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palaceofpassion · 3 years

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Breaking Ren Ch. 2

Not for the light of hearted!

Warnings, forced feminization, spanking, mean spirited talk.

“MMMmmm♥ You’re amaaazing~” “Oooh Jaune~!♥”

“Mmmph~ Not Nearly as MMmph~ Amazing as you Pyr~”

CREEK CREEK CREEK

As the light of day peered into the room of team JNPR, two bodies rocked back and forth. Hands held together as their lips met one another. The leader knight and his beloved champion paused, their hearts filled with love and warmth as they peered into one another’s eyes.

With every consecutive thrust, every time their lips met little pecks here and there, his heart swooned. He really was lucky to have her, he’d make sure to never take her for granted.

Pyrrha watched the boy of her dreams, the one who hadn’t known who she was, the one that helped her belong and made her feel loved. There were few who understood just how wonderful he was, and honestly at this point? They were just missing out.

“Mmmm~ OooOH Jaune~ I’m so close♥” She felt his fingers lace and lock with hers, through his palms she felt his pulse, felt his breath, they were in sync as one.

“MMmm me too Pyr, I’m almost there~” The two continued to move, their hips bucking in rhythm with one another. Their bodies rocked and jerked in unison. Both of them felt the powerful burning sensation at the pit of their cores.

“OOoOOH!” Together they came, Pyr’s pussy quivered, her juices squirting from her core. Jaune’s cock twitched, pulsed and convulsed as his cum erupted. Both of them groaned as the felt their respective orgasms hit a fever pitch, relaxing as they finally came to a conclusion.

“I love you Jaune~ I love you so much~ You’ve brought me so much joy, more than any other person has ever done~ Because of you I’m not alone, I’m not someone's idol, I’m just yours.”

“Pyr~ I feel the same way, I owe you my life. You’ve been there for me, when no one else was, when I didn’t believe in myself you did. I love you so much.” Once more the two lovers pressed forward, their lips meeting, a passionate kiss was shared between them.

Only to be interrupted by the stifled sobs of the individual on the bed next to theirs. Nora had nearly broken down, her mouth gagged with Jaune’s used underwear, her arms bound by powerful dust controlled cuffs meant to hold her in place. She sobbed as she watched her teammates, two people she thought were friends, currently use the love of her life as if he was nothing but a toy.

Her eyes clenched tightly, the last week had been hell for her and Lian. While she did her best to hold on, Lian had almost completely stopped, he didn’t fight or struggle but he didn’t give into their demands. He simply used his semblance to mute himself. Even now he did his best to hold on, his anus filled with Jaune’s thick seed, a constant occurrence nowadays. His face was currently buried in Pyrrha’s ass, forced to pleasure her as she and Jaune shared an intimate moment.

“Nora… stay quiet, you’re ruining this…” Jaune turned to her, a part of him hurt, watching his normally bubbly teammate so down. But she had to learn, he needed to train her, and using Lian was the best way. “You just keep there, looking pretty okay? Enjoy my boxers, after all, it’s the only taste of a real man you’ll ever get.” He released a low hearty chuckle, followed by Pyrrha’s sweet giggle.

“It’s not all that bad Nora, Jaune’s got an excellent taste~” Her voice was low and husky, her eyes glancing back to her beloved who gave her an appreciative look.

Before they could get back to it, the alarm went off. Both eyes turned towards the Alarm, ah it was about time to get ready. “Right well… time this day started.”

“Awww~ Okay. You get a shower first okay?” Jaune smiled and nodded, pulling out of Lian.

PLOP

A thick glob of cum oozed out of his constant gaping ass, “Well I’ll go get Lian ready too then~ Someones gotta get him looking pretty for the day, and I’m obviously the prettiest one here~” Pyrrha rolled her eyes at her beloved’s sarcasm, though… he wasn’t wrong. Hopping off of their gasping toy she took the time to appreciate Lian’s new look. Apparently Jaune’s cum was something intense, Lian had somehow become even more feminine lately. His waist had slimed, his muscles had begun to diminish, and his face had become smoother, more round.

Pyrrha watched as Jaune tugged on Lian’s collar, pulling the leash they had gotten for specific in dorm use. They weren’t quite ready to make Lian’s treatment public just yet.

As the boys entered the bathroom; Pyrrha turned her attention to Nora. She moved towards her smaller friend, removing Jaune’s boxers. “There we go~”

“W...h...y?” Pyr watched as Nora began to sob, her eyes red from her fresh and old tears.

“Why what dear Nora?” Tilting her head she gave Nora a questioning look. “Why Lian’s being punished in your place?”

“He’s not Lian! He’s Ren! My Renny!” Pyrrha simply shook he head as she gently stroked the ginger’s hair.

“No, that’s not right Nora. You had your chance, Jaune gave you so many to just behave. But you spat on his good will. And well, Lian let you get away with everything, so as Jaune’s said, Lian had to be punished.”

The two paused as loud grunts and thumps started to go through the bathroom. “Oh my~ Jaune just can’t help himself, he’s got such vigor~♥”

“Whyyyyyy....” Nora struggled against her restraints, “I… I thought… I thought we were friends.” She felt gentle arms wrap around her, pulling her into a tight hug.

“Oh Nora~ Of course we’re friends~ Just now… now Lian’s our toy too. You have to understand, it’s her place, and she’ll be happy once she realizes that. Besides~ you two would have never worked out.”

Nora felt fear as Pyr continued to stroke her hair, where had the kind Pyrrha gone? Why were they doing this! She didn’t want them to treat her so badly, she missed her old team!

“Don’t worry~ I’m sure Jaune will let you join one day, you’ll be our pretty little toy too~ You’ll get to have his babies! Oh it’ll be so wonderful!~”

Fear seized Nora, she didn’t want that! She wanted Ren’s children!

“Come on, let’s get you ready~.” She felt a gentle kiss against her chee as Pyrrha stopped restraining her with her semblance. The old Nora would have jumped at the chance, but she was just so tired, she hadn’t been sleeping and she was mentally and emotionally exhausted.

She followed Pyrrha as the boys finally came into the dorm. Ren was once again dressed up in a girls uniform… one that they had made for him. It fit his new curves well, his hair was tied to the side again, and his slim face was far more appealing. Nora hated herself, she realized how good Ren looked as a lady. She glanced at Ren’s skirt, knowing full well that Ren was going commando, Jaune didn’t allow Ren to wear underwear in the case he needed a nice quickie.

Though… to her confusion she noticed jaune hadn’t been wearing clothes. His cock free and hard still, he watched as he grabbed Pyrrha and her by the hands pulling her in. “Hey Lian! We’ll be back in a while, going to show Nora what a man can do.” Fear, absolute fear filled her heart as she stared at Ren, whose face was filled with terror, and hurt. But she watched as he used his semblance to mute his emotions, he wasn’t going to help her…

Ren was doing his best! It’d been so hard since they started mistreating him, they’d been using him as their personal toy for all their twisted pleasures. He wasn’t even sure if they’d had sex yet and were just using him. He hadn’t given in, he wouldn’t, but as he watched Nora get dragged away, powerless to fight against his situation he felt his heart sink. No… they couldn’t take Nora from him, she was the last thing keeping him together. He felt his semblance activate automatically, a form of defense he’d been using recently. His heart broke as he watched her teary eyed expression.

The door closed with a loud thump, he felt fear in his hearts as loud moans filled the bathroom. Crawling to his bed he moved into a fetal position, he hadn’t broken yet and he definitely wouldn’t now. But he still felt hot tears flowing from his eyes.

Nora’s breathing became ragged, her pulse erratic and her skin began to crawl. She was currently pinned between Jaune and Pyrrha, both of which were much taller than her. Her face was buried between Pyr’s impressive bust. Though, what scared her was the thick rod that was currently resting in the cleft of her ass. She felt it pulse, heat radiating from the meaty shaft, panic filled her as she tried to cry only to realize there were no more tears.

“Don’t worry Nora~ You’ll love this.” She felt Jaune’s hands at her hips, his cock repositioning itself in the gap between her thighs. She felt his hips move.

“No please… please Jaune, I want Ren to be my first, pleeeease.”

“Now Nora~ You know Lian can’t give it to you, she’s just not big enough. But me?” She felt heat between her thighs, something was prodding at her entrance, her outer lips splitting apart. “Me I can give it to you, all of it.” She felt his voice, hot against her ear, he pulled back and her grip on Pyrrha tightened as she prepared herself.

Instead of something piercing her though, she felt the veiny rod slide across her quivering pussy. The head bumping and rubbing against her clit, shivers of pleasure and disgust went through her body.

“Mmm~ You feel so good Pyr~” She felt the two above her move, pressing her against them tighter as they began to kiss. They were using her but not using her, this was horrible. Was this how Ren felt?

She did her best to stifle her moans, but everytime Jaune quickened, his pace becoming rapid, she lost a little of her resistance. By the end she was moaning loudly, her body betraying her as she felt Pyrrha’s lips against her neck, biting down on her. Jaune’s hands had moved grabbing and plying at her ample bust.

Being the least experienced of the trio she orgasmed first, it so happened to be the strongest one she’d ever had. “MMMOOOOOOOOOH GAWWWWD!♥” Shame filled her body as she wailed loudly, but even then Jaune didn’t give up, his thrusts constantly sending pleasure through her body even as she went limp.

This continued for a few more minutes, she’d lost count as her mind blanked, she was so tired.

By the end of it, she was on her knees covered in Jaune’s thick seed, afraid that it’d scald her flesh. Her orange hair was covered in white, and her face was drenched in his scent. She hated it, she hated it so much! She wanted Renny, she wanted her Renny to hold her. This was absolutely awful. ♥

She felt Jaune draw closer to her, “Heh~ Don’t worry, I’ll let Lian take one thing from you at least.” Joy, that was good! Ya… they still cared right? She was just tired, but she wasn’t broken. She wouldn’t break, not ever, a defiant flame rising in her heart. She’d save her Renny, and they’d be away from these two monsters.

She felt their hands all over her body as they washed her, toyed with her, prepared her for the day.

As the trio came out of the shower Jaune watched Ren bowled over on Nora’s bed, his body was completely grey, obviously from his semblance use.

Making his way over, Jaune raised his hand, giving it a good SLAP , this caused Lian to come to attention.

Ren’s eyes glanced over to Nora, his fears seemingly confirmed as he noticed how exhausted she was. So they did it… they’d taken Nora’s first. He felt another part of him crumble.

“Alright, enough moping, come on let’s get going.” He felt Jaune pull on him, forcing him to his feat. He followed mutely behind Jaune, though he noticed Pyrrha specifically kept him away from Nora.

As the four members of JNPR began to exit the dorm, they ran into the members of RWBY. Ruby had been having trouble keeping the rest of her pets under control, Weiss, Yang and Blake had all become more defiant, and it was obvious she was tired.

“Hey Rubes, you alright?” He could hear the sounds of faint buzzing, at least they hadn’t rioted just yet, but it looked like she could use some help.

“Yeah, just tired, these three are such a pain to handle.” Ruby paused as she stared back to Jaune, “Hey Jaune?”

“Ya Rubes?”

Jaune noticed Ruby’s hands which began to twirl around one another, “Can you… can you help me train them?”

Jaune cocked an eye as he looked at his meek friend, he noticed the dash of red on her cheeks. Pyrrha noticed it as well, a grin on her face as she elbowed her lover. “Ya, ya we’ll help you. Might as well get our pets tamed right.”

“Tamed?! Pets?! You indignant bastard, what do you think we are!?” Jaune didn’t say anything instead turning to Ruby, even as Blake drew closer, he noticed the scowls that on Weiss and Yang as well.

Turning to Ruby he patiently asked, “Ruby? Do I have permission to discipline your pets?”

“PETS YOU BA…”

Blake was cut off by Ruby’s fervent nodding. “Yes please! They’re so terrible!”

The remaining members of team RWBY looked at their leader, shock apparent in their eyes.

“Like this idiot could even…” Weiss was quickly silenced however.

SLAP SLAP

Both her and Blake stared at Jaune, each holding onto a different cheek. “Both of you will be QUIET! Do you understand me?”

Yang was about to say something, step forward when she felt the vibrator in her pussy strengthen. Pyrrha had felt it earlier, their little toys had been made of metal, something Ruby had probably done intentionally as she was currently smiling at Pyrrha. “UHHGGGG YOU BASAAASTARD!”

Jaune made haste, grabbing Yang by the hair and pulling her close, “You will be quiet, do you understand me?” If he had been paying attention to his beloved and his red headed friend, he would have noticed their faces turning crimson at his domineering tone.

“Let me Go you BASTARD!” She was about to strike him when she was suddenly pulled into an Armlock, Pyrrha had moved already pinning Yang to the ground, applying pressure to her back. “OW OW OW STOP PLEAsE!” Aura was great, but it wasn’t so great when it came to being held.

As for Blake, she’d barely been coming through from her shock, though that ended once she felt Jaune’s hands against her ears, her faunus ones. Fear filled her chest as the ribbon that hid her ears was stripped off. “You… you will show your real ears, you’re just a pet, not a person.” She was about to say something else when she heard a click. Turning to Ruby, she had noticed she was recording this.

“Ru...ruby?”

“Sorry Blake, but you’ve caused us the most trouble, you need this. Now be a good girl.” Blake was about to say something else when she felt Jaune’s hands at her waist, underneath her skirt. Pulling down she felt him strip her panties off, with a tug he simply tore them from her posh rear.

“Pet’s don’t need their underwear. Pyr?”

“Yes?”

“Take Yang’s.” Yang began to panic as Pyrrha wasted no time tearing her pure white panties from her plump bottom.

Blake was about to pounce on Jaune once more when she felt the vibrator’s power increase, turning to Ruby she saw her with the remote in hand. Strength left her as she used the wall to balance herself, before she could compose herself once more.

SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP

She felt four powerful slaps across her bare ass, “AYEEEE!” They were hard and painful, strong enough to draw tears from her eyes.

“You, will, listen.” She whimpered softly as she nodded her head. Jaune pocketed both her panties and the ribbon.

Turning to Weiss he saw her freeze, before he could do anything she gave up. She’d never been hit before, and honestly she had mixed feelings. On one hand it hurt, on the other though… “I’ll… I’ll get them myself.”

Jaune watched as she slipped her panties off, a pleasant white color. Weiss flinched as Jaune’s hand came close to her face again. “Good girl…” She felt his hand rub against her cheek, scratching her gently. She nodded.

“Well we have to go to class, I doubt this will keep them calm, but when everything’s done with the day we’ll get to training our pets okay Ruby?”

Rubbing a streak of red from her nose she nodded. “Good let’s get going.”

And the group followed behind, Jaune, Ruby, and Pyrrha leading the way. Weiss, Ren, and Nora just behind them, and Blake and Yang behind them. Only four people seemed to be in a semi good mood that morning.

Glynda smiled as she watched her students pile out of her class. After her previous talk with Mr. Arc and Ms. Rose, their teams have been rather well behaved. With that said, she wasn’t blind, she’d seen the changes in their teams demeanor. From Miss Nikos sparklingly face, to Miss Valkyries downcast demeanor. The way that Xiaolong and Belladonna seemed unable to stay still, to Schnee’s oddly pleasant look. Though, what caught her attention was Ren’s change in clothing and continence. She hadn’t been the only one to notice, as she’d seen several boys, and even some girls eyeing the young man. Well young woman it seemed, she wasn’t one to judge. Though, she had a feeling that the change hadn’t been one of their own choosing.

She watched as the leaders of both teams seemed to hold themselves a little higher, their teams muting whenever they received their glances. A small smile touched her lips, so they had taken her talk about discipline seriously.

As the day came to end she noticed only Rose, Xiaolong, Arc, and Valkyrie stayed.

“You two know what to say.” It was Arc who spoke these words.

Glynda watched as Xiaolong and Valkyrie approached her, Xiaolong seemed angry but muted. Whereas Valkyrie seemed emotionally tired.

“We’re Sorry Ma’am.” Oooh~ This was pleasant.

“I see… well so long as you learned your lesson.” Both girls nodded and waited.

“Alright! Let’s get going!” Ms Rose was the one to take command this time, the two girls nodded and followed her out.

“Actually~ Mr. Arc, Ms. Rose can you stay behind?” Both students stared at each other in confusion, though they relented and sent their teammates on ahead.

“I’ve noticed the change in your teammates. Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on.”

She watched as her young pupils froze, fear obvious in their face.

“Now now, I’m not going to scold you, in fact. Good job.”

“E...excuse me?” It was Mr. Arc who broke the silence.

“You’re doing exactly what needs to be done, both of you have done praise worthy work. Though… it seems that you’re still ‘training’ your teammates.”

Once again the students paused, Rose was the one that answered next.

“Yes… ma’am… Jaune’s going to help me ‘discipline’ my team a bit more. They’re still a little unruly.”

Glynda nodded, she knew how difficult it must be for the younger girl to keep her team under control. With a smile she pulled out a receipt.

“Here you go, this is for both of you. I noticed the changes early on but I wanted to make sure first. This is from a special shop of mine, consider it a gift for outstanding leadership.” Both students looked at the tag, it was for a domination shop in Vale, TIED A KNOT .

“Ma’am?” Both students looked at the professor.

“These… things happen from time to time. Professors tend to give gifts to their favored students.” She smiled as she made her way back to her desk.

“The expenses have been covered, you just need to pick up the products~”

Both students nodded as they made their way out.

Jaune didn’t know how to feel right now, he had expected to be scolded, to be shamed, but instead their professor had given them the okay. Apparently their hands off approach extended even this far. Turning to Ruby he saw the girl practically vibrating, a smile on her face. Instinctively he placed a hand on her head, giving her a gentle pet. He felt her lean into his touch, a smile on her face.

“This is so exciting Jaune!” He agreed.

“Yeah… yeah it is. My team will go and get the supplies, do you mind bringing your team to our dorm? Get them ready?”

“Sounds good!” He watched as the read reaper burst into a flurry of petals, grabbing her three teammates on the way out.

“What was that about?” Smiling at his beloved he held the receipt out, grasping it Pyrrha let out a small gasp.

“Seems we have permission.” Placing his hands behind his back he began to walk out, “We should get going, no need to change our uniforms will do just fine.”

Pyrrha frantically nodded as she began to practically skip after him. Without a word both Nora and Lian followed. Lian was forced to stand on Jaune’s right, while Nora was on Pyrrha’s left hand.

“I suppose~ We’ll be making this official soon.” Jaune’s hand slipped past Lian’s skirt, lifting it so he could give her a good squeeze. He felt Lian flinch under his touch, his cock twitched in his pants.

Strange things had been happening recently, Velvet had noticed a change in her friends from the year below. She’d seen Jaune and Pyrrha become closer, finally they’d gotten that across it seemed. But she’d seen the change in their teammates, Ren had started to dress like a girl, and Nora wasn’t as peppy. She wasn’t sure what was going on but something had to be, though there was another thing. As a Faunus she had a heightened sense of smell. And lately she's been smelling something addictive coming from the four. Specifically from Jaune, Ren, and Pyrrha, rather she could smell Jaune on both his teammates. She’d seen the way he seemed to take complete control of Ren, how he was holding and domineering him.

She wasn’t sure what it was, but it was exciting, and she wanted to know more. Her eyes trailed downwards as Jaune’s hand moved to Ren’s lower section, she almost gasped in surprise when she realized the other boy wasn’t wearing any underwear. Even more so when she noticed Jaune squeezing, his finger sliding in between the cleft of Ren’s ass.

Continuing her spying she found them at a well known Bondage shop, TIED A KNOT. This confused her, but she continued to watch, unnoticed so far. As they left the store she pursued once more, finally stopping when they took a detour down a dark alleyway. Silently she followed, her ears picking up on movement, muffled voices, and something else.

“Shit~ You’re so tight Lian, you wanted this didn’t you?” Vel felt a million emotions at once, fear, lust, jealousy, arousal, but more importantly, the urge to join in. Before her eyes Jaune Arc the dorky leader of JNPR, was currently smashing into Lie Ren’s ass, the rather pretty boy who no longer looked like a boy. No she saw a woman, nay a slut, one that was currently pinned against the brick wall of a building, their ass sticking out. She watched as Jaune’s pe… no his massive cock! Slammed in and out of Ren… no Lian’s plump ass. Their bodies bucking back and forth in sync. Her eyes gazed away briefly, Pyrrha was recording everything, a smile on her face, her tongue flicking between her lips from time to time.

She wasn’t sure where Nora was, at least not at first. Glancing back at the boys, she noticed Nora below Lian, Jaune’s hands were actually on her hips holding her close as he continued to thrust into what was once her boyfriend. She could hear her soft sobs, as if she’d lot something precious.

Normally Vel should have stopped this, she should have gone in there and made sure that none of this happened. But there was a part of her who watched this in awe, she felt desires she’d never experienced before, ones that were lightning an unknown flame in her belly. Before anyone would notice her she left, her direction back to TIED A KNOT.

Ren felt humiliation, he did his best not to show it, not to give them satisfaction. But even with his semblance it was hard to ignore the looks he was getting. He knew why though, he could feel it too, every step he took more would slide down his legs. Jaune’s semen which dripped from his ass had started to leak out as they made their way back to the dorm.

He felt even worse when he realized he couldn’t see Nora’s expression, was she ashamed of him? He wasn’t sure, but he knew that things weren’t going to end any time soon.

When the team got to their dorm they found Ruby already waiting outside, her teammates nowhere to be found. “There you guys are!” Dashing towards them she stopped just ahead of Jaune, handing his scroll back to him.

“Thanks for letting me borrow this!”

“No problem Rubes. I’m assuming the girls are inside?”

“Yep!”

“Alright let’s get going.” Pushing open the door he smiled at what awaited them. All three girls were currently stripped of their clothes, bound and gagged with their own underwear it seemed. “Nice touch on the gag.”

“Thanks! I figured they wouldn’t be needing them anymore so might as well make use of it.

“Ooh! That’s creative Ruby.” The red heads stared at each other, giving one another a warm smile.

As everyone filed into the room Jaune began to strip, EVERYONE’S attention was drawn to him. Even those that had already seen him nude before. He’d grown a lot since coming to beacon, not quite on the level of Sun, but he had muscles that begot his loose clothing. Then there was the other thing, the other members of JNPR had seen it before, but for RWBY? This was a first, different emotions went through the girls. Yang was one of unbelief, Blake was one of an odd sense of fear, Weiss while unsure of herself felt something she couldn’t quite touch on, Ruby? Ruby felt an intense thirst enter her body, she wanted some of that.

“Right then, let’s get started. Lian, strip.” All eyes turned to Lian, who did their best not to look at anyone. Slowly she took off her clothes, revealing that she too wasn’t wearing underwear. But to the surprise of the members of RWBY, he also wore a small cock cage, one made by Pyrrha.

The girls felt pity for him, but that didn’t last long as they realized similar fate’s would befall them.

Jaune grabbed the bags from Nora, tossing them onto his bed he began to fish through them. 5 collars were retrieved, each with a tag, and different animal symbols. A mix between cats and dogs, “These are gifts from Goodwitch. From now on you five are officially recognized as our pet’s and bitches.”

Blake tried to interject again, but her underwear prevented her from doing so. Jaune simply turned to her and grabbed her by the hair dragging her to Nora’s bed. Even as she struggled she couldn’t find the strength to fully fight back. “Ruby.”

“Yes?” She asked, her face red and excited. “I’m going to start with this little bitch. Is that okay?”

Ruby nodded enthusiastically, she failed to see the sorrow in Yang’s eyes.

Removing the gag from Blakes Mouth he pinned her to the bed. “YOU FUCKING BASTARD!” SLAP Once more he struck her face.

“I told you to shut up Blake.”

She still held her defiant look, “YOU BASTARD WHO CARES! I’M NOT A FUCKING ANIMAL! DON’T YOU DARE PUT TH…” SLAP SLAP

“I don’t like using violence, I hate it even, I won’t punch you, but you need discipline.” Turning to Ruby he smiled, “Ruby can you hold her down for me?”

The younger girl nodded eagerly. In a flash she was sitting on top of Blake who struggled under the weight unable to breath.

“See, it wasn’t just these collars, no~ Goodwitch ordered us some more.” From the bag he pulled two things, one was an anal plug with a black cat tail. “This one was for Blake apparently.” The second item? It was a studded paddle, “And this is for anyone who misbehaves, I suppose Blake gets to test both those out.

Blake couldn’t see what was going on, she could barely breathe, but she wouldn’t let these bastards do what they wanted! She wasn’t an animal, he was a proud Faunus, not some… some human bitch! Before she could really get defiant though she felt Ruby hop off of her. Her eyes widened as she saw Jaune with the paddle in hand.

“Here you go Ruby~” He handled the paddle to Ruby, her eyes practically going.

“Can… can I really go first?”

“Of course! She’s yours after all~” It was Pyrrha who spoke up.

“Ruby… please no?” She couldn’t believe how excited her teammate was.

“Sorry Blake, but you’ve been a bad girl. And you need to be punished.” A chill fell down her spine, in a flurry she tried to get up and run, but she was grabbed by Jaune. She felt his hands on her shoulders. In a flash she soon found herself face first on the bed, a hand held onto the back of her head.

“Alright Ruby, give her a few good swings.”

A few good swings meant way more than just that. Blake’s eyes clenched as she felt the paddle hit her ass.

SMACK

It wasn’t once or twice, it was over and over. Blake lost count, her mind numbing from the pain she was going through, her ass red and on fire from being hit over and over. She blanked out not too long after.

“Well shit… she couldn't even last five minutes.” It was Pyrrha, a sinister smile upon her lips.

Ruby smiled, attaching the black collar with a cat’s paw onto Blake’s unmoving body.

Yang was at a total loss! What was going on?! WHY WAS HER SISTER DOING THIS! WHY WAS PYRRHA?! WHY?! She felt her heart shatter when Blake stopped moving. She didn’t want them to do this to her, no please make it stop. She wanted to shout and yell, but before she could she was interrupted.

“Master, mistresses?” All eyes, including Jaune, Ruby’s, and Pyrrha’s all fell upon Weiss in shock.

“Weiss?” It was Ruby who spoke first, surprised the heiress had managed to remove the gag on her own.

“I’ve… I’ve been a bad girl, can you… can you please discipline me?” Well now that was surprising.

“Yes.” It was Jaune who spoke first. “Yes we can… though seeing as you’re being a good girl.” He paused and brought Pyrrha down on the bed, having her sit. “You’ll get the honor of having Pyrrha spank you with her bare hand.”

Weiss' eyes lit up, she was getting special treatment! “Yes please! But… but can you spank me later too?” Her eyes were needy, hungry, so much so Jaune couldn’t help but smile.

“Sure, so long as you keep being a good pet okay?” She nodded slowly.

Yang couldn’t believe her ears, this wasn’t the same Weiss she knew!

Weiss made her way over to Pyrrha, who couldn’t contain her joy, there was more to just being a dom in this situation. Pyrrha hated Weiss, she hated her so much. Not just because she had held Jaune’s attention for so long, no it was more than that. She hated the way that she used her position to leverage and berate Jaune when they first met. She hated how she often used her own position to trample on those she thought ‘lower’ than her. Then there was the way that she tried to use Pyrrha early on, she’d heard the whispers after that, that they could end up as a power couple. Her and Weiss? Yeah right, she’d rather be incinerated than let that happen.

As she felt the flat girl below her she couldn’t help but feel excitement, “You know Weiss~ I hate you.”

SLAP!

Pyrrha’s hand came down upon Weiss’ smooth pale bottom. “I hated how you treated Jaune!”

SLAP!

A soft whimper escaped Weiss lips as tears formed at the edges of her eyes. “I HATED HOW HE LOOKED AT YOU!” Jaune felt guilt at this one, he really was an idiot.

SLAP!

More tears formed, Weiss ass began to turn red. “I HATED THE WAY YOU LORDED MY POSITION, NOT YOURS OVER HIM WHEN WE MET!”

SLAP!

Her slaps became heavier, faster, stronger. “I HATED THE WAY YOU TRIED TO USE ME! YET HAD THE GAL TO THINK HE WAS DOING THE SAME, YOU LITTLE HYPOCRITICAL BITCH!”

SLAP “I’M” SLAP “I’M SO” SLAP “SORRRRRY!” SLAP “I’VE BEEN A BITCH!” SLAP!

“That you have Weiss, but that’s okay, cause now you’re our good little pet, our little bitch, isn’t that right?”

Weiss shivered at Pyrrha’s soft touch, the way she rubbed her reddened rump. “Yes… yesss I have mistress, I’ll be good~”

“Good girl~” Slowly Pyrrha pulled Weiss back, planting a gentle kiss on her lips. Her eyes glanced towards Jaune’s twitching cock. “I see someone liked that~”

“Shit that was hot… how could I not?”

Giggling Pyrrha began to gently lay Weiss down on the bed. “You’ll get your chance to have fun with her too, but she’s still new at this and pretty tired I think.” Weiss though exhausted had a rather stupid smile on her face. Pyrrha slipped her collar on, one with a small fox paw.

“Now then… your turn, you stupid cow.” It was Jaune, grabbing onto Yang’s hair he flopped her onto his bed, back against the sheets. He saw the panic in her eyes, she wasn’t defiant any longer. For people like Yang hitting her friends was the best method of breaking her. Slowly his hands traisted her toned belly, his fingers slipping up to her breasts. His fingers pinched and twisted her perky nipples, “You’re just a huge slut aren’t you? Look at these milk bags, you’re only as good as a milk cow you know that?”

Yang wanted to fight, but she was so scared, fear had gripped her heart and the once brave girls were gone. “Glynda got us some toys for you too~” She felt Jaune move, the sound of a paper bag ruffled. She watched as he pulled out what appeared to be two rings, with small weights dragging off of them. But then it hit her, those rings had needles.

“Noooo” She muffled through her gag, fear starting to reach every bit of her.

“Pyr, Rubes?”

“Yes~” Both answered in a singsong voice.

“Hold the cow down for me please.”

“Of course!”

“Yes!”

Yang felt her body held down from her sides. The air was soon knocked out of her lungs as she felt Jaune sit on top of her chest, his entire weight upon her body. She flinched, a heavy thick musk filled her nose. His massive cock lay just below her chin, resting between her breasts. She had already thought it was huge before, but now? Now it was terrifying, if that entered her, it’d break her… maybe that wasn’t so bad? Maybe… maybe she didn’t need Blake?

“Now… this is going to hurt.” Her attention snapped back to him, but she couldn't find his hands. Then it happened, an intense and sharp pain shot through her right breast, unable to clearly see she still knew what happened. The needle pierced her nipple droplets of blood slid down her breast. “There we go~”

She squirmed under his weight unable to move, though a heat formed in her core, her pussy began to moisten.

She struggled under his touch, feeling him pull on the ring once it was in place. “Mmm~♥” She hadn’t meant to moan into her panties, but it happened.

“Wow… what a freaking slut.” It was Ruby, Ruby! “I can’t believe we’re related… Bet you’re mom was the same way.” Yang wanted to cry, but she wasn’t given the chance as her other nipple was pierced, once more pain and now pleasure burned through her body. She nearly blanked out like Blake had, once more Jaune pulled.

“Now don't be that way Ruby~ You can’t fight your blood sometimes, let Yang be a slut, it’s all good.” She felt his breath near her ear, “Don’t worry though~ I’ll be your daddy.” Her heart thumped in her chest, he did remind her of her dad… Why did she think that?! “You won’t be needing Blake anymore.”

Panic filled her chest, but then she felt him pull on her rings, pain filling her body, she blanked out as she began to pee in fear and pain.

The trio got off of the broken mess of a girl, turning back to Nora and Ren, Nora by this point had stripped as she felt they’d want her to. They had done almost nothing to her, not in comparison to the others.

“Now then you two…” He paused smiling, however, he was interrupted at a knock on the door. “Huh… put a pin on that.” Slowly he opened the door, on his face peering through, it was Velvet who seemed oddly anxious.

“Hey Vel. Whats up?” Velvet could smell sweat and fluids from her side, oh god did she come at a good time?!

“Uhm… uhm. Hey Jaune.” She smiled at him, Velvet was definitely cute, “I… can I join?”

“J...Join?” Before he could ask more, he was presented with a collar, a brown one with a bunny rabbit on it. A smile began to cross his face.

“Please?”

“Yes… yes you can.” Opening the door wide, Velvet couldn’t contain her excitement, a huge smile on her face as she looked at the stunned faces of Ren and Nora, or the broken bodies of WBY. Her tongue slipped past her lips as she walked in. “Welcome my dear bunny.”

“Thank you master~” Jaune closed the door behind them.

The night was going to be so much fun~ Good thing he had the camera set up in his room, it’d make recording all of this so much easier. As Velvet walked towards the bed he gave her ass a good firm slap, squeezing her tight rear, his fingers slipping through her underwear.

“Mmm~♥” Her cheeks flushed red, his cock twitched in excitement, though he wasn’t the only one. He watched Pyrrha and Ruby eyed Velvet, lust and hunger obvious in their countenance. He wasn’t the only one looking forward to the next few hours.

#Lie Ren #Pyrrha Nikos #Nora Valkyrie #Jaune Arc #Ruby Rose #Weiss Schnee #Yang Xiao Long #Blake Belladonna

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chili-aux · 4 years

Text

Soothing Touches

Summary: Hange suffered from a headache alone until Levi came to her rescue.

Note: My first contribution to Levihan community. Inspiration sprouted from my headache. Anyways, hope you’ll enjoy.

Link to cross-posting: AO3

Sitting on her wooden chair inside her messy laboratory, as Levi loved to call it, Hange puts her elbow on the table, fingers delicately massaging her pounding head. She cannot recall how did this headache start. Was it from her enthusiastic greetings to her subordinates this morning? No, because she is always like that. Was it from the experiment that she and Titan Eren did this afternoon? No, besides, she should not be the one who must have this excruciating pain because she was the one who conducted the experiment.

‘Was it from lunch?’ Hange asked in her mind, recurrence of the conversation she had with Moblit surfaces, realization dawning on her.

“Squad Leader! Take a break, please!” Moblit said exasperatedly to her, ignoring his plea as she continuously writes down the necessary materials for their new technology, the Thunder Spear. She's feeling giddy about this ever since they found research information about it upon raiding the Military Police Brigade. Hange intended to use this new weapon to penetrate the Armored Titan's armoury skin. It might just be wishful thinking, but she hopes that it will damage Reiner, or their efforts will all be in vain.

“I’m busy right now, Moblit. I need to present this to Erwin immediately.” Hange replied without removing her attention from the paper. She got a sigh in return.

“Just please, eat or drink something.” Moblit pleaded one last time. Feeling bad, she assured him that she will do it later. The man left with slumped shoulders after.

Now, when was that later again? She completely forgot about it. Ironically, a scientist like her who possesses vast knowledge about the human organ systems and the effects of neglecting your bodily needs like eating will ignore her bodies' humanly calls. She just wants to pound her pulsing head to the table. This happened to her quite an amount of times before, but stubbornness is just one of her innate characteristics.

I need to eat.

Hange took a deep breath, before standing up but regret instantly invaded her system. She felt her world spinning, her blurry vision even gets blurrier. She holds the edge of the table, finding support to regain her balance. She was quite successful with this one, allowing her to take steps to the laboratory's door. While walking, however, the pounding became insistent, feeling her pulses pumping at her temples. She felt that this might escalate, much worse, to migraine. She wished she was wrong with this one though.

Once outside, Hange calculated the minutes she might take to get to the cafeteria downstairs. Luckily for her, her office is just located on the 2nd floor of the Survey Corps’ Headquarters. There are three rooms the size of her lab she will pass by to get to the stairs, which has 25 steps.

“5 minutes or so? That bad, huh?” Hange said to herself before placing her right hand on the corridor wall as a support for her excruciating journey to fill her hollow stomach. Every step she takes, her head will pound with more intense pain, blood pumping more rapidly.

She sometimes stopped momentarily to regain her composure, collecting herself via deep breaths, leaning her head on the wall, and saying words of self-encouragement. Hange wished that some soldier will pass by to call for help, but she still believes that she can reach her destination. She can do this, she said, Titans are more merciless than this.

However, the pain levelled up to the point where tears are now escaping her eyes, feeling like vomiting whatever content her stomach has even if it’s empty for hours now. Her eyes are now sensitive to the firelights the hallway’s torches are emitting, bowing her head so she cannot see it. She lost the ability to tell the time now, not knowing how many minutes have passed until she reached the end of the hallway.

Grasping the conjunction of the two walls with shaky hands, she lifted her throbbing head up with tears still running down her face. She expected to see a deserted stair for she already feels hopeless that she will see anyone who can help her. Hange already lost her courage moments ago. But it seems like her incessant fight for humanity’s freedom had paid off.

“Levi…” Hange said with a sniff, voice laced with gratefulness. Even in her headache mess, she can still recognize the emotion that painted Levi’s handsome face. But before she can open her mouth again, she lost consciousness, Levi’s panicked expression was the last thing she saw.

-o-

The next thing Hange saw was a familiar ceiling, free of dust and cobwebs because of the owner’s excessive cleaning habits. She remembers the moments she woke up to this ceiling in peaceful cockcrows, nights of heeded passion let her fall into undisturbed slumber. She recalls the warmth that always envelops her, accompanied by the early morning sunlight, drawing herself to the arms that constantly welcomes Hange, returning the affection she received in the process.

This time, however, the only light that illuminates the room she had grown to love was the fire coming from the lamp, swaying and flickering in an age-old dance. She heightened up her hearing senses, raindrops falling on the solid ground can be heard from outside with wind whistling its natural hymn.

Then, Hange observed herself if she still has that freaking headache. She has, but the pain becomes tolerable now thankfully. That’s when she noticed a firm grip on her left hand, transferring her gaze slowly to the man holding her.

Levi.

He is sitting uncomfortably on his small stool, his head laid upon the soft mattress of his bed, supported by his left arm. Hange silently hopes that his muscles wouldn’t grow numb. Unsurprisingly, for her, the man is sleeping. Getting up as silent as possible, she glanced to the bedside table to see her glasses placed there, grasping and wearing it to see properly.

With a small smile painted on her face, she transferred her gaze once again to the sleeping Corporal, her free hand unconsciously reached for Levi’s soft hair. She ran her hand through the soft locks, down to the man’s handsome face, caressing the flawless skin of his cheeks with her delicate fingers.

Hange knows that Levi is insomniac, his daily sleep just ranged in 2-3 hours. However, her mind cannot help but trace back to the moment she first saw an asleep Levi.

It happened in her messy room one rainy night. While sitting on her comfy bed and reading her small findings of Titans for that day, courtesy of Eren of course, Hange heard a knock that she grew familiar with.

“Come in, shorty! Cannot sleep, huh?” Hange smiled at an entering Levi dressed in his white long-sleeved shirt and black pants. The man just rolled his eyes at her and nod tiredly.

Upon reaching her bed, Levi spoke, “Move your ass a bit, shitty glasses.”

Hange just stared at him for a moment, worried about the bags under his eyes that are growing gradually, days with lack of sleep are taking a toll on Humanity's strongest. Moments later, she broke out of her reverie, put her notes on her bedside table and complied, letting the man settle beside her.

Levi had other plans though. Instead of placing his head on the comfortable pillow, he laid on Hange’s lap, facing her stomach and encircling his arms around her slim waist. Hange’s eyes widened like a saucer, mouth releasing an audible gasp, her hands instinctively move up as if she had just been busted by the Military Police.

“Oi, Levi! W-what are you doing?!” Hange exclaimed. The man in question just gazes up briefly at her before burying his face on her tummy. "Hey, answer me!"

"Shut up, shitty glasses. I'm trying to sleep." Levi answered with a voice muffled by her clothes.

“If you want to sleep, why on my lap, you clean freak?!”

“Tch.” Levi, tired of her shouting, removed one arm around Hange. He reached for her right hand, pulling it down to place it on his hair. Hange’s jaw dropped again.

“What the?! You want me to pet you, Levi?! Are you a cat or something?!”

“Just do it, four eyes.” Noticing the tiredness in his voice, Hange just gave up and give Levi a soft continuous rub. Minutes have passed by in silence, spent with her just staring at the man’s handsome and peaceful face. She knows that the raven-haired man isn't sleeping yet, so she decided to ask what was bothering her from the start of… whatever this is.

“I thought… you don’t want to sleep in other people’s presence?” Hange asked carefully, almost whispering.

It took seconds or even a minute before Levi spoke, his answer shook Hange’s world like no other.

“You’re not just other people to me, four-eyes.”

While Hange tried to calm her rapid beating heart and removed the blush that painted her face, Levi finally succumbed to a peaceful slumber.

Hange just laughed at the memory, feeling the familiar butterflies that love pestering her tummy. Her heart beats hastily like how it pounds inside her chest during that flustering scene. Her small smile widens, gentleness and adoration for the man beside her and holding her hand like it was his lifeline. She just stared at his sleeping face happily in tranquil when his lips suddenly moved.

"Draw me now, it will last longer," Levi said with his usual grumpy voice.

“Eh! When did you wake up?!” Hange yelled from shock. Damn it, she thought.

Lifting his head, Levi stretched his arm that he used as a support to remove its numbness. Hange just looked at him, blushing and admiring how the flare from the lamp accentuated his immaculate features. Then the man turned his head and looked at her, steel blue eyes staring straight into brown orbs.

Hange can feel the man studying every part of her, his eyes and expression unreadable. She can feel a lump forming in her throat, a bead of sweat ran down from her hair to her temple. Her hands that Levi’s yet to let go is getting clammy, which she is sure that the man had noticed. She can sense the brewing anger from the man as the hold in her hand tightened.

With her eyes hurting from not blinking, combined with the intensity from those blue eyes that she cannot already take, Hange closed her eyes and bow her head.

“I-I’m sorry if I made you take care of me again, Levi," Hange said lowly, guilt plagued her system in a record speed. “Moblit tried to remind me to take a break but I forgot. So yeah.”

“Ahh. As if that’s something new, four eyes. Now,” Hange suddenly felt fingers under her chin, lifting it to gaze up in her beautiful brown orbs. Their eyes met and she was captivated once more. “Does your head still hurt?”

"A little," Hange answered softly.

Letting go of her hand, Levi suddenly stood up, and said, “Move your ass a bit, shitty glasses.”

“It’s the second time you said that to me. But whatever,” Hange teasingly said, which Levi just scoffed at, and just move a bit like how the captain wishes. Levi sat and leaned his back securely on the headboard. What he did next shocked her though.

The man just tapped his freaking thighs, people!

Whilst Levi just stared at her expectantly, Hange is still processing what she saw, giving the man an incredulous look. And her eyeballs went out of its socket when Levi tapped his thighs again.

"W-What?! Are you kidding me?" She screamed, moving closer to the man to put her hand on his forehead, checking if he got the flu or something. "You're not even sick! What have you eaten to say those freaky things, huh Levi? I'm- "

Her rambling stopped when Levi held her hands at once, pulling her body closer to his, diminishing the distance between them. Hange released a yelp with the sudden movement and gazed up immediately to the Lance Corporal, seeing the intensity that his eyes always emit.

Realizing what he did, Levi grumbled under his breath, “Tch. Just fucking do it, four eyes, while I’m still in the mood.” Before she can complain once more, Levi continued, “Enough peevish.”

Hange just sighed and scooted a little further towards the edge of the bed, then lay her head where the captain wants it to be after. The man then removed the hair strands under her nape, making it sprawl out freely on the top of her brunette. Closing her eyes, she felt the man taking the glasses off her face before placing it carefully on the bedside table. Then a cool fragrant mint enveloped her senses, the substance that Levi always apply when Levi or she suffered from stress and sleep deprivation.

That’s when Hange felt it, cool, strong fingers pressing on her temple with a firm circular motion. Those delicate fingers then moved to her forehead, meeting in the middle, and slowly traced a line back to the side, whilst she hummed in glee as the pain slowly subsides. After this soothing pattern, Levi’s hands then transferred to the scalp of her unwashed locks, massaging her head on all sides in continuous presses. She let out a pleased moan as Levi massaged a particular spot, her head reeling with the satisfying pressure. Then Levi gathered her brunette locks in one hand, proceeds on tugging it in with careful interval, making her remember the time when Levi purposely made her look at him by holding her messy ponytailed hair atop of their horses before an expedition. She just chuckled at the memory.

“What are you laughing at, shitty glasses?” Levi asked, which Hange just giggled at. “Oi!”

“It’s nothing, Levi. I just remembered when you tugged my hair to call me an abnormal. Well, you’re not wrong though.”

“Tch. Did you also remember that I regretted that? Your hair is so fucking greasy! You didn’t even bathe that time, four-eyes!” While Levi grimaced with the memory, Hange just laughed her ass off.

Opening her eyes, she saw piercing but gentle blue eyes staring intently at her. Despite her upside-down view, Hange appreciates how handsome Levi looked, how even if he always displayed that nonchalant face, his façade will go down when he is with her. That even though she was the messiest person that the man ever encountered, Levi still stayed with her, treat her like she is the most important figure in this goddamn cruel world that they lived in. That inside closed rooms, Hange can freely strip her inhibitions and Levi won't judge but expressed genuine love and care for her.

Hange slowly reached for Levi’s face. Caressing his soft and flawless skin with her fingers, she saw Levi leaning down towards her, which made her closed her eyes again. She first felt his soft lips on her forehead, kissing her gently without minding that it was still coated by that minty substance he just used for her headache. Then he traced tender kisses to her nose, making her laugh a little as the action sends ticklish bolts to her cheeks, making them glow with sweet pink blushes. Levi stroked her cheeks with both of his calloused but caring fingers, before moving further.

With lips tingling in anticipation, Hange moved her head up slightly as Levi reached what he intended to devour. Then their lips met, slowly meshing and mingling with each other, both savouring the familiar and homey taste of one another. Hange's hands managed to snake around Levi’s head, fingers feeling the soft locks and baby hairs of his undercut. As she pulled him closer, Levi’s tongue knocks on her mouth, pushing its way to her hot cavern, relishing every part for his satisfaction. Hange hummed as Levi sucked on her tongue, electrifying delight immediately ran through her body. With pleasure reeling both of their heads, Levi and Hange continuously taste each other until the need for air arises.

Parting, Hange gets up and faces Levi, sitting herself up on the raven-haired man’s lap and welcoming her fully by wrapping one arm around her slim waist. Flipping her hair away from her neck, Hange placed her thoroughly kissed lips on Levi’s, battling for dominance, expressing their passionate love and deep admiration for each other. Pressing her body closer to his, his free hand managed to sneak under her shirt, caressing the warm smooth skin, pinching it softly as the atmosphere around them intensify. After a minute full of fervent kisses, they separate, foreheads pressed, nose touching, and heaving breaths mixing.

“You okay now, shitty glasses?” Levi huskily whispered on her still stinging red lips.

“A-huh, thanks to my clean freak, best service, no fees included. As if I’m paying him anyway.” Hange answered, snickering.

“As if you had the money to pay me, four-eyes. News flash, you can’t.” Then Levi moved to whisper in her ear, licking her earlobe before saying, “But I know a way that you can, no fees included.”

“Oh, hot shit, Corporal!” Hange cannot help but scream and laugh at the same time. Levi saying dirty remarks isn’t new to her, but due to the man’s flowery language, she is always amazed when he does. Besides, it’s only for her.

Pushing herself away from the man, she giggled and said, “C’mon Levi, I’m hungry.”

“You just fucking noticed, huh? I keep hearing that monster grumble when… Never mind.” Levi suddenly stood up and walked to the door.

Hange also stood up and laughingly followed the Corporal, “What ‘when’? Huh, shorty?!”

“Shut up, Hange.”

“Make me, Levi!”

As their bickering continues and their echoing footsteps match the sound of the pouring rain, Hange sketched this rare and precious memory inside her now healing head. In the middle of their journey to the kitchen, they unconsciously held each other's hands. And Hange thought she will never mind another round of headache if she can feel Levi’s soothing touches again.

#levihan #levihan fanfiction #levi ackerman #hange zöe #hange zoë #levi and hange #levi x hange #snk #aot #this is so fucking cheesy #enjoy reading

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dergonageloser · 3 years

Text

Content warning: Death, mild gore

N'wen Mahariel isn't an expressive person. They're often reserved with their thoughts, rarely speaking unless necessary. It's how they've always been, their guardians even bringing it up to the Keeper as a child. Children don't usually stare out into the forest or the sky just Watching. Always watching. The Keeper only said that N'wen had been blessed by the Creators with a keen eye and unwavering focus on their surroundings. What more could they ask for in a clan of hunters? What did it matter that they couldn't look you in the eye when you spoke to them, or constantly twisted anything like a rope or twig into rough braids?

Hunting for food is only the beginning. N'wen picks up tracking as easy as breathing. Even days-old trails becomed clear for them to read. It's like they see patterns invisible to even the most experienced hunters. When asked about it, N'wen frowns and, after a moment of thinking, says "It's not seeing what's in front of you as it is. It's seeing what it would be had our prey not gone this way."

Most people stopped asking.

Except, of course, for Tamlen.

"We stopped finding actual tracks ten minutes ago," he says as he follows N'wen downhill. At twelve, just a year younger than N'wen, Tamlen is still a scrawny thing with a pitchy, cracking voice. "The rain this morning probably washed everything away, what are you even following?"

N'wen doesn't glance back, watching instead the soggy earth beneath them. The incline of the hill had allowed water to rush down and form temporary rivulets in the mud. More mud than the usual rains brought. N'wen turns their head further east, where the hill steepened gradually until slopes became cliffs. The forest's numerous trees blocked their vision, but they nod to themself.

"I think there was a mudslide over that way," they say.

Tamlen pauses. "Wait, really? How can you tell?"

With a solemn expression, N'wen touches their nose and replies, "Smells different."

For a long moment, Tamlen considers. Then declares, "Halla-shit."

A small quirk of N'wen's lips is the only thing that gives them away. Tamlen laughs.

He stops laughing, however, when they find the mudslide. An entire column of the cliff had collapsed into the narrow valley below, forming a river of mud and clay and rock and burying everything in it's path.

Including, it seems, someone unfortunate enough to be in the valley at the time. A pair of legs stuck in odd angles out of a pile of debris.

"Is that--?" Tamlen gasps, a heavy sick forming in his stomach.

"Not ours," N'wen says, voice soft but firm.

Tamlen can't pull his eyes away. "How are you sure?"

N'wen considers, then points at the feet. "No one at home wore boots today."

The mud is so thickly caked on the person's feet that Tamlen can't even tell.

"Are they--?" Tamlen starts.

N'wen doesn't respond, simply picks their way down the sodden slope towards the body. Their bare toes sink lightly into the ground, careful not to shift anything too much.

Tamlen immediately follows, but not without concern. "There could be another mudslide."

They look towards the cliffs, scrutinizing it, as though reading it's broken face. It was eerie the way their eyes became both focused and distant at the same time. N'wen had tried describing it to him once. Something like, "Seeing everything at once, both as it is and as it was." It's sound tracking advice, used by the clans more skilled hunters, but N'wen seemed to be able to memorize every place they've been to down to the smallest detail. Tamlen imagines that they're comparing the image in their mind to what's before them.

So Tamlen is willing to believe them when they say, "There will be, but not for another few hours at least."

Still, he gives the cliffs a glance, peering for whatever N'wen saw. With a sigh he pads down after them.

N'wen scans the debris burying the unfortunate person. They circle around, poking at a few rocks and branches here and there. Tamlen watches them, figuring it best to let them do their work. He keeps an eye and an ear on the area around them, in case another part of the cliff decides to fall on top of them.

Or if someone comes looking for the nameless body.

N'wen's hand clutches at the edge of a rock positioned at a specific point under the rest of the debris, testing it. They gingerly step over the protruding feet to look more closely.

After a moment, they wave their hand at Tamlen, who quickly steps closer. N'wen pulls out a wooden training dagger and points to a few broken tree limbs about them. "Prop some of those up around here." They point in specific spots, each one looking no different from the last.

Tamlen wants to ask why for Creator's sake, but he's never been one to doubt N'wen when their brow has that certain tightness, their a certain rigid. They wouldn't be dissuaded from their task. So he follows their lead.

Once done, N'wen motions for him to step back. Then, they dig the edge of the wooden dagger between their chosen rock. It takes several long moments, and a few slips of N'wen's fingers, for them to dislodge the stone from under the pile of debris.

When it was almost completely loose, N'wen drops the dagger and pulls gently with their hands. It slides free, and they leap out of the way as all of the debris collapses and slides further down into the valley. The tree limbs block the largest rubble from covering the rest of the body.

It isn't yet uncovered, but N'wen's cleverness had removed the heaviest debris with the least energy. Tamlen didn't have time to be amazed before they were diving back towards the body and digging at the loosened earth with their dagger.

Tamlen glances at the sun. They need to be back at camp before it sets, and it's already begun it's descent to the horizon. The valley in particular would darken more quickly.

He pulls out his own training dagger and gets to work helping them.

It takes at least half an hour, but the two manage to finally uncover the whole body. Mangled, bloodied, broken. The mud caked on their skin and clothes cover any gashes or flesh wounds, but arms aren't supposed to bend like that. Neither are necks. The skull looks misshapen, their nose crushed and their jaw hanging loose.

N'wen reaches towards the head. Their fingers tenderly wipe mud from around the ears first. Round, but coming to a soft point.

"I don't know any half-elves," Tamlen offered, unsure why he needed to say that but saying it anyway.

N'wen doesn't respond, their fingers moving to where the eyes would be. Tamlen thinks about stopping them, but fears if he opens his mouth he'd vomit. The thick grains of rock and clay fall away from a pair of half open eyes.

As Tamlen considers turning to find a good place to toss his lunch back up, N'wen finally presses their hand over the corpse's eyes to close them.

Their face is impassive, relenting nothing. But Tamlen sees how they hang their head for a moment and knows that they're mourning. A stranger, most likely. But a stranger that had been alive just hours ago.

"Do you think anyone's gonna be looking for them?" Tamlen asks.

N'wen raises their head a little, looking deeper into the valley. They're quiet, contemplating their breath and how easily it can be taken away.

"Does it matter?" they murmur after a time. "The dead don't care what happens after they die."

Tamlen sighs and finds a rock dry enough to sit on. "It would matter to the people they left behind." He picks up his wooden dagger again and starts flipping it. His chest feels heavy. "If I went missing suddenly, even I died, I think... I'd want someone to find me. Just so no one's left guessing." One flip misses his fingers and catches roughly on his knuckles. He winces. "I don't think I could handle not knowing, if it was any of the clan. My mother. You. So yeah, I think it matters a little, you know?"

Tamlen looks up to see that N'wen, without him noticing, had moved to stand in front of him. They had that pinch in their brow. Their short, curly hair dusted with dried mud hung around their dark face. Their eyes, a warm gold, looked directly into his. So rare was such that he finds himself surprised at how intense their stare could be.

"I would look for you," N'wen tells him. Their soft voice even quieter now.

Tamlen let's himself hold their gaze for as long as possible. Then, he smiles, a sad thing though it is, and says, "I know you would. I'd look for you too."

They eventually make their way back to camp, only able to forage for whatever berries and mushrooms the forest offered since they'd missed their chance to properly hunt. Tamlen tells the Keeper of the body and describes where he and N'wen had dragged it; namely, out of the immediate danger of the valley. A part of him thinks most of the clan would have left the corpse where it was, but he and N'wen had wordlessly agreed otherwise.

The Keeper's eyes soften with sympathy, and she has a small party organized to retrieve the corpse. It wouldn't receive a Dalish burial, she tells them, but they would give it the respect the dead deserved.

N'wen doesn't speak of it again, but Tamlen remembers their promise as years pass. Every time they part ways, however briefly, he accepts the possibility of never seeing each other again, because sometimes it happens. Sometimes you're unlucky enough to be in the wrong valley at the wrong time. But knowing that no matter what, he and N'wen would always look for each other, eased the worst of his fears.

When they share their first tentative kisses, they seal the final anchor in each other's hearts. Tethered together to their promise. Hot breath and fluttering pulses prove their life. N'wen always finds him first, always sees when he needs them.

Reserved as they were, Tamlen sees the emotions the rest of the clan stopped looking for. The need to keep him safe. Their nervousness when they first tugged at his collar to press their lips to his. The quiet laughs they give when he makes stupid jokes. Their unwavering loyalty to those they loved.

He cares little about what his mother or clanmates might believe. N'wen likely feels love stronger than anyone, Tamlen included. He thinks that's what pushes them to become a scout, to ensure their clan's safety by using their talent to spot dangers before they occurred.

Knowing that he's earned the friendship and affection of the best tracker in Fereledan gives him confidence each time he left camp. It's written in his heart now, their promise, and he holds it close.

Even as the taint chokes his breath and poisons his blood, as he stumbles blindly from the cavern where his best friend lay unconscious. They'll survive, they were always the stronger one. His body moves beyond his own control and he weeps, he weeps knowing N'wen will never stop looking for him. He weeps, because they will find something worse than a corpse.

He weeps even more from the relief, the certainty that N'wen will be the last thing he sees.

Time becomes meaningless as an instinct not his own draws him to other ghouls and darkspawn. Sometimes he follows them. Sometimes they follow him. The sickly song in his head grows stronger each moment until it's all he can hear.

He holds on by a thread. A thought. He'd clutched viciously at it when the song of the Old God tears everything else away and strips him of his being. His own name fades under it's horrible voice. But not this.

N'wen will find him. Or he will find N'wen. And they will know.

And he does find them. After endless nights battling the urge to snarl and howl and tear throats out with his teeth. He finds them with strangers, and he sees the moment their golden eyes recognize his under his marred, rotting skin.

"Tamlen," N'wen chokes out.

He lets his name settle in his mind once more. He sinks into their hold, relishing their warmth even as the song urged him to sink his teeth in their flesh. They hold a dagger, a metal one instead of wood, steady above his chest despite their quivering mouth.

"I looked for you," N'wen whispers.

Tamlen closes his eyes. The dagger points downward behind his collarbone, the most direct way to his heart. His voice is barely a croak.

"I know you did, Lethallan."

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #mahariel #tamlen #i don't know where this came from actually #but now im sad #so now yall get to be sad #n'wen mahariel #nonbinary warden

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

Text

Dating Jackson Knightly Would Include...

requested by @kc-needs-coffee // as evidenced by his relationship with Montelimar Bloom @cursebreakerfarrier

Seeing a side of Jackie-boy that few others have ever seen. Jackson is ridiculously flashy, confident, arrogant, witty, ambitious, suave, and cool, but he’s actually an incredibly sensitive and romantic person who acts the way he does largely because he wants to be adored. He wants to be sincerely loved for who he is. And so if he actually takes down his walls enough to let you into his heart, you’ll see a vulnerability that you likely had no concept was there before. Jackson’s always been very insecure about his sexuality in particular (sorry ladies, I’m afraid this boy is gay), so it will have taken a LOT for him to acknowledge the depths of the feelings he has for you and to likewise have opened up enough to lay them bare to you. It’s very likely that Jackson was very emotional when you first asked him to go steady with you, torn between beaming from ear to ear in pure joy and wanting to cry out of pure relief.

Loyalty to the nth degree. If Jacko trusts you enough to show the weaker and less pretty sides of himself, then it means he cherishes you more than anything else in the world. You’d never have to worry about how much he cares for you.

Being called by your full name more than nicknames or titles. Jackson is very prone to calling people things like “my (adjective) friend” or shortened versions of their names (example: his best friend Adelia Selwyn @thatravenpuffwitch is “Addy” or “Lia,” sometimes modified as “my dear Lia” and such), so if he calls you by your full name, it’s because he doesn’t want to part with a single syllable of your wonderful, perfect name.

Getting fawned over. If you’re ever the least bit hurt, Jackson will hover over you and coddle you like a prized china doll. Jackson will also gush to everyone he comes across about how amazing you are and about all of your accomplishments, to the point that everybody tells him to shut up.

Needing to validate him. Jacko is a SUCKER for praise -- the reason he gushes about you is because he likes how good it feels to be praised, and he wants you to feel that good all the time.

You being the responsible one. Jackson may be very opinionated and may prima donna his way around your relationship, but you’re likely to be the one who figuratively wears the pants a good chunk of the time. Fortunately he adores and respects you enough that if you put your foot down, he’ll give in to make you happy.

Gifts! Jackson will spoil you to the best of his abilities, sometimes just because, but ALWAYS for special occasions like anniversaries, holidays, and birthdays. In particular he’ll go out of his way to find out what kind of flowers you like best so he can surprise you with them. He might also send you personalized bouquets based on the Victorian language of flowers, bring you breakfast in bed on your birthday, and compose poetry for you. Please make sure you remember the important days too! Jackson will be really hurt if you forget your anniversary.

You having to keep him from going too overboard in just about everything. Jackson is a true romantic, so not only will he break the bank to properly express his intense affection for you, but he will employ ridiculously over-the-top methods to show you his feelings, whether by shooting fireworks over the castle that spell your name or sending you a hundred red roses on Valentine’s Day. Jackson is a drama queen to the max, so you’ll likely have to temper him by reminding him now and again that you know how deeply he feels for you and that simple expressions of it work too.

Oddly enough, having to be subtle in how you express your affection in public! Jackson is still insecure about openly showing his sexuality, hating the thought of people’s opinion of him changing once they know it -- and so for how friggin’ obvious Jacko is in who he feels for and how much he feels, he actually won’t initiate or engage in much PDA in public. Sometimes his emotions will get so intense, though, that he’ll act charming enough around everyone else to sweep you away to an abandoned room and -- once the door is closed -- proceed to ravage you romantically against a wall, kissing you deeply and caressing your chest and face because damn it, this poor Victorian boy just can’t contain how much he longs for you.

Having to “share” him a bit with his work. As an adult, Jackson becomes a politician and eventually Minister for Magic, so he has to play that part constantly. He’ll do everything he can to protect you from the press and the spotlight, but there will be times he’ll have to be away on business abroad for a decent period or keep certain things from you under wraps regarding his activities, as well as events where he’ll have to use his considerable charm to wine and dine people. Anyone insecure in their relationship with him might end up feeling jealous or unsure seeing such things, but if you know Jackson, you’d hear the difference in how he talks to you versus how he talks to others.

Parties! On the note of events, Jackson LOVES parties, both hosting and attending. His favorite kinds are big Christmas parties with lots of good food, drinking, and dancing.

Lightly discouraging him from drinking too much. Jackson has had trouble regulating his alcohol intake in the past -- he’s fortunately a happy drunk rather than an angry or sullen drunk, but that also can make it harder to tell that he’s burying himself in his drinking so that he doesn’t have to think of unpleasant things.

Going to the theater! Jackson is a lover of all of the arts, and he particularly loves seeing plays and ballets with his significant other. Expect covert hand-holding when you two are in your private box.

Cuddling a lot when you two are alone. As much as Jackson is a social butterfly, he feels most secure expressing his affection to you in the comfort of your own home, free of potential judgment or regulation from outside parties. Jackson is definitely the sort to fall asleep with his head in your lap, enjoying the feeling of your hand in his hair.

#oh jacko boy!!#my showman slytherin boy <3 #jackson knightly #hphl #hogwarts legacy #about jackson #montelimar bloom #adelia selwyn

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crystalgirl259 · 4 years

Text

The Flame and the Dragon Ch17

Chapter 17: The Reason

"Would you hold still?!" Kai snapped, pulling the cloth soaked with medical herbs from the kitchen away.

"That stings!" Cole argued as he moved his clawed hand to cover the wound and prevent Kai from touching it but hissed every time his claws grazed the surface of the wound. Kai snorted feeling his blood boil in rage. He'd had to drag the man back to the castle and wake up some of the servants to get the things he needed. Then he had to drag Cole to the kitchen and force him to sit on the table. Shade all but exploded when the two entered the kitchen covered in leaves, dirt, and blood, all of which were scattered all over the room.

Then he practically buried Kai and Cole with questions when he saw the wound on the man's chest, despite Cole's insistence that it was only a scratch and that he was fine.

He only managed to free himself of the other noirette's badgering by pointing to Kai. The brunette was digging through the cabinets for anything he could use. Shade all but exploded. Now, Kai had to put up with the Dragon Lord acting like a child while he tried to remove his coat and the remains of his shirt to nurse his wounds. His already thinning patience was on the verge of snapping.

"If you'd hold still, and let me clean the damn thing, it wouldn't hurt as much!"

"If you hadn't run away, this never would've happened!" Cole yelled in a voice bitter with sarcasm before he deliberately scolded. "Do you have any idea how stupid that was? How much danger you were in! You were only lucky you were on your way back to the castle, or I wouldn't have been able to save you!" He shouted. Kai growled and threw down the washcloth.

"If you hadn't started blasting things and scaring me, I never would've left!" The teen countered, if for nothing more than to wipe the smirk off the man's face. "You scared the shit out of me!"

"You shouldn't have been in the West Wing in the first place! You were specifically told what it was, by several people I might add, and I never permitted you to enter my room! How would you feel if someone entered your room without permission? And don't lie to me because we both know you've would've reacted the same way!" Cole retorted. Kai felt his ego bruise at that comment and opened his mouth to protest but bit back the words and exhaled.

"You're right." He said with no emotion. Cole was stunned and clearly not expecting such a response.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said you are right." He repeated in a more civil voice. He was tired of this blame game. "I shouldn't have gone into your room without your permission and I'm sorry." He said and his apology was sincere, but when he looked up again, his fierce eyes bore into Cole's. The dragon hybrid sat frozen by the intensity. "But I'm not the only one at fault here! You should learn to control your temper!" He scolded. Instantly, Cole opened his mouth to counter but immediately realized he had no answer.

He felt his pride deflate when he realized the boy was right. He had lost his temper, but he refused to take all the blame for this.

"I'm the only one with a temper or at fault here! You should learn to listen and do what you're told!"

"I already know that!" Kai snapped, collapsing into a chair. "I'm too impulsive; it's one of my faults but, to be honest, if you weren't always hiding maybe I wouldn't be so curious." He mumbled out loud, dumping more yarrow on the cloth. "I've been here almost a month and the only thing I know about you is that you have a temper, you're a control freak and you can throw energy."

"Haven't you ever heard 'curiosity killed the cat'?" Cole snorted but chuckled lightly.

"Yeah, I have." Kai chuckled. "As a kid, I always heard the story of Bluebeard; everyone always said it was supposed to show how curiosity only causes trouble." He chuckled then smiled. "But I always thought that if that were true and the girl obeyed her husband, he would've killed her anyway, and start the process all over again, but because of her curiosity, not only did she find out the truth, she and her brothers managed to kill the guy and save a lot of other girls from suffering the same fate." He burst out laughing at the memory.

Cole just stared as he listened intensely.

"No one could answer that one, not even Mom and Dad said curiosity was a double-edged sword; it helps us learn new things and make discoveries but if we let it get the better of us, we set ourselves up for trouble and I always let mine get the best of me."

"Obviously," Cole added before his voice took a stricter tone. "Next time you want to ease your curiosity, you should try asking."

"So if I asked you, you would have let me into your room even if it was for the sake of getting to know you better?" He asked with a raised eyebrow, his voice a mixture of sarcasm and teasing.

"Hell no!" Cole blurted out fiercely. He realized his mistake when the smirk on Kai's face widened. Again his pride was dented. "I see your point." He mumbled with as much dignity as he could muster.

"And you say I'm impulsive." Kai teased.

"You are." He countered, leaning closer to him. Since he was sitting at the table, their eyes were level with each other. "You're reckless, that's why you get into trouble and you never have the control to hold your tongue when the time calls for it, and you always put others or your pride before your own safety; there's a time and place when your own safety should be more important than defending your pride."

"Like in the woods, when that thing tried to kill you?" Kai asked as he raised an eyebrow in an accosting tone. "I don't care what happens to me if someone I care about is in danger! If I can help them I will!"

"You care about me?" Cole smirked and a blush painted Kai's face before he growled back.

"That's not the point!"

"I know what you meant." He chuckled as he shook his head with a small smile. "But I stand by what I told you before, if you keep focusing on everyone else's happiness and let your pride get the better of you, you'll never be happy." He said and the statement didn't anger Kai as much as it did the first time, but he still felt his irritation spike as a result. He opened his mouth to protest but Cole cut him off. "Everyone else who goes out of their way to try and make you happy will constantly worry about you because they know you'll always put everyone else before yourself." The hybrid said and any protest or angry words died in his throat.

He never looked at it that way before but it was as if the last piece of an extremely difficult puzzle had suddenly been put into place.

Nya had told him something similar before she and Lloyd had left. Everyone else in the palace had been sick with worry over him since he arrived, worse after his and Cole's fight. The teen put the medical supplies down and lowered his head.

"Why did you let me stay here?" He asked in a low voice, unsure if he wanted an answer.

"I don't understand." Cole blinked. Kai raised his head and glared at him.

"When I asked you to let me stay in Nya and Lloyd's place, why did you say yes? You said so yourself, I'm nothing but trouble?"

"I never said that." Cole corrected.

"That doesn't answer my question." Kai glared. Now it was Cole's turn to smile, a smile that curled at the corners.

"You really want to know why I let you stay here?" He asked and Kai nodded.

"Because you fascinated me the second I saw you." He replied and he raised his claws and spoke in a passionate, free-flowing voice as if he no longer had to keep something secret. Kai was clearly not expecting such an answer.

"What?"

"I'd never seen or met anyone like you; you found my castle all on your own, you were willing to sacrifice everything for your family and when you saw my true form for the first time, not only were you not afraid of me, you knew who I was! I didn't believe it when my staff called your arrival here a miracle, but everything about you astounded me." Cole paused for a moment, taking in the stunned expression on Kai's face. "Every time you saw me, you showed no fear and you refused to obey or respect me unless it was earned and you defy my every order; you countered every rule, regulation, or demand I made with one of your own and you had an answer for each one."

He paused for a moment and looked around the kitchen, not surprised to see the staff had left.

"You treat everyone in the castle-like people, where anyone else would've fled in terror, you let them pamper you even though you hate being waited on, you treat this place as if it were your home, and you put your own needs on hold for the sake of someone else." He sighed and Kai blinked again, but Cole was unsure if he was truly confused or if he disbelieved Cole meant what he was saying. "I agreed to keep you here for the reason that everything about you fascinates me from your beauty, intelligence, spirit, fiery temper, fierce independence, courage, heart... need I go on?" Cole smirked at the crimson blush spreading rapidly across Kai's face when he realized Cole was serious.

"I-I..."

"You're like a desert rose, Kai, something so unique and powerful that it can grow in the wildest of places." He smiled warmly. "You're like one giant puzzle and no matter how hard I try, I can't figure you out, but mark my words, I plan to." He promised. Kai just sat there for a moment, too stunned to speak. His mind was still trying to process what he was just told, completely ignoring the blush he knew was blazing across his face. When his mind finally put everything into perspective, he smiled a small smile and laughed.

"Funny, back home everyone but my siblings considered me everything from odd and peculiar to weird and bizarre for the way I am, and yet here, everyone seems to like me for that reason."

"Then those ignorant, backward fools need to get their asses out of the past and accept the end of aristocracy; I've been trapped in this castle for over a hundred years and I know full well things are much different." Cole laughed. Kai couldn't help but laugh in agreement. He flashed a small smile before turning back to the cloth soaked in yarrow medicine.

"Now hold still and let me finish cleaning this, it'll sting a bit." He warned before pressing the liquid-drenched cloth to the wound. Cole bit his lip, a hiss making his pain evident but he held still while the boy gently worked.

"Just a little longer, I promise." Kai comforted him, throwing away the dirty rag and grabbing another one. Once the wound was clean, he screwed the yarrow jar shut and took out a cotton-padded patch large enough to cover the entire wound. He grabbed one of the thick aloe leaves, cut it open, and squeezed the clear gelatin onto the patch before carefully spreading it all over. Cole watched patiently as he emptied the entire leaf until it curled.

Once that was done, Kai carefully lifted the patch from the bottom and pressed it to the wound.

Cole hissed, but this time, he only felt slight discomfort.

"Don't worry," Kai said, wiping off his hands. "It's aloe, it's more soothing than yarrow and it'll stop the itch and it's also a very powerful disinfectant." He explained, pressing his hand to the patch gently. "Now, I just need you to remove your coat so I can bandage it." He said and Cole shrugged the garment off his shoulders, revealing his entire upper body. Kai bit back a blush as the naked flesh was revealed to him. Kai quickly grabbed the bandages and carefully began wrapping them around Cole's waist.

"You're a good nurse," Cole commented, noticing how skilled the teen was.

"Thank you." He replied as he forced down another blush.

"Where'd you learn this, if you don't mind me asking?"

"My mom and dad taught me," Kai replied. "Our family was well known for their knowledge of herbs and since we traveled a lot when I was younger, we had to make sure we knew what to do in case one of us got hurt before we reached the next town or doctor, but most of the time, it was just me and Dad always teased me, saying that was why the yarrow stung; it was both a healer and a punishment for misbehaving."

"Sounds like the two of you were close."

"When I was little, he would always buy me the most beautiful and bizarre things wherever we went and he'd tell me stories about them." Kai smiled. "My favorites were always the ones about how our family descended from a powerful line of warriors from Japan."

"He sounds like a good man." Cole laughed. "My father was like that, he always told me our family was chosen by the legendary dragon to protect this kingdom from corruption and prejudice, and obviously, this castle's theme was modeled around that myth."

"I noticed," Kai replied as he tied the bandage tightly. Once he was finished, he frowned and turned away again. Cole looked concerned until he noticed another blush forming on the boy's cheeks. "Thank you, by the way." The teen finally spoke.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you, for saving me." He clarified. Now it was Cole's turn to blush, but he hid it by coughing in his hand.

"You're welcome, and thank you... for coming back." He added.

"I made a promise and I intend to keep it."

"Oh, is that all?" Cole replied, sounding a little disappointed.

"No, that's not all." Kai giggled a bit. "Honestly, I like it here; it's nice to be away from that town for a while and I'd feel bad if I left everyone without saying goodbye, and besides, I want to get to know you too." He added. Cole just smiled and gently ran his claws through Kai's hair before scooping him into his arms like a bride. The teenager yelped at the sudden movement.

"H-Hey! W-Wait a minute!" The teen protested.

"Don't think this means you're off the hook, you're still in big trouble for going in my room," Cole smirked and laughed. Kai snorted and crossed his arms. He hated being carried. The few staff members watching backed away as Cole flew through the hallway with his captive in his arms. The four creatures stood frozen, their eyes bulged and their mouths dropped in identical masks of shock.

"Um..." Jay mouthed, pointing to where the two men just were. "Did they just—"

"Uh-huh." Ronin nodded.

"And then they—" Tox continued.

"Yup." Echo finished. This was certainly an interesting turn of events...

#ninjago #The Flame and the Dragon #beauty and the beast #ninjago kai #ninjago nya #ninjago cole #ninjago lloyd #ninjago zane #ninjago ronin #ninjago tox #ninjago jay #ninjago echo #lavashipping

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himbowelsh · 4 years

Note

for the love of god joe toye valentines alphabet pls

valentines day alphabet ( accepting! )

A : AFFECTION. how does your muse show affection?

Joe’s more verbally expressive than you’d expect, actually. He’s got no problem with physical affection, but he’s also not above outright saying it. He’s a straightforward guy who sometimes struggles with his own tender emotions, so hearing them out loud helps --- and he thrives on verbal affirmation from his partner, too, so it’s a give-and-get thing. “You looked great today,” or “nobody can sing like you”, things like that. Joe’s also... aggressively generous with his free time. He’ll do favors for the people he cares about before they even realize they need to be done. He’ll just do things, which is honestly easier than saying his feelings out loud, but speaks just as loudly. Any way he can take some of the burdens off his loved ones’ shoulders is good enough for him.

B : BOUQUET. does your muse like flowers? which ones are their favourite?

He doesn’t know the first thing about flowers, but he likes them, and he tries. Always brings his Ma a real nice bouquet for special occasions, and once when his sister was in the hospital he got the most gorgeous yellow roses... Joe’s not about to grow ‘em himself, but he knows how to pick up a good flower arrangement.

C : CHOCOLATE. does your muse like chocolate? which one is their favourite?

Nah, bro. Joe’s got a weird thing about junk food. He doesn’t love it. While absolutely willing to buy it for other people, he won’t indulge himself. (He is the uncle who lets the kids run a little wild on his watch, so sometimes after spending time with Uncle Joe, his nephews come back with their faces covered in chocolate. Joe’s sisters just sideeye him.)

D : DATE. what is your muse’s ideal date? where / who with / etc?

Not a complicated guy. Go out drinking with him, have a good time, maybe dance a little... so long as his partner knows how to have a good time, and he’s in a place he’s comfortable in, Joe couldn’t be happier.

E : EMBRACE. does your muse like hugs? what are their hugs like?

His arms, man. Just... his arms. If he tried, Joe Toye could probably lift a tank. What do you think his hugs are like? (Correct answer: a religious experience.) He passionately doesn’t enjoy being hugged, especially out of the blue ---- but on rare occasions, he deals ‘em out, and they’re very worthwhile.

F : FLIRT. is your muse good at flirting? how do they flirt?

He’s not bad at it. Doesn’t try especially hard, but you know when he’s trying. Joe’s a forthright guy. When he’s into someone, his voice will get lower; he’ll make excuses to get closer to them, studying them with a dark, intense gaze. If they’re out somewhere, his first move is usually to buy them a drink; while he’s not into small talk or pick-up lines, he’s good at bantering if the other person wants to play.

G : GIFT. is your muse good at gift - giving or do they struggle to get it right?

Joe doesn’t give gifts. He gives... favors. Like, he’ll do shit for other people. He’ll fix a broken cabinet, but new tires on their car, or even pay someone to fix that leaky spot in their roof. If it’s something he can do himself, he’ll do it; otherwise, he’ll find someone who can. Joe’s hired plumbers for people. (The one time he tried to do his sister’s plumbing as a favor was a disaster no one’s allowed to talk about.) It’s easier than trying to figure out what someone wants, and he feels useful at the same time.

H : HEART. is your muse quick or slow to give their heart away?

He doesn’t give it away easily. Joe’s cautious in relationships, not rushing into anything too fast; he’s constantly wondering how his partner feels about him, and has his own undercurrents of insecurity that make giving himself to a relationship... difficult. He’s got to find someone who gets him. Joe would gradually give his heart away over the course of a long-term relationship --- but once someone’s got it, it’s theirs forever.

I : I LOVE YOU. does your muse find ‘i love you’ easy or hard to say?

He... fails at it a few times. Legitimately chokes on the words. He has to take a sip of water, cause he starts coughing. It’s not that Joe isn’t confident of his own feelings, but he’s not great at saying how he feels, and second-guesses himself at the last second... he’d need to hear his partner say it first. He needs that reassurance before he can feel comfortable declaring it himself.

J : JEALOUSY. does your muse get jealous in a relationship?

Not super jealous, no. When he does have those feelings on occasion, he keeps them inside. Joe won’t bring it up with them, because he’s all about internalizing those negative emotions; at worst, he might watch his partner intently across the room, brooding to himself. The only time he’ll intervene when his partner is with other people is if they’re clearly making his partner uncomfortable, or crossing lines that shouldn’t be crossed. Joe doesn’t put up with that.

K : KISS. is your muse a good kisser? why / why not?

He’s a surprisingly handsy kisser. Joe loves to be touching his partner, whether it’s a hand on the side of their face or a grip on their shoulder, pulling them closer. His favorite sort of kiss is one where he's sitting, pulling his partner down into his lap. Holding them anchors him, giving him a sense of purpose; it keeps him working hard, to feel their tiny moans of pleasure muffled against his lips. Isn’t afraid to get a little rough, but can also be heartrendingly tender. If he can cup their ass while kissing them? Fan-fucking-tastic.

L : LOVE. who does your muse love?

He’s very devoted to his mother; his sisters and their families have their own things going on, but Joe would drop anything for them in a heartbeat; he enjoys the company of the fellas at work, and cares for a lot of them; and, of course, his Easy Company friends are the ones who understand him best, and occupy the foremost place in his heart.

M : MOONLIGHT. is morning or night a more romantic setting?

He’s not picky. Literally no preference here. Anytime is a good time for kissing, if they’re both in the right mood.

N : NAUGHTY. what is your muse like in bed?

He’s got a lot of passion, and channels it into his every movement. While he doesn’t mean to be rough, it sometimes happens; his partner wakes up with bruises on their thighs and very fond memories of how they got there. Lots of stamina, and can keep up a consistent rhythm throughout. Heavy breathing, and occasional dirty talk in that low, raspy voice. He’s not loud, but loves a partner who is. Willing to try every position at least once, but has a real thing for feeling his partner on top of him, while he guides them along. When he reaches his peak, he tends to bury his face against his partner’s skin to muffle his groan.

O : ODE. does your muse have a way with words?

He’s very straightforward. Not super eloquent --- it’s actually something he’s very self-conscious about --- but with Joe, he says what he means, and you know what you’re getting. When Joe wants to speak his heart, he manages.

P : PARTNER. what does your muse look for in a partner? looks / personality?

Someone who keeps him on his toes. Someone... sexy, and energetic, with an inner warmth that reels him in and refuses to let go. Someone who looks past the surface and understands people. A non-judgemental person; a hard worker, who puts their all into everything they do; someone who takes responsibility to their family very seriously, and who’d set everything else aside to help someone in need. Not to mention, someone with a killer set of hips.

Q : QUESTION. would your muse ask the big question or expect their partner to?

(go down and read WEDDING first!) Okay, so he’s hesitant when it comes to marriage. Once he’s made up his mind, though? Joe Toye is all in. He’s no diamond expert, but he knows the guy at the jewelry shop, who gets him a good deal. He’s the sort of sentimental to get the inside of the band engraved with their initials, or something equally gushy; it’s a gorgeous rock, and it’ll look even better on the love of his life’s finger. Joe actually fantasizes about seeing his partner wearing his ring in the days leading up to the proposal... which he does outside of the restaurant right before their date, with a light flurry of snow beginning to fall from the sky. He wanted to propose at dinner, but it occurred to him that his partner might not want all those people around and watching, so he panicked in the doorway and dropped to his knee right there. His actual proposal is a little breathless, but so fervent, and his puppy dog eyes are in full force. If they turned him down there, his heart would definitely break.

R : ROMANCE. is your muse a romantic or a cynic?

He’s got a sensitive heart underneath that tough coal miner’s exterior. Joe’s the sort of guy to adore a partner once he’s got one... but he’s definitely not inclined to daydreams. Joe doesn’t pretend to be anybody’s Prince Charming. His brand of romance is very down-to earth, but he definitely wants to fall in love at some point.

S : SWEETHEART. did your muse have a childhood sweetheart?

Little Joe wanted a truck, not a girlfriend. He just... wanted to drive a big truck. He had a truck phase.

T : TRUE LOVE. does your muse believe in true love?

He doesn’t know. Legit couldn’t answer that question if he tried. What’s the difference between true love and... just regular love? Is there a special sort of love you’re supposed to try for? How do you know if you got it, or... nope. Too much to think about, don’t bother him with it.

U : UNREQUITED. has your muse had their heart broken?

... yeah. He was young then. Stupid. You won’t get him to talk about it, unless he’s well past the point of reasonably drunk.

V : VALENTINE. how does your muse feel about valentine’s day?

Slight panic. He doesn’t know what to do. Does his partner want something? Should he get them something? What? Before getting into a relationship he wasted exactly none of his energy on Valentine’s Day, and now, god help him, has no idea what to do with it.

W : WEDDING. would your muse get married? why / why not?

It ain’t something he’s gonna rush into. Joe comes from a religious Irish family, divorce is not an option for him --- if he’s anchoring himself to one person, it’s gotta be for life. Finding the right person’s the tricky part. He tells himself he’d be find if he never ended up married (keep lying to yourself, you love-starved fool) but when he does meet someone, he’s got to give it a lot of consideration before popping the question. He’s got about a dozen fears, rejection being the biggest one, so he kind of has to talk himself into it.

X : XOXO. does your muse use / like pet names?

He’s actually fond of them! Playing on somebody’s name is his favorite (he calls Luz “Georgie”, for example, and has an arsenal of nicknames for his nieces and nephews) but when it comes to his partner, his favorites are “sweetheart”, “baby”, or even “darling”, muttered just low enough for them to hear.

Y : YOURS. does your muse get protective easily?

Abso-freakin-lutely. The biggest misconception about Joe Toye is that he’s a violent guy. He’s not. He won’t swing unless someone gives him a damn good reason --- and seeing somebody threatening the people he cares about is the biggest reason in the book. Joe won’t start a fight. He’ll end it.

Z : ZZZ. how many people has your muse slept with?

He’s... not the Virgin Mary, by any means. If he’s out somewhere, and somebody’s being friendly... Joe’s gonna be friendly back. He’s not ashamed about it. He’s had maybe... 6 - 7 partners, but most of them have been casual flings.

#joe toye #headcanons

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rosedavid · 5 years

Note

hi! can you please write a fic where tj tries to teach cyrus to play basketball but he gets a little hurt, so tj patches him up? thanks!

i liked writing this prompt, so thank you so much! :) it ended up kind of angsty, but also sweet and fluffy. I hope you enjoy!!

Basketball Daze

“I want to learn how to play basketball,” Cyrus declares all the sudden.

TJ lifts himself up from his previous position against Cyrus’s chest with a grumble of objection. As he props his elbow underneath him to get a better look at Cyrus, his blonde hair flops across his forehead. His face is red and textured from laying against Cyrus’s shirt. In other words, to Cyrus, he’s never looked cuter.

TJ frowns, “Basketball? What brought that on? I thought you hated any sort of physical activity.”

Cyrus sighs, swinging his legs off the bed to go and splay the curtains away from the window. Sunlight bursts throughout the room. The intensity causes TJ to squint and flop back down onto the bed with a tired groan.

“We could just stay here and cuddle more,” TJ whines, burying his head into Cyrus’s pillow.

“We’re wasting this beautiful, sunny day!” Cyrus responds. “Also, we live in Shadyside, so who knows how long it will last.”

When TJ makes no effort to move, Cyrus comes over to tug his wrist insistently. “Come on, Teej, you’ve been wanting to teach me how to play forever, right?”

“Yeah,” TJ agrees, finally sitting upright with Cyrus’s help. “I guess I’m just confused as to why today of all days you’re so persistent.”

Cyrus shrugs, “Why not? I’m feeling peppy today, and my legs were getting restless laying there.”

TJ struggles to stand up, tripping over his own feet a few times. “Wait, you weren’t sleeping? Were you just watching me sleep?!”

“Maybe…” he trails off, cheeks reddening as he goes to defend himself. “You just look so soft and peaceful when you sleep!”

TJ tosses a pair of sneakers to him in response, but Cyrus can see the obvious blush he attempts to hide. He grins, still not over the fact that he makes TJ Kippen blush like that. It’s just another amazing privilege that comes with being his boyfriend. Honestly, sometimes it just all feels too good to be true. After they confessed to each other on the bench at Andi’s party, Cyrus walked home in a daze. When he woke up the next morning, he remembers frantically texting TJ to make sure it wasn’t all just a crazy fever dream.

Now, the two of them have fallen into a nice rhythm. After the few weeks of awkwardness that comes with any new relationship, they quickly began to figure things out. Both of them know each other’s schedules by heart at this point, so much so that they’ll meet each other outside of their classroom doors. Cyrus always comes to TJ’s practices when he can, and TJ makes sure to help Cyrus find inspiration for his creative writing course. Then, after school, they’ll either hang out by themselves or with their friends if they can. Weekends, though, are Cyrus’s favorite. Not only is there no school, but him and TJ always try to plan a date night during the weekend. Usually it’s nothing fancy, but it’s always just the two of them. They soon become the highlight of Cyrus’s week.

“Come on Romeo,” TJ comments, “Let’s get going! I always keep a spare basketball in my backpack.”

Cyrus starts laughing, but stops when he sees the serious expression on TJ’s face.

“Wait, seriously?!”

A confused expression pops up on TJ’s face. “Yes seriously!”

Unable to hold back, Cyrus starts snickering again, “TJ…”

“Don’t ‘TJ’ me! Not when you keep winter gloves and hats in your bag constantly.”

“You never know when you could need them!”

“Cy…it’s May.”

“My point still stands. Did you know once it snowed during a week in August, which is typically the hottest time of the year in Shadyside?”

TJ smiles, stepping forward and pressing a kiss to the top of Cyrus’s head.

“You’re so smart,” he says, “and adorable.”

Once more, a blush heats up Cyrus’s face, this time spreading to the tips of his ears. Before he can get even more red, he grabs his bag and pulls TJ out the door with him.

They decide to walk to the park since Cyrus’s house has no sort of basketball hoop (of course), and TJ’s house is further away. Sure enough, the sunlight spreads across them. The sky is so blue it looks like a swatch of blue paint you find at a home improvement store. The air smells like cotton and blossoming flowers. Although the telltale signs of spring linger everywhere, the tops of the mountains remain capped with snow.

When they arrive at the outdoor basketball courts, there’s hardly anyone else there. Cyrus sighs in relief, grateful that no one will see him utterly fail at basketball, but he has to at least try. Honestly, Cyrus thought he’d just be able to ignore the comments. There aren’t many, nor are they usually stated cruel or outright, but Cyrus knows what they mean.

“Oh, this is your boyfriend! He doesn’t look like a sports guy.”

“Cyrus, good to see you again. We’d invite you to come, but we know you can’t do this kind of stuff.”

“You should really learn some more about sports since TJ is so interested in them.”

“Us basketball guys love to talk sports with each other all the time when we hang out. What do you two do?”

Cyrus knows that he isn’t the type of guy a person like TJ would normally go for. In fact, Cyrus has been doubting himself a lot more recently. Maybe it’s because of the comments, but what if the comments are right? What if it’s a good thing that he heard them? After all, TJ seems to try and urge him to do more sporty things a lot more now than he used to. What if TJ wants someone who can talk and play sports with him?

So today, when Cyrus’s was awake with his thoughts, hand running through TJ’s hair, he made up his mind. He needs to learn to play basketball because he can’t lose this. He can’t lose one of the best things to ever happen to him.

“Okay, I’m going to teach you how to shoot today,” TJ begins, pulling out a fully inflated basketball from his bag just like he said.

TJ bounces the ball a few times. Meanwhile, Cyrus watches in awe as he dribbles without thinking. Making sure Cyrus is watching, TJ shoots the ball from where he stands. Not only is it a far distance, but it goes in without even hitting the rim. A perfect shot, as Buffy once told him.

“How are you so good?” Cyrus asks genuinely.

“I’m really not that good,” TJ answers, rubbing the back of his neck. “Besides, anyone can get good with enough practice!”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

TJ smiles softly, picking up the ball from the spot it rolled to. He comes up to Cyrus, handing him the ball. Cyrus stares at it, trying to mimic TJ’s position. Of course, he has absolutely no clue what he’s doing. TJ reaches behind him to adjust his hand position and stance. At this spot on the court, the basket is pretty close, but Cyrus still doesn’t know if he has enough strength to make it.

“Use this arm to shoot. The other arm is just for support,” TJ explains.

Once TJ gets him in the correct position, he steps back so Cyrus can try shooting. Cyrus has never felt so uncomfortable in his life. He never realized just how complex shooting a single basket could be, yet all of these players can do it in seconds. Shakily, Cyrus shoots with all his strength, not really thinking about aim. He stumbles back after he throws it.

The basketball soars straight past the net. At least it was high enough. Cyrus looks over his shoulder worriedly at TJ, gnawing his lip. Luckily, TJ doesn’t look upset, he simply jogs after the stray ball and picks it up from the grass.

“That was good for your first try!” TJ says, handing the ball back to him. “Let me show you how to aim better, though.”

They spend the next half hour trying to get Cyrus to shoot a basket. Cyrus feels like a lost cause at one point. Although TJ is patient with him, Cyrus thinks he can even see TJ wearing thin with Cyrus missing shot after shot. Every time Cyrus fails, he feels more frustrated with himself. Soon, he’s just shooting randomly with all his strength, hoping that he can get it in the basket by pure chance.

“Maybe we should try again tomorrow,” TJ suggests.

Sweat beads across Cyrus’s brow. He reaches to wipe it off with the back of his hand. The anger that’s been building in him courses through his bloodstream. He shakes his head, snatching the ball out of TJ’s grasp.

“No, I have to do this,” Cyrus argues, getting in position once more to shoot the ball.

TJ sighs, stepping forward, “Cy, you’re exhausted, and it’s hot out. It’s alright, you’ll be better with a fresh head tomorrow.”

He reaches for the ball, but Cyrus jerks away.

“I need to do this today!” Cyrus shouts. “I have to get this right.”

“Please, Cyrus—”

So fueled by his anger, Cyrus rips the ball away from TJ again and throws it at the basket as hard as he can. In doing so, though, he ends up tripping over his own feet from the force. TJ tries to catch him but can’t grab him in time. Cyrus falls hard onto the court, elbows and knees skidding across the pavement and chin bumping the ground.

Stinging pain erupts after he falls. His tongue tastes like blood. He must have bitten it. His chin throbs, and his elbows and knees burn angrily.

“Oh my god!” TJ gasps, kneeling by his side. “Are you okay?”

With all of his emotions and now the pain, Cyrus becomes overwhelmed. Before he can help it, tears start dripping down his cheeks and landing on the court below.

“Come here,” TJ whispers comfortingly, tugging Cyrus up into a sitting position.

He wraps his arms around the crying boy and tucks him into his chest, careful to mind Cyrus’s injuries. Cyrus bunches his fists in the fabric of TJ’s shirt and cries softly. Meanwhile, TJ just holds him close and rocks him gently, one hand running up and down his back to help soothe him. On the pavement below them, he sees splotches of Cyrus’s blood.

“Hey, hey,” TJ shushes. “What’s wrong?”

Cyrus pulls back with a sniffle. “It’s stupid, I’m sorry. I’m stupid.”

“You’re not stupid! Please, just tell me. I know it’s not just your scrapes.”

Cyrus nods, going to stand up, but he winces and his knee buckles. TJ makes sure to catch him this time before he clips the pavement again. Shakily, Cyrus regains his balance. He glances down at his arms and legs. Both his knees and elbows are torn apart, blood slowly trickling from the wounds. His touches his chin; it isn’t bleeding, but he has a feeling there will be a mark.

“Let’s talk about this after we get you patched up, okay?” TJ confirms.

Although his wounds sting, Cyrus can walk to his house with not many issues. TJ hovers close behind just in case. When they finally make it back, TJ immediately pushes Cyrus down on the sofa while he goes to scavenge Cyrus’s house for a first aid kit. Of course, since it’s Cyrus, the first aid kit isn’t difficult to find. He rushes back downstairs with it and sits beside him.

“I need to clean them,” TJ says, taking Cyrus’s leg and putting it in his lap.

Then, he gingerly begins wiping at his scrapes with antibacterial wash. Cyrus jerks at the burning sensation.

“I’m sorry, but we have to make sure it doesn’t get infected,” TJ apologizes.

“It’s ok.”

After the worst part is over, TJ begins applying Neosporin and bandaging his wounds up. While he’s doing this, Cyrus stares vacantly at the wall.

“What’s going on?” TJ wonders. “I’m worried about you.”

Cyrus sighs. “I just…a few people at school have said some things, and it made me realize that I’m not sporty in the least bit. Like, you love basketball and other sports, but I can’t even understand what’s going on. Any type of physical activity I can’t even do, really. And I don’t know, it just made me feel guilty because you deserve to date someone who you can do that kind of stuff with since you like it.”

TJ frowns, scooting in closer to Cyrus’s side. He meets Cyrus’s eyes and reaches over to cup his face with one hand.

“Cyrus, I may like sports, but I also like you. I have plenty of people to talk sports stuff with. So many, in fact, that it can get annoying. Plus, I love doing other stuff with you, no matter what it is. We could just sit in complete silence and do our homework, and I’d like it because you’d be there. You don’t need to try and impress me by trying to be a pro basketball player. That’s not who you are, and that’s okay, because I like Cyrus Goodman for who he is.”

“Really?” Cyrus asks shyly, tilting his face downward.

TJ puts a finger under his chin to tilt it back up. “Really.”

Then, TJ brings him into a gentle kiss, lips brushing. Cyrus melts into the kiss, moving his arm to wrap around TJ’s back.

Maybe basketball isn’t meant for Cyrus, but TJ certainly is.

#tyrus #andi mack #tyrus fic #tyrus fanfic #tj kippen #cyrus goodman #fluff #hurt/comfort #angst #tw blood #tw injury #fanfiction

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kiruuuuu · 5 years

Text

Doc/Lion oneshot in which Lion can’t keep his fingers off Doc, and Doc can’t keep his feet off Lion ;) (Rating E, pure PWP, ~4.3k words) - written for @icezero09!! Thank you again for commissioning me, I’m always stoked to be able to write for you :) Your prompts are a real treat 💖💖

Doc never looks more enticing than after a long day. There’s just – there’s something in his features, a softness where others might look haggard, and it must be his love for the job, his endeavours to help and protect his colleagues, his friends, the general populace. Instead of allowing the everyday stress to wear him down, he often takes moments to remind himself of the good he’s doing. The good he’s done. And so, his slightly sluggish movements carry a gentle quality, his rare smiles are full of gratitude and his aura one of grace, poise, even dignity. He relishes his time to himself, prefers drinking coffee or tea and reading over de-stressing with others, stretched out on the bed, bedside lamp casting warm shadows.

Lion stares at this beautiful man and all he wants to do is fuck him until he screams.

Listen.

He’s drawn to competence and authority already, and encountered a few nearly embarrassing moments when he and Doc were still at odds – the other Frenchman hissed a sharp command and Lion’s first instinct was to roll over, present his belly. Doc is overflowing with life experience and knowledge, and paired with his regular no-nonsense attitude, he’s so perfectly Lion’s type that if he were asked to describe his ideal husband, all he’d do is point at the other man. He oozes attractiveness in a way it makes Lion’s brain short-circuit, and it does things to other parts of his body he has trouble hiding more often than not.

It might be his lower brain speaking right now, however. The same brain which takes note of the sliver of skin visible between Doc’s boxers and his loose shirt, allowing for a few salt and pepper hairs to peek through, the brain which pays close attention to long legs and beautiful fingers, to the juicy-looking bulge, the prominent nose and the fierce scowl -

“No”, says Doc not for the first time.

“Please”, replies Lion, also not for the first time. His breathy pleas have turned into petulant whines but he doesn’t care – all he can focus on is Doc, Doc, in the perfect position to squirm around Lion kneeling between his legs, or maybe swallow Lion’s cock lazily while pretending to read, or get edged to oblivion and back, sweat beading up on his forehead and desperation rising -

“I’m tired. We can do it tomorrow, Olivier.”

He might as well postpone it to the next century. Need has replaced all the blood in Lion’s body, thrumming through his veins and setting him alight for no other reason than Doc being here, in front of him, waiting for Lion to shatter his composure in the most elating way. So far, he hasn’t even touched the object of his desire, merely kneeled down next to him on the mattress, bathing in his lover’s presence; but his body betrays his thoughts. His large erection is painfully visible in his underwear, straining to be set free, twitching now and then, whenever Lion briefly obsesses about one of the things he wants to do to Doc. “Please, Gustave”, he whispers, full of emotion.

It strikes a chord. Doc pauses, book sinking, frown softening. No victory yet, but he’s got his attention. When an attentive and appreciative gaze rakes over Lion’s mostly bare form, he stiffens, holds his breath, allows for his lover to take him all in and judge him – it’s something he found terrifying in the beginning and oddly reassuring now: Doc seems to constantly re-evaluate him and always decides he’s worth it. “Tomorrow”, his lover echoes, sounding weaker than before. He must’ve seen something he liked.

On instinct, Lion sways towards him, following breadcrumbs in the shape of an unconscious lip bite, a gaze flitting to and fro, dropping down to his boner repeatedly. He’s stopped by a foot on his naked chest, a warm sole obstructing him. He breathes against it, makes it rise in time with his inhales, and tentatively brushes over the calf with his fingertips.

They’re staring at each other, hypnotised. The air thickens around them, plump with implications and silent dares.

Doc indubitably meant it as a sign to leave him alone, but when Lion’s dick jumps once more, he seems to understand he’s achieving the exact opposite. His foot twitches, then wanders upwards. “You’re so needy, Olivier.” His voice is low and full of hesitant promises.

The slide of skin on skin drastically increases the temperature in the room. “I am”, he confirms quietly and tilts his head towards the questing limb. Their eyes are glued to each other and neither of them blinks; for once, Lion feels like the prey and not the predator. He’s not surprised he likes it, not when Doc fixes him with a look this intense.

“If I let you, you’d fuck me all night.” A toe drags down Lion’s lower lip and his breath hitches. “Every night.”

He’s never been this fucking aroused in his entire life. “I would”, he agrees and closes his lips around Doc’s big toe. The embers glowing brighter and brighter in coffee brown eyes now ignite with a flash, rising and rising the longer Lion sucks without breaking eye contact. He’s got him now. He sees Doc’s boxers swell in his peripheral vision.

“You’re indecent.” It’s not an insult. Doc pulls his foot free and travels back down, his wet skin leaving behind a cool trace doing nothing to calm the roaring inside Lion. “Utterly obscene.”

The moment Lion feels pressure against his rock hard cock, his eyelids flutter powerlessly. He resists the urge to falter, to fold, and remains perfectly upright despite the foot exploring his crotch roughly, yet his face heats up even more. It’s a mixture of normal stimulation and feeling stepped on, which is thrilling in its almost-humiliation, but since it’s Doc, there’s a warm security behind it too. Doc loves him. And right now, he’s in charge for once. Lion’s lips part in preparation of a moan which never comes, because when toes finally rub over his cockhead, the resulting desire exploding outwards closes up his throat.

Doc is electric and electrifying, even the lightest touch causes muscles to tense and passion to skyrocket – he contours Lion’s balls with the back of his foot, then drags the heel over his aching erection and elicits half-strangled gasps of disbelief. Lion wants him so much and yet is frozen in the moment, held at bay by the promise of more teasing. “You like this.” Not a question. Doc seems gleeful, filled with delight over having discovered something about Lion all by himself, something of which he likely wasn’t aware himself or else he would’ve divulged it readily, hoping for Doc to exploit his knowledge.

And he’s correct. Lion never knew how fucking sexy being touched like this could be, but he’s beginning to suspect that anything Doc does to him is the epitome of desirable as long as Lion’s in the mood. And is he ever.

“Please”, he repeats, the phrase empty but the intention clear as day. He needs more.

Displaying a smug smile, Doc discards the book fully and settles in more comfortably in the cushions, all without moving the leg connecting him to Lion. “What am I supposed to do with you, Olivier?”, he mutters, self-satisfied, and rubs over the entire length of Lion’s cock, making him shudder. He looks like a benevolent monarch, regal in his generosity, curious gaze leaving burning hot trails on Lion’s skin.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous”, he can’t help but choke out and Doc’s cool façade breaks to reveal a bright, genuine smile. Once again, the atmosphere shifts, Doc gives up some of his power despite still being mostly in control, and Lion understands they’re on one page now. They both want satisfaction. He’s already planning ahead, wondering in which position he should take Doc, how long he’ll spoil him before burying himself deep, and he can already see this helpless, devoted expression Doc always gets when he’s being invaded, so full of wonder and -

“Can you get off like this?”

His thoughts screech to a halt when his glans slips between Doc’s big toe and the second one. The sound he produces is ungraceful but Doc’s interest is piqued nonetheless – he massages his lover’s shaft with his sole, pressing down on all the right spots and, well, Lion figures the answer to his question is a resounding yes. He can basically feel the precum oozing out.

“Take off your underwear.”

The brief respite he gets while shedding the last piece of clothing does nothing to calm his blazing need, not when Doc mirrors him and reveals his own swollen cock, resting heavy on his belly and calling to Lion. He wants to taste it, touch it, worship it, but when he reaches out, he’s stopped by a playful: “Don’t touch me.” So he sits back, almost drooling, and eyes Doc’s nearly naked form longingly. His shirt rode up even more, putting his toned abdomen on display, and Lion would sacrifice a few fingers to be able to swirl his tongue through Doc’s navel right now.

When his lover grabs the lube from the nightstand, Lion experiences an almost Pavlovian reaction: lust shoots through him, white hot and blinding and all he can think about is how he’ll sink into delicious heat soon. He barely manages to get out a quiet yes before noticing Doc’s lifted eyebrow. Seems like it won’t be that easy after all.

“Needy”, Doc repeats and returns his foot, touching the tip of his toe to the glistening head quietly leaking in neglect and alright, they’re back to this – not that Lion is complaining, finally there’s skin on skin contact and the way his foreskin rolls over all the sensitive spots is addicting, but he still hasn’t taken his eyes off Doc’s proud erection. Testament of his attraction to Lion. It’s this thick and dark only because of him, only because he’s letting Doc give him a footjob and loving it.

Finally, he picks up on the expectant air around the other Frenchman and it clicks. So they’re playing a game today. “I’m a horny dog”, he breathes, voice breaking when the pressure increases to an almost unbearable level just for a second. “I should be punished.”

Doc’s grin is brilliant. “You should”, he concurs and spreads his legs. Fucking Christ. Lion’s gaze is glued to the entrance now visible, taunting, inviting. He can’t reach out and brush his fingertips over the rim, can’t lie down to lick over it like a kitten, can’t glide inside to unload deep, deep inside Doc – but he wants to. Dear God does he want to.

“Please, Gustave.” He’s a broken record at this point. Hips are starting to move, pushing back against the warm limb slowly driving him insane, seeking to increase the friction, wring every bit of pleasure out of the sensation he can, and the result is better, a lot better, but not good enough. His breath is stuttery and the small thrusts aborted; he’s trying hard to hold himself back.

“Is this what you want?” Doc reaches down and pulls a cheek apart, exposing himself even more obscenely and fucking hell, he’s cocky. Lion isn’t sure where Doc got this sudden boost of confidence but it’s blisteringly hot to see him sprawl like this, put himself on a silver platter. He does look delicious. Lion wants to devour him whole. “Hm? Is this it?”

A thumb touches the pink hole which pulses in return, constricts, and Lion can feel it around the base of his cock, the phantom sensation impossibly strong as his hips strain forwards against the unwavering resistance. “Yes. Fuck yes.” Words largely elude him over the sensual sight right before his nose.

And then he has to watch, frozen in disbelief, as Doc pours lube over his own fingers before returning them to their previous place; and with Lion staring, open-mouthed, Doc rubs over the rim slowly, coating it, and eventually pushes one digit inside.

Lion’s brain malfunctions.

This is too much to handle, Doc is too much to handle, and he just can’t. Following a moan, a muffled, despairing sound, Lion wraps a hand around Doc’s calf and keeps it in place as he thrusts his entire length along the soft sole, never once taking his eyes off the finger pushing in and out steadily. He needs this stimulation and so he takes it for himself, humps Doc’s foot like a drowning man and whimpers when the toes curl around his glans on every upstroke. The lazy smile on his true love’s face, the way Doc’s body accommodates all, his own finger and Lion’s sudden outburst, it’s exhilarating.

“Slow down”, Doc requests gently. “You’re meant to enjoy this.” But it’s impossible, how can he expect Lion not to run wild when he adds another finger so casually as if he’s used to it – and he can’t be, not like this, not when Lion insists on being the one to prepare him every time they have sex. He relishes in the noises he tickles out of his significant other, works him open with patience and adoration each time, teases and rubs and thrusts until Doc is red-faced from the effort of holding still, from slight embarrassment and love and anticipation. Doc is used to Lion’s fingers, not his own, so how can he smirk like the cat that ate the cream when he’s -

Doc moans, cock twitching.

And Lion fucking loses it.

He wasn’t even aware of how his pleasure spiked the moment Doc started fingering himself, didn’t really notice how fucking primed and ready he was, how affected by the consistent teasing – and if he’s honest, he doubted that a foot alone would turn him on this much. But the friction was delectable, and paired with the shapely leg attached to it, the entirety that is Doc lounging on the mattress, all honeyed words and fiery looks, it was entirely too much.

With a high-pitched whine, he zooms past the point of no return before he realises what’s happening and when he does, he’s horrified. He’s not going to shoot inside Doc if he comes now, he’ll just ejaculate all over his leg and shit, that’s embarrassing really. Scrambling to stop the process, he pushes the offending foot away, ceases all stimulation trying to prevent his climax, but it’s too late.

Or is it?

Because all that happens is his cock pulsing and sperm leaking out weakly, so instead of the usual fountain it’s nothing more than a sad dribble down his shaft as he shakes from suppressed need – it flows over his balls and drips down right onto Doc’s foot.

“I’m sorry”, Lion mutters, not only for the shitty orgasm but also for making a mess, and he wants to continue by offering compensation when Doc rumbles: “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

And this is when Lion realises that he’s still painfully hard. That his lust hasn’t disappeared. He raises his gaze to meet Doc’s and is shocked at its intensity, amazed when he sees his lover reflect the same amount of desire he’s projecting. They still want the same thing, if Doc’s scissoring fingers are anything to go by, but Lion feels raw and overstimulated after the not-quite orgasm, so he does the first thing that comes to mind.

He begins licking Doc’s foot clean. Simply raises it to his face, noting as his lover’s stormy eyes darken, and pushes his tongue between the wet toes. If his heartbeat wasn’t already going a mile a minute, it certainly does upon Doc adding a third finger inside himself. Even so, Lion dedicates himself to his task, lavishes the flesh before him in attention and enjoys every second of it. His fingertips dig into muscle and massage the arch dutifully while his mouth takes care of the rest: sloppily slurping up the mess he made, lapping at each toe individually and sucking on them in succession – he doesn’t stop until it’s clean again, and even then he keeps going. Doc watches him, grateful, entranced, and when Lion finishes by placing a soft kiss on every toe, some of the tension in his features melts into appreciation again.

“I love every part of you”, Lion says, because it’s true, and smiles when Doc’s cheeks deepen in colour. Finally, finally, his lover pulls his fingers free and motions for him to come closer, and Lion wastes no time practically diving on top of the other man to smash their lips against each other. The entire length of their bodies slots together like two puzzle pieces interlocking, and all this contact is the best kind of overwhelming after having been touched so little previously – they’re constantly in motion, rubbing their legs over each other, pressing their chests closer, running hands over every bit of skin they can find, and all the while Lion slowly takes Doc apart with his tongue. He explores Doc’s mouth as if it was the first time, ravishes it with abandon and swallows all the groans coming from their stiff cocks dragging over each other.

“Come on, Olivier”, wet lips mumble against his between mind-numbing kisses, “I want you inside.”

And fuck he does not need to say this twice. Lion wrestles his better half out of his shirt and longingly eyes the sculpted chest which he’d normally lavish in attention, but with the way his dick is thrumming impatiently, he simply doesn’t have the nerve. Before he can begin to look for the lube, Doc has already slicked up his hand again and wrapped it around Lion’s shaft, making him flinch momentarily. He’s sensitive, overly so, the pressure from before and the not-quite orgasm left it raw and throbbing, yet the callouses on Doc’s fingers feel heavenly despite the slight discomfort.

It feels like an eternity with Doc letting his fist glide up and down in a pace so slow it does nothing but heighten Lion’s arousal, and the entire time they keep making out deeply, tongues dancing, lips sucking on any piece of flesh before them. This is one of Lion’s favourite pastimes – just kissing, without any specific intentions. Kissing for the sake of kissing. They’ve started a few days off by just locking lips for an hour and seeing where it gets them, and more often than not both of them end up short of breath, vibrating with anticipation and hungry for more.

Doc’s hands are even more skilful than his feet in getting Lion off, and so he actually has to grab his lover’s wrist to prevent another too-soon climax, especially when deft fingers begin massaging the underside of his head, sending jolts of pleasure through his body. They separate just long enough to hold eye contact when Lion enters him, and he’ll never get enough of watching Doc’s eyelids flutter shut when the thick head breaches him fully, of the way his mouth falls open on a silent moan. Muscles relax, features go slack, and he’s Lion’s. Wholly his. This is the moment in which Doc gives himself up, hands himself over to his lover.

He’s incredibly hot and tight, welcoming the flesh pushing inside by clenching down on it in waves and prolonging the initial slide in – not that either of them mind. Lion buries his face in the crook of Doc’s neck and just breathes, focuses on the soothing smell, the blissful feeling of becoming one with the one he loves and the aimless patterns Doc draws on his back as they both bask in each other’s presence.

“You feel good”, Doc murmurs and it’s all the encouragement Lion needed. He latches on to the skin of his lover’s neck, sucking a bruise onto darker skin, and grinds against him with deliberate motions, rubbing deep. The resulting noise is music to his ears.

For a bit, he concentrates on shallow, hard thrusts while marking Doc all over, claiming him with light bites and more hickeys, but it doesn’t satisfy either of them. Lion’s cock is aching, rearing to be put to good use, and so he gives in to the primal urge.

Rising up, he fixes Doc with a sweltering gaze and plants a last sloppy kiss on his mouth before he does the very thing he’s been wanting to do every since he stumbled over Doc all spread out on their shared bed: fuck him until he forgets which day it is.

Their moans mingle in the space between them and all Doc can do, helplessly, is scramble for purchase, hold on to Lion’s sides as he’s rocked by every brutal thrust into his welcoming hole – he looks adorable, in a way, all caught up in the ecstasy of having his sweet spot hammered. Lion drags him onto his cock by the hips, meeting him halfway with his own and slams home mercilessly, bathing in the uninterrupted stream of noises Doc creates as usual: muffled groans, disbelieving gasps, throaty moans. Lion absorbs it all, lets it fuel the pulsating desire driving him.

“Hold your feet”, he demands in between sharp snaps of his hips eliciting strangled sounds, “yes. Just like that. Fuck yes.” And there’s another spike caused by the view in front of him, by Doc grabbing his own soles and holding his legs up and apart, pink skin turned towards Lion and his heavy dick beautifully showcased again. He’s lost in the moment, in the sensations – they both are, and Lion briefly has to struggle to keep up his brutal tempo.

Since he half-came earlier, his stamina is impressive, but it doesn’t only have advantages: he’s struggling to climb, trapped in perpetual stimulation which only just isn’t enough even though Doc clamps down on him so marvellously every time he rubs over his prostate, even though Lion can feel his glans getting caught on Doc’s rim on every thrust. His hair is sweat-soaked, Doc’s skin is shiny and despite the fast movements, he’s not quite there.

Seeking that last bit of pleasure which will push him over the edge, Lion begins worshipping Doc’s body as hardly anything turns him on more quickly than being allowed to explore, adore, map out his lover’s skin. Doc stretches towards his touch, melts below his fingertips and just won’t stop growling in satisfaction while Lion strokes over the expanse of his chest, teases the erect nipples and pushes a thumb between reddened lips. But even when Lion reaches between their legs and starts jerking the bone hard cock so familiar to him, even when Doc whines and tosses his head to the side and nearly loses grip of his feet, even when he’s shuddering in overstimulation, even when Lion’s heart is so full of devotion, he can’t come yet, can’t -

In frustration, he leans in and trails his lips along the pretty feet displayed for his pleasure, captures cute toes in his mouth and wraps his tongue around them, and in return, Doc produces the most desperate keen Lion has ever witnessed him make. With the next breath, he moans out Lion’s name, and holy fuck that’s it.

Bent over the love of his life, Lion almost collapses when the first wave of pleasure races through him like a truck. He goes blind for a second, clawing at anything in reach, probably leaving more bruises, and stutters out a loud groan as his climax ripples through him with so much intensity he briefly loses himself. At the edge of his consciousness, he registers Doc writhing under him, caught up in his own orgasm, and the realisation that they’re coming together has Lion’s abdomen tense up almost painfully, heightening the relief shooting through his system as he comes deep inside. They pant together, hold on to each other as they ride it out, moving in unison and relishing their release.

They keep moving slightly while coming down, cause gentle friction and reassure each other with soft touches, and it helps ground them. Lion trusts his lover fully and so he lets loose, allows for the post-orgasmic afterglow and exhaustion to settle in comfortably without having to worry about anything. Once their breaths and heartbeats have normalised, they exchange a grin and disentangle themselves: Doc lets his legs fall, Lion pulls out and gives Doc’s spent cock a last tug, and then they stretch out next to each other, sighing and interlacing their fingers.

A minute is spent in warm silence during which they both savour their bodies’ memories, and then Doc scoots closer to nuzzle Lion’s ear, his body probably cooling down and the milky stripes covering his chest aren’t helping. “So”, he purrs, sounding smug again, “you have a foot thing, hm?”

“I didn’t even know”, Lion laughs and kisses Doc’s nose. “But I’m fairly sure it’s just your feet.”

“Flatterer.”

“As if you mind.”

“You know I don’t.” Doc seems extremely pleased with himself. “Is this going to happen every time I just want to read after babysitting our co-workers all day?”

Lion snorts and gathers the other Frenchman into a tight embrace until their hearts beat against each other and their limbs are intertwined in a way they won’t unravel even when they sleep. “Are you implying you wouldn’t want that to happen?”

And the only reply he receives is an amused grin. Which, he notes not without significant self-satisfaction, is not a no.

#rainbow six siege #doc/lion #doc #lion #fanfic #oneshot #commissions #you've made a grave mistake in indulging him doc #wait until he asks for footsie during a meeting

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bepoets · 5 years

Note

I KNOW I ASKED FOR IT BUT FIX ITTTT!! TELL ME ANNA SENDS A LETTER SOMEDAY OR THEY COME ACROSS EACH OTHER FIX IT BROOKLYN!!!!

Are we really SHOCKED that Ellie is asking for a fix it fic? No. No we are not.

This is a fix it fic thing to this fic thing https://ravenclaw-geek394.tumblr.com/post/190266067573/kristanna-angst-hand-holding-tears-because

Enjoy friends

Anna comes back home when she’s 26. It’s been a decade. Eventually, when she went years without a letter from Kristoff she just, gave up on actually sending the letters. But she continued to write them. Tucked away in her notebook, hidden in her nightstand or her suitcase depending on where she was. She didn’t write them everyday, not even once a month. Simply whenever the mood would strike her. Whenever she felt that she needed to tell him soemthing inportant or mundane, or if she felt the need to assure him of her affections. She didn’t lose hope. It just got, quieter.

So when she returned home to the Arendelle estate, on the eve of her fathers funeral she wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Elsa has moved back home years ago, taking over father’s business once he became ill. Her sister constantly mentioning Kristoff in her letters, providing Anna with the perfect opportunity to ask about him. But she’d always stop. Reminding herself that he was the one who stopped replying to her. He gave up, he gave up on her. On them.

She didn’t see him right away. Anna arrived late that night, only a few housekeepers awake to great her. Hugging her and expressing their joy to see her again, even with the circumstances.

She saw him at the funeral. He was a guest. As were the rest of the staff, “as they should be,” thought Anna. Thankful that no one was expected to work today. These people, all of them, this house itself had endured far too much loss. Anna was almost certain grief was wrapped around it, buried deep within the floor boards and hidden in every crack and crevice of the walls.

He looked older.

Which was a silly remark. Considering of course he was older. It had been a decade. So much had changed. He looked at her, when she stared. And Anna felt her cheeks turn red. As if she had been caught stealing from the cookie jar as a child. His eyes were what shocked her. They were unguarded. She could see every emotion. Grief. Loss. Exhaustion. Longing. But worst of all hurt. And somehow Anna felt it must be directed at her.

They don’t speak again until late that night. Anna can’t sleep. She couldn’t sleep after her mother’s funeral either. It’s as if all the loss and grief falls right back into her chest before she sleeps. So she sneaks out, as she used to when she was younger, and finds a place. A place of comfort and joy. A place only touched by happiness, not tangled in this web of sorrow.

She finds a tree. Just on the edge of the estate. It’s a large tree that she remembers climbing when she was little. Before mother got sick and after. She would swing from the branches upside down. She remembers fondly her and her sister pretending to be monkeys dangling from the tree. She also remembers jumping off the branches and having Kristoff catch her. Calling it a “crazy trust exercise.” It’s a place of childhood happiness. So she climbs up the tree and lays against the trunk on one of the branches. Twisting around the edges of her shawl, looking up into the stars.

That’s when she hears him.

“This isn’t another one of those crazy trust exercises is it?”

His voice almost makes Anna fall out of the tree. In fact she only just catches herself before stumbling. She laughs though, she missed this.

“I’m sorry for your loss, I know this must’ve been hard to come back too.” And he’s so sincere and genuine when he says it. Like his heart breaks for her.

“I’m sorry too, for your loss I mean.”

There’s a pause. A silence between them that once, long ago, would have been comfortable. Would have get like home, but now it’s leaving Anna sloghtly on edge. She’s never been one to keep her thoughts calm or at bay. They’re always too much and far too fast. She has too many things she wants to say, questions she wants to ask, and answers she needs to hear and there’s Kristoff looking up at her and she can see it. It’s still there. The sparkle, the soft haze in his eyes, the love he’s expressing, without even saying a word, and suddenly it puts her mind at ease for a moment.

Anna opens her mouth to speak as soon as Kristoff does. Saying “would you-” just as he says “how long are-” They laugh. And Anna feels everything falling back into place.

“Ladies first,” Kristoff waves up towards her, gesturing for her to continue with a lopsided grin. “Oh you’ve become quite the gentleman.” He starts to shake off the compliment, saying something about picking up a few things from working here so long and the high society people that visit. But Anna stops him. “No, you’ve always been a gentleman. More so than any of the suitors and high society gents I’ve met.” Kristoff chuckles, that nervous and awkward kind of chuckle when he feels too put on the spot. Too much attention and kindness that he’s sure he doesn’t deserve, even though he truly does.

“Come sit with me?” Anna’s eyes are pleading. Practically begging for this to last longer. To live in this moment. Kristoff’s mouth falls open and eyes widen, “up there? In your tree?” Anna nods, enthusiastic as ever. “Anna it’ll break.”

“Even better,” she says with a laugh, “you’ll catch me when I fall.” And to Anna’s surprise, that works. The next thing she knows Kristoff is sitting in her tree, closest to the trunk holding onto any branch nearby to keep his balance and stay steady. It’s only when he’s settled, safely across from her on the branch, that they really start to catch up. It’s small talk mostly. She tells him about Europe. He tells her about the baby horse they rescued. They make jokes and share stories and heartfelt moments and everything is as it should be. But they’re dancing around things. Tiptoeing around the big questions.

“How long are you staying?” He says it in a whisper so soft it almost floats away with the wind. But Anna catches it.

“I’m— I’m not sure.” Anna knows that’s confusing and she can tell just from the look on kristoff’s face that it’s surely not the answer he was hoping to hear. So she elaborates. “I don’t have any reasons to return to Europe. But, I’m not sure if I still, have a reason to stay here anymore either.”

Anna’s certain no one will ever look at her, gaze at her, with the same intensity as Kristoff does when he responds. “You always have. You always will.”

Anna opens her mouth to say thank you. To express how much it makes her heart soar to hear him say that. To cry.

Instead the question she’s been avoiding falls out.

“Why did you stop writing?”

She’s sure this is it. She’s crossed a line. The silence that follows is heavy and sits on her chest to the point where she can hardly breathe. It’s coming she’s waiting for it. The rejection. You’re a lovely girl Anna but I just don’t love you. You left me anna how could I be expected to wait for someone who didn’t even stay. She knows it’s coming. She wants to close her eyes, hold her breath, but instead she stares. Waiting for Kristoff to speak.

He’s giving her this odd look. Sad and confused, like he doesn’t quite understand how she doesn’t know.

“I didn’t.”

“Really, Kristoff it’s okay you can tell me honestly you don’t have to pretend it’s—” Anna can hear the tears welling up in her own voice.

“Anna.” Kristoff cuts her sentence short. Reaching out to hold her hand. Eyes pleading and begging her to listen. To know.

“I never stopped writing to you, Anna.”

It’s sincere. And it’s genuine. And Anna wants to believe him more than anything in the world. But she thinks about the months, the years that went by, with radio silence. She left in May and the last letter she ever received was that August. She knows, she’s got them stowed away in a box under her bed. She’s dead them over and over. Even the last few, which always seemed a little sad. She just could never figure out why.

“August 13th. The year I left. That was the date of the last letter you sent. Kristoff I wrote to you for years, you stopped answering I don’t understand,” Anna pauses. Her voice catching in her throat, tears finally starting to fall. And they don’t stop. She wants to run away. All the sadness is climbing in again, and in the one place that was untouched by sorrow.

She feels a sob run through her body when suddenly she’s being lifted into someone’s arms. And being held. Kristoff’s arms wrapped around her, his chin atop her head, whispering soothing words to her as she cries. As if it were all the most natural thing in the world.

It takes a little while but eventually the tears subside, but once they do, she feels a soft kiss pressed against her temple. And her heart melts. Kristoff helps her out of the tree, brushing leaves out of her hair as he does so, and letting his hand hover just over hers.

“Can I,” There’s a pause, and a calculated glance in her direction, making a decision. “I need to show you something.” And he holds out his hand and despite the ache in her chest she follows. Let’s his hand wrap around hers and float to wherever they’re going. If she dreams hard enough she can imagine it as if it were long ago. The two of them running away together. But that hurts too much. Anna knows. She’s learned. Her father would tell her all the time in his letters. Wishing only wounds the heart. Be realistic Anna.

She’s only a little thrown off when they end up in Kristoff’s room. It’s small, hardly decorated and very bare bones. But it still makes her eyes widen and cheeks redden. He’s crawling under his bed, reaching for something obviously hidden away and pulls out a wooden box. It’s decorated with obviously hand carved sunflowers. Kristoff doesn’t open the box. Instead he places it in Anna’s arms, and kisses her cheek. It’s soft and featherlight — barely there and full of uncertainty.

“I promise you. I never stopped writing.”

It’s only then that Anna realizes the sun has rose. There’s bells ringing. The work day for the staff has begun and people downstairs are calling his name and a million different jobs he has to get started on. He has to go.

But as he turns out the door, just before he leaves he stops.

“Promise me something?”

Anna nods.

“Stay until the end of the week. Just until then. If you still feel you have no reason to stay here, then you can part ways forever but please. Don’t go yet.”

She holds the little wooden box close to her chest and nods. I’ll stay. I’ll stay for you. She doesn’t say it. But she knows Kristoff hears it.

Anna’s sure she can’t possibly cry anymore today. The sun has only just rose and she still hasn’t even looked inside the little wooden box when she sets it on her bed in her own room. Her eyelids feel heavy and suddenly she thinks maybe now, exhausted beyond belief, she’ll be able to sleep. But there’s a knock on the door. And Elsa walks inside, eyes tired and red and hair a frazzled mess. Anna’s relatively sure she’s still in the same clothes from the funeral yesterday, but in her sisters hands is a hat box. One of their mothers. It’s from a shop In the coty. One of her favorites. The box is cream and faded and the papering is pealing ever so slightly.

“Elsa?”

“I couldn’t sleep... last night I couldn’t sleep. So I started cleaning out father’s office, and I found something. And I believe it belongs to you.” She hands her sister the hat box with trembling hands.

“Elsa, this is mother’s hat box this isn’t, this couldn’t possibly belong to me. I don’t even like hats.”

That last part makes Elsa chuckle, as Anna hoped it would.

“I thought so too. But I, forgive me, I opened it. And it wasn’t mother’s hat. This belongs to you. And I think it needs to be soemthing you see, all on your own.” Anna tries to protest but elsa waves her off. “Besides, I need to sleep, just talk to me about it after you open it? I want to know how you’re feeling.”

And with that the door clicks shut. Leaving Anna alone with two boxes.

She opens her mother’s hat box first. Expecting something her mother or father left behind for her. Soemthing with the house or anything to do with their family. It feels far less terrifying than finally knowing the truth between her and Kristoff. This is simple. Only the moment she lifts the lid off she knows that’s not true.

They’re letters. Envelopes yellowed and aged from years ago. A decade. All addressed to Kristoff Bjorgman. From Anna Arendelle. There’s stamps and postage marks from all different European countries. There’s hearts and flowers doodled on the backs of a few. Different scripts and fonts and you can tell the ones written and addressed in a hurry and those that were titled and the i’s dotted and t’s crossed with extra care.

But Anna doesn’t even have to examine all of them to know. She knows because she wrote them. These are her letters to Kristoff. From the first few years. When she had continued to send them. Despite his silence.

An array of emotions bubble up inside. Confusion and anger and betrayal and frustration and sadness and heartache. Oh god, so much heartache.

But there’s one envelope inside her mother’s hat box not addressed to Kristoff. But addressed to her. It’s a new envelope. Stark white against the display from the past, with Anna written neatly across the front. Her father’s hand writing.

Her hands shake as she opens it, and as she reads, suddenly the world feels clear.

Her father apologizes. He knows it’s too late, that a simple letter from his death bed won’t fix the hurt and pain he’s caused her. Even if she is unaware of it. He explains how serious image was, for the business, for their high society lifestyle. Especially after her mother died. The fact that one of his daughters would take over the family business rather than a son was glaring enough to friends and business colleagues. The idea that his other daughter would marry a farm boy? A servant? It was unthinkable. They advised him to send her away. Let the distance and time dissolve of her little crush. It was the only way. He apologizes. Because now, as he laid tbere ill, he knows he was wrong. He speaks of her mother and how when he fell in love with her he would’ve given up everything, fortune and wealth and fame and title, just to hold her hand. Status means nothing when you’re in love. He says he didn’t realize. How serious her affections were, and how serious Kristoff’s were in return. He thought he made the right choice. Sending her away, hiding the letters, returning Kristoff’s to the stoop of the servants house whenever he tried to mail one. He thought he was doing what was best. But he wasn’t. He speaks of time and last wishes and how none of it matters without love. He tells her in his final written words. To fight for love. To follow her dream.

And Anna cries. She cries harder and longer than she has in years. Because now she knows. It wasn’t her fault. And it wasn’t Kristoff’s. And no one gave up. No one lost hope. And she knows, she’s certain of what she’ll find in the box from Kristoff. And suddenly, nothing about this seems scary.

Her hands still tremble when she unlatches the lid to Kristoff’s wooden box. Her eyes still fill with tears when she tears open the first envelope. Dated just a week after the last letter she ever received. One day she will read them all. Every letter he saved in the box despite the fact that he no longer had any reason to hope she loved him.

But for now she reads the first one. A letter from ten years ago. Written in Kristoff’s messy scrawl but every emotion so easily pressed into the page. She wants to read the whole thing. Savor every last word. But her brain jumps ahead. Only able to focus on the last sentence. She reads it over and over again until she’s sure that she’s read it write. That her eyes do not betray her. It’s there it’s real. He truly wrote will you marry me in a letter.

And when it finally registers. That he wrote that. That he meant that all those years ago, and surely still means it now.

Well Anna can hardly slow down running out onto the estate to find him. He’s on the entire other side of a field when she finds him. He’s trimming trees and he’s so obviously focused on his work and Anna could easily continue walking and say this face to face. Inches from each other.

Instead she stands and shouts it across the field. The closest thing she’s got to shouting it from the rooftops.

“KRISTOFF BJORGMAN WILL YOU MARRY ME”

She’s never seen him run so fast.

And when he reaches her, lifting her up and kissing her well, it feels like she’s floating.

#ARE YOU HAPPY ELLIE JANE #they elope the next say mwah chefs kiss #brooklyn writes stuff #brooklyn writes things #kristanna #3 word ask game

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armsdealing · 4 years

Text

@themercifulmother sent: ciro: 8. + 26. // emile: 19. + 23.

character development questions / accepting.

CIRO.

8. where and when do they seem most and least at ease? why? how can you tell?

ciro, especially older ciro, has a tight grip on his body language, so it's actually hard to tell when he's displeased or pleased by something, or when he's comfortable/uncomfortable. at least, when he's playing the role of advisor, and when he's around other made men. he's got reputation for being truly unreadable, for seeming perfectly okay with a meeting's resolutions only to turn around and tell salvatore that he thinks lowly of the terms of the prospective deal or the dealmakers themselves. he will seem unruffled by someone's aggressive behavior and, once that person is out of earshot, or simply has calmed down, he will pointedly criticize it. such a skill is invaluable for a consigliere, for a lawyer, and as salvatore's business partner.

he does not like surprises, though. he can work with them, will do well with them, but he does not like them. he does not like things being hidden from him, either, since they make his work much more difficult than he considers it should be. there's a breathable tension in the room whenever ciro realizes there's a crucial piece of information that he does not possess. he has argued (privately) with sal whenever he feels like sal has hidden something from him, and it's likely one of the few rare times sal could have seen ciro aggravated. it's not easy to tell unless you know ciro when this happens, but: he turns very still. hardly blinks, his gaze downturned when he is making direct eye contact. talks very coolly and keeps things brief and to the point.

he also does not like snakes. when he was younger (late teens), he was bitten by an asp viper during a trip to italy. a half hour of unbearable pain and some antivenom later, he's all good and healthy, but developed a fear of snakes. not a phobia: he can be near one, provided it's in its enclosure, but he'd rather not. he will avoid looking at it.

talks about sexuality also make him uncomfortable. it does not matter how accepting of it you might be. when he was young, even talking about girls was the one masculine ritual he never quite mastered (he was good at violence, at sports, at money -- but not vulgar conversations about women and sex), and his involvement was minimal, only the right amount necessary to keep suspicions of his own personal inclinations at bay. he claimed to be old fashioned, that he was raised to be respectful, a good catholic, a good sicilian. truth is, he was uneasy as fuck. and he's very tight-lipped about being gay even nowadays. you can chalk that up to both his stifled environment growing up and the fact that he's private by nature.

he's most at ease when things are business as usual. when he's on his own or with the company of someone he is close to (sal, delores, his wife), but not talking about business. you can tell because of the ribbing, and the rambling manner of his speech. he's more expressive, more colorful with his language, but still keeping his impassive disposition.

26. how do they view and feel about relationships, and how might this manifest in how they handle them, if it does?

he views relationships (friendships, family, spouse) as some of the most important things on earth. money and power is really all in service of what you can provide for your loved ones. someone who is powerful, but alone, without strong connections to anyone or anyone -- does not remain powerful for long. as a result, ciro is loyal and unwavering when it comes to his relationships. once he has chosen you as part of his small circle of friends and loved ones, he will pretty much kill for you. he will lie for you in court. he will bury a body for you and make sure it is never found. he will do anything in his power to keep you safe. moreover, he will ensure your loved ones are safe as well. for example, when sal goes to prison, ciro visits him on a consistent basis, but mostly he makes sure delores and the kids are doing well.

all this being said, he simultaneously believes that emotions and sentimentality should not cloud one's judgement, and how one feels shouldn't have a say above the logically better decisions. his loyalty is airtight, but so is his sense of pragmatism, and his tendency to look for the long term solutions rather than instant gratification. when someone he cares about is hurt (like, for example, his children) or threatened by someone, he goes about solving the problem in tranquil, meticulous manner. make no mistake, though: it is not any less cutthroat than simply walking and beating the assailant up over it.

ÉMILE.

19. how do they behave within a group? what role(s) do they take? does this differ if they know and trust the group, versus finding themselves in a group of strangers? why?

émile is an introvert who can pass very well for an extrovert, albeit at the cost of his energy. it also vastly depends on whether he trusts the group and the nature/purpose of the group itself.

he can effortlessly take the role of a leader, deciding what is best for the group and calling the shots, bringing people together and making sure everyone is doing well. this tends to happen with people he does not know much; he is the one that takes initiative primarily out of a lack of trust for others' leadership skills -- and because he is very independent and very intolerant to others bossing him around. it's also the sagittarius in him speaking -- sagittarians make good leaders because of their excellent organizational and people skills. at his best, émile is generous, broad-minded, optimistic, and charismatic enough to make people side with him and agree with him. he's also a great listener and protector.

but he can also easily take the role of the lancer/right-hand man. in order for this to happen, he needs to trust the leader greatly, and he will challenge them constantly. he is not someone that blindly follows others: he will act as a great complementary force. he will also appreciate not having to be in the spotlight all the time.

23. how do they respond to difficult social moments? what makes them consider a social situation difficult?

because of the add, émile suffers from emotional dysregulation. ed is a term used in the mental health community that refers to emotional responses that are poorly modulated and do not lie within the accepted range of emotive response. he also suffers from rsd, or rejection sensitive dysphoria, "an extreme emotional sensitivity and pain triggered by the perception that a person has been rejected or criticized by important people in their life".

as a result, émile does not deal with criticism well, or perceived slights (at himself, at his family/relationships), or rejection. he can easily become irritated and that irritation can quickly evolve into intense anger. when he was a child, this presented itself in the form of aggression: while mostly well behaved, he would waste no time snapping back at other boys/bullies when they threw mean comments at him, or lashing out at teachers for criticizing him. he would get into fights just to prove himself as not one to be tested. he did not deal with being scolded by his parents well, either -- he would pretend not to care, but that shit would sting. on more than one occassion, he would cry. he would continue to act out.

he got better with age. more mature, less likely to respond to provocation. he had to set an example for his siblings -- he had to help his parents with raising them, and be a good older brother. still, he worried about being overly sensitive. he would get stressed out very easily, angry very easily, and sad very easily, prompting him into impulsive behaviors. then just like that, these emotions would disappear and be replaced with apathy. he sought out hobbies to help him with that, took up exercise, running, boxing.

nowadays, more self aware and with medication that helps him modulate his emotions properly -- he still considers situations when someone is mad at him or disappointed with him especially difficult, just because of how much it hurts him to be in that position. however, he has tools to deal with it, and not let it overwhelm him. he overthinks a lot, but he has turned it into a good thing. now émile tries his best to solve problems via words and effective communication.

#* ciro.#* emile.#answered ooc.

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theeternalspace · 5 years

Text

In Memoriam 7

Summary: The metal tree had always fascinated the Prince.

Only, it wasn’t a tree.

And, as it turned out, he wasn’t really a Prince. Instead he was… a side of someone’s personality? He doesn’t remember Thomas, or the other sides, those who call themselves his friends. He doesn’t really remember anything, not even his own name, no matter the efforts of Patton, Logan or Virgil. He must venture back into the Wardrobe door, back to the metal tree in an attempt to recover his missing memories and regain everything he has lost.

But perhaps some doors are best left closed for a reason. And perhaps some personas should remain in the ground where they have been buried.

Story Warnings: Sympathetic/Grey Deceit Sanders. He is trying his best you guys. Anxiety. Self doubt and self loathing. Fantasy fighting. Verbal fighting. Threatening behaviour. Blood and injury. Memory loss. Drowning. Near death.

Previous || Next

Roman hated to admit it, but he was freaking out right now.

And not just a little freak out either, he felt as though he was currently in the grip of some intense emotional storm that wanted to drain him dry. He somehow felt even more lost and confused than he had when he first stepped out of the wardrobe and found out that actually he knew nothing. Roman had hoped that a little one on one time with one of his friends, while on a quest would help solidify who he really was.

In some ways it had. Virgil assured him that a lot of the things he found himself instinctively doing were familiar acts that he would have done with his memories. That helped, a lot. To know that he seemed in many ways to be the same person that he had been before. Virgil and the others clearly cared about him a lot so he had to be a good side, a worthy side. He helped Thomas and Roman was looking forward to finally meet him. Or meeting him again, rather. First meeting from his point of view but not from Thomas’ and that was the important thing surely.

Memory loss was confusing. And everything he did was just making him freak out a little more, no matter how hard he tried to remain calm. It made a strange fluttery feeling rise in his chest, some kind of mixed pleasure and horror. It was good. It was all good? He was a good side and he was still that same side now.

Roman found himself examining those traits rather closely regardless.

He was brave, he was reckless at times. He really did go off on quests and act the prince, and slay the monster. Charging directly at an enemy to protect a hiding friend was apparently par for the course when it came to him. As did falling for foolish tricks and eating magic jelly. Sure it had looked rather delicious, but not delicious enough that he should have risked everything just to taste it. It was yet another thing that made Roman uncertain about who he really was.

He seemed... nice? Roman wasn’t completely sure what to make of himself, beyond the hope that he was good. He seemed a little too... fast at times. Too quick to jump onto a thought or an action and just do it without stopping to wonder if it was the right thing to do. Like the jelly.

Roman thought back to all the items he had looked over in his room, things that clearly meant a lot to him because he had kept them, had placed them where he could see them all the time. Most of the posters and stuffed animals left him feeling... not cold exactly. But detached from any positive feelings. They were, again... just nice. Cute too, but he didn’t love them in the way he used to love them. How could he, when he didn’t understand or know the stories and movies they came from?

Then there was the issue of Virgil.

Virgil wasn’t a villain, that much was obvious. He had been so scared about admitting what he was to Roman and although he knew that anxiety didn’t sound like the greatest thing in the world, there was no way that Virgil was anything other than what he appeared to be. Someone trying so hard to do the right thing, and fighting for it every step of the way.

What could be more noble than being afraid, admitting you were afraid, but then managing to do it anyway?

Something niggled at him though, an itch at the base of his skull that refused to be rubbed away.

Virgil had been truly scared to tell him what he really was, as though he feared his reaction more than he would normally. Roman couldn't get the image of Virgil's face out of his mind, that broken hearted look when Roman hadn't instantly said anything in response to his grand admission. He seemed devastated by the silence but there was more than just an awful pain in that expression. There had been... acceptance?

As though he had thought from the start that Roman would react badly to the fact he was Anxiety, or worse, that he thought Roman should react badly to that information. Perhaps it was just the way Virgil was. He was nervous after all, constantly worrying about things and maybe he just automatically thought the worst.

Somehow, despite having no memories, Roman had no doubt that it wouldn't be the first time that Virgil had vastly over exaggerated in his own mind a worst case scenario. Especially since, as it turned out, he was Anxiety and that was a lot of what he probably did.

Yet that didn't seem to explain everything, not completely.

It had to be exhausting to be Virgil all the time. Constantly on your guard, constantly waiting for the shoe to drop, for something to happen that would justify the negative behaviour and feelings. He was Protection of a sort after all and it pleased Roman to think that he had been right. Even if Virgil might not see it - chronic low self esteem appeared to be another aspect to Virgil’s trait. Roman knew him as a protector, constantly jumping in to warn of dangers, always fighting to defend someone else, doing whatever he could to keep everyone safe.

Roman knew him as a worrier, someone who could see danger a mile away, whose mind was constantly busy, whirling away as it tried to work out every possible threat it could.

Roman knew him as a hero because of all of that and so much more besides.

Maybe that hurt and acceptance had purely been because that was how Virgil was trained to view the world around him.

But maybe it was also something to do with Roman too. Patton hadn't wanted to tell, told Roman it wasn't his place, which even at the time had seemed odd and off. As though there was something almost wrong about Virgil, as though there was something shameful about his defining trait.

Surely Patton didn't think ill of Virgil?

The moral side always appeared to be so warm, so friendly. So full of love and close to all of them. Roman couldn’t bare the thought that it might have been a trick, that Patton wasn’t as open as he seemed. It was too cruel a trick, to believe that Patton had been playing him with his apparent caring when in reality he thought Virgil was a danger simply for being Anxiety.

Then again, the other option, that perhaps Roman had once thought ill of Virgil and would revert to that thinking again, was too even more painful, too painful to even think about, Roman cutting off the thought before it could fully form within him. If he refused to give it credence then it couldn’t be true.

He didn’t really know what to make of any of this information. He didn’t know how he was supposed to react to Virgil’s news and the other sides’ own reactions had made him feel as though he had somehow gotten it wrong. Roman hated this feeling of trying to swim through dangerous currents in the dark where he couldn’t see any rocks or traps. It was exhausting.

Roman just wanted to remember again. He wanted to be himself again, because things had to make a whole ton more sense when he could remember all the nuances of his own character. When he knew exactly where he stood with everyone and all the things he couldn’t help but feel they were keeping from him. Roman wanted to know who he really was, he wanted the world to start to make sense again. For things to stop hurting so much, to stop being so confusing and for the pieces to click satisfyingly into place.

He needed to calm down, Roman could feel his heart rate picking up the longer he worried about everything he was missing.

Ironically, Roman felt that the best person to ask for help would be Virgil himself. If anyone knew how to handle the emotions that were hurtling through him, it would be Virgil because he had to fight these kind of bad thoughts all the time surely? He would know how to distract himself properly, how to push them from his mind and focus on anything else.

But Roman didn't want to bother him. He didn't want to add to his stress and his cares. Virgil was clearly worried about so much and the last thing Roman wanted was to place his own shallow little worries on top of everything else that had to be bugging him. Roman just needed to battle through this on his own, needed to work out how to deal with the raging dumpster fire his feelings seemed to have turned into.

“I can feel your nerves you know.” Virgil’s voice was grumpy, the other side rolling his eyes a little from his position beside him, the two on horseback once more, making their way through the snow. “I can’t believe I’m the one saying this, but you need to chill.”

Easier said than done.

Roman knew he needed to chill out. He also needed to let those emotions out, to scream and cry at the world, to rant about how unfair it was and how hard this was. He was surrounded by strangers who all had their own ideas about the sort of person he was and Roman had no idea which of those views were right or not. They were all different, which was only to be expected but that didn’t make his own internal storm any easier to deal with. He needed to break down and hopefully feel better because of it, but at the same time, Roman didn’t want to give in to his weakest and worst emotions. He wanted to be the strong prince Virgil apparently thought he was.

“Hey, hey Ro, look at me?” Virgil was suddenly leaning in front of him, Roman blinking a couple of times and he didn’t remember stopping yet Bree had come to a complete halt, Hwin shifting a little to stand beside him, clearly having turned around to do so.

There was a worried expression on Virgil’s face as he stared at him and Roman didn’t understand why. So he had clearly zoned out for a moment or two, so what? It wasn’t a terrible thing and he was clearly fine so why was Virgil staring at him in a mixture of horror and pity? Roman opened his mouth to say something - what, he wasn’t quite sure - before closing it again, feeling a thick and heavy lump in his throat, something that no matter how hard he swallowed, he couldn’t force down.

“Roman... are you okay?” Virgil’s voice was far softer than it had any right to be, one hand lifting to pat lightly against his own cheek.

Slowly, Roman lifted a hand to his face, brushing against his cheek in a mirror image of Virgil. He pulled his hand back, staring dumbly at his now wet fingertips.

He was crying.

When had he started crying?

“Okay, you know what, this isn’t working,” Virgil still looked concerned as he spoke but there was a determination in his eyes that told Roman his friend had decided on something and wasn’t going to move from it easily.

“It isn’t?” Roman forced out around the thick knot in his throat that still refused to go anywhere. He didn’t think he liked where this was heading. Virgil lifted a hand to rub nervously at the back of his neck, Roman’s eyes following the motion as he did so.

“We can’t just keep... wandering around in the snow, hoping to find some clue. The sledge was a dead end, in that it didn’t tell us where to go next here, but we still have some clues to what happened. If we can’t go forward to solve this, then the only answer is to go backwards.”

“Virgil, you’re not making any sense, what are you saying?” Roman had a pretty good idea he knew what the other man was saying but he didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to believe he was right.

“I’m saying... we should go home Roman,” Virgil told him with a heavy sigh. Roman instantly shook his head and no, no, they couldn’t do that! That wasn’t how the story was supposed to end! They were meant to discover the source of the problem and deal with it. They were meant to defeat the evil and restore his memories before returning in triumph. Not crawling back with their tails between their legs and nothing solved.

“You mean give up,” Roman replied, dimly aware that he was still crying. Silent tears that seemed to flow without any input on his end and why couldn’t he stop crying? Roman lifted an arm, sleeve wiping roughly against his eyes as he tried to swipe away all the tears and it just wasn’t fair that he was crying now. They seemed to be numbing tears more than anything else. They weren’t letting him get his emotions out, they were just making Roman look weak. What was the point of that?

It just made Virgil look at him with that heartbroken expression and that hurt so much more than Roman would have thought possible. It felt as though metal bands had fastened themselves around his heart, clamping down on it and pressing tight, leaving him broken and breathless. It was clear enough for Virgil to see it, which made him look even more upset, which in turn led to Roman feeling more upset. A vicious circle that never seemed to want to end. He gave his eyes a final, last desperate rub, pleased that the tears seemed to be finally coming to an end. Maybe he had just run out of tears.

“This place is hurting you and we don’t know where to go next. It’s not a defeat, it is... just a retreat to find a different way to attack. I am not giving up Roman. I just can’t stand this.” Virgil told him seriously.

Roman frowned a little as he considered the words. Virgil was right of course - they had no idea where to go next and had been travelling for what felt like hours now, just following a track left in the snow with no rhyme or reason. They had no idea where to go next, no clue they could follow. It was hard to even come up with a suggestion as to what they could do instead and Roman had no idea, no plan of his own they could follow. He didn’t want to give up but Virgil was making a lot of sense.

“Okay.”

“... Wait really? Okay? Just like that?” Virgil looked far more surprised than he really had any right to be, some of the fight draining from his body as he realised Roman had actually agreed with him. It made the bands wrapped around Roman’s heart gave another squeeze as he wondered if he had ever said that to Virgil without the fight that the other side had clearly expected. Virgil knew what he was doing, he knew more than Roman at any rate.

“Well yeah... I trust you and your judgement Virgil.” Roman didn’t think he was saying anything ground breaking although really if Virgil had been surprised he had just agreed with him, he should have known that saying something like that would be important.

Virgil’s eyes grew wide as he said those words though, a glassy sheen covering them for a moment before the other side blinked a couple of times, snapping back into his careless looking attitude. Left shoulder rose and fell in a crooked shrug, something a little too casual to really feel real for Roman and it was obvious that his words meant a lot to the other side.

Somehow, that trap around his heart constricted again, tightening ever further and he didn’t know how he could handle the pain, the sensation of his heart being crushed under the weight of his choices and how different they were from the choices he had apparently originally made. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, threatening to fall again and it seemed as though he hadn’t run out of tears after all, hadn’t even come close. Roman wasn’t going to cry though. He wasn’t going to let Virgil think he had done something to make him cry.

Roman wasn’t even sure anymore why he wanted to cry. Frustration at what he had lost was rapidly crystallising into anger, rage directed inward at himself and only himself.

“That’s cool,” Virgil said gruffly, offering Roman a crooked smile to go with his shrug, something small but there. It felt like an honest expression, a smile of thanks, of relief, dare Roman even think it, of joy to know that Roman thought that of him.

He really had never said anything like that before, had he? He had never been honest about how he felt, had never encouraged Virgil, never tried to lift him up and Roman couldn’t think of any excuse that could possibly justify such behaviour.

“Home then?”

“Home,” Roman agreed, the word still sounding a little funny, a little foreign coming from him. What was home anyway? Patton and Logan were home. Thomas was home and he was impatient to actually talk to him, to gain some understanding as to what role Roman actually played. It was all very well to say he was Creativity, to say that he was a prince that went on noble quests but what did that actually mean in practise?

Maybe they would find the answers they had been seeking when they returned to the house in the mind. For all they knew Logan and Patton between them might have come up with a solution already and were just waiting for them to get back. Then there was the jelly that Virgil still had on him, who knew what secrets Logan could unlock within it if he had to, who knew what he could find out. If he could discover the poison, that was a step closer in making the antidote and before Roman knew it, he could be back to his old self again.

Maybe things would work out.

And maybe... maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world if he didn’t get his memories back. Maybe the Roman they all knew wasn’t as good as any of them liked to hope. Maybe this was his go at a second chance at being a better friend. The sort of Roman he was meant to be.

Maybe he could become a new Creativity, one that could say nice things to his friends - let alone call them his friends - without them looking as though he had just proclaimed his deepest, most heartfelt love for them. It shouldn’t shock Virgil as much as it had done, just to say he trusted him and Roman knew he needed to change.

He needed to become someone that didn’t have an aching heart.

With a click of his tongue, Roman gently urged Bree to move, letting the horse turn away from the endless white of the path to nowhere and instead returned to the... well, endless white of the path that lay behind them, the prints of hooves the only thing breaking up the monotony of white and even they were starting to be lost under the endless falling snow. At least it gave them something to follow for now.

Thoughts were swirling as they made their way back towards the Wardrobe and actual warmth which, if nothing else, Roman was looking forward to. He wanted to do something fun with Virgil, but what?

Roman looked down at the snow, an idea forming in his mind.

Time was one hundred percent messing with him in this world and Virgil was one hundred percent done with the reality defying laws of physics that did whatever they pleased depending on the moment.

They had been travelling for over a day and a half since leaving the Wardrobe and striking out first to the sledge and then the camp overnight. Not to mention the hours upon hours of travelling as they had moved from their camp in their aimless wandering.

It should have taken them at least a similar time back, Virgil resigning himself to another night of guarding Roman - and this time hopefully not letting his friend down by falling asleep - and yet the sun was just starting to sink under the horizon as they reached the clearing that housed the lamppost and beyond, the way back to the mind. They hadn’t even passed the snow covered remains of their campsite, and Virgil knew it couldn’t have snowed so much as to obscure all traces completely.

Time and distance were pressing in on themselves, twisting around so that things happened faster than they should. It was infuriating and the only reason Virgil hadn’t completely lost his mind over the whole thing was the thought that at least it was almost over. He was clinging to that thought, almost chanting it to himself that this was almost done, that they just had to get back through the Wardrobe and they would be back in a place that made a little more sense at least. Virgil knew the rules in the mind, he knew how things worked.

“This is where Hwin and I must part ways with you both. We have our homes to return to, but should you ever require our assistance again, simply place your hand upon the metal tree and call for us. The message will be sent and we will respond,” Bree announced grandly, coming to a stop to allow Roman to dismount. Hwin and Virgil followed suit a few seconds later and as grateful as Virgil had been to having a lift, he had to be honest, he was happier to be using his own feet again. He couldn’t help but feel a lot more steady walking than balanced atop a horse.

“Thank you Hwin,” Virgil murmured softly, reaching up to pat her neck carefully. Just because he was glad he was able to walk once more didn’t mean he had to be rude and he was appreciative for her help. They wouldn’t have been able to get nearly as far as they had without them.

Or maybe they would. Reality was confusing here after all. Regardless, they wouldn’t have been able to find the sledge without Bree helping and it was just good manners to thank them. No point making extra enemies, especially when Virgil had so many of those to start with.

Virgil might not know a lot about friendship and people in general, but he knew enough to know you were supposed to thank them when they did something nice for you.

“My pleasure Virgil. Don’t forget Bree’s words, they go double for me and for you. I am here if you have need of me,” Hwin promised, her voice gentle yet there was an undercurrent of seriousness to it, an intent as though she was saying more than the words would originally imply. That or Virgil was getting overly paranoid.

Either was about equally likely.

“Okay...” Virgil said slowly, turning the words over in his mind, trying to gleam some understanding as to what she could be trying to tell him. Maybe he was just overthinking it, and Hwin didn’t know what to say either. She didn’t seem eager to say anything else, to offer any hints as to what she could mean, the mare simply looking at him for a couple of moments longer.

With a soft stamp of one of her front hooves, Hwin turned away, starting to move through the forest away from them and no doubt towards the area that she called home, Bree a length or two behind her. Or else she was moving away to a place that didn't exist because Roman hadn’t imagined it into existence yet, with the possibility that the pair of them might vanish from the world completely once they left the little bubble that Roman and Virgil were currently in.

Maybe, in a way, they were heading to their death, written out of the story like minor characters, never to make an appearance again. Perhaps her words had been that, a silent plea that he had ignored because he was socially incompetent and didn’t understand.

That was another reason why Virgil didn’t like going to the Imagination - he got way too dark and real about things like that. Either he refused to engage in the scenario at all, which normally lead to Roman pouting and claiming he was ruining the scene, or else he did engage. And then got invested in the characters as actual people and had to deal with the heartbreak of losing them forever when Thomas and Roman eventually got bored with whatever it was and forgot about them. When that happened that area of the mind would eventually get replaced by the newest obsession that had gripped Thomas.

It probably wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone to learn that Virgil listed separation anxiety among the many, many anxieties that plagued him.

Part of Virgil knew it was foolish, because Hwin, Bree and the White Wizard himself weren’t real and so it was technically impossible to be upset that they were gone. They were literally characters, a twisted mix of something Thomas had once read and the spin Roman put on them to make them his own. That was even worse, because Roman worked so hard on all his characters and he made them all have their own little quirks which made them so much more than the versions on paper. Which meant Virgil got that much more attached to them and right back round to the pain of losing them.

Losing fiction characters and being upset by it, how pathetic was that?

By that same logic of course, Virgil, Roman and the others weren’t real either which Virgil knew but he tried to save those kind of existential crises thoughts for early in the morning when he and Thomas had nothing better to do. There was so much about the Sides which made no sense, the way in which they could like things that Thomas didn’t or vice versa.

He was certainly going to be thinking about this topic long into the night when he had nothing else to distract him, that was for sure. But for now, he had something else to focus on, he had this moment and that would have to be enough.

Virgil watched the pair ride off, following them until they had vanished completely between the trees before sighing heavily. This was it. They had made the choice and they were going home where hopefully Logan would have come up with an answer. Where they could be safe at least. He had been surprised Roman had agreed so easily and some part of Virgil couldn’t relax, waiting for the trick, the sting in the tail.

Things were never that easy and he was used to having to fight every step of the way just to be heard. To have someone, anyone, give in so easily to him, just made Virgil that much more anxious than if he had to prove his point. Virgil started to turn back towards Roman, thoughts still twisting and squirming inside of his mind. Which was pretty much par for the course really and would cause him problems down the line when he wanted to sleep. That was future Virgil’s problem, present Virgil had enough on his plate as it was without thinking about that.

“Okay Rom-” Words were cut off by a snowball direct to his face, the coldness making him gasp slightly as he was suddenly blinded by white. Everywhere white.

For a moment it felt as though as his brain had completely disconnected and all he could think was a low frequency static that just buzzed in the back of his brain. Words started to form in his brain once more, slowly coming back online but little more than one thought at a time, mental fingers struggling to find anything to grip onto in order to climb back out of the white hole he had been thrown into.

Snow.

Face.

Cold.

Shock.

Snowball?

Laughter - mean?

No, not mean, not mocking.

Light.

Bright.

Roman

No rock.

No... rock?

Virgil lifted a hand slowly, wiping some of the snow off his face, small chunks dropping from his fingers to land harmlessly on the ground beside him. His fingers were cold from where he had touched the light flakes, and the snowball hadn’t been packed very tight. It had still mostly been fluffy snow instead of ice pressed down.

There hadn’t been a rock inside of it. Well of course there wouldn’t be, would there. This was Roman after all, this was his friend, someone he could trust. There was a difference between knowing that however and actually knowing it, between believing it down to his bones and his body was a lot less trusting than his mind. It had flinched and sought to protect itself without giving him that extra second he needed to know that it was safe.

Some part of Virgil was still grappling with the fact that there really hadn’t been a rock inside of it and he had just had his first, genuine snowball flung at him.

He gaped at Roman who had formed another snowball and was standing a few feet away from him, a bright grin on his face.

“Ready for more?” The words were clearly taunting and yet the tone of voice wasn’t. Teasing perhaps, but friendly, excited for a snowball fight. Roman pulled his arm back and he seemed to slow down, his movements becoming that much more exaggerated, Virgil almost able to see what he was going to do a second before he actually did them.

Fight or flight kicked in, Virgil ducking and diving to the side, using a nearby tree as cover as he scooped up a handful of snow of his own, frantically patting it into a ball. He had no idea what was going on or why Roman had decided to start a snowball fight of all things but there was little time to wonder and worry about the why when he was stuck in the middle of it actually happening.

He heard the snowball impact against the tree he was hiding behind and again, the sound was fairly soft, the projectile coming apart the moment it hit anything hard.

There wasn’t a rock in that one either.

In the back of his mind, Virgil wondered how many snowballs Roman was going to throw before his mind and body got the message that there would never be a rock or any other nasty surprise hidden within. When was he finally going to get it through his thick skull that they didn’t want to hurt him?

Even as he was thinking that, Virgil was moving, slipping from tree to tree, always using them as cover as he started to circle Roman. He needed to keep moving, keep him distracted while Virgil planned his next move, his brain working overtime. This was different though, this was almost good because his brain was working on something positive, on a task that he could actually do.

Another snowball flew overhead, Virgil blindly tossing his crudely made one back in Roman’s direction. It probably wouldn’t hit but then the intention wasn’t to actually hit but to simply disorientate Roman, to make him underestimate him and give Virgil another few precious seconds to get behind another tree and away from any new flying cold menace. He might still not understand the why, but that no longer mattered, not with adrenaline pumping through his veins.

If Roman wanted a fight like this, he was going to get one. It was never a wise idea to take on the literal representation of fight or flight and he had no idea who he was messing with. This was one fight that Virgil was going to win.

#sanders sides #in memoriam #aca writes #long post

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metalchick19-blog · 5 years

Text

The Bowers Gang: How the Guys Would Treat a Self-Conscious S/O with Sexual Trauma/What Their First Time Would Be Like (Anonymous Request)

Trigger warning: Contains themes related to sexual assault

* Any and all credit for this idea goes to the requestor.

Belch: Belch would be extremely understanding of an s/o with confidence issues, to the point where it would almost seem like the two were made for each other - unlike the other guys, Belch has struggled with low self-esteem his entire life, and still does on a day-to-day basis. Because of that, he would have a firm grasp on exactly what his partner was feeling, and would do anything necessary to make sure they felt beautiful, intelligent, and appreciated at all times. Out-of-the-blue compliments, private dates, and big, cuddly bear hugs would be a must, along with almost constant waves and smiles when he saw them in school. Really, Belch would just go out of his way to make sure his s/o felt acknowledged; he would want to make his feelings for them apparent, so that they would always be certain they mattered. When it comes to learning his partner had experienced sexual trauma, Belch likely wouldn’t know how to react at first - he’d just quietly let them explain what happened. Afterwards though, Belch wouldn’t hesitate to let them know how much he genuinely cared for them, and would be serious about letting them know that they could come to him whenever they needed to talk. He would also be noticeably more protective over them after hearing it, to the extent where he might even argue with Patrick about toning down his creep-ish ways when his s/o was around (which, sadly, would never happen). Their first time together would be calm, quiet, and as gentle as humanly possible:

Almost afraid to touch his s/o at first

Starts by moving very slowly

Deep, passionate kisses punctuated by soft breaths

Holds his partner close in hopes that it will make them feel safer

Slowly begins to undress them, but pauses every once in a while to check their comfort-level

“Are you sure?” x10

“Are you sure?” (once more, for good measure)

Whispers sweet nothings in his partner’s ear the entire time

Insists they stay the night afterwards for ice cream and cuddles

Henry: When it comes to having a self-conscious s/o, Henry wouldn’t necessarily make his s/o’s confidence issues worse, but he wouldn’t do much to make them better either. Being that Henry has extremely low self-esteem himself, and being that his concept of a woman’s role in a relationship comes directly from his Father (woman = subordinate/support), Henry would be much more focused on his partner’s responsibility to pump him up than on his own responsibility to do the same for them. It wouldn’t be because he didn’t care about them, per say, but would most accurately be linked to Henry’s tendency to prioritize his own needs first - because of that self-focused disposition, Henry most likely wouldn’t even notice his partner had a self-esteem problem unless they explicitly told him about it. He does throw compliments around pretty easily though (especially about his partner’s face and body), and so would have a chance at affecting their body image in a positive way. If he were to learn that his partner had endured sexual trauma, Henry would first become very awkward about the situation - like Belch, he would listen quietly, but he probably wouldn’t make eye contact or even change his facial expression after his partner had finished the story. He would sit in puzzling (maybe even slightly hurtful) silence, desperately trying to come up with the right thing to say, but seeming to his s/o to be very unemotional about the whole thing. In the end, Henry would just put a hand on his partner’s shoulder, and squeeze - the only way he could think of to express his sympathy. From there on, he wouldn’t tolerate anyone looking at, talking to, or even coming near his s/o, adopting a fiercely protective nature that would end up in the beating of almost every male in Derry High. Henry’s first time with his s/o would still be slightly rough, but significantly more gentle than normal:

Kisses his partner hard at first, then suddenly flinches back

Looks down at the ground for a moment, remembering

Brings a hand to his s/o’s face

Moves in again, slowly

Heartfelt tongue kisses that turn into gradual undressing

Starts to get too passionate/intense every few minutes, and has to pause to calm himself down

Genuinely trying so hard not to be scary

Picks up his partner and carries them to the bed

Keeps saying comforting things, but always in an angry tone of voice (because emotional illiteracy)

“...I’m not gonna’ hurt you, you know. It’s… just tell me to stop, and I will, alright?”

Goes very slow to avoid losing control

Lets his s/o lay on his chest afterwards

Secretly runs a hand through their hair once they fall asleep

Patrick: Patrick couldn’t care less about having an s/o with confidence issues - if he improved their self-esteem, it wouldn’t be on purpose, and would most likely be owed to his constant raunchy comments about their face and body. Basically, he could improve body image, but wouldn’t be good for much else; in fact, Patrick might find it funny to use his partner’s lack of self-confidence against them in certain situations. He loves to see people blush, and so might force them into unexpected social situations or embarrass them just to see them sweat. In a lot of ways, it might be better that Patrick didn’t know his s/o struggled at all, as he would absolutely target it as a weakness rather than try to help them feel better in any way. If Patrick were to find out his partner had experienced sexual trauma, his initial reaction would be the most inappropriate out of the group (as usual): excitement. He would beam, lean into his partner’s words, and insist on being given as much detail as possible to paint the picture in his head. He would have a visible hard-on (which he might even stroke through his pants as they told the story), and would feel nothing in the way of sympathy whatsoever. After his initial interest had waned, Patrick might actually become a little irritable about the situation - he would feel like something had been stolen from him in a way, being that someone that wasn’t himself had traumatized “his property.” Eventually he might ask his s/o who had done it in an attempt to find them (which wouldn’t go well for that person at all), but he would give up easily if he found they were gone. In the wake of finding out the news, Patrick would bring up his partner’s trauma on a fairly regular basis, joking about it constantly with the guys even though none of the rest of them would find it funny. In special circumstances (i.e. when his s/o made him angry) Patrick even might refer to them as “damaged goods,” in an attempt to to hit them where it hurt. Patrick’s first time with his s/o would be in no way good for his s/o’s psyche, and it would likely get worse as time went on:

Comes onto his partner the first time they come to his house (two weeks after they told him their story)

Is aggressive and forceful on purpose, because he wants to see the response

Holds his partner’s hands against the wall

Kisses them hard, bites their neck, and starts ripping their clothes off with his free hand

Throws them onto his bed once they’re completely naked

Unbuckles his belt with a smile

“Okay, baby… my turn to see what you feel like.”

Tries to recreate the circumstances and style of his partner’s traumatic experience as closely as he can - goes rough if their attacker was rough, soft if their attacker was soft, and may say things he was told their attacker said

Truly wants to see his partner in the exact state they were in when they were assaulted

Leaves immediately after finishing, but tells them to leave their bedroom window open that night so he can come over for more

Victor: To an s/o with self-esteem issues, Victor would be nothing short of a knight in shining armor. He’s very perceptive, and so would most likely key into their low self-image long before they started dating - in fact, it might even be the reason they start dating in the first place. Being that Victor is a compassionate person by nature, he’s often drawn to people he feels he can “fix” in some way (hence his entire friendship with Henry and the guys). Because of that, he’d most likely seek out and genuinely enjoy dating someone he could encourage on a regular basis, because it would make him feel like he was doing something worthwhile for their life. He’d leave love notes in his s/o’s locker, touch them whenever the opportunity presented itself, and, in general, devote a lot of time to really learning about who they were as a person. Their dreams, their nightmares, their hurts - Victor would want to know it all, and would make it known to them how much he valued the moments when his partner chose to open up. In being told that his partner had experienced sexual trauma, Victor would hold their hand in his, and listen attentively as they re-lived the story. He would face them, gaze into their eyes, and let his hurt for them show all over his face. At the end of it all, he would just sit quietly before wrapping them in his arms; he would let his s/o bury their head in his neck, shielding them with his body as best he could. In the days that followed, Victor would adopt an even more potent gentleness toward his s/o, and a viciousness towards anyone that gave them trouble - he would be absolutely unwilling to let more harm come to them, regardless of the form it took. His eyes would soften, his kisses would become more heartfelt, and he’d find himself being who he genuinely is more than ever before. Victor’s first time with his s/o would be truly special - romantic and real in every way:

Takes his s/o on a late-night date to the quarry first

Sets up a picnic, candles, and a boom-box playing his partner’s favorite songs

Partner convinces him to take a night swim after eating

Swimming becomes skinny-dipping

Kisses his partner in the water and holds them close, caressing their body and telling them how much they mean to him

Says “I love you” for the first time

Swims with his partner back to shore

Lays with them - kisses their hands, stomach, legs, arms, everything

Checks often to see if they’re trembling

Truly cares about their experience with all his heart

“Are you okay?” x 15

Stays on top throughout so he can see their face - conveys with his eyes how much he adores them

Takes them back to his house afterward for showers, movies, and overnight cuddles

* I apologize for Patrick’s part in this, as it was truly hard to write - I ask that everyone keep in mind his basic character, and know I was doing my best to write him as he is.

#henry bowers #patrick hockstetter #belch huggins #victor criss #the bowers gang #the bowers gang headcanons #it

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throwaway-sinfulwriter · 5 years

Text

The Same - Chapter Two - Martin

There was not a single person on the Earth that Martin Whitley loved more than his son.

The boy was a demon to his devil, a knight to his king.

Martin cherished him above all others, and had been carefully grooming him in his own footsteps from a young age.

Malcolm was born after 2 years of marriage, a quite unhappy 2 years of marriage. In Martin's opinion.

Martin hadn't particularly wanted to marry Jessica, but she was a respected philanthropist in the city and his pool of clientele and colleagues alike widened when they married. And she was loaded.

It was beneficial at best, toxic at worst. Jessica loved to drink in her free time, and often lost her inhibitions.

It wasn't attractive to Martin at all. It made his lip curl up, anger boil in his stomach.

However, being married to Jessica was a good way to let his aggression out. In fights, in (frankly unsatisfying) sex, and arguing over work, space, and anything they could underneath the sun.

Finding out Jessica was pregnant 2 years in was both a blessing and a curse.

At this point in his life, Martin had only killed a handful of times, but they were much more satisfying and thrilling than anything else he had done in his life.

Immediately, looking at the ultrasound machine as the doctor droned on and on about vitamins, check-ups, and a due-date, he worried. Not for the child, or Jessica. But for himself.

How was he going to have the time to murder with a child?

Turns out, it was much easier than expected.

Halfway through the pregnancy, after they had learned the gender of the child, it dawned on him that his son could be just like him.

It made him grin like a madman, someone to carry on his legacy.

Martin picked up more surgeries, working efficiently and saving money even though they were filthy rich. He wanted his son to have the best welcome to the world, with his father by his side.

When Martin was home, he would stay by Jessica's side. Not for the woman, no, she was quite dull, actually. Complaining constantly. Of course, he never expressed this. He had perfect control of his emotions.

No, he stayed for the roundness of her belly, his son beginning to kick.

Singing a lullaby to her belly as she slept, stroking the curve obsessively, practically shaking out of his skin when a foot kicked at the surface, brushing his fingers.

The birth was long and messy, but it was all worth it when his boy was held up by the doctor. Coated in red and screaming his existence into the world.

He was beautiful.

Martin felt genuine tears well in his eyes for what felt like the first time as he cut the cord, separating this angel from the wretched woman who so tortured him during her pregnancy.

After Malcolm was swaddled, Jessica insisted on holding him. Martin's hands twitched incessantly. He itched to hold his son.

While Jessica held his child, Martin surveyed the hospital staff, silently deducing how each and every one of their deaths would occur. From quick and clean, to long and messy.

It calms him in the trying time.

His deducing is interrupted by a clearing of the throat. His gaze snaps to Malcolm, eyes slowly trailing up to Jessica. Secondarily.

"Do you want to hold him?" She asks, sitting up more with an exhausted smile.

"Oh, yes, please. You rest now, love. I'll keep him safe." It felt like his smile would split his face as he carefully held his son, cradling him to his chest.

Those first few weeks are the times Martin looks back fondly, when he took a hiatus from killing to solely care for Malcolm.

Jessica developed postpartum depression after leaving the hospital. It was quite inconvinent for Martin, and Malcolm by proxy.

"Please, love." It wasn't often that Martin truly begged. This wasn't acting, like it usually was with Jessica. "Please feed him."

Malcolm was squirming in his eyes, face red and angry as he bawled his lungs out. He was hungry.

"I can't." Jessica sobbed, pulling the blanket over her, turning away from him. Turning away from her duty as a mother. To provide nourishment for their son.

"You.. you must. Jessica, don't you hear him crying?" He leans in, closer to the lump under the blankets.

"I CAN HEAR HIM JUST FINE! HE NEEDS TO SHUT UP!" She screamed suddenly, ripping the blankets off of her, her face stained with tears, wild and angry.

"GET HIM OUT OF HERE, MARTIN!" Malcolm was wailing at the top of his lungs, unhappy with his mother's screaming. Martin's heart hurt, listening to it.

Dumbfounded, he took the babe out of their room, taking him to his nursery.

"Shh, my boy, shh.." Martin patted his son's back, rocking him back and forth gently. His crying had lessened, but he was still fussing greatly.

Thankfully, the newlywed father had bought formula in advance, just in case. He briefly set Malcolm down in his crib as he prepared the formula.

Afterwards, sitting down in the rocking chair he had built in the nursery, he was quite pleased with the situation.

Holding Malcolm to his chest, he watched and rocked as the babe ate his meal. His eyes (just like his father's) were half shut in contentment, and he lay docile in his arms after he had been burped.

Martin kissed his forehead, whispering to him. "It's quite alright, my boy. You were always meant to be daddy's boy."

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

Malcolm was an ever curious child, constantly asking questions and wondering about what his father was up to.

It was both wonderful and terrible, as it was so adorable it made Martin's lips curl involuntarily. But it was also troublesome, once he got back into the "scene."

(No, not that scene. Though he had been involved with that as well. He had quite enjoyed being a dominant.)

Killing took up a good chunk of his time, that of experiments and hiring people for disposal, so there were instances where Martin had to leave Malcolm in the hands of his mother.

This never quite went well, as Jessica was quite blunt and didn't have an ounce of maternal instinct in her blood.

More often than not, Martin would return home with a lapful of angsty Malcolm in his lap, and Jessica with a glass of wine in her hand or a cigarette between her lips.

However, Malcolm was shaping out quite nicely. Time was passing fairly quickly now, and he mentally recorded every little quirk and tick his boy had, all with a gleeful expression.

The only thing other that had ever made him this happy was watching the life drain out of someone's eyes.

Everything was going well, until it wasn't. Jessica was pregnant once more, which left a sour taste in Martin's mouth. Something felt.. off.

He didn't have time to worry about it.

He was significantly less present during the pregnancy, leaving Jessica to fend on her own as he took care of their son. Nourishing him and lavishing him with attention.

Beaming when Malcolm drew him pictures and told his father how much he loved him.

Jessica went into labour at the house, and it was Martin's duty to get them to the hospital. He worried more about Malcolm than Jessica, making sure the boy wore his coat and shoes and brought everything he would possibly need at hospital.

His wariness of the pregnancy is quickly explained, as the girl comes out of her mother's womb with light blonde hair. With his own darkbrown hair, and Jessica's reddish brown, this is highly unlikely.

The child is not his, but to put up appearances, he kisses her wrinkly forehead and names her Ainsley.

Jessica loves Ainsley to pieces, which infuriates Martin to no end. He is downright furious, watching the wretch of his wife coddle and breastfeed the girl.

The only thing that brings joy to his life is blood on his hands and his dear Malcolm's smile.

Martin teaches his son how to ride a bike, holding onto the back of it until Malcolm is balanced, and letting go.

Of course, this only works in the literal sense. Martin had made a vow when Malcolm was born, he would never, ever let the boy go.

Still, he is proud when Malcolm rides by himself, and shouts happily. He looks a bit like a buffoon, but Malcolm's beaming smile makes up for everything, filling his heart with a bright feeling.

He embraces his son, lifting him off the ground and repeating "My boy, my boy.." Proudly. He doesn't miss how his son buries his face into his neck, inhaling deeply. Greedily.

It strikes him as odd, at first, as he has seen no other child do such a thing when being affectionate. However, he rolls his eyes at himself and kisses the top of Malcolm's head. Tells himself he's being silly.

Malcolm was no other child. He was his.

It's around this time that his killings become more sadistic, more planned. He begins the Quartet, mixing drugs from his work and injecting it into his prey's hearts.

It is so poetically beautiful, the fear in their eyes, the frozen stiffness of their trapped bodies.

It gives him a rush unlike any other.

Afterwards, when he's soaking in the adrenaline, panting like a man running a thousand mile race, Martin wonders how Malcolm will take his own victims.

When the time comes, of course.

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

Martin knew that Malcolm had called the police.

Of course he knew. It was only a matter of time before the boy did. After he had caught on.

Malcolm was always too good for his depraved, monstrous father. He had a kind heart, and good judgement.

That would change as he got older, Martin was certain of it.

Yes, he thinks as he tells Malcolm he will always love him, they are the same, cuffs clicking around his wrists.

It is only a matter of time.

And time is now all he has.

The pain of separation from Malcolm is unlike any other. It is worse than hearing his cries as a babe, even worse than when Martin's own father beat him for hours, until he could no longer move.

It is a long three years, but the feeling of seeing his boy's face is much more intense than any feelings of sorrow.

Even if he falters, even if he can't answer his son's questions. He is just so happy to see him.

The next 7 years are tough, but wonderful at the same time. Malcolm visits him diligently, like the good lad he is. He brings a notebook, writing down notes of certain conversations and topics his father brings up.

Malcolm blossoms into his teenage years before his eyes, and Martin is mesmerized.

The boy's bone structure is stunning, one perk of his mother. His skin is nearly flawless, only a few blemishes of youth dotting the area of his face. His lips fill out.

Though his eyes.. His eyes will always be Martin's favorite feature.

His eyes say so much, even when his guard is up. Every emotion, every thought. Martin can read him like a well loved book by then, is able to predict what his son will say just by the glimmer in his eye.

Which is why Martin is surprised he didn't catch on sooner. It isn't until Malcolm is writing incredibly fast one visit, his pen slips from his fingers.

And falls into Martin's cell. The boy looks horrified.

Martin bends in his chair, licking his lips and picking the pen up. Holding it out to his son. "Here you are, my dear boy."

"Th-thank you." Malcolm stutters out, still caught off guard by his own clumsiness. When he takes the pen back, their fingers brush and the boy shivers. Averting his gaze as a red flush spreads across his cheeks.

Oh. Oh, this is delightful.

Afterwards, he begins to push the boys boundaries every visit. A wink or two in a joking manner, smiling at him more and adding more nicknames into his speech.

Malcolm never disappoints, turning red and fumbling over his speech, his notes, his eyes not sure where to look.

Truly, his boy is so predictable.

Until the visits stop.

Initially, Martin is confused. They were making so much progress, Malcolm always seemed so bashful and content with their visits.

What changed?

Ah, the FBI. Malcolm had only mentioned it once, but Martin had gotten so heated over it that Malcolm had look genuinely scared for a moment. Perhaps that was why?

No, no, he argues with himself, that can't be it..

It's a long, gruelling decade, sulking in his cell. Thinking of his son as he ages, wondering what he's up to, how he has been.

Not directly influencing his boy puts Marttin on edge. He needs to see him.

Martin asks the guards to call him, ask why he hasn't been visiting. The only thing he gets back is a call from Jessica, saying that Malcolm doesn't want to see him anymore.

What good will that do him. He hasn't trusted the woman since the breastmilk incident.

So, he must wait. And wait. Until his beloved boy returns to him. Returns to where he belongs.

Malcolm is beautiful. That is all the Martin can think, even as his son pulls out the detective card and deliberately wounds him by calling him "Dr. Whitley."

Even as Malcolm goes on about a copycat, he cannot take his eyes off of him. Off of him and the door, exactly.

He doesn't want his precious boy to leave. He wants him to stay, stay with him forever, safe. Together.

Malcolm calls him out on it, and Martin can only express his surprise. Suddenly, the tables have turned. He cannot help but grin, agree to help him.

Even after he's left, Martin cannot stop smiling. He knows Malcolm will come back.

The boy does, of course. Just like Martin knew he would. Even just to gloat about a copycat behind bars, Malcolm is seeking his father's approval.

And his approval he has. Martin tries not to ogle so openly, but he feels starving, after not seeing the boy for so long.

It's like seeing a completely different person. But yet, Malcolm is aching familiar.

Martin stands as his son does, trying to convince him to come again.

"There's so much more I can teach you about murder.." He sounds casual, but inside he is bursting with psychotic glee. "Maybe we can solve a few.. Together."

Martin gives him son a heated look, his hands fidgeting with his cuffs. He watches Malcolm's Adam's apple bob as he swallows.

Still so easy to manipulate, to mold to what he wants.

"Goodbye, Doctor Whitley." He gives his father a curt nod, his gaze lingering for too long to be anything but suggestive, and Martin's stomach twists pleasantly.

The door shuts behind him, and Martin breaks out into a smile.

"My dear boy.." He says to the empty room, still grinning.

Martin will see him soon. He is sure of it.

#my fic #my writing #psycho sin #malcolm/martin #prxdigal sxn

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