Which is great!” I pause to emphasize the greatness of their happiness. My pinky is completely green, now. “But, they also had to make a stupid ‘ode of chastity,’ like I did!”

“Are you kidding me?” Jane’s hair flips as she turns to me. “I thought Artemis was one of the good ones!”

My voice lowers to a husky rumble, and I stare into the distance towards you, the reader. “In a broken system, there are no good ones. Abolish the police.” I clear my throat and my voice turns back to normal. “Sorry, zoned out for a second.” My green pinky has begun to vibrate.

“Happens to the best of us,” Jane’s voice is light and nonchalant. “And yeah, I know. Pretty much all of the gods have skeletons sitting on their shoulders, but it just seems out of character for her. I thought all of Artemis’s groups were supposed to be safe havens, not oppressive structures in their own right.”

I frown. “Yeah you’re right, that is weird. I’d never thought of it much beyond the gods having weird rules, but I wonder if something bigger is at play. The gods might be fucked up in the way that regular people are, and are undoubtedly responsible for all sorts of crap. But then there's more personal things, like the ‘chastity vows’ the Hunters and I had to take, and the fact that Nico was initially outed by Eros, and the weird unexplained eye condition that Piper had during some of her quests that made her eyes a bunch of bright, Eurocentric colors, rather than their natural brown. All sorts of other stuff, too.”

“Wow!” Jane says, sitting up straight on the grass. Her hand moves from where it was resting in her lap to cover her heart. “It’s almost like a bunch of genuinely good and inspiring material, such as including prominent queer people and characters of color in fun children’s fantasy, as well as having an immortal group of warrior women who support each other and are free from the gaze of men, was taken into the hands of a cis white man armed with unchecked misogyny and a fair amount of white Twitter feminism, both of which really showed when he tried to create an inclusive and empowering book series for children! Like yeah, it had its moments, and definitely some good characters, but overall, a lack of meaningful research in certain areas really made it fall flat!” Once again, I stare through the bindings of URLs and internet coding, now joined by Jane as we lock eyes with you, the reader. This time, we hold eye contact for nearly a minute, giving you time to read and process the long tangent spat out by this fanfic’s author, who, if we’re being honest, has gone just a tad off the rails right now. Finally, Jane and I look away from you, and resume our roles as fictional characters, still shaking off that strange cloud that comes with staring into the soul of those who give you life.

“Ugh, what’s going on with me today?” Jane groans at the same time I mutter, “What’s Twitter?” We turn to each other, blinking in the sunlight, then grin. This is normal. We’re fine. Jane looks up at the sky again. “I wonder if the gods are watching us. Maybe we should make them think we suck so they’ll leave you alone.”

I laugh as she sticks her tongue out, grinning wickedly at a nearby cloud. “Better yet, make them think we’re too powerful to be messed with,” I say. Jane sees me watching her and opens her mouth, sucking the cloud in between her teeth. The sky seems bluer in the space where it had been, and Jane’s eyes glitter with mirth as she swallows. “Mmm, tastes like sugar.” I giggle, feeling a small shiver on the top of my head. When I peer up, I see another cloud has floated over to me. I open my own mouth, and take it in, just as Jane did hers. “Sugar, yes. But there’s a touch of blood, too,” I say. Jane nods sagely. “What were we talking about?”

“The inherent misogyny in much of Greek mythology and the world of Camp Half-Blood in general.”

Jane nods again. “Right. A very important topic. It makes it weird when I’m writing sometimes. You know, cause I want to bring in Circe and Zeus and Apollo and all these fascinating characters, but there’s just so much bad stuff tied up with them that comes up when I research.” She looks down at our feet, which are standing in the midst of a strawberry patch. We seem to have been walking, crushing sweet summer strawberries as we go, which is odd because I don’t remember getting up. “You know Rachel, I’m feeling a bit strange.”

I look at her, and see an odd blankness in her warm brown eyes. “Now that you mention it, Jane, so am I.”

“My thoughts and words are my own,” Jane says, “But there’s something up with my body. I can’t really feel it.”

“I agree, I’ve honestly gone a bit numb.” I try to glance down at my fingers, wondering idly if they’ve gotten any more green, but find that my neck won’t bend.

Jane’s eyebrows furrow. “Yet, at the same time, I feel as though I could do anything. Grow another grass blade. Grow a flower. Grow a tree. Bend the world to my will if I wanted to.”

“Or is it the world bending me to its will.” I grin at my own philosophical point, but find that the smile won’t go away. Pretty fucking inconvenient, since the next thing I was going to bring up was part of the whole serious misogyny conversation. I decide to go for it anyway. “And I’m not the only one with weird rules!” Jane nods, as if this is a perfectly normal segway, and the only extraneous thought that floats through my mind as we find ourselves walking down a hill is how unfair it is that she still has control over her neck and I don’t. “Remember when I told you about the Hunters of Artemis?”

“Oh yeah! Your friends Reyna and Thalia, right?”

“Yeah, them! They send me letters sometimes, and seem really happy, which is great.” I pause, meaning to add emphasis, when I’m hit with a great sensation of deja-vu. “Wait a second, we already talked about this, didn’t we?” I try to remember, but something in my mind is rapidly melting. I cannot find it. I cannot find anything.

“Jane?” My voice quivers, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Oh gods, please let this be a dream. For a moment, I try to convince myself that it’s the Oracle of Delphi taking over, just like she did the other day and generally does a couple times a year. But I know that I’m lying. This is not what that feels like. “Jane, where are you?” I can barely move my mouth to say the words. I can feel nothing but the frozen fear of paralysis, of lost control. When I open my eyes, this other thing in my body has brought me to the edge of the forest. “Jane? Jane?” She could be right beside me, unable to speak, and I wouldn’t know because I can’t turn my head, can’t move my eyes, can barely even hear right now.

It’s okay, something says.

“Jane?” It’s not her voice. It’s no one’s voice.

It’s okay. You’re home.

With every cut the wooden oars made through the choppy ocean water, Sabrina knew she was getting closer. She could feel it in her bones, in her brain, a little voice that whispered in her ear. It had been three hours. Her body was worn down, energy levels dipping dangerously low, when she felt something scrape the bottom of her boat.

A rock.

Frantically, she peered through the fog that had begun to surround her boat a mile ago. The island. Had she finally made it?

As if answering her call, a peel of thunder rang out, and Sabrina’s boat began to fill with rain that pounded down from the sky. The storm from her dream. She rowed even faster, then, fear sparking a renewed strength in her tired muscles.

Just as Sabrina was about to reach the shore, a massive wave crashed over her, and her boat capsized. She came back up, sputtering, holding her sopping wet bag above her head. Another wave swept against Sabrina’s face, and she found herself spitting out a mouthful of saltwater. Finally, she washed up on the shore, heaving breaths raking through her lungs.

Sabrina blinked, pushing herself up onto her elbows. It was real. She was here.

She had made it.

FROM THE POV OF ROSALIND PENDERWICK

It’s been a pleasant day so far. Breakfast with my siblings and some of the Demeter cabin (though Jane did seem a bit absent-minded). Miranda, Florien, and Rio convinced me to practice some plant magic with them for a couple hours and I built up to growing a small sunflower. Lunch (again with Jane seeming distracted, though Rachel ate with us this time, which appeared to help). Then, Skye and Jeffrey disappeared with some of the older campers (supposedly for a regular game of soccer, but the unsettling gleam in their eyes had me doubting that was all there was too it), Jane and Rachel went to take a walk in the strawberry fields, and Batty and I were left to prepare for a pegasus riding lesson. If it had been up to Batty, the latter could have easily taken up the entire afternoon, but changing into durable pants and finding a bandana can only take so long.

After a somewhat restless hour, during which I grew three peonies and Batty rhapsodized about the stable of unicorns that another demigod camp apparently has, Batty and I arrive at the stable. We’re ten minutes early, and she’s been talking a mile a minute the whole time, not stopping from before. I swear I now know as much about pegasuses as she does. According to Rachel, the teacher today is Percy, her friend, who’s very responsible “when he puts his mind to it.” I wasn’t sure how to tell her that’s actually not very comforting, but Batty looked so excited and I figured there will be plenty of other people there, so. Why not. She’s been spending so much time there anyway.

Needless to say, I very much regret my decision now.

The stables are modest, made of wood and painted green, and I’ve been there several times by now. There’s a long line of stalls visible when we first walk in, but Batty skips straight to the far end, where a massive pegasus the color of a carrot pokes its head over the door and nuzzles Batty’s hair. She looks up at me with a smile that could melt anyone’s heart, and pats the horse on the nose. “Rosy, this is Queen Lotus Flower. Percy said we have a impenetrable bond.”

I look at the two of them with a questioning gaze. How can they both have the exact same puppy-dog eyes? I swear to god. The gods. All of them. “Batty, sweetheart. That horse is like ten feet tall.”

She nods enthusiastically. “I know, she’s so much taller than any other horse I’ve seen. Percy says she has the biggest wingspan of any horse at camp.”

I nod, slowly, wondering why my sister picked the biggest pegasus to fall in love with. At that moment, Percy pushes the door open. “Hey Batty! Ready for your lesson?” Batty leaves her post by Queen Lotus Flower to wrap her arms around my waist and nod. I look Percy over. He’s a few inches taller than me, with brown skin and curly hair. A beaded camp necklace, orange tshirt, and jeans. Weird arm tattoo aside, he’s one of the most normal-looking people at camp. I’ve only met him a couple times before, but, my nerves over Batty flying around on massive horses aside, I do trust him. Rachel seems to have a good taste in friends. Also, Batty likes him, and she’s still shy around a good number of Skye and Jane’s friends back in Cameron.

For the next few minutes, I watch as Percy instructs Batty on buckling Queen Lotus Flower’s giant saddle and looping the bridle over her nose. Not wavering a bit from the “lesson” aspect of all this, he steps back to let her show what she’s already learned from hanging around the stables so often, only stooping in to guide her when she gets confused. As the minutes tick by, more people show up for the lesson: three other students, and a good sized crowd of people who just like watching the pegasuses. By then, I’m seated on the grass outside the stables, soaking in the blistering sun and watching as Percy (seated atop a wiry black pegasus who Batty pointed out as Blackjack) darts around the large dusty enclosure, making final preparations for the lesson.

Skye and Jeffrey show up then, and sit on either side of me. I want to ask them where Jane and Rachel are, but they’re talking non-stop about a game they just played in the woods with some of the other campers, only switching the subject when Percy and Blackjack return and they begin discussing whether or not it should be scientifically possible for a horse to fly.

Just as Batty and Queen Lotus Flower begin a gentle trot around the enclosure, I feel a tap on my shoulder, and hear the familiar sound of Tommy’s chuckle. “She’s got a weird knack for that,” he says. I nod, grinning.

It’s been good with us. We’ve had breakfast together a few times, even played a game of basketball one afternoon. Our conversations aren’t the same as they used to be, and there’s a sense of newness that feels cold and strange every so often. But it’s good. It feels right. At least for now, this feels like where we’re supposed to be.

As Percy starts demonstrating how to take flight, I look around again. Jane and Rachel still aren’t here. They promised to come. (“For moral support!” Jane had said. “Wouldn’t miss it,” Rachel had added with a smile). I try to push it out of my head. This lesson is a big deal. Batty’s going to be flying.

She leans forward on Queen Lotus Flower’s neck.

They begin to run, moving together like a single being.

Just as they burst into the air, Batty’s euphoric smile lighting up the sky, Katie grabs my shoulders from behind. I shush her so I can lean forward and watch Batty silhouetted against the pegasus’s wide orange wings.

“Rosalind. Rosalind, guys. ” Something about the panic in Katie’s voice makes me turn around. Her usually tied back hair is loose and her clothes rumpled, giving the impression that she was dragged out of bed for this. (Some part of my brain distantly remembers her saying she was going to take a nap). Skye and Jeffrey turn around, too.

“What, what’s happening?” I reach out my hands, trying to calm her as she collapses into a squat, breathing heavily.

“Billie… found me in the cabin… had been looking for you guys… been running all over the camp… lucky I remembered about the riding lesson…”

Jeffrey leans over and puts his hands on her shoulders. She stares down at the dirt while her breathing levels.

“Katie, what are you saying? Why were you and Billie looking for us?”

She looks up, and I see that her forehead is drawn into well-worn creases of worry. “Jane and Rachel have gone into the woods.”

Something was wrong. Sabrina crouched on the wet sand, straining to see through the heavy rain. In her dream there had definitely been someone else on the island. She remembered the hunched figure, the sound of sobs leaking through the rain.

But she’d circled the shore at least twice by now, and there was nobody to be found. “Am I late or something?” she wondered aloud. Somehow, she’d gotten that dream It felt like it had been sent to her. Why did it show a person when there was no one?

Sabrina sighed and began to traipse inland, tucking a knife in her pocket. It wasn’t a big island, and she might as well find some shelter aside from her boat, which was now overturned somewhere on the beach. Circe lived here, didn’t she? There must be some sort of roof, especially if this kind of weather was standard.

Or maybe this was just a random island and there was no Aeaea and Sabrina’s dream had just been the unhinged work of her unconscious mind.

There was a small grassy hill set aside from the sand, which Sabrina crawled up with the determination of a dying warrior. Something was pushing her back. An invisible force, a last crumb of survival instinct, plain old fatigue, she wasn’t sure. But something wanted her out of here, and it pushed back harder and harder as she climbed.

She let out a cry of frustration, clawing at the ground, at the air, at whatever this goddamn thing was, and found a renewed burst of strength that pulled her to the top of the hill. Once there, the force that pushed back ebbed a little, like it was giving up. Sabrina let herself relax, and simply took in the view for a moment.

The hill she lay on top of gave way to a deep valley, sprawling and green. In one corner, there was a cluster of trees that looked healthy and comfortable, despite being on a random Greek island in the middle of the ocean. A modest garden lay next to it, somehow appearing unaffected by the rain, and a narrow river wound around the whole scene.

There was also a house.

Sabrina wasn’t sure what she might have expected from the lair of an infamous Greek enchantress, but it wasn’t this.

She hauled herself up on the hill and started down, rushing through the rain onto a wide wooden porch. There was a large stone vat of something dark and crumbly, with a heavy looking staff of sorts leaning against it. The door to the house was short, and Sabrina heard it scrape on the floor when she pushed it open.

The scene awaiting her was surprisingly cozy when she stepped inside. There was a fire in the hearth and rows upon rows of little viles arranged on a set of shelves beside it. A broom leaned against the wall. Sabrina looked around, noting the way that the rain didn’t make any sound as it thrashed against the roof and window, and the almost drug-like stupor that threatened to take over her brain, whispering that everything was fine, she was safe, nothing bad could happen to her.

Sabrina had encountered hypnosis before, and it only ever made her more jittery.

There was an open hatch in the floor with stairs that lead into darkness. She followed them down, feeling the air grow cooler with every step. Sabrina was quiet, taking tiny steps on her toes, and wincing when one of the stairs creaked. She didn’t know what was down there, and she didn’t want to find out the hard way. But there were no arrows flying up from the space below, no sounds of footsteps or slashes of swords.

Sabrina stepped onto a dirt floor and let herself exhale, shuffling along until her toe hit something hard. Only seasoned reflexes made her reach for the knife in her pocket instead of crying out in fear. She knelt down and squinted in the darkness, trying to see what she’d hit.

A leg.

She frowned, shaking it until she heard a low growl. “Stop that.” She stopped.

“Who are you?” Sabrina leaned closer. If they hadn’t killed her yet she was probably safe.

Instead of answering, they reached out a hand. Sabrina could see a gold ring on the thumb that glinted in a little sliver of light that had crept down from the room above. “Pull me up,” the figure said. “I’ve been paralyzed by the witch.”

Helping the stranger sit turned out to be no simple feat. They were tall and muscular, wearing a cape and a heavy metal chest plate. “The witch?” she questioned, propping them up against one of the cellar’s dirt walls. Her eyes were beginning to adust to the dark, and she could just make out their sharp chin sticking out as their head lolled back.

The figure made a noise. “The witch, the sorceress, the woman. Whatever you want to call her. I figure she sent you down too?” They snorted. “Good luck. I told Zeus not to sent mortals, but does he ever listen? You’re gonna die.”

Sabrina tried to piece together what she could from all this. The witch must be Circe, unless she’d wound up on an entirely different island. And if Circe was going around paralyzing people, then something must be going on. She must be hiding something. As for the person in front of her, Sabrina wasn’t sure who they were. By the way they talked about Zeus, and casually said “mortals,” she’d guess some sort of god? As if that narrowed it down. She’d have to be careful.

“Why did she paralyze you?”

Another weird gutteral noise. “She didn’t like my offer. It’s not the first time this has happened.”

She was growing impatient. Why’d he have to be so vague? “What?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why he always sends me. I don’t think he trusts me. He’d rather me stay her paralysed in the basement of a witch than come back home.”

Sabrina let out an exasperated sigh. This wasn’t working and she needed answers. A whole coast of people with mythology-shaped holes in their memories awaited her. “You’re going to need to be a little more specific. I don’t think we’re on the same page.”

The figure sounded confused. “What do you mean? Don’t you know who I am?”

She leaned forward and inspected them in the darkness. “No. No I don’t.”

They slid their eyes down to her face. “I am the god Apollo. I came here for Circe and she did this to me.”

“What? Why?”

The stairs creaked behind Sabrina and she felt a long nail drag up her back. “I just want to be left alone,” said a voice as deep and powerful as the smell of red wine. “You don’t mind, do you?” Before Sabrina could grab her knife and turn around, before she could even scream, strong arms had surrounded her shoulders and a hand was clamping a damp cloth over her nose and mouth. Shock made her breath in, sharply, and she smelled the sweetness of sleeping drugs.

A heartbeat, a brief struggle, and Sabrina Starr was gone.

#cruel summer fic #cameron writes #the penderwicks #penderwicks #camp half blood #camp half-blood #rachel elizabeth dare #jane penderwick #rosalind penderwick

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