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hanazuma-inactive · 3 years

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Hi! Don't know if you're doing requests now or if this will interest you but... How about a Bokuto x male reader where Bokuto is usually the top when they do it but the one time he bottoms for the reader, he just can't get enough and started to beg to be fucked all the time. Maybe when they're all alone in the locker room

Its okay if you can't haha

songbird, (nsfw) bokuto x top!male reader

pronouns: he/him (FEMALE ORIENTED DNI!!)

warnings: begging, reader is a bottom to begin with, public sex (?) (fucking in a locker room where no ones there), creampie, a tiny bit of overstimulation, degredation if u squint and praise. spit as lubrication, finger sucking.

a/n: i’m writing this at 2 am with like no energy left whatsoever please excuse me if the quality isnt as good as usual and it’s a bit shorter i swear i’m trying my best im not trynna rush requests i just have a lot and theres too many things i need to work on :(

_____

"heh? look at you now kou'...cock dripping precum and i'm not even touching it! how cute~"

"p-please y/n just start moving already i want it so bad…" bokuto whimpered, settled on your cock while you relaxed on the bench.

"if you say so, my little songbird."

dating bokuto was pretty much a dream of yours. something about his positive and silly personality really made you fall in love with him. you weren't able to confess until second year when your friends pushed you. only to find out the owl looking man had a crush on you too. which explains why he was always more cheery around you than other people, maybe a little too much but you didn't mind.

your relationship fostered quickly due to the two of you already being friends and on the volleyball team. bokuto couldn't have been more happy, if he was already so ecstatic around you just as friends it's hard to imagine how excited he can be when you too are in a relationship. and as expected, his excitement was very well proven in other ways too. after both of you turned 18 in your third year, bokuto took you home right after drinking with your friends.

he's been waiting for this since his second year, a few months after you two became official. you were irresistible to him. like the himbo he is, he likes every part of you. your face, your ass, and of course your cock. every part of you excited him to the max. now that both of you are finally legal, he couldn't keep it in his pants any longer. so it was that night, you lost your virginity to the man of your dreams.

a unspoken rule but bokuto just assumed he was the top in the relationship. you didn't have any complaints about it since he was good with it. his stamina was over the roof for what an average person at his age should be. not only his stamina but also his cock. it makes you feel good everytime no exceptions. you also don't know where he learned it but the tricks he pulled off simply felt heavenly. every movement, every spot he reached and every word he said makes you closer and closer to an orgasm than you already were when you're with him. it's been like that in the bedroom ever since then and neither of you had the thought of changing it, until today.

you two were doing your usual flirting after the clock after practice. cleaning up the courts together and hanging away the nets. all your other teammates usually just give you an eye roll and leave the gym before you even get the chance to change. leaving the two of you alone, yet again, in the locker rooms.

"bo' are you hungry? we can grab something on the way back if you are-" your sentence was cut off when the taller male approached you and gave you a hug from behind.

"hehe, of course i'm hungry~ only for you though," bokuto said with a grin on his face.

"oh? what are you trying to suggest here?" you said, ruffling with his gray toned hair.

"well, no one's here anymore and it's just us...so why don't we…" he said reaching down towards your pants.

"sounds like a good idea to me~" you said, giving him a peck on the lips, making him blush.

"h-hey, why don't we try something new today! i've been meaning to ask you this-"

"oh sure what is it w-woah!"

before you knew it bokuto already dragged your pants down and got on one knee. even a dumbass would know what he's trying to do in this position.

"well well~ look what we have here." bokuto said with a smirk on his face fiddling with your cock through your underwear.

you let out a low giggle, getting the clue of what your boyfriend was trying to do.

"slow down there bo' no need to rush" you said as you removed your underwear too and let held it in your hands in front of bokuto's mouth.

"go on, this is what you wanted right?"

bokuto was a little startled due to the change of energy from you and gulped a group of spit down his throat. but eagerly, he still began to work on your cock with his mouth.

he was clumsy with it and you could tell he'd never given a blowjob in his life before. but you gotta admit, his attempt of trying to please you, doing something new like this for the first time was incredibly cute. he struggled a little trying to take in your entire cock and due to his gag reflex not being the best you could hear some gagging noises coming in between your thighs.

"oh fuck…just like that kou' you're doing so well…" you said, pressing your hand into his hair and slowly adapting a rhythm.

bokuto's eyes became hazy and you could tell he was getting lost in your cock. you looked down to see his shorts forming a wet spot where his hard cock is. you pulled him away from your cock and leaned back on the bench, leaving him begging for something to fill him.

"c'mon, big boy, isn't this what you wanted?"

too lost for words your boyfriend simply climbed on top of you and took off his trousers too, leaving both of your hard cocks exposed.

"why don't we get started, suck on these fingers with that pretty mouth of yours won't you baby?" you said sitting back up and leaning a bit towards bokuto.

"y-yes y/n…" bokuto said as he closed his eyes and took two of your fingers into his mouth, gradually taking three.

"that's it good boy~ but…i think you've had enough of that now." you pulled you fingers out of bokuto's mouth, leaving him yet again empty.

"lean in on my shoulders ko' that's right...just, like, that"

you slowly moved your already wet fingers into bokuto's ass, starting with two to loosen him up and moving on to three to further stimulate his pleasure point.

"a-ah fuck! y/n what is that! i-it feels weird…" he whined as you pressed again and again on his prostate.

"oh you'll see bo' it'll make you feel so much better in just a minute…" you said pulling out your fingers and pushing bokuto back in a position where you can see him while he rides you.

"go on, i know you want it inside you~"

you could tell bokuto was nervous but he gathered the courage to place your hard cock inside him, with a lot of effort of course. he moaned in pain and pleasure as you enter him entirely. waiting for him to settle in, you cup his cheek to tell him how good he's being.

"heh... look at you now kou...cock dripping precum and i'm not even touching it! how cute~"

"p-please y/n just start moving already i want it so bad…" bokuto whimpered, settled on your cock while you're relaxed on the bench.

"if you say so, my little songbird."

you began to move, answering his request. slowly of course, you didn't want to hurt him being his first time and all even though you know he likes it rough. as your thrusts became harder and faster you could hear bokuto's painful moans become more pleasurable ones.

"y-y/n fuck me, oh fuck me it feels so fucking good!"

"yah baby boy? you like that don't you, such a slut for my cock, filling you like it's the only thing you could think of."

sooner or later bokuto couldn't hold it in anymore, his pre was leaking a lot more and you could tell he was close.

"y/n i'm coming oh fuck~"

"fuck...me too bo'!" you said while cumming inside of your boyfriend. one hand stroking his cumming and already sensitive cock and the other grabbing onto his tight ass.

needless to say he passed out from the pleasure coming from both his behind and front, leaving you holding him in the mess the both of you made.

"guess we might have to change some rules in the bedroom now huh?"

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader smut #haikyuu x male reader #haikyuu x male reader smut #haikyuu x m!reader #haikyuu x m!reader smut #hq smut #hq x reader #hq x reader smut #hq x male reader #hq x male reader smut #bokuto #bokuto x reader #bokuto koutarou #bokuto x reader smut #bokuto x male reader #bokuto x male reader smut #bokuto smut

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tanniefm · 3 years

Text

boyfriend | jjk (m)

summary - jungkook knows what you need and definitely knows your husband can’t give it to you like he can.

pairing - jungkook x (f) reader

genre - cheating au, fwb, porn with very little plot

word count - 1.7k

song inspo - boyfriend by ray j (i literally couldn’t stop thinking of this man while listening to this song it was becoming an issue)

warnings - infidelity, explicit language, soft dom jk, sub reader, daddy kink, praise kink, it’s kinda angsty at the end oops.., pet names, kook’s very sweet but :(, subspace, hints of dumbification, jealous kook cause he loves you, unprotected sex (please don’t be stewpid like these two), jungkook in sweatpants and a ponytail (the ultimate combo)

a/n - AHHHH hi this is my first fic (more like a drabble but you get the point) like ever and i did nawt feel like editing anymore than needed cause i was afraid i’d end up deleting everything...with that said!! i really hope you enjoy and sorry if it’s cringy or wtv umbdhb yeah enjoy! oh also merry christmas if you celebrate 🥺🥺

♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°

You knock on his door hastily. You texted him a few minutes earlier because you just couldn’t take it anymore. You tried to be a good wife. A good, loving, perfect wife for Jacob. But he’s driving you fucking crazy. He won’t listen to you, won’t thank you when you do things for him, and he damn sure can’t fuck you like he can. You and Jungkook have been friends for the longest. He knows everything about you and that’s probably why he can make you cum as hard as he does. You hate that it got to this point. One heated argument with Jacob a few months back is all it took for you to come to your best friend's apartment to vent and next thing you knew you were having the best sex you’ve ever had. Now you crave him constantly and you’re not even sure if you feel bad about it.

You instantly clear your thoughts when Jungkook opens the door with a smug look on his face. Fuck, he looks good. Hair in a ponytail, his black long sleeves rolled up, putting his various tattoos on display. And to your delight, gray sweatpants tight enough where you can clearly see him hard as hell. You automatically launch into his embrace and kiss him needily. He knows you, he knows why you’re here. And he’s happy to give it to you. He smiles and chuckles into the kiss and closes the door behind him. He backs you up against the door and pulls away, much to your dismay. He giggles as you whine from the loss of his lips on yours.

“What’d he do this time, pretty girl?” he says softly as he cups your face. His hands are so pretty, you think. They're so big and make you feel so good. He’s so big. He loves making you feel cute and small, like he’s the only one that can take care of you. You think he might be right.

“Couldn’t cum…” you whine. There’s a tiny pout on your face and Jungkook thinks you’re adorable. He’ll never say it out loud, but sometimes he wishes you’d just leave him to be his. You and him both know that won’t happen though, you’re very adamant that you love Jacob. Whatever, Jungkook will take what he gets. As long as he has you.

He smiles and mockingly pouts back. “I know baby, you need me to take care of you, hm? My baby needs me to make her feel good?” He pecks your forehead softly as you whine some more. You’re so needy, he has no idea why that dude refuses to listen to you when you ask to try different things in bed. Vanilla is cute every now and then but Jungkook knows you want more. You like to be thrown around and choked but you also love when you’re praised. You like being a good girl but you’re also a fucking brat. You like to be kissed, and cuddled, and babied after you have consecutive orgasms. Jungkook knows you, so why doesn’t he?

You nod and fist your hands into his shirt. You need him, badly. He’s all you could think about while you and Jacob were having sex. All you asked was if he could pull your hair a bit and he looked at you like you were crazy and told you no. It’s one thing to not be comfortable with doing certain things, but to look at you like that and not even hear you out? It stung, and all you wanted was for Kook to take care of you like you knew he would.

“I asked for him to pull my hair and he looked at me like I was stupid. I-I just wanted to try something different for once and he refuses to do anything I want to do. I need you Kookie please I’m so wet I can’t-“

“Shh sweetheart, it’s ok. Come on, I’ll take care of it.” he cuts you off gently and taps on the back of your thighs to signal you to jump. You immediately wrap your legs around his waist and bury your face in his neck and suck bruises into his smooth skin while he carries you to his room. He lays you on his bed and kisses you deeply. His hands slowly move your shirt up and out of the way as he makes his way down your neck. You quickly take your bra off and throw it to the side. You can tell he wants to eat you out but you’re very impatient. As much as you love his mouth on you, you desperately need his cock filling you up right now. He softly kisses your nipple and looks up. You’re pouting again. You’re even needier than he thought. He pulls your leggings down and zeros in on your panties. There’s a huge wet spot in the middle and he can feel his cock twitch. The string of arousal that attaches itself to your underwear while he pulls them down is driving him insane.

“My poor baby, you weren’t kidding when you said how wet you were, huh? Who made you this wet?” he says while he strips his shirt off, showing more of his copious tattoos. He loved when you traced them while he held you and hummed softly after you were sent deep into subspace. Maybe he can experience that again tonight.

“You did daddy,” Bingo. You weren’t even thinking when you said it, all you could think about was him him him. He froze before swiftly pulling down his sweatpants and you watched in awe as his dick spring up to his stomach. He’s so big, you need him so bad. He climbs back on top of you and kisses you roughly while teasing your entrance. He keeps running his tip up and down to spread around your arousal.

“Daddy, please I need you inside. Please don’t tease.” you whine. You’re squirming around and your eyes are starting to well up. Why isn’t he fucking you? Should you have come at all? What if he doesn’t want you anymore? Your mind is so fuzzy and negative thoughts are starting to swirl and pull you deeper and deeper-

“Hey hey, look at me. No more thinking baby, just focus on me. There you go, that’s my good girl.” he squeezes your hips as he pushes in. He can tell when you start overthinking, it’s one of the perks of being friends with you for so long. You moan loudly as he pushes deep inside of you. He quickly sets a rough pace once he feels you adjust and sees your eyes roll back in euphoria. You’re so beautiful. He loves that he can make you feel like this. You’re squeezing so tightly around him and everything feels so fucking good. He pushes your legs to your chest and you gasp loudly.

“Daddy it-it’s too deep! Oh my fucking God I- fuck!” you whimper as he goes faster.

“You can take it precious, I know you can. You’re doing so well. Taking me so well. Fuck- you’re always so good for me. My pretty little girl. Love this fucking pussy, shit!” he rambles. He can’t help it, just as much as he fucks you stupid he also gets into a headspace where he can’t think of anything but you. The pretty sounds you make, your tight ass pussy, your soft thighs he’s holding. And that stupid fucking man you’re married to. The thought of him makes him pound into you harder. He hates him, he really does. He hates him because he wants to be him. Jungkook would treat you like a princess if you were his. But you chose that lame ass dude.

“Does he fuck you like this? Hm? Does he know how much of a little slut you are for me? Does he know how much you need this dick to make you cum?” he growls. You shake your head and dig your nails into his biceps.

“No daddy it’s you, only you. No one else but you” you mumble. You’re so fucked out and so so close. Just a little more, a little longer.

“Fuck you’re getting so fucking tight. You gonna cum princess? My little slut gonna cum all over me? I know you want to baby, go ahead and let go for me” he switches angles and makes sure your clit is rubbing against his pelvis while he continually hits your g-spot. You nod quickly while he encourages you more and more. With a cry of his name, you finally let go. It only takes Jungkook a few more thrusts before he’s spilling inside of you with a whiny moan. He drops down and faceplants into your neck as you both pant heavily. You feel him peck your neck and face softly as he mumbles how good you were for him.

“My good,” forehead kiss, “precious,” cheek kiss, “baby,” nose kiss, “girl,” he finally reaches your lips. You smile and giggle at his cute antics. He always gets so soft after sex, you love it though. He gently pulls out and lays down beside you to tuck you in his arms.

“You were so good baby. I’m so proud of you.” he says as he plants several kisses on the top of your head. You snuggle deeper into his chest and look up at him with starry eyes. Your head’s still fuzzy, but you feel safe with him. Jungkook is safe.

“I’m good?” you ask quietly. You were fuzzy, but you weren’t stupid. You knew what you two were doing is wrong. You knew you should break it off or at the very least leave Jacob. But you can’t, you still love him. You want to grow old with him. He just...can’t give you what you need sometimes.

Jungkook pauses. He wants to tell you to leave him. He could give you everything and more if you just leave him. But that always ends in an argument, and he hates arguing with you.

“Yes sweetheart, you’re perfect.” It’s ok. Jungkook can wait.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader smut #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts smut #jeon jungkook fic #bts drabble #jungkook drabble

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t-o-m-hollands · 3 years

Text

Summary: It’s the late summer of 2004. You are set to travel across the country for university and your best friend Tom is staying behind. You spend your last night together before you leave.

Themes: Friends to lovers, love confessions, first love.

Warnings: Drinking beer. One mention of smoking weed. Mentions of parents fighting and also implied neglectful parents. Smut (+18), two spanks?? otherwise pretty tame.

Word count: 3,4 k

Notes: I don’t know, this might be a bit different? Or it might just feel that way to me. It’s very reminiscent of teenage years and first love and nostalgia. Please let me know your thoughts, I’m genuinely not sure what to think about this one.

Massive thank you to @augustholland who read through it and very kindly reassured me that it wasn’t bad 💖

Also, this fic was inspired by the Phoebe Bridgers song. I’ve never actually listened to it but it keeps showing up in my recommendation and i like the title of it so this is what i imagine that song is about. Mostly I listened to Harry Styles - Fine Line while writing this.

You finish up early that afternoon. Wayne, your old boss, tries not to cry as he hugs you goodbye. He tells you to take care in a gravelly voice close to breaking, as he avoids looking at you. It’s your last shift in the greasy bar, where for the last two years you’ve been selling cheap beer and watered down whiskey to weary old men and rowdy students who come in for a game of pool. It hasn’t paid much, just a few pounds an hour; just enough so that on each thursday you and Tom have enough money for movie tickets at the local cinema. It’s your tradition. Like a religious man goes to church each sunday; you spend your thursday nights with Tom’s arm slung around your shoulders, watching whatever new film they have on, sharing a bowl of popcorn between you. Afterwards you'll have burgers at the fast food joint across the street; talking about the movie long into the night, sharing a bag of fries.

When you were younger and hadn’t been able to afford to pay Tom had sneaked you both into the cinema anyway. Your hand in his, he had led the way into the movie theatre when no one was looking. Sitting in the back row he’d sneak you Fruit Polos to snack on, his arm slung around your shoulders, as you watched movies you were way too young for.

Last week was your final movie screening; some light-hearted American comedy, and the entire way through it you fought the lump in your throat, forcing yourself not to cry. Tom hadn’t laughed either; had just held you closer than usual.

Tomorrow you are set to leave the small seaside town behind you, the place where you have spent most of your life, for a drive all across the country; to start university in a city you’ve only visited once before. You’re not sure when you’ll return.

Thus lately everything has been laced with goodbyes; childhood having reached its end.

Just two days ago there had been the last bonfire where you had watched the Holland boys fight each other while playing football as his parents looked on and laughed, grilling sausages over the open fire.

It was on the same rocky beach where you have spent many summer days; grilling food on the open fire and throwing back cheap beer with your friends from school. You have scraped your knees on these rocks, burned your skin from both the bonfire and the sun there; have had your heart broken over and over and over again during your school years as you watched Tom kiss whatever girl he was dating at the time by the fire during summer night parties.

Maybe you had broken his heart a few times as well.

As the afternoon light turns everything golden you drive through the main street in the small town where everyone knows everybody, and has done for generations. You watch the people as you drive them by. You know everyone’s name, know each crack in the pavement; can find your way home in the dark.

God knows how many shoes you’ve worn out over the years walking down these streets.

The radio plays a blink-182 song you know by heart as you follow the road out of the city, through the woods and up to the coast. At the end of a muddy track, on the border to the forest, stands a shabby old caravan. It faces the beach and above the door christmas lights are lit up all year round.

The Holland family legend says that Tom’s great uncle had won the small patch of land in a bet. Unable to build a large house he had bought a caravan and put it on the lot. The old man had lived in the Shed for the rest of his lifetime, before passing it on to Tom; the youngster of the family, his younger brothers having yet to be born. When he had turned seventeen he moved out of his parents larger, more comfortable house, and into the Shed. His mother had agreed on it on the condition he took on the apprenticeship to become a carpenter that he had been offered.

You remember when he had told you of his decided future, one late evening as you sat on the driftwood by the beach, smoking weed and watching the sun set over the horizon. It had felt right somehow, you had been able to imagine him working with his hands, skillfully forming and bending wood to his will; his long and slender fingers knowing just how to fix things. Tom has always been good at mending things. It had been three years now and he was a full time employee at the JBT Carpentry Services. He says it doesn’t pay much, but he’s happy; and that's all that matters.

As you park the car outside the Shed Tom comes out. Standing under the colorful christmas lights he grins widely as he sees you, his eyes crinkling at the sides. The most genuine smile you know. He’s tanned from a summer spent on the beach, his hair a wavy mess; as if he’d just woken up from sleep. It’s a warm august day and the world seems sunbleached somehow; but in the afternoon light Tom looks golden.

You are painfully aware that it is the last time you’ll see him like this for many months to come.

Walking up to him and he gives you a bear-hug; his warm, hard body pressed against yours, holding onto you tightly. With your face in the crook of his neck you breathe him in and discover that a faint trace of bonfire smoke still lingers on his skin. It all feels achingly familiar and safe. So heartrendingly unlike the uncertain life at university that lies in front of you.

Tom is your safe place.

Your parents had always fought like cat and dog and sometimes when you were younger and they’d argue you’d climb through your window and walk all the way over to the Holland household. You were always welcomed there and his parents didn’t ask any questions, no matter how late the hour; instead they fed you, treating you like a member of the family around the dining table with gentle teasing and reminders of homework that needed to be done, letting you sleep over when needed. No questions asked.

With the years the fighting at home got worse. When Tom fixed himself a beat-up old Land Rover and moved out to the Shed you’d call him from the payphone down the road. He’d always answer, telling you to pack up; and that he was on his way. He’d pick you up by the end of the street, a duffle bag with schoolbooks and a change of clothes slung over your shoulder. He’d take you back to his place to sleep. His caravan only had one bed, so you used to curl up next to each other in bed. On the nights when you were crying he’d hold you, and in the morning he’d make you breakfast before you both went off to school.

Your parents never noticed your temporary absence.

Tom lets go of the hug, but with an arm around your waist he leads you into his home. There’s a lingering scent of fried food in the air and the boombox is playing the 3 Doors down CD he’s been obsessed with since you bought it for his birthday. You tread the cherry wood veneered flooring with your battered tennis shoes, feeling more at home here than anywhere else on earth.

“Fancy a beer?” Tom asks, leading the way to the kitchen area. “Warn you though, it's warm. Just got back from the store so they haven’t had time to cool”.

Everything is warm today, and the caravan is no exception. The ancient AC had given in years ago and Tom could never afford having it fixed. You heave yourself up on the countertop, replying a simple “sure” to his question.

He opens a Stella and hands it to you. He isn’t wrong, the beer is tepid. Yet you drown half the bottle in one big swig; happy just to have something to do with your hands when he’s standing so close to you. Gulping down on the liquid and you cannot help but notice Tom’s eyes on your throat as you swallow. He opens a bottle for himself and takes a swig.

You smile at the ancient gray t-shirt he’s wearing. At one point there had been a band logo on it, but it has long since been washed out. He notices you smiling at him and as if it's infectious a smile broadens on his face as well. “What?” he asks, leaning against the small counter across from you.

“Nothing” you say, smiling wider. “Just wondered how many times I’ve seen you in that shirt. I mean, it has to be near a couple of thousand times by now”.

“You don't exactly love buying new clothes either” he says, a teasing smile playing at his lips as he looks at your washed out jeans shorts. “I know for a fact that those aren’t new, darling”. His eyes linger on your legs for a moment too long before he looks away, taking a swig from his beer.

“So, when are you leaving?” He asks, and you can tell that he’s trying to sound relaxed, but leaned against the countertop, his arms crossed in front of him, head bowed; holding onto the bottle of Stella he’s nursing with a tight grip. He looks tense and on edge.

“Tomorrow morning”

He takes a swig from his beer. There’s nothing more to say, not really. Everything that happens now is just aftermath; you might as well have already left.

“I’m nervous” you admit, biting your lip, trying hard not to et out the tears you’ve been holding in for days now; embarrassed that your voice trembles on the last word.

His head snaps up to look at you. Pushing off the counter he takes a step forward, placing himself in between your legs.

“Hey” he says, with a voice a low and gentle as a whisper, his hand cupping your cheek. You look up at him; long dark eyelashes framing his beautiful brown eyes, his thin lips slightly parted and across his nose freckles are spread out, the result from a summer spent in the sun. His calloused hand strokes your cheek. “You’re going to take them by storm, Pebbles”.

You smile, despite your fluttering heart. He hasn’t called you Pebbles for a long time. It had been his nickname for you when you first became friends, the reason behind it long forgotten. He was the only one to ever call you it, and the name had lingered long into your late teenage years.

“You took me by storm,” he admits.

You blink up at him through wet eyelashes. Your family had moved to the town when you were ten years old. This was the kind of small town that strangers seldom came to and inhabitants rarely left; and so the new addition to the small local school had everyone talking. You had felt like an astronaut shuffled into space on your first day, trying to find gravity in the unfamiliar school corridors. You had felt the pull of gravity in form of the brown-eyed boy sitting next to you in english class. He had given you a warm smile as you sat down next to him. He had made you his friend, listened to you and confided in you; had made you laugh until your stomach ached. You found further gravity in his home; surrounded by his family and their endless squabbles and laughter, sitting next to Tom at the dinner table.

It hadn’t taken long before you and Tom were an inseparable item; your names always linked to one another in the mouths of others.

“You’ve worked so hard for this scholarship” he says, and the corners of his mouth tugs up into a smile, “I mean, I’m pretty certain you’re the only reason I even finished school”.

You had helped him write most of his essays at school. He’d struggled with reading a lot and found the assigned novels difficult. There were evenings where you’d spend hours laying on the bed; twisting the phone cord between your fingers, as you read the books out loud for him.

Sometimes, in order to be left alone from his parents and younger brothers, he’d walk down to the end of the street and to the payphone there, where he’d spend all his pennies listening to you reading. You had talked and talked until your voice got hoarse; until he ran out of pennies. Yet when he hung up you always felt a tug of longing in your chest, knowing you wouldn’t be able to see him until the next day in school.

“Well, I heard you’re doing pretty good as a carpenter” you say, smiling up at him. “I always knew you’d be good with your hands”.

As soon as you’ve said it you can feel your face heat up. You had heard the rumours at school; Tom Holland is a stellar fuck. Once, while you were in the bathroom stall, you had heard a gang of girls discuss it as they reapplied their lipgloss in the mirror. One of them told the story of her one night stand with Tom, how he had made her come several times over with his hands and mouth; how he’d fucked her so long and so good. You had stood in the stall, your heart in your throat; feeling sick to your stomach, but unable to stop listening.

There were girls that reached out to you in school, knowing you were Tom’s closest friend, and asked you in hushed but awed voices if it was true. If he really that good in bed.

He looks you dead in the eye, an unusual seriousness to his warm eyes. He knows what you’re thinking, knows what thoughts have made your cheeks flush with colour. Letting go of your cheek he places his arms on either side of you on the counter; caging you in.

“There’s never been anyone but you, Pebbles. Not really.” His tone is heavy with meaning and you feel light-headed; both oddly detached from your own body and painfully aware of the closeness of his. Your heart is beating hard in your chest.

This is a line you’ve never crossed before.

“I know I’m ruining everything by saying this, but you’re leaving tomorrow and I’ve been walking around with this secret lodged in my chest like a bullet since i was ten years old; I love you, Pebbles. I’ve always have”.

You should speak. You should tell him that you’ve known for a long time how he’s felt. That it’s been evident in the way his eyes keep lingering on your legs, in the way his arm usually finds its way to rest around your waist. In the way he’s always been there for you. You should tell him that you understand why he hasn’t been able to voice his feelings for you; because you haven’t done it either. Too scared of losing him. But your breath has caught in your throat and all you can focus on is those caramel eyes on you, and how hard your heart is beating in your chest.

“I love you too” you say, voice hardly louder than a whisper. You swear there was music coming from the boom box but all you can hear is the blood rushing through your body.

He kisses you.

He takes your mouth slowly, kissing you thoroughly until you can’t think straight; can’t remember any other kiss than his. Then his lips move over yours with more fervour; more urgency, one hand around your throat and the other tangled in your hair. He kisses you until you're both moaning and gasping for more.

This is it. You’ve crossed the invisible line between friends and lovers; and there is no return, no going back from here. When you leave tomorrow you will leave knowing what his mouth feels like pressed against your.

You dig your hands into his soft hair, runs them both up his chest, realising that this is what your hands were made for. He lifts you off the counter and you wrap your legs around his waist. He moves you both across the caravan and into the bedroom. It’s baking hot in there and you can already feel sweat forming at the low end of your back. The room, just big enough for a bed to fit, is lit up with sunlight. His bed is a mess of rumpled white sheets and the walls are the same cherry wood colour as the rest of the caravan.

You kiss and lick his jaw, his neck, his throat; anywhere you can reach you stroke him. You tug at his hair, kiss his soft lips, and nib at his ear. It’s like the gates have been opened, because even though his arm has always been a comforting presence around your waist; and even though you’ve slept in the same bed more times than you can count, his body curled up next to yours, forming himself like a question mark around your body; he’s never been yours to touch before. Not like this.

His breathing is accelerated, his chest rising and falling in rapid speed, and so is yours. There’s a heat to his eyes that tells you he’s just as turned on as you are. You pull at his shirt before he’s even laid you down on the bed; impatiently craving all his warm, suntanned skin pressed against yours. It’s an almost feverish frenzy, and in the back of your mind you know that you should take this slow. You don’t want this to end too soon, because this might be all you get. But the sun hasn’t even set yet and through the old white-washed curtains you helped put up and light shines through, bathing you both sunshine.

Outside the waves keep crashing against the shore and in the kitchen his boombox keeps playing songs you’ve heard a million times before. It is like it always has been at Tom’s, except that for laying on his sofa and talking he’s removing your clothes; kissing his way down your body. Wet, opened mouth kisses that leave a trail of heat in its wake that have you bucking your hips up for more. His hands are everywhere, exploring your legs. He’s looking at your skin with wide-eyes adoration. With his body in between your wide spread legs he kisses the soft inside of your thighs.

“So soft” he groans against your skin, “and so sweet”.

You feel overheated and breathless; aching all over from wanting him. Perched up on your elbows you observe him; his dark hair brushing against the low of your stomach as he kisses the tender skin of your hip bone. He bares his teeth and bites the sensitive flesh.

His hand cups your cunt. You’re wet and aching and as you presses his thumb to your clit, gently but steadily moving up and down, you feel like you’re going to combust. His strokes are soft at first, before speeding up, making you moan wantonly, spreading your legs wider for him.

“Glad you like that,” he says, a satisfied smile spreading on his face. “Do my fingers feel good on you, darling?”

All you can do is moan in response, arching and moving your hips up to meet his hand. His movements are fast and slippery and it doesn’t take long until your close, so close, so close; on the brink of tipping over and then -

A sharp slap on your pussy, leaving a stinging bite, and it is like the world splits into two.

“God” you moan, voice hoarse. You’re shuddering all over; moanes falling freely from your lips.

He looks up at you from his position in between your legs, his dark eyes sparkling. He kisses the soft inside of your thighs again. “You have any idea how long I’ve wanted to kiss you here?” he asks. “I bet you do, torturing me for fun in those short jeans shorts”. He spanks your pussy again and you couldn’t have stopped the moan falling from your lips even if you tried. “How long I’ve wanted to taste you here?”. And he places a hot kiss on your wet slit. You can feel his soft hair pressed against your thighs; his warm breath against your skin.

His lips part and he covers you with his mouth, his tongue moving over your opening; touching you, stroking you, tasting you. A guttural moan leaves him. He looks up at you through tassels of hair, caramel eyes glued to your face.

You fall back against the mattress, “more” you demand, in a voice that sounds a lot like begging. “Please, more”.

It is as if he’s been unleashed. You have never felt anything like it, but he laps you up, tastes you; his fingers moving inside you; pressing against the place that has you seeing stars. You can’t even look at him now, you’re eyes shut; too overwhelmed by the stimulation. Both aching for more but not sure if your body can handle that kind of pleasure. Your thighs are shaking, and something in your stomach grows tighter and tighter by each flick of his tongue against your clit.

“I’m coming” you cry out breathlessly “fuck I’m coming”

And you do. Hard. He keeps kissing and touching you through it; both grounding you and dragging out the intense sensation.

His hands, now familiar with your thighs, make their way up to the soft swell of your breasts, as you struggle to regain your breath. He’s cupping them in his hands, pinching your nipples in between his fingers, kissing them with ferveor. Hungry hands move over your breasts, your stomach, your face; cupping it so that he can kiss you with the sort of yearning that comes from years of unanswered desire.

Your hands move over his body as well, moving over his abdomen chest and arms, defined from long hours of hard work. You kiss his throat and collarbones, kissing at the skin; licking, sucking and biting until you hear guttural moans coming from his throat. His lips are slightly parted, and his glossy dark eyes are fixed on your face; his fingers loosely tangled in your hair.

He presses you down onto the mattress again, until he’s face to face; his arms on each side of your face, holding himself over you.

“You sure?” he asks, voice hoarse, panting slightly.

“I want this” you answer him, voice low but clear, “I really, really want this Tom”

He smiles, breathing out the breath he’d been holding and moves away from you, reaching for the side of his bed and to take out a condom from the drawer.

He places a quick kiss to your lips, your cheek, your belly button, before he sits up. He removes his underwear and you can feel your face heat up again. Because this is Tom, your Tom, whom you’ve been in love with for half your life. But being with him, both naked as the day you were born, feels right. You know everything about this man, all his preferences and secrets; his favourite movie and how he likes his food and why he skipped class every day for a month in year nine. And he knows everything about you. It feels right that he should know this as well; know each curve of your body and the way you like to be kissed and what has you moaning and begging for more.

He unwraps the foil package and puts the condom on with firm fingers. Leaning over you again he lines up against your opening. His eyes glossy with lust, damp hair falling over his face; his mouth swollen and wet from kissing you.

Then with a sharp thrust and a groan he’s inside you.

All coherent thoughts go out the window as he starts moving in and out of you. The only thing that exists is his strong, sweaty body above you, moving in and out of you with slow, deep thrusts. He’s so hard where you are soft and you can’t stop touching him, dragging your fingers over his back, pulling at his hair, kissing his arms. It’s like the wires in your brain have crossed, sending out sparks of pure pleasure in your body.

He hits a particularly tender spot inside you and the groan that leaves you is almost animalistic.

Tom nearly halters in his pace, before collecting himself again. “Fuck” he moans out, kissing your neck. His movements become more frenzied and you roll your hips under him, meeting his movements; trying to get him deeper inside you.

He pushes himself up onto his hands, pulls back slightly; and pushes in. Starting to really fuck you.

You can’t stop looking up at him; naked body damp with sweat, muscles moving as he works; arms flexed and cheeks flushed. His eyes are closed pleasure now. Your hands are on his hips helping him set the pace as he fucks into you with fast, hard thrusts. Without warning you clutch around him in pleasure and he groans loudly.

“How the fuck does your cunt feel better than it tastes?” he asks, panting for air. “

He presses a hand over your heart, letting it rest there. You wonder if he can feel it pounding for him. You feel like you’re dissolving into a thousand tiny pieces as you come around him with a choked scream.

He’s so close and you can practically feel it; aching for him to have it. You want him to come; in you, on you, over you.

And then he does, his brows furrows; like the pleasure is so intense it hurts him. The sounds he makes when he comes are guttural; almost whimpering.

As he falls down on the bed beside you he pulls you close, has you pressed against his body, an arm firmly wrapped around you. The sun has set now, but the ocean waves still crash onto the shore, the sound of it the only thing to fill the silence part from your laboured breathing; the music having gone quiet in the other room.

Neither one of you say anything. You knew the end to this when he kissed you. You’ve regretted nothing that has happened here, and you know that he doesn’t either; but tomorrow you are leaving to drive all the way across the country and he cannot follow. You don’t know what will happen now, and he doesn't have the answer to that either. And so you just let him hold you; wishing with all your might that you could stop the morning from coming.

***

Please let me know your thoughts, genuinely don’t know what to make of this one.

#tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfic

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 3 years

Text

Unexpected Places (Pt. 04 of 11)

Pairing: Ivar the Boneless X Reader/Bjorn X Reader

Word count: 3 K

Summary: As a princess, you've lived in a golden cage all your life, always a piece on someone else's game. But everything changed when the Norsemen came crushing down on Wessex, like waves in a violent storm. Their king spared your life and decided to take you with him to his kingdom, in what felt more like a rescue than a kidnapping. There, you were not only confronted with a completely different culture and lifestyle, but also with two of his sons. The oldest one has his eyes set on you, but it's the youngest one, Ivar, who gets who claimed your attention since the first sight. And he seems to have an unnamed interest in you. Of course you hoped whatever that was would pass, but when unexpected feelings start to flow a different way, things begin to change.

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{Vikings Masterlist}

Fit For a Princess

You're listening to the chattering between Aslaug and Helga, looking at pieces of jewelry at the market place. You say something every now and then, but you can't shake away Ivar's stare. On the last days, two weeks or so, he's right there, sitting across from you on every meal, eyes burning through you. Hvitserk said he's studying you, still expecting you to snap, to decide you had enough of all this and want to go back home. To Wessex, where your older brother now rules. And Ragnar already said he'd take you back if you wanted, so there's that.

But leaving Kattegat hasn't even crossed your mind, not before and not now. How could you trade all you have here, and slide back into the invisible chains you had on? It wouldn't be just stupid, it would be the death of you. You're finally understanding who you are, the things you like, the kind of people you like. In England, you had to play a specific role, because everything was political. Here, you're just who you are. And you do what you want to do. This is true freedom.

“I really like this one,” Helga says, as your eyes wander through the many rings, earrings, and necklaces. “I'd like those two as well.” She continues as you pace around, further away from both women, turning the corner and then walking to another store. The pieces they have here are all made of metal, delicately bent into beautiful shapes. You caress a bracelet with the tip of your fingers, wondering if it'd look good on you.

“Don't waste your time with these cheap things.” The voice, that you now recognize immediately, makes you turn around. Ivar comes from among the people, only stopping when he's standing next to you.

But despite his attention being on the jewelry, your eyes are on him. “You're tall.” It comes out suddenly, because he never stood beside you like this, so you couldn't have noticed.

“Well, you're tiny.” Ivar glances at you, playing with one of the rings. “Anyway, you shouldn't be looking at these things. They won't suit you very well.”

Giving the old man an apologetic look, you randomly pick a bracelet. You don't get why Ivar is being rude, but, judging by what Hvitserk had told you, his brother isn't one to hold back. He says what he thinks, it doesn't matter how mean it may sound to others. You're still trying to figure out if this level of brutal honesty is good or bad. “I really like this one.” Searching on the small bag attached to your dress, you take four coins, way more than what the bracelet is worth, handing it over to the man and putting the bracelet on. The silver color is beautiful, and the drawings carved on it remind you of the pattern you saw on one of the boats that brought you here.

Ivar rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, sighing. “You are such a kind princess.” Dropping the ring, he starts walking side by side with you when you set in motion through the market. You weren't expecting that.

“King Ecbert was king of Wessex. This isn't Wessex.”

“(Y/N)! Wait for us.” Aslaug calls and you stop, giving her a look and a nod before turning to face Ivar, who towers over you.

“Therefore, I'm not a princess anymore.” Shrugging your shoulders, you give him a small smile.

“That's a shame, isn't it?” He lowers his voice, leaning closer.

“Not really.” Shrugging your shoulders, you give a little step back, putting a strand of hair behind your ears before giving him a little wave, walking back to where both women are.

After they're done shopping, as you walk back home, the clouds push themselves apart just enough for the sunlight to appear. That makes you stop, taking in the warmth on your skin, but it soon disappears.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Hvitserk calls, coming from the beach with his father, Ubbe and Bjorn, who's walking behind them. “We're going to meet some traders. Wanna come?”

“Why not?” You mumble, elbowing Hvitserk when he's close enough.

“Go put on some pants then. We're riding there.”

“Oh.” It's so absurd it's stupid, how you can't seem to do the simple things people know by heart here. “I'm not very good at riding.” Whispering, you tell him, not wanting anyone else to listen.

“I'll help you out.” He nods, tilting his head to where Bjorn is. “Without cracking your head open in the process.”

Smiling you nod before heading inside to change out of the dress. You're just about to head out when Aslaug tells you to grab a cloak in case it rains later, so you have to make another trip to your room. But soon enough you meet Hvitserk and the others again, reading the horses.

“Which one is mine?”

“Over here.” Hviserk guides to a beautiful white horse. “Give me your leg.” He says, and for a moment you furrow your eyebrows, but soon enough you understand what he means. Raising your leg, Hvitserk grabs your calf and you push yourself up, successfully mounting on the horse with his help. It feels funny to be this tall. You have ridden before, but most of the time you used a carriage. There was no need for a princess to ride on the back of a horse at Wessex. It's wild though, and you've grown to love wild things. “Keep your feet like this on the stirrups at all times. Don't put of your feet all the way in or it might get stuck if you fall. If you touch her with your ankles, she'll move forward. Pull the halters and she'll stop. The same thing goes to pull her left or right, but since we'll ride together she'll just follow the other horses.”

“Got it.”

“Your ass might hurt at the end of the day, so be prepared.” He warns before jumping to the back of his horse. “If it'll help you feel more steady, you can hold on the saddle, but trust me, you'll get the hang of it once you lose the fear of falling.”

“Have you ever fallen from a horse before?” As you speak, the small group starts moving, and your mare does the same, keeping their pace, slow at first until everyone starts galloping, and all air leaves your lungs. You hold tightly to the saddle, scared at first, but you remember what Hvitserk just told you. If you let the fear of falling win, you'll never learn to ride properly, and you'll never enjoy it. Slowly, you let go of the saddle, holding only on the halters, making sure it's loose so she'll feel free to run.

And the sensation is amazing. The wind makes your hair whip your face over and over, and you lightly shake your head to get rid of it. Glancing at Hvitserk, you mirror his position, a smile creeping over your lips. The landscape, green, blue, and gray, passes by in a blur, and you try to take it all in. It's beautiful, breathtaking. Almost literally, because when you finally stop, you're struggling to catch your breath.

“You ok?”

“Yeah.” You answer, and Hvitserk nods before moving to stand next to his father and brother. You see a small troop approaching, riding up the hill.

“You're quite good at this,” Bjorn says, guiding his horse away from his siblings and near you. “A few more lessons you'll be riding like a true Viking.”

“I really like it. Its... Thrilling.” You're finally calming down, and your thighs ache a little bit.

“Wanna see the traders coming?” Turning his horse around, he gestures at a cliff, not too many miles away. “We could go up there, it'll give us a nice view.”

“Isn't it a little high?”

“The horses are used to it. C'mon.” Without waiting for your answer, he starts galloping away.

Glancing at Hvitserk, you hold the halter tightly to keep the mare from moving. “You think I should?”

“Sure, it has a nice view. But if you feel like the trail there is too much you come back here, alright? The horses are used to it but you're not.”

“Alright.” Touching the mare with your ankles, you loose the halter and she immediately moves, following Bjorn's horse. It doesn't take much until you're deep inside the woods, the horses now trotting. Bjorn keeps silent, giving you a few glances since you're slightly behind him.

“That way.” He says, and you just let your ride follow his. The smooth ground soon starts changing, with more rocks, and becomes unravel. When you see a steep slope, with apparently nothing to hold on to, you pull the halters, making the mare stop.

“I think it's too craggy.” You speak up, getting Bjorn's attention. “I don't want to fall on my first try.”

“She's used to this kind of inclination. You'll be fine.”

Considering it and also what Hvitserk said, you decide to leave the cliff viewing for another day, when you feel more secure on the horse. “I think I'll pass, Bjorn. Maybe another cliff where I can go on foot.”

“Don't be a pussy. It's not that craggy.” Then, he kicks his horse hard and it sets in motion. It doesn't surprise you, but when the mare moves as well, following him, you're startled, and in the sudden change, you let the halter fall.

Holding on the sell, you can only watch as Bjorn's horse easily climbs the slope, at a fast pace, and yours do the same. But when it suddenly turns left, around a huge rock, you lose your balance, and since there's nothing to hold on to, both your feet escape the stirrups, and you're pulled to the ground hard. Losing your breath, a sting on your ankle makes you yelp as you roll down the slope, only stopping once the ground is flat again. Rolling on your back, you take deep breaths, trying not to move the left leg since the pain is spreading through your foot and calf. “Damn it!” You exclaim, removing the hair from your face.

“(Y/N)!” It takes only a few seconds until you see Bjorn kneeling by your side. “Are you alright?”

“I just fell from a horse and rolled down a hill!” You speak fast, the pain on your back making itself aware. “Of course I'm not fine!”

“Let me take you–” He says as he starts to pull you up.

“No.” You cut him off, slapping his hands away. Bjorn has done enough for today. If he wasn't trying to be a freaking show-off, this wouldn't have happened. “Go get–”

“(Y/N)?” You hear his voice and breathes out relief. “I heard a yell.”

“Over here. Lying on the ground.” Annoyed, you cover your eyes with both hands. “Can you please see if my ankle is broken?”

“What happened?” He asks in a low voice, and you uncover your eyes to see him jumping to the ground, kneeling next to your stretched out leg.

“Bjorn made his horse bolt up the slope and mine followed.” You explain, giving him a hard glance, groaning when Hvitserk lifts your leg to remove your boot. “Easy there!”

“Sorry.” He mumbles. “But calm down, it's not broken, just sprained.”

“Shit.” Taking a deep breath, you sit up taking off the other boot as well and throwing it at Bjorn. “You can't keep yourself from getting me hurt, can you?”

“Me? Everything you had to do was hold on. The horse–”

“I'm not a Viking!” Bursting out, you look up at him. “I'm not some shieldmaiden, I'm still trying to fit in here and learn things. You can't expect me to follow your pace.”

“I just–”

“Bjorn, you should get back. Help father with the traders, I'll take her back to Kattegat.” Hvitserk interrupts him, and Bjorn leaves after a grunt, saying something you couldn't understand.

“And he thinks he has the right to be pissed!” Lying back down, you groan. “I think this is a sign to stay away from him. Every time he's in the situation, I get hurt.”

“Alright, c'mon.” Hvitserk pulls your arm until you're seated again. “You need to put some ice on this ankle, let's go.” Hvitserk takes your mare first, tying her up with his horse before mounting and pulling you up to ride with him.

Despite the slow pace he keeps, your back still hurts. Resting your head on his back, you sigh. “Why are you so quiet?” You ask after a while.

“I'm thinking about the right words to tell this to mother. She won't be happy.” He answers, a hand resting on his thigh as the other holds the halter. “She's not very fond of Bjorn already.”

“It was partially my fault too, I think. I let the halter slip and had nothing to hold on to.”

“You're know Bjorn likes you, right?” Hvitserk suddenly says, and you pinch your eyebrows together. This thought hasn't crossed your mind. “That's probably why he did that. That's how he... Gets a woman's attention.”

“Would you do the kindness of telling him it's not working?” Muttering, you rest both your arms on his back folding them as if his shoulders were a table. “Actually, I've been meaning to tell you... I met Ivar at the market place today.”

“...And?” He asks after a few seconds of silence.

“Nothing, just... It was nothing, really.” It's hard to understand exactly what you want to tell Hvitserk. You just can't seem to put your feelings or thoughts together. “I was looking at these things and he said they wouldn't suit me.” Stretching out your arm, you show him the bracelet. “I bought this there.”

“That's nice. But cheap.” Rolling your eyes, you remember Ivar said pretty much the same thing.

“He also said I'm kind. But that was probably in a mocking tone, so...” You get into Kattegat, and Hvitserk greets some people. “I don't know.”

“I believe it's safe to assume Ivar doesn't hate you.” Hvitserk slows down the horse when a group of kids run by. “If he did, he wouldn't put himself on your way like that... Or look at you the way he does.”

“And how does he look at me?” The words come out slowly because you're not sure if you want to know.

“The only thing I can say for sure is that he never looked at a woman like that.” You finally get to Ragnar's house, and Hvitserk asks a man to help you down. Once you're safe on the ground, he jumps off, telling the man to take the horses. “And I mean it in a good way.”

He puts a hand around your waist, helping as you jump on the right foot until the table in the main hall. “Do you think he–”

“What happened this time?” Aslaug asks, her voice already giving out that she's not happy.

“Twisted ankle. She fell from the horse.”

“Take her to her room, Hvitserk.” The Queen mutters, saying something to the girls who were following her. “And carry her this time if that isn't too much to ask.”

“Alright.” He replies, picking you up with a hand on the small of your back and another under your legs, quickly finding the way to your chambers.

Giggling, you give him a look “I love when your mother–”

“Careful with the teasing this time. I might just drop you to the floor and I don't care if your a princess who fell off a horse.” The fake angry tone makes you laugh again.

“My bad, Prince Hvitserk.” You snap back, rolling your eyes.

Aslaug has her maids help you bathe first, cleaning the dirt that is attached to your face and hair before lying you on the bed again and applying a piece of fabric with cold water on your ankle, keeping it elevated with some pillows. She isn't happy to know the whole story, despite you assuring her it's alright now. You could've died, she said, breaking your neck. But it's useless to worry about what could've happened. The best thing to do now is to focus on the ankle, which she said will be better in a few days, and let the whole incident go.

Later that night, you give little jumps to the main hall to eat something. It's just Ubbe and Bjorn, seated on a table at the corner. Nodding at them, not wanting to chat with Bjorn at the moment, you sit at the edge of the table in the middle, your back turned at both men, taking the jar and pouring yourself something to drink.

“How's your ankle?” Ubbe asks, and you look over your shoulder.

“It's fine. I'll be able to walk normally in a few days. But my back still hurts.” Completely ignoring Bjorn's existence, you turn away from them again.

Drumming your fingers on the table, you wait for the Queen's maids to bring your meal. When you feel someone moving behind your back, you assume it's them, and place your cup further away to open some space. But instead of the bowl with rabbit stew, a necklace is put down before you. And it's absolutely beautiful, with three blue stones surrounded by a golden metal, delicately molded around it. It's different from anything you've ever seen in Wessex. Taking it in your hands, you see Ivar dropping to the seat next to you, and you turn to look at him.

“What is it?” You ask, unable to hide the smile that comes to your lips.

“A necklace.” He simply says, and you roll your eyes at his tone. What a way to ruin the mood.

“Yeah, I noticed.” The smile slowly drops as your eyes go back to the piece, fingertips caressing one of the stones.

“This was made for a princess. Not those cheap things.” He gestures at your bracelet, and you giggle.

“Well, this is absolutely beautiful.” Glancing at him, you find he was already staring. “Is it for me?” You inquire in a lower voice, not wanting to make any assumptions that might embarrass you.

Ivar nods, lightly pushing your shoulder. “Turn around. Let me put it on.”

Doing as he says, you turn your back at him. Ivar takes the necklace and places it around your neck, and you hold your hair up so he can close it on the back. Once he's done, you let the hair fall before turning to face him, folding your left leg and carefully laying the wounded ankle on the bench between you and Ivar. “How does it look?”

You wait for an answer, but it doesn't come. Ivar's eyes were fixed on the necklace, but slowly, they come to meet yours. Tilting your head to the side a little, you feel heat spreading through your cheeks.

Shaking your head lightly and looking down, you take a deep breath. “Have you heard that I fell from a horse this afternoon?” You're glad you got your brain to function, changing the subject. “Twisted my ankle.”

Ivar's stare falls to your bare feet on the bench, the skirt of your dress pulled up to your knee. “Mother told me it was someone else's doing.” As he speaks, Ivar gives an angry stare at where his two brothers are, and it's obvious who he's looking at. “But I think you'll survive.” You feel his fingers caressing your skin, from your knee and down through your calf, so softly you wonder if he's really touching you.

“I will.” You assure him, biting back a smile.

“Ivar,” Ragnar calls, and it does take a while until you both look at where he's standing, near the thrones. “Your mother wants to speak with you.”

“What now?” He asks, annoyed.

“I don't know. Go ask her.” And he disappears.

“Guess I'll have to go.” He glances at you, grabbing the clutch.

But before he can push himself up, you grab his arm. Perhaps you shouldn't do it. Perhaps this whole thing is just some kind of joke he's pulling on you, but still, the necklace is beautiful and he was... Kind. So you lean closer to him, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. “Thank you for the gift. It's very beautiful.”

Ivar is frozen, even after you let go of his arm. He stands there, blue eyes locked on yours. Slowly, painfully slow, a smile comes to his lips. And it feels different. True, genuine. “You're welcome, princess.” He whispers before pushing himself up to his feet and walking away.

You're still a little dazed when the rabbit stew comes, and you can do nothing but play with the spoon. But heavy footsteps get your attention, and when you look at your side, you catch a glimpse of a very angry Bjorn disappearing inside.

He saw everything. And it takes you by surprise to notice that, the moment you laid eyes on Ivar, you immediately forgot Bjorn and Ubbe were here. Everything just... Faded away, and there was nothing else, just you and him. And this is not the first time it happens.

@multific @revolution-starter @crackhead1-800 @youbloodymadgenius @clown-boyyy @kitten0394 @castielsangelx-blog @goldlion07 @midnightmystic @readsalot73 @xvxcarolinexvx @momowhoo @fangfoxy @msrawog @walkingonshunshine @alytavzla @anotherfan07

#ivar imagine #imagine ivar #ivar x you #ivar x reader #ivar x y/n #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless fanfiction #ivar the boneless x reader #imagine ivar the boneless #viking imagine #imagine vikings #ivar vikings x reader #vikings x reader

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oscar-lettjohanssonloveme · 3 years

Text

"And I’m damn proud of you, because you survived another day." (Ms. Venable x reader,

hiyaa :3 i wrote this yesterday while we were stuck in traffic...so idk lol

summary: You are depressed coz of the apocalypse and your girlfriend wants to help you..idk i’m bad in smt like that :’)

warnings: depression, talking about suicide, pills

“momma im in love with google translate”

"Maybe I'm going crazy now, but I saw a young woman in the hallway in front of the library last night", Mr. Gallant said at the dinner tonight

Timothy just shrugged.

"It must have been some Gray who got lost", he muttered and stabbed the little cube in front of him with his fork.

Mister Gallant rolled his eyes.

"No I swear!", Replied the hairstylist. "I know all the Grays by now and I've never seen her before and she wore purple."

Stu, who was sitting next to the man, suppressed a laugh.

"You've probably seen a ghost, I said it's only a question of time before the first of us commits suicide."

"Or until Miss Venable killed everyone who didn't obey her rules", Coco added in a whisper and made the others laugh.

Unlucky Miss Venable wasn't deaf.

"What nonsense .." hissed the red-haired woman at the other end of the table.

"I promise you, the only ghost that will haunt around here is Mister Gallant's, should he wander around the Outpost one more time."

Immediately everyone stopped laughing and all eyes were on Miss Venable, who now stood up without a word to go out of the room.

"Or her ghost, if she continues to act as if we were her subjects ..", Coco mumbled quietly before she turned back to her 'dinner'.

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

Miss Venable ran through the corridors of her outpost to get to her room.

What those idiots at the table had said worried her. Not because she cared about other people's opinions, simply because they were right. The thing with the ghost was just a joke, but it was, what you basically were...a ghost.

Ever since you first met before all of this, you had been struggling with depression and an apocalypse was unlikely to improve your condition. She had decided it was better if the other residents of the outpost didn't find out about your existence. Which wasn't a problem, because most of the day you were just lying in bed tired anyway.

"Hey princess .." she said gently as she entered your bedroom. Her eyes fell on you in concern. Like the days before, you lay buried in your blanket and the only thing what she could see was your disheveled hair, which had become greasy. One would have thought you would have been dead, had your chest not slowly raised and lowered again.

Mina closed the door behind her, before crossing the room to sit next to you on the edge of the bed. She carefully pulled the covers down to reveal your face. Without emotion, you stared with bleary eyes into the flame of the torch that hung on the wall.

"How do you feel?", Mina whispered and pushed a few strands of your hair from your face.

"I missed you ..", you answered in a dry voice and Mina could feel a pang in her chest when she heard it.

"I'm here now", she muttered as she put her hand on your cheek.

She looked sadly into your cloudy eyes and knew that you probably wished you weren't alive any longer.

You cleared your throat and turned your gaze to Mina. And Mina could see that you were trying to bring a small smile to your chapped lips.

"I took my pills .." you said and Mina's eyes lit up at your words.

"Thats great, princess!", she called and smiled lovingly at you.

"I'm proud of you."

"And I ate the cubes", you added as you pull the blanket a little higher over your shoulders. "Even they were disgusting."

"You are such a good girl", Mina muttered before bending over to press her lips against the warm skin of your temple.

"I'll have a quick shower before I get to bed with you", she explained and got up to look at you thoughtfully.

"Do you want to join me?"

You looked at her for a few seconds with narrowed eyes.

"I look like shit don't I?" You finally said as you stood up with shaky legs and held onto her arm, which she held out to you.

"Don't say that", Mina replied as she led you into your bathroom. "You are beautiful as always, Princess".

Together with Mina's help, you manage to shower. It was unbelievably exhausting for Mina to stand so long without her cane and the fact that she now also helped you to wash, bordered on a miracle.

After both of you showered and dried your hair, you climbed into your bed and you could finally curl up in your girlfriend's arms.

"I forgot to ask how your day was". Mina heard you whisper in the dark while rubbing her hands over the bare skin of your back.

She pondered briefly what to answer you. Her day had been shitty. Those selfish, rich assholes were just annoying.

"My day was okay", she mumbled and suddenly she remembered the conversation at dinner.

"Why didn't you tell me, you were in the library last night?" She added without sounding reproachful.

"How do you know that?" You asked confused as you started to play with the hem of her purple nightgown. When Mina didn't answer you continued.

"I wanted to read last night so I went to the library to get a book."

Mina hesitated a few seconds before answering. Somewhere it was great, you had left your room for the first time in weeks, but on the other hand she disapproved the thought of you, wandering through the corridors of the outpost at night.

"You could have woken me up, I would have gone with you." she said finally.

"Did you at least be able to read?"

"I gave up after the first three sentences", you sighed.

"It was just too much."

Your girlfriend wrapped her arms around you a little tighter when she heard the regret in your voice.

"It's okay .." she hummed. "The only important thing right now, is that you survived another day. I'm proud of you princess", she muttered, suppressing a yawn before closing her eyes and falling asleep a few minutes later.

She told you that every evening.

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

You had been in this outpost for almost two months and you got tired of waking up every morning with a fear of opening your eyes. Because a part of you still had the hope,that it was just a nightmare. But whenever you opened your eyes, instead of staring out of the window of your bedroom, you stared into the fire of the torch, thag hung next to the bed and all your hopes died.

You found yourself ungrateful and you could think of countless people, who would have deserved your place in the Outpost much more than you did. You weren't anyone and just because Mina was your girlfriend you were still alive. That was unfair.

Of course you could see how worried Mina was about you and you hated yourself for it. The world had come to an end and Mina, as the head of this outpost, paid her attention to you, the poor little wreck that couldn't even shower by itself.

You pulled the blanket a little tighter around your shoulders when a slight breeze made you shiver and sent goosebumps all over your body. It had been a stupid idea to leave your room again, but you had to promise Mina that you would take your pills and now you were looking for the kitchen, if there was something like that here, to get a glass of water.

Usually Mina brought you these things and you couldn't blame her for forgetting today.

It was currently 10 p.m. and you were already in your pajamas while walking barefoot through the outpost to get some water.

"Oh my god. Gallant was right, it's haunted here", a shrill voice suddenly called from behind you and made you flinch. You turned slowly around and looked with narrowed eyes into the face of a blonde woman, who came up to you and stood in front of you with folded arms.

"Are you a purple?" She asked you frowning and you nodded curtly.

"And whats your name?" She asked further.

"Y / N", you mumbled and decided at the same moment, that you didn't like this woman.

"Well, Y / N, I've never seen you here before",

the blonde cocked her head and looked at you piercingly as

you looked away from her and looked embarrassed at your feet.

"I spend a lot of time in my room."

"Your room?" Asked the woman confused.

"Which room do you live in exactly? To the best of my knowledge, all of the rooms in the outpost are occupied. You can't have a room of your own-"

"I should go now", you muttered as you turned to move away from this annoying woman, but she grabbed your wrist.

"Just wait until Miss Venable finds out", she said, looking down at you smugly. "You know, she-"

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Mina's loud voice at the end of the hall made you both drive around to her.

The blonde immediately let go of your wrist and pointed with outstretched fingers at your trembling form.

"This is the woman Mister Gallant was talking about", she said and looked at you disparagingly.

"You see? It's not haunted here", Mina hissed as she approached you both. "As tightly as you have gripped her wrist, she can't be a ghost."

"I've never seen her here before, how is that possible?" Asked the annoying woman and you winced again when her shrill voice boomed in your ears.

"Maybe because your selfish ass is too busy with itself?", Mina funodded angrily at the blonde, who thought with open mouth what she should answer, but Mina got ahead of her.

"I think you should go to bed now, before you say anything you might regret later", Mina kept her voice lowered while she spoke and sounded dangerous at the same time.

The woman next to you looked at you and then at Mina one more time before turning and reluctantly went down the hall.

"Coco St. Pierre Vanderbilt", Mina said to you while she watched the blonde disappear into one of the rooms and you knew that she meant the woman's name.

"What are you doing here, princess?", asked your girlfriend and grabbed the hand that this woman, Coco, had just grabbed, to gently stroke the back of your hand with her thumb.

"I wanted to get some water.. you know, for the pills", you mumbled.

"And then this woman came."

"Go back to our room, it's cold," Mina cooed and gently squeezed your hand.

"I'll get you water."

"Thanks .." you said curtly and let go of her hand before turning around to go back to your room.

When Mina came to your room less than five minutes later, you were already buried in bed under your blanket again and only your head was sticking out.

"I've got your water", she muttered and walked across the room to put the glass on your bedside table. You mumbled a little "thank you", reached for the glass to wash down the pills.

As you drank, your eyes were glued on Mina, who crossed the room to lock your door and you could see her grimace with every step she took.

"You are in pain", you noticed shortly after you put your glass back on the table.

"Honey?" You kept trying as she ignored you.

"I'm fine," she growled without looking at you.

"Stop lying to me."

Again she didn't answer and just sat on the edge of her bed.

Worried you stared holes in her back while you chewed on your cracked lower lip. She always did that .. Whenever she felt bad and you noticed, she ignored you.

"Okay, come here", you sighed and climbed over the bed to sit cross-legged behind her.

"What is this supposed to be, Princess?"

Mina sounded confused when she felt you carefully pull the zipper of her dress down.

"I take care of you", you muttered and also pulled the zipper of her white lace blouse down to expose her back.

"Y / N, you really don't have to. I don't-"

"Shut up, Mina!", you growled and leaned over to take the lotion off her bedside table. You opened the jar to spread the lotion on your fingers.

"You let me know if I hurt you, right?" You whispered and when she nodded in agreement you carefully began to spread the ointment on her back.

The next minute was filled with a pleasant silence as you tried not to hurt your girlfriend and tried to be as gentle as possible. You usually did this for her every night, but for the past few weeks it had been canceled due to your health and it was obvious that she couldn't take care of it herself.

"How was your day, princess?", Mina finally asked quietly and you took a moment to think about her question.

"Better than yesterday", you said curtly while your fingers were still wandering over her serpentine spine.

"You know, everytime I close my eyes, I see faces of my friends and relatives and I wonder if this will ever end."

Mina hummed in agreement before speaking.

"I haven't had a lot of people I liked, but I can imagine how awful you feel. It may not be a comfort, but I think you will eventually get used to it."

"I don't know ,how I feel right now to be honest", you mumbled.

"Inside of me everything is so empty. I haven't shed a single tear in weeks, if you understand what I mean."

Mina nodded slowly and was about to say something when suddenly you wrapped your arms around her from behind and carefully leaned your forehead against her back.

"I don't know what I would do without you, Mina", you whispered against her skin. "And even if I'm not really showing it at the moment, I'm so grateful for everything you do for me and I love you so much."

"Oh Princess ..", Mina cooed gently as she turned around in your arms to press her lips against yours.

"I know that you love me and I love you too. And you survived another day and that's the only thing that matters at the moment."

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

A few days went by and you were still a total mess.

One day you walked around the room and could tidy up something while other days you could just lie in bed and stare holes in the wall. Mina was still very worried about you and really wanted you to be fine. But she also understood that this was probably going to be difficult for you, as there was nothing to hold on to your hope.

It was already afternoon when she was on her way to your room to bring you something, that she hoped would help. And while one hand was protecting herself on her stick, she was holding the clear plastic jar in the other, that she wanted to show you.

"Hey little sunshine", she called when she came into your room to find you wrapped in her blanket. She frowned.

"Why are you lying under my blanket?"

"I missed you and the blanket smells like you", you grumbled as you pulled the blanket down to reveal your face. Your eyes wandered to the plastic can in Mina's hand.

"What's that?" You asked confused

Mina smiled as she walked over to you to sit next to you on the bed.

"This is for you", she muttered and you sat up to take the can, she held out to you in your hands.

Mina looked at you expectantly and watched with satisfaction as your eyes lit up when you recognized the contents of the box.

"Oh my god, Mina", you breathed and began to smile while your eyes stared fascinated at the red butterfly, that was fluttering around in the box.

"She came into the outpost two days ago and I had her checked for diseases", Mina explained as she brushed a few of your hair off your face.

"She is beautiful", you whispered and when Mina saw tears glistening in your eyes, she knew that it was the right decision to give you the butterfly.

"She is", she mumbled contentedly before reaching out to tap the wall of the can with her index finger.

"And do you see the little pearls, that lie in the corner on the sheet? Those are eggs, from which caterpillars will hatch at some point-"

"And then they turn into more butterflies", you finished and she nodded.

"Mina, that's great, if we do everything right, we will not only be able to save our species, theirs too", you said and looked at Mina with sparkling eyes.

"You absolutely have to show the others .."

"Oh no", Mina replied.

"The others would find it more disgusting than fascinating, so you should take care of them."

"I ugh- well, thank you", you smiled brightly at her and Mina was glad to finally see you smile again. She leaned forward to kiss you on the forehead before she put her arm around you and you could rest your head on her shoulder. And while she was watching the little butterfly like you, the smell of her lavender perfume suddenly rose to her nose and she frowned.

"Do you wear my perfume, princess?", She asked confused and of course couldn't see how you blushed.

"As I said, I missed you", you muttered.

"Please don't be mad at me, i know its weird."

"No! I think its cute", Mina said quickly uhd pressed another kiss on your hair.

"And i'm damn proud of you, because you survived another day."

#wilhemina venable x reader #wilhemina venable #sarah paulson x reader #wilhemina venable imagine #american horror story

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villainsandvictimsalliance · 3 years

Note

Ok but like... In some weird alternate universe... Would Hero!Shiggy become childhood friends to enemies to friends to lovers with Villain!Dabi?

Absolutely yes because hero!Shiggy would never leave a friend behind, specially if that friends is suffering and needs someone by his side.

I can imagine it like this:

Dabi was a lonely kid, not because he didn't had friends, but because somehow he felt like he was not really seen. Like everyone saw what they wanted to see, but no one could break the walls he put there. He had a shitty childhood. He was pretending everything was fine all the time, but it was not. No one knew, no one saw.

And then Tomura found him.

Even when he was a weird kid with a dangerous quirk, it was impossible to ignore him. He was kind and stubborn, the only one who never backed away from an adventure or a dare. Dabi liked that. Eventually, he learned that Tomura has a shitty childhood just like him. Around that time they became a team. They'd run away from home some days, they'd train and study together, they'd talk about their plans and dreams. Dabi was not scared of Tomura, neither he was afraid of his hands. Tomura wanted to become a great pro-hero and Dabi wanted to beat the future pro-hero #1 in a fight.

But one day, Dabi died. At least that's what they told him when he asked. That's what he learn in school, that his friend had died and he hadn't been able to save him.

Tomura grew with that weight on his heart. His mindset changed after that. No, he didn't want to be a normal pro-hero. He wanted to be a rescue specialist, someone to save those who were low and hidden, who were lonely and left behind. Others could fight with villains, but him? He was there to save lives, not take them.

His years studying to be a hero were not exactly remarkable. Yes, he went at UA, but thanks to his nature he was always getting ignore. He was insanely smart and fast, had good strength and flexibility, but his quirk was, once more, too dangerous to be a hero quirk. He graduated the best he could and started working on tiny agencies, helping wherever he can. It was in his 19th birthday when he saw Dabi again.

The building Tomura was in was coming down.

Outside, heroes and villians were crashing against each other, like waves hitting the rocks of a beach. Tomura was running running running through the building, carefully decaying with his quirk a path for him to break through. Behind him, following close, at least three families cried out. He needed to take them to the ground before another big attack. There were kids with him. He couldn't fail them. He couldn't—

A blast occurred, followed by an object collided the side of the building and coming through right in from of them, hitting the wall hard.

Tomura waved the families to keep going. He swallowed. “Just one more floor, stay close to the walls. There's more heroes waiting for you, okay? Now go! ”

The person in front of him was a villain. He knew it in his heart, that's why he shielded the families with his body and pushed them to quickly pass by the body, straight to the next exit. The villain grunted, breathing heavily as he pushed himself up. Black ripped clothes, dirty dark hair, blue—

Blue eyes. The same blue eyes he had adored as a child. The same nose and bratty smile, the same spiky hair.

“ Dabi. ”

There was a moment between them, when none of them moved or blinked or breathed. They only started at their childhood friend.

And then Dabi attacked him with a blast of blue fire straight to his face.

All over Tomura, faked hands were grabbing his body. Their mechanisms were specially designed to give him the extra mobility he needed, with fine ropes inside them that he could shot and retract at will. Tomura dodge the attack, shooting one of those hand to Dabi's feet and tugging the rope, making the idiot fall to the ground.

The fight was short and fast. Dabi tried burning the rope of the hand, Tomura took the chance to run to the hole Dabi had left on the side of the building. The last thing Tomura saw before jumping, using a hand to slide him safely to the ground, was Dabi incredulous face as he watched him go.

From that point on, as a cruel joke, they kept finding each other in the oddest of situations.

Tomura was always submerging himself in big fights scenarios, because he was always risking his life to save others. Dabi, on the other hand, was always there to bring support to the villain side. So they kept clashing and interrupting the other.

And of course, arguing tension.

That was probably the most frustrating fact about it all. Every time, Tomura tried to make Dabi explain how he was alive, where had he been all those years, why he never went back to find him. Every time Dabi tried to make Tomura turned his back to the heroes.

“ Come with me. ”

They went back to their respective places alone, feeling defeated and tired.

But not always. Little by little, in between fights and attacks, they found themselves smiling again to each other. Well, yes, there was also a bit of sexual tension, mostly because Tomura needed to get close to Dabi in order to capture him, so sometimes Dabi would found himself pinned to the ground and other times Tomura would find himself trapped against Dabi's body and a wall. It made them dizzy, addicted even. The shot of adrenaline after learning there was a new mission, so they could see the other again. The feeling of the fight, of being totally immersed in another person's breathing, saying, moving. It was the heat and the danger, the familiarity, the joy of finding a friend and a rival, an enemie and a possible lover.

Little did the know that another twist was about to shake them to the core.

A year later, Tomura was kidnapped by a big bad man Dabi was working for. They called him AFO. Imagine Dabi surprise and concern when he found out that Tomura was on their base, alone with who was probably the worst person alive. Dabi was only a distraction, apparently. Something to drag Tomura closer and closer, enough to have him exactly where AFO wanted, like a moth in a spider web. He wanted to break Tomura, turn him against the heroes, against All Might.

Dabi saw him only once before making his decision. It was late, he sneaked pass the guards to the lab where Tomura was being kept. And what he saw, the way he saw the boy he had missed and loved and hated and longed for, floating in a giant capsule filled with water... He had heard the rumors about Tomura screaming his throat raw, the level of suffering he was putting up with.

For the first time in years now, Dabi felt the bitterness of his behavior climbing to his mouth. He had let that happened. Tomura let him scape again and again, he had covered him, lie for him, he was there because of him.

Dabi couldn't let him die for him too.

He smashed the glass. Tomura was heavier with muscle, he couldn't— he—

Just in time, he felt a friend of his lift Tomura up. Twice.

“ Is this the boy? ”

Dabi didn't reply, dead eyes sparkling among the darkness of the room. Behind him, Compress read his face and let out a tiny approval, telling the others to hurry up. They needed to get far really fast if they wanted to survive the night.

Tomura hadn't met them yet. The League of Villains. His somehow friends, even when he refused to called them that. Would he like them? As he ran, he came to think that yes, Tomura would probably adore them. It was impossible, but the League was fighting like Tomura was a part of them too, barely knowing the guy.

Everything was fine until Toga shouted at someone to make room for the boyfriends.

Oh, they were dead, they knew it. It was either the heroes or the villains, two sides where they didn't belong. So why? Why risking it all for a dude?

Maybe—, Dabi thought to himself as he watched Tomura wake up with rage as pure as his white hair on his eyes, a look he had never seen on him. Tomura only touched the ground and in seconds, a road of dust was opened to them. No more bodies or walls or trees, just a gray path with nothing in it.

In the distance, he heard someone calling out Tomura's name, a hero, a girl.

Spinner mumbled something and pointed at the rising sun. The rest started running towards the horizon. Dabi stayed back, holding Tomura up with an arm on his waist. The hero let his head rest on his shoulder and fell asleep again.

Maybe because he's our hero.

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thegrunkiest · 3 years

Text

Not gonna lie, returning to Skyrim over the past few days has reminded me of just how much I hope TES VI does factions like they did in Oblivion.

!Some critical ranting of Skyrim/positive rambling of Oblivion ahead!

I’m saying this after I started trying to immerse myself in the College of Winterhold, at last, after installing some good magic mods. But I just couldn’t. I couldn’t really care less about this Eye of Magnus or why the Psijic Order wants to talk with me specifically. I couldn’t care about stopping Ancano I can hardly remember what even happens in the questline aside from go into ruin, find orb, go into basement, talk to an aura, go to a ruin, beat up a skeleton dragon and something after that.

This is the same issue I’ve personally had with the Companions, and to a lesser extent, the Thieves Guild. I legit only remember the Companions as “the guild that gives you lycanthropy”. Thieves Guild is a little better, as I do distinctly remember a few of the characters and their quests could get quite creative. I never felt particularly invested however.

So why exactly do I (and possibly some of you) think Skyrim’s factions don’t work, and that they should look back on Oblivion when creating questlines for the next games? For me personally, it boils down to two components: the state of affairs, and sense of progression.

Sense of Progression

I’ll start with the simplest one first. Let’s use the College as an example again, comparing it to the Mage’s Guild of Oblivion. What do you do to gain entry to the College? Cast the requested novice/apprentice level spell (or alternatively, shout if you’re a Dragonborn or just schmooze if you, for some reason, already have 100 in speech). In Oblivion? You have to gain a recommendation from each of the individual chapters by completing a quest unique to each quild hall, which involve a little more work than simply casting a spell.

Alright, alright, so what do we do once we’re in? At the College, we engage in a little lesson with our many (see: three) fellow students. Cool (it’s also our only magic lesson from what I recall - great education system!). Then we’re immediately thrust into the questline, with no real or necessary deviations from the main subject regarding the Eye of Magnus. Then guess what - you’ve become Arch Mage!... wait what? I thought I just joined not too long ago?...

I find it hard to feel good about gaining the leadership role, despite me having just stopped a potentially devastating crisis to earn it, because I never felt more than a junior beforehand. This is how Oblivion does it right with its ranking system in my opinion. While I admit I might have chosen a bad example to draw from, as the Mage’s Guild quests also heavily concerns the main threat in at least some way, but what personally makes it more immersive for me is the fact you’re promoted whilst you’re playing - even to the point you’re being passed onto a different superior for more daring assignments! This is where the little things really count.

Then there’s the Thieves Guild. Unless there’s some backstory I’m glancing over, I don’t see why the Thieves Guild of Skyrim couldn’t have shared the same ranking system as the Oblivion branch, if no one else. In Oblivion, you can only initiate the quests after you’ve passed a certain threshold of fencing stolen goods, something that encourages you to actually be a thief to progress as a thief. I’m not just going from Pickpocket to Gray Fox, as I feel I am from an initiate to Nightingale/Guildmaster in Skyrim; you have various titles you earn in between.

If I had to summarize the point I’m trying to make - I’ll use Oblivion’s Dark Brotherhood. Arguably one of the most popular questlines in TES. Now, could you imagine an Oblivion Dark Brotherhood without Whodunit?, The Assassinated Man, Permanent Retirement, etc. - just axe those unrelated quests in favor of focusing on rooting out the Traitor. No promotions, just primarily finding ways to stop a person who, probably, has killed assassins much more seasoned than you! A deadly threat! Why? Because you’re you! And you obviously deserve to become the Listener after being a Murderer the whole questline.

Which leads me into my next point....

State of Affairs

Skyrim’s questlines seem to have a fixation on factions that are destitute and/or are on the brink of extinction. Business is dry with the Thieves Guild; in the Dark Brotherhood, all but the Falkreath sanctuary is destroyed and the Old Ways are abandoned; the Companions are struggling with the lycanthropy that plagues its strongest members; the College of Winterhold have little reputation in quite an anti-magic province; hell, even the Blades, who were previously slaughtered and run into hiding. The Dawnguard factions I feel are an exception (a reason I like that DLC so much), as the Dawnguard can excuse its low wealth and reputation with the fact that it was just reformed, and the Volkihar Clan have, for all I know, have just been... existing, in the shadows.

Admittedly, Oblivion also has a bit of a running theme among its faction - stable and well-organized factions plagued by a specific threat. The Blades have their Oblivion Crisis, the DB with their traitor ordeal, the Mage’s Guild with the necromancers/Mannimarco, the Fighter’s Guild with the Blackwood Company, Court of Madness with Jyggalag.

The reason why I prefer Oblivion’s guilds over Skyrim, I suppose, is related to my personal problem of power fantasy. Skyrim is a big old power fantasy. You’re the Dragonborn, the chosen one, the Hero of prophecy. So obviously you need to be the savior of each guild, right? You have to be the one the Night Mother deems Listener; the one the Psijics talk to; the one Nocturnal makes a Nightingale.

One might say it’s more realistic that way though, as it adds to Skyrim’s aesthetic of a darker, more unstable time with the Civil War and return of dragons. That’s a fair point. But did 90% of the guilds have to be restricted to poor little groups? Surely the Companions could’ve had other bases in some of the cities somehow, or the Thieves Guild have another hideout in, say Solitude?

You could argue you’re also chosen in Oblivion, sure. But while Uriel saw you in his dreams, you’re place as HoK wasn’t in part due to a superpower, either. I felt I was closing the Oblivion gates because my characters were who they were. You aren’t the only one who can enter Oblivion gates, but you were determined and skilled enough to make it through to the end. While in the factions, you were, for the most part, a newbie working through the ranks until eventually, you’re trusted to confront the threat. In Skyrim it feels less like organizations, and more like ragtag groups that were waiting for you to come in and fix them.

Coupled with the sense progression, this makes experiencing Oblivion’s factions much more organic and satisfying - in my opinion. That’s what’s most important. I’m not ragging on anyone who likes Skyrim’s factions, and I still love Skyrim despite my endless complaints. I understand I may have missed a few points (like the Civil War and Arena), and the ones I made could be disputed.

TL;DR: Skyrim’s fondness for power fantasy and the lack of ranks makes its faction questlines less immersive and more forced, whereas in Oblivion climbing ranks as a sort-of average joe feels organic and more rewarding. This is just my opinion. I don’t hate Skyrim. You’re free to agree or disagree and add to the discussion.

#VS BS #the elder scrolls #elder scrolls #tes iv: oblivion #oblivion #skyrim #i haven't played Morrowind so that's why i didn't mention it #dark brotherhood #college of winterhold #the companions #the mage's guild #the thieves guild #the blades #hope adding tags of the guilds i'm criticizing is okay

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red-hood-redemption · 3 years

Text

SO I know I’m like, super late to the party, but I finally got my hands on Robin 2021 and there is literally no one for me to talk to about it so now I’m just screaming my thoughts into the void ✌

First off, before i even bought the first two issues, I read through a lot of other people’s opinions on it to kinda get an idea of where it was going characterization-wise for Damian, and because of all the mixed reactions, I figured I should just read it myself and find out. Now I am the FURTHEST thing from a comic book authority, so like, this is truly just an opinion piece but if it convinces anyone to give the run a chance, then yay!!! Honestly, I’m really glad I gave it a shot because I’m genuinely hooked! I’m actually excited about this series (and it scares me lol)!!!

I'm gonna separate my thoughts into two sections: characters, and story, mainly for my own ease, but also if anyone cares more about one thing or the other it's easier to distinguish. But, the line is a little blurry so if I end up getting a little too much into the characterization in the story section, just bear with me lmao. OH and I'm going to try and keep this as un-spoilery as possible but we'll just have to see. SOOOOOOOO

Characters

I think it goes without saying that Melnikov's art is absolutely gorgeous, and really does show how much Damian has grown up. It makes me want to sob its so beautiful, everyone is so pretty, even the guy that looks like a washed up, high as fuck Tony Stark lmao. But moving on to the actual characters,

Rose Wilson

I honestly don't know too much about Rose, I haven't read enough about her to say anything about her characterization and how it compares to her other appearances, or whether or not she is OOC, but so far, I'm enjoying her taking up the "big sis" role, like, immediately lmao.

I don't know how much I trust her yet, but I definitely get the vibe that even if she does betray Dami in any way, she's probably gonna stick her neck out for Dami again and he's probably gonna do the same.

I'm really intrigued about her motivations for being here. Obviously, Respawn has something to do with it, but I want to know what's up with that. I've seen a lot of theories and I'm so excited. Also side note, that Black Swan chick is hot, and I can't wait to see more of her in action!!!

I feel like Ravager knows a WHOLE lot more than Dami does about the interesting things going on on the island, mainly because she's been doing a lot more sitting and waiting than he has as of yet, but I'm hoping to see more of the two of them doing detective-y sleuthing together. We love a mysteryyyy

Flatline

Okay but real talk, why does she look like a character straight out of Monster High

Honestly tho, I dig it. It's cute! She's cute! She isn't annoying (yet) but I don't know if I care too much about her other than she would make a cute friend for Dami.

I think the problem with DC is that they know people LOVE Harley Quinn and they try so hard to make characters just like her but it always falls short, so honestly I am a little wary of her character development in this run, but I'm willing to give her a shot since her little coffin purse on the cover of the second issue is so damn cute. I'm a slut for character design, okay?

Oh speaking of Flatline and Dami, I don't ship it and I don't want them to force a romantic relationship into Damian's "coming of age"/"soul-searching" moment okay? Because that's what this run is about, at least to me! More on that in the story section!

They're literally 13/14 years old. That's 8th-9th grade, babes lets think about that for a minute

Also let's stop the whole "lets introduce a female character just to make her a love interest!" bullshit okay?

Basically, Flatline is interesting, or at least has the potential to be, but I don't want to get my hopes up because DC is notorious for disservicing their female characters 😕

I think the mixed reaction to her is valid, I don't think she's had much time to make a solid impression yet, so I guess you'd have to read it for yourself. Personally, I don't understand why people immediately hate her, especially because she's like, 14, and what kid that age isn't annoying? like at least a little bit lmao! But, yeah. I don't trust her either but literally everyone on this island is sketchy at least and a murderer at best, so hey 🤷‍♀️

Damian

His new outfit lmaoooo at first I was like "WHaT is this child wearing? You'd think Dick would have rubbed off on him and taught him what good taste looks like" but then I saw the later outfit, with the gold patterning and those sleeeevessssss ugh and I take it all back. A Fashion Icon TM. Truly stunning. A sight to behold. So proud, look at him go 😪

I think there's a lot of different opinions on Damian's characterization in this run, and I can definitely see where its coming from, but I disagree with the notion that Damian has been done dirty and reverted to a blood-thirsty, feral child. And I have a LOT of opinions on the whole "feral" thing regarding Damian period (but that's for another time).

I don't think of Dami's rampage as a regression for his character. He's letting of emotions right then and I think its very similar to him venting. Its just not verbal, its physical and he knows he's not going to have to grapple with the consequences of his actions on the first kill. He knows he's technically not doing anything wrong.

He is clearly upset at Bruce and his failure to protect Alfred, and while Dami and Bruce are really often described as being very similar personality-wise, they are still distinctly different individuals who came to their current moral codes in vastly different ways. Bruce came to his "no killing" rule on his own; he made that decision for himself. It wasn't taught to him, it was a moment-of-truth kind of situation. Damian, on the other hand is in a vastly different situation.

Dami is, I think, at the beginning of the climb to his own moment-of-truth. He is in his rebellious phase like Dick, where he's gone off to spread his wings. It's not his conscious intention (at least that's not the vibe I got from reading the first two issues), but its directly underlying his "mission".

Damian is growing out of the expectations of his parents and into his own person. We all know he's been thrown from one moral code to another, both drastically different from each other. I don't think its a regression for him to lose his way a little, because realistically, he's going to have to in order to find it, specifically a moral compass that he forged on his own. He's just what? 14? Like hell a kid his age wants to listen to any form of authority. He's as stubborn as it comes. Damian needs to come to his decision regarding the path he takes in life on his own. It can't be made for him. He's seen and lived both sides of the coin, and I don't think he should be forced just yet to choose a side or pave a middle ground, but I do think that he should get the opportunity to see and experience all the gray areas on his own.

I think I'll transition from characterization to story here, because let's face it, this story is about Damian dealing with his confused emotions right now, in the wake of losing Alfred, a man that kind of acted like a grounding presence, a voice of reason, or a moral compass for him (and honestly Bruce and the rest of the bat crew if we're honest).

Story

So there's a lottttt going on in the story that is really enticing and exciting, and I'm really interested to see how it all plays out.

All the rules to the tournament are so, sketchy? Like they don't sound like they are meant to be sketchy, its basic safety and guidelines or whatever but with all the glowy green shit and the stakes of the tournament? Yeah, you can bet your ass its the "no fighting at night" and other shit is gonna be broken, and that's likely when the fun begins *insert evil laughter*😈

I was slightly put off by the whole "let me teach you to have fun" thing with Rose, because it's not like Dick, Steph, Jon, and like the Titans haven't done that with him too, but eh, not something I'm too concerned about. It's definitely just a segway to get us introduced to more characters that might become Damian's friends which will be interesting considering what Mother Soul said about fraternizing.

And that's another thing! I want Damian to make some friends! I know he already has some, but here's the thing: I think he's already been struggling with belonging, and he's definitely been feeling the disconnect between his life and other kids', whether they're supers/vigilantes or not. I think it'd be nice to see Dami have the experience of meeting people who he at first thinks are just like him!! and then realizing that maybe he doesn't really fit in here either, and that it's okay to feel like you don't belong, as isolating as it may feel at times. It just means you have a set of values. I want him to realize that its not always a bad thing, and you learn more about yourself and your own heart this way.

And from there,,, lets talk about the thing that stuck out to me the most in these two issues! GUILT!! It's mentioned SOO many times already, and I think its going to be a really fun, heartbreaking, and interesting aspect to explore about Damian. Is it guilt about his actions? Leaving behind family? Not being able to save Alfred? Not being a perfect example of Robin? He may call himself Robin but he doesn't sport the OG look or symbol like before. I love that his guilt takes on the form of Alfred though, or at least his conscious. I think it'd be really interesting to see this conscious disappear when Dami strays too far from his center, and when he finds it again, it reappears.

I really think that seeing Damian's actions in this run as a failure of character development is an unfair assessment, though. You can't do everything right in order to grow! You have to screw up, lose your way, experiment with life to find your fit, right?

Something tells me he doesn’t care for the tournament itself, but the end result, and the people behind it and more about WHY it was hidden from him. I mean he finds out the tournament TRULY begins once everyone has died once and tHEN he kill everyone? Felt to me less like a “killing spree” as everyone put it to a calculated decision to get the tournament going. He literally cuts Mother Soul off in the middle of her speaking to start fighting at the beginning

Anyway, just my thoughts lol. I do have some issues with the past two issues, and I might make a separate post about that, but honestly not enough for me to dislike Robin 2021 so far. I mean, besides the very obvious white-washing in the second issue, because DC can absolutely do better. And they should. It’s like they thought we wouldn’t notice???? But besides that, story and characterization-wise I’m looking forward to more. Here’s to hoping it stays that way, just with a better colorist!

#dc comics #robin 2021 #damian wayne #robin

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ts-waywardchildren-au · 3 years

Text

Wings

so I finally got tumblr to stop being a bitch and let me post the full thing!

AO3 link

taglist: @theimprobabledreamersworld

Word count: 4330

TW: mentions of religion/church, mentions of alcohol, shouting, implied homophobia, implied past transphobia.

Anyone who knew Mr. and Mrs. Harte would quickly realize that, if there was any couple in the world who should not raise children, it was them.

Mr. Harte was, in the nicest way possible, both a workaholic and an alcoholic, despite his preaching that the Bible should be followed to the letter, which meant every time he opened a bottle he sinned. But, of course, the bible applied only to other men.

Mrs. Harte was what most would call a busy-body who cared much more about her appearance to her neighbors than she did children. She was the kind of woman who everyone only pretended to like but then gossiped about her behind her back. Despite her insistence that she was the most important woman in the world, she made none of her own choices, only followed the latest beauty trends, and did as her husband said.

This is why, when the Hartes decided to have children, everyone was slightly concerned, to say the least.

The Hartes saw children as vessels for the parent’s ambitions, as dolls to dress up or as little creatures to be trained to impress friends and family. Ten years later, their only child Patton was none of these things. He was not a prim and proper girl like Mrs. Harte had wanted, nor was he the kind of boy who played every sport known to man.

Patton was the kind of child who would prefer to play in the dirt rather than keep the tiny suits his mother had picked out for Sunday church perfectly spotless, the kind of child who would rather chase dragonflies across the soccer field than kick the ball. The kind of child, who, among other things, wanted nothing but to play with his friends and to ride on his father’s shoulders, and to bake cookies with his mother.

But Patton was also the kind of child who never got to do these things. This is perhaps the reason why, when he saw a door in the trunk of a tree, did not immediately run back to the park where the church kids played. He had organized a game of hide and seek with the other children, and while the other children could be quite dull, none could pass up a game of hide and seek, not even the older kids.

He wiggled out from his hiding place from under the bushes and tiptoed towards the tree trunk-door that should not be there. He turned his head to the side, looking at the door from all angles. Up and down, side to side, inspecting every inch before raising a hand to knock on the gray wood. One, two, three taps, and the door creaked open. Where one would expect to see the inside of a tree, there was instead a hallway.

Figuring that inside a tree would be an even better hiding spot than under a bush, Patton stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Unseen light sources allowed Patton to see as he walked away from the door. Had he looked back, he might have noticed that where the door should have been was a blank wall with not even a crack to suggest an opening. But Patton did not look back- he just kept walking, his footsteps echoing on the floor of wood paneling until he came to a staircase going upwards.

There, on the first step, someone had planted a sign.

“Be sure,” Patton read aloud. “Be sure… of what? I’m sure this is a very good hiding place!”

He had a habit of talking to himself, something his parents very much did not approve of, and it was through his conversation with himself that Patton deduced that he must be quite sure that he wouldn’t be found. Had he known how correct he was, perhaps he might not have gone up the stairs. But Patton was ten years old and had a sense of adventure, so he began to climb.

The stairs seemed to go on forever, spiraling upwards without end. But as soon as he thought about giving up and going back down, Patton saw the end of the stairs.

“Hello?” Patton called out from the top stair. It only now occurred to him that this could be someone’s house he just walked into!

There was no reply, and Patton stepped off the stairs onto the landing. It didn’t seem like anyone’s house, because Patton couldn’t think of any houses that had no roof or walls! The floor of the not-house seemed to be… tree bark? Patton looked up and saw the sky, bright blue and cloudless. He didn’t know it at the time, but the sweetness in the air was the lack of pollution and car exhaust, and his ears had stopped ringing because there wasn’t the constant noise of cars. It was so quiet… so pretty!

“Young man, what are you doing up here?”

Patton let out a small squeak of surprise and turned to face the adult who had walked up behind him.

“Oh- um- I- I’m sorry, ma’am- I found a door and I was playing hide and seek, and I walked up the stairs, and now I’m talking to you, and- I- um, I’m sorry!”

“Oh!” The adult’s face softened from the glare she had before Patton stuttered out an apology. “It’s quite alright. What’s your name?”

“I’m Patton! Um… is this your house?”

“You could say that. So, Patton, are you sure?”

Patton didn’t understand what he was supposed to be sure about, so he did what all children would do: say yes and hope there weren’t consequences.

At his affirmation that he was sure (even though he was not), the adult clapped her hands and smiled. As she moved towards Patton, he saw what made this adult so unlike the rest of the adults that he knew.

“Why do you have wings?”

“I’ve earned them. And someday, Patton, you will too.”

That answer only slightly satisfied Patton, but it was good enough for now- even a ten-year-old realized that he wouldn’t be getting any further clarification anytime soon.

“How do I get them?”

“Well, Patton,” the adult turned her back and beckoned Patton to follow her. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, I am!”

That was the first time Patton had felt sure, though he didn't know what it was for- he only knew that he was sure he wanted answers, sure that he wanted wings! The other children would want to be friends with him then, right?

“Very good. Now stand here, beside me.”

Patton did as he was told, and for the first time got a good look at the new, strange adult. She was tall, taller than his mother, with long silky black hair that Patton thought looked quite like one of the ties his father wore to work- straight and shiny.

Patton had been told, like all children, about stranger danger, but this adult… Patton didn't know why, but he knew that he would be safe with her.

“Take my hand, Patton, and don’t let go, alright?”

Patton nodded and gripped tightly, something his mother would have scolded him for. But neither his mother nor father was here to tell him off, and Patton knew that as long as he didn't cause too much trouble, nothing bad would happen.

Before Patton could ask what was going to happen, the ground was far beneath him and the adult. He let out a shriek but remembered to hold on to her hand and not let go. He kicked his feet, searching for solid ground.

The wind rushed past his ears, tangling his hair, making his eyes water.

Every time the adult flapped her gigantic wings the noise of hundreds of feathers made his ears ring with the thunderous movements.

But… his curiosity overtook his fear. Would he get wings like that?

Wings like the birds he saw in the park? Or maybe like the dragonflies in his garden? Maybe like the colorful butterflies that he always attempted to coax onto his finger? Or perhaps the black and red ladybugs he liked to let crawl all over his fingers?

As suddenly as the ground had left from beneath him, Patton stood upright once again, this time on the greenest grass he had ever seen.

“This is my home, Patton. You may stay here for as long as you wish.” The adult gestured to a ladder hanging from a tree branch, connections to something obscured by the dark green leaves that were as big as Patton himself.

“Oh! Thanks! Um, what should I call you?”

“You may call me whatever you wish, but my name is Noelani.”

“Okay! Thank you, Miss N!”

***

Over the years, Miss N became Miss Noelani, which simply became Noelani, who became Patton’s friend.

And over the years, Patton sprouted his wings- they had come through small and itchy at first, and he was unused to the new weight on his back. His feathers had grown in, small and fluffy at first but becoming larger and sleeker and his wings grew. He had been in this world, the one he began to call home, for almost two years when he could finally fly on his own. Noelani had taught him, by coaxing him to jump off tree branches and trust he would catch himself. He had been afraid, at first, even terrified. But Now?

Now he flew everywhere, stretching his arms in the wind, laughing as he let the air blow through his feathers, grinning as he plummeted towards the ground and caught himself at the last second.

There were contests held every full moon, and Patton had competed in them for as long as he had been able to fly. He had started wobbly, unsure, but once he grew into his wings?

He was unbeatable. He was the best flier there was, darting in between trees and taking sharper turns than any others dared to.

The cheers of the audience fueled him to go faster, faster, faster! He stretched a handout, reaching for the finish line.

“Come on, Chick!” Noelani’s shouts of encouragement could be heard over everyone else’s cheering.

A burst of speed and Patton flew ahead of the other competitors by a full wing length, stopping only when he landed on the branch behind the finish line. The wingbeats of other races still hadn’t stopped, though one by one they joined Patton on the branch. When the last competitor landed, everyone began to give their congratulations.

“Good race! That was close!” Patton smiled at the second-place finisher, who in turn shook his hand.

“Maybe I’ll beat you next time, Pat!”

“You can certainly try!”

“Chick! You were amazing!”

Patton turned to see Noelani coming through the small crowd, a grin on her face. Her hair was shorter than when Patton had first met her, and the feathers on her jet black wings had dulled, but her smile was still the same.

“You know, when I was your age-” Noelani was cut off by Patton’s laugh. She glared and continued. “When I was your age, I could never have done that!”

She took Patton into a hug and handed him a towel when she pulled away. “You’re so sweaty! Gross!”

“It’s not that bad!” Patton wiped his forehead and grimaced, “Okay, maybe it is that bad.”

“Come on, Chick! Clean up and I’ll get you some food.”

Patton nodded and turned back to the other racers, giving them a final grin before leaving.

“Hey! Patton! Wait!”

He turned around to see the second-place finisher running towards him.

“Here, I wanted to give you this.” He handed Patton a small pastry. “I made it myself. Don’t eat it yet, save it for when you start to get sore.”

“Oh! Thanks! I’m sure I’ll enjoy it!”

Patton slipped the pastry into his pocket and waved as he began to fly after Noelani, allowing himself to glide in the wind instead of frantically flapping his wings to propel himself even faster.

It was only after a meal of freshly picked fruit and homemade bread that Patton remembered the pastry he had been given by the second-place finisher- what was his name? Something that began with a D… oh well, Patton would have to thank him later!

“Someone gave this to me,” Patton said as he took the pastry out of his pocket, several crumbs falling onto the table. “Would you like to split it?”

Noelani shook her head. “It’s yours.”

Patton nodded and took a bite, and immediately felt the tightness in his shoulders and wings disappear. He was always sore after a race, and usually was for a few days after that, but not anymore.

Before Patton could take another bite, Noelani gasped.

“Patton! Patton, you-”

He looked at Noelani, and before she could make another sound, Patton let out a scream.

“I- 'm- I can’t see my hands- what’s happening to me!?”

Noelani grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug. “Patton, listen to me. Listen to me! Whatever happens, you can find your way back. You can find your way back, and I will be waiting here for you.”

“But- I don’t want to leave! Noelani, what’s happening!? Noelani-!”

One minute, Patton was holding tight to his friend and in her home, and the next he was surrounded by a pile of feathers on the asphalt of an old weathered playground, illuminated by glaring streetlights in the absence of the sun.

“No! No! Let me back… let me back!” Patton pounded his first against a tree, begging, pleading for a door to appear until his hands became bloody.

Crying, begging, pleading for a way home.

A gust of wind began to blow through the park, and Patton began to frantically grab his feathers from dispersing in the gust. He wouldn’t let what was left of his home be scattered away from him. sand

With an armful of gray feathers and eyes full of salty tears, Patton began to walk to where he remembered his parents’ house to be, his bare feet leading him across the cold concrete sidewalks of the too-bright neighborhoods.

He wondered briefly what someone would make of him, an unfamiliar teenager walking barefoot through the street, carrying nothing but a bundle of gigantic feathers and wearing a sky blue tunic with an open back.

Already he missed his home, missed the familiar weight of his wings, missed the way Noelani’s feathers would tickle his cheeks when they hugged.

He paused at the sidewalk leading up to the house where he had lived for the first ten years of life yet had never truly called home. His home would always be at Noelani’s nest, where he would spend hours leaping between branches to find the sweetest fruits, where he would chase after the crows and sparrows, could bake the perfect meals on top of a fireplace, where he could practice racing around her tree-

He took a gasp of breath, and before doubts could creep into his mind, knocked at the door and winced as another cut on his fist opened up.

After a minute of waiting, he began to worry. What if his parents had moved away? Then where would he stay while he waited for his door to come back? Or what if they no longer remembered him? Though he had never called this place home, he still loved his mother and father! What would he do if he never got to say goodbye, to tell them where he was?

The door opened with a familiar creak.

“Patton?”

“Hi, dad!” Patton put on a smile, a performance for his family.

“What- Patton!” His mother appeared behind his father and put her hand over her mouth in disbelief. “Where have you been? And- how- how do you look so much older-?”

“What do you mean? Mom, I’m sixteen and Noelani always said I had a baby face!” He chuckled, although laughter was the last thing on his mind.

“Patton, you’re twelve! You’ve been missing for two years!”

“Patton, come inside. Tell us everything you can. Should we call the police? Honey, I think we should call the police!” His father added.

“The police? Why would you do that?” Patton tilted his head to the side in confusion, a habit he had picked up from the birds that he had befriended.

“BECAUSE YOU HAVE BEEN MISSING FOR TWO YEARS! BECAUSE YOU LOOK SIXTEEN WHEN YOU SHOULD BE TWELVE!”

His mother shouted and looked surprised at herself for being so loud. His father put a hand on his shoulder and led him to the couch- a different couch than the one Patton remembered. This one was new, shiny leather, while the one he remembered had been soft red fabric. He felt his hair get staticky, and the feathers in his arm- which his mother seemed to just now notice, and wrinkled her nose at the sight of them- began to stick up.

“Patton, tell us what happened. We care about you, son,” his father said gently. Patton didn’t know why, but the thought of being called ‘son’ brought out an emotion he didn’t like. So he did what he always did: ignored the feeling and began to talk.

He talked about how he had been hiding and found the door that didn’t belong, how he walked through the hallway and climbed up the staircase, where Noelani had found him and taken him to her nest. He told them what Noelani had said, that the world was full of magic, that birds were the carriers and messengers of that magic, how the birds gave all humans wings so they could fly between the gigantic trees that held houses, or sometimes even cities.

He told his parents about racing, and about the war he had always known he would have to fight to protect his home. He told them about the racing he did to distract himself from his visions of battles, the training he did so that when the war came, he would be able to protect his friends.

And he told them about the last race he ever won, before fading away while pleading to stay with Noelani, to stay in his home, to stay in the world of birds and flight and magic and everything else he loved. The world where someone cared about him for who he was.

When he finished his story, there was a beat of silence before his father spoke up.

“Patton, I think you should get to sleep. We kept your bed in your room, and you can borrow some of my pajamas for the night. We can talk about this more in the morning.”

And with that, Patton was sent up the familiar stairs to an unfamiliar room. Everything left in there was coated in a layer of dust- only a bookshelf with some stuffed animals and old books next to a bed he didn't remember being that small. Patton knew there should have been more things- toys strewn across the floor, a baby-blue rug, a lego set of a cat. His parents must have cleaned up while he was gone.

He realized he still had his feathers in his arms. He dropped them to the floor and dragged the neatly made blanket off the bed, and began to build himself a sleeping nest like the one he had at home.

When he was satisfied with his work, he lay down and covered himself in the largest feathers he had carried from the park- his dark gray flight feathers.

It took him too long to fall asleep, but when he awoke and went downstairs, he found his father waiting for him.

“Son,” he began. “I’ve done some research, and I think the best place for you to be is a boarding school. Thomas Sanders’ Home For Wayward Children. I heard he deals with… cases… such as yours.”

***

A week after the conversation that Patton had no say in, he found himself carrying a bag and a suitcase across a cobblestone pathway to an imposing, mansion-like structure where a man waited for him at the door.

“You must be Patton, right?” The man asked, holding out his hand in greeting.

“Yes, sir,” Patton replied, attempting to hide the fear in his voice. He hadn’t been with his parents in years, but he still remembered that any school he would be sent to was almost guaranteed to be one of religious teachings.

The man waved him off. “No need for formalities, you can call me Thomas! Or Mr. Sanders, whichever you prefer. Now, Patton, may I ask what your world was like?”

“My- my world? Um, I go to church every Sunday and-“

“No, no! Not this world! The one you call home. Mine was one of the trees of every color, with the softest grass, and fairies hiding in every flower, dryads in every tree. And not the kind of fairies your parents likely despise! Oh- sorry, that was probably a little odd. Never mind that, tell me about your world!”

Thomas led Patton through the sturdy oak doors into the house- if it could be called that. From the outside, it looked like a single house had been built onto until it became a sprawling maze of living rooms, and the inside was even more confusing.

The entry hall alone had painted portraits that looked like they belonged in museums, not hung on wallpaper that looked like it was from the seventies. A crystal chandelier cast oddly shaped shadows across the multitude of doors that connected to the hall.

“My world… my world was one where birds carried magic and gave it to any who they thought was worthy. I made friends there. Some were like me, humans who were given wings. Others were birds. Sparrows, crows, finches, ravens, robins… I loved them all. And- and I want to go back.”

“I understand, Patton. Almost everyone here wants to go back. It’s my job to try to help you and these other kids not be so homesick while we all wait for our doors.”

“Th- thank you. I haven’t been away from home for more than a week and I already miss it.”

“You will never miss home any less, but I hope the weight of missing it gets easier to carry. Now come on, let’s get you settled. I can-“

Thomas was cut off by a crash coming from what sounded to be far above their heads. He cringed and continued. “I need to go fix that. Ah, Nico can show you your room. Pryce, if you’re doing what I think you’re doing, stop it! Nico!”

Thomas took off in a sprint through one of the doors, leaving Patton alone in the entry hall until another man came running in.

“Hi, you must be Patton! I’m Nico. Nico Flores-Sanders. I help my husband around the school. I’ll show you to your room, and make sure Janus doesn't kill you,” he laughed and took Patton’s suitcase.

“Uh, that was a joke, right?” Patton asked tentatively.

“Mostly, yes. We did have to break up a fight between them and another student, though. To be fair, the other student was being, ah, quite a jerk.”

Patton nodded. Don’t be a jerk, and don’t start a fight. Those seemed like easy enough rules to follow.

“Here, up this staircase and the first door on the right. If you get lost, you can always ask your roommate for directions. Somehow they were faster at learning their way around than I was!”

“You went here, too?”

“Yup! Though back in my day, it was called Eleanor West’s Home. She didn’t actually run this building, she ran one on the upper east coast. Thomas and I met when we were both in school, and when he took over, I helped him run it.”

“Oh! You two must be really good friends!”

Nico began to laugh, and Patton couldn’t understand what he had said that was so funny.

“Ooo-Kay. Here’s your room. Janus! Your roommate is here!”

Nico knocked, and Patton’s new roommate opened the door.

“Uh, hi. I’m Patton.”

“Janus. They and them pronouns. If you call me he or she, I will break your knee.”

“Janus, what have we said about cryptic and threatening introductions? Please make Patton feel welcome,” Nico scolded.

Janus rolled their eyes and gestured with a gloved hand for Patton to come in. They waved at Nico, who gave a smile and closed the door. In the dim light, Patton could see the odd appearance of the person he’d be sharing a room with.

Janus wore a black bowler hat, a bit of wavy brown hair sticking out of it and hanging in their eyes, which Patton could tell, even in the dark, were two different colors. The most startling thing about their appearance, though, was the scar that ran from their left eye down to their chin.

“That’s your bed, on that side. I hope you don’t mind the dark because the curtains stay closed at all times. I have a space heater, so if it gets too hot in here, I will move it but under no circumstances will I turn it off. And I meant what I said, if you use any pronouns for me besides they and them, I will not hesitate.”

Patton did not ask “hesitate to do what?” because he was pretty sure he knew the answer. However, he did ask, “why are your pronouns they/them?”

“I am non-binary. Neither a man nor woman. It falls under the transgender umbrella.”

Patton just nodded and thought for a minute. “Am I non-binary, too?”

Janus raised an eyebrow. “You can be if you feel like it fits you.”

He began to unpack his suitcase and bag, putting his feathers on the bed and clothes in the dresser. He had refused to let anyone touch his feathers, his reminder that his home had really existed, that he wasn’t just making things up like his parents insisted that he was. When he was done making a proper nest on the floor with the pillows, blankets, and what was left of his wings, he turned to Janus.

“I’m Patton, and I think I’m non-binary, too. I went to a world where birds were magic and humans could get wings. And, um, thank you for not breaking my knees.”

That night, as Patton curled into his makeshift nest, he felt like she belonged somewhere for the first time since he had faded from Noelani’s hug.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #patton sanders #ts patton #janus sanders #ts janus #nico flores #ts nico #karrot kings #pintroverts #platonic moceit #sanders sides au #sanders sides fic #wayward writing

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ri-ahhh · 4 years

Note

Ooooh but like what if it's gray getting jealous and a teeny but insecure too when MJ mentions some of her work mates and other close guy friends w whom she hangs out and drinks and parties yk?And when he finally meets them he might not be able to get some inside jokes or be pissy on how touchy one of her guy bffs is?!And just goes like"baby am I too young for you?"🥺maybe some cute fluff and hot makeup sex?? ;p Sorry if this too much or straight up lame It's cool if you don't wanna concept this

Ok, first of all, I love this. Second, this is my first MJ concept and I’m soft af🥺

If there’s one personality trait Grayson Dolan wouldn't normally attribute to himself, it’s that of being easily jealous. Why would he be? His life, despite it’s occasional heavy downs, is relatively picturesque in the grand scheme of things. He’s got a loving family, an amazing career, a beautiful girlfriend, and he’s narcissistic enough to proudly say he’s a good-looking dude.

But the little green monster first starts to stir in chest when said beautiful girlfriend lays back on his chest one morning, scrolling through Instagram while the two of them laze in bed. MJ is looking through the pictures she had been tagged in at a company dinner the night before, double-tapping her phone screen occasionally and diverting his attention away from his own phone when she does.

“Who’s that?” he asks, trying to sound as casual as possible as he eyes a certain picture with slightly narrowed eyes.

“Hm?” MJ had already scrolled down to the next photo, but she goes back to the one in question. Grayson points to the guy standing next to her. “Oh. That’s Jesse. He’s one of my teammates.”

Grayson doesn't respond right away, his gaze focused on the way the attractive young man has his arm wrapped tightly around MJ’s waist in the group photo. MJ is leaning away from him, but it still gives him a bad vibe — not from her, but from him.

“He looks friendly.”

MJ glances up at him and slaps the other side of his bare chest with the back of her hand jokingly. “Relax, we all had to squeeze in to get the picture. He’s just a colleague.”

“Yeah, to you,” Grayson mumbles. He tosses down his phone and turns on his side so he can throw his arm over her middle, nuzzling into her hair.

MJ smiles and scratches her nails up and down his sculpted arm, his warm breath tickling her ear. He’s not really the possessive type, too confident in himself and trustworthy in her for this to have ever been an issue in their relationship, but her work world is one entirely separate from him. She doesn’t think it’s too irrational for him to be suspicious, especially since she can admit feeling a little iffy about the way Jesse had so easily sidled up to her for that photo.

She shifts her head on the pillow so she’s facing him, kissing his lips softly but soundly. It’s an unspoken reassurance between them, and they both let the topic go.

A few days later, they’re in the kitchen together, a pass only she is allowed while Grayson cooks. MJ sits on the island, her feet dangling over the cabinets as Grayson stirs the vegetables he’s sautéing on the stove, when her phone buzzes on the marble countertop beside her. She picks it up and chuckles, her manicured fingers typing away.

“What’s so funny?” Grayson asks nosily.

MJ hits ‘send’ in the text response she wrote. “Jesse sent a stupid meme that reminded him of this super difficult exec we have to deal with for one of our clients.” She holds up her phone so Grayson can see it, but without the further context he doesn’t really see the humor in it. It causes a weird sensation to bubble in his stomach, one he can’t quite place, but it definitely makes him give the veggies an extra vigorous stir that has some of them flying out of the pan on accident.

He draws the line on this guy in his head when MJ sends him a text the next afternoon while he’s in a Wakeheart meeting downtown, just a few blocks from her office.

ugh baby i’m so sorry i have to cancel our lunch date :/ jesse wants to keep working on this report we have due this afternoon and i’ll look like a dick if i leave.

Grayson huffs and feels the back of his neck flush with anger. Why is Jesse controlling whether or not she can take her lunch break? She has a habit of skipping it to begin with, which Grayson can’t stand and actively tries to make sure she doesn’t do, so his irritation with this dude is through the roof now. His mind can’t help but wander to the possibility that maybe Jesse is doing it on purpose; he knows for a fact all of her coworkers know about him, so who’s to say he’s not trying to keep her to himself today? Before he can type out a heated response, however, MJ double-texts.

i promise I’ll make it up to you tonight. whatever you want, on me. literally and figuratively ;)

She knows him too well, can probably sense his frustration a few streets away. Grayson sighs, but his mouth lifts in a little smile, because he loves her and he’s low-key looking forward to that promise now.

Alright. I’ll be thinking about that to get me through this meeting. Pls eat tho baby, it makes me worry when you don’t.

me too lol. and gonna order some kreation now, don’t worry. ily

She punctuates her message with a few heart emojis, and Grayson returns the sentiment before pocketing his phone once more. His mind is far from the financial projections he’s supposed to be paying attention to, but luckily this is much more Ethan’s territory in the business than his, anyways.

Friday, he and MJ are cuddling on the couch watching a movie when out of nowhere she gasps a little and sits up from where she’s leaning on him. “Oh, I almost forgot to ask. You and E doing anything tomorrow?”

Grayson chuckles and shakes his head, amused by the suddenness of her question. He pushes a lock of her hair, damp from their shared shower, behind her ear. “Not that I know of, other than we might go to the skatepark.”

MJ grins. “Well, my boss is making us do our monthly team-building workshop at a climbing gym, if you want to tag along. I don’t think you’ll be able to join us during the middle of it, obviously, but afterwards it would give you the chance to meet some of the people I work with, if you want.”

He considers it. He hasn’t been climbing in a while, and he’s actually been itching to get back into it. Not to mention, it’ll give him a chance to keep an eye on Jesse while he’s around MJ in the skin-tight lycra she wears to work out in.

“Yeah, I’m down. I’ll ask E if he wants to come, too.”

The next day, the three of them roll up to the gym in Ethan’s Tesla. Grayson wastes no time in taking MJ’s hand in his as they walk through the parking lot, just in case a certain set of eyes are watching. MJ squeezes his fingers reassuringly; she’s not dumb, not impervious to the fact that when he kisses her goodbye once they step inside and before they go their separate ways that he had caught a glimpse of the man from the picture that put his guard up to begin with.

When he pulls back but makes no move to join Ethan on the other side of the gym, MJ shakes her head with a grin and cups his cheek softly.

“No need to stake your claim, Neanderthal,” she says.

He looks down at her with a pout that makes her heart and her panties melt. His wide hands plant themselves on her hips and tug her a little closer to him, anyways. “Am I being obvious?” he asks.

“Only to me,” she winks, rising on her toes to give him one more chaste kiss. “Now go with E, before Chanel gets here and I have to reverse the roles.”

Grayson laughs but does as he’s told, giving her waist a gentle squeeze before they part ways. MJ’s company had rented half of the gym, which was roped off for them. He chooses the open wall closest to the one they're using, eager to keep his girlfriend as nearby as possible for the couple of hours they would be separated.

As he sits on a bench and slips on his climbing shoes, Grayson can’t help but search out where Jesse is. He’s easy to spot, that’s for sure. Not only is he already next to MJ, chatting animatedly while she smiles and nods politely in return, but he stands out with his curly mop of hair, caramel-colored skin, and pale blue eyes. Maybe his attractiveness is part of the reason Grayson is somewhat intimidated by his obvious interest in MJ, but he’s also part of her everyday life, one he knows nothing about other than what she shares with him.

It’s never been something that bothers him, because it’s healthy to have a life outside of a relationship, but he’s always dated — hooked up, whatever you want to call it — in his industry. There was always a mutual understanding of what work and life in general entailed with those flings, and it’s taken Jesse for him to suddenly realize he doesn’t have the experience or the knowledge of how to handle his feelings with that not being the case with MJ. It makes him feel out of control, not good enough somehow.

Grayson Dolan does not like to be out of control and he most certainly does not like being below his own standards.

“Who’s that?”

Grayson is brought out of his daze by his brother’s voice and the hand he had clapped to his shoulder. If he were able to laugh at himself in this moment, he might have found Ethan’s question funny, since it was exactly what he’d said when he first saw Jesse, too. Ethan’s gaze is fixed on MJ and the man in question, who had placed his hand on her elbow as he talked only for MJ to duck down to ‘tie her shoe.’

“Jesse,” is all he says, standing up to buckle his chalk belt around his waist.

“Oh,” Ethan replies, nodding his head a little. “Do we like him?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.”

Ethan becomes another set of eyes for Grayson while they climb, giving him nudges or a little whistle every time he catches Jesse standing a little too close to MJ, or finding a reason to touch her, or to ‘help’ her as she climbs up the wall. Grayson glowers over every time, trying his best but probably failing to not to come off as the jealous boyfriend. Every once in a while MJ will catch his eyes, giving him a quick wave or a thumbs-up with a pretty smile just for him. It makes his heart settle some, only for his chest to tighten again when Jesse starts cheering for her a little too loud.

The two hours pass by a little faster as he settles into the rhythm of climbing, trying to put her touchy coworker in the back of his mind. He trusts MJ with everything in him, but he knows how men can be — ignorant either by choice or by idiocy to a woman’s obvious signals of disinterest.

“Gray!”

He’s just reached the top of the wall when his girlfriend’s voice cuts clear through the loud chatter around them. He looks down and sees her on the mat, hair pulled back in a cute high ponytail, freckled cheeks flushed from the exertion of the day, as she waves him down with that same bright smile.

He grins, excited to have her to himself once again. “One sec!”

Once he’s made it back down the wall, he greets her with a kiss. She’s tied her jacket around her waist, leaving her top half covered only by a pretty green sports bra that happens to be both his favorite color and one that makes her eyes pop beautifully.

“I like this,” he says suggestively, hooking his finger in one of the straps and tugging gently.

MJ rolls her eyes and reaches up to adjust the center of the Wakeheart cap he’s got backwards over his hair. “Come on. You can meet the idiots I have to put up with every day.”

She leads him to the group, who are all standing around chatting, gulping down water, gathering keys and such as they prepare to leave. He gets introduced to them a couple at a time. Some of them he recognizes by name, such as Valentina and Jude (both of whom MJ actually likes and considers friends), MJ’s intern Alessia, and Chanel, of course, who bats her eyes so obnoxiously it’s almost comical.

And then there’s Jesse, who’s immediately sizing Grayson up with those striking eyes as soon as they approach him standing in the corner on his phone. Grayson doesn’t back down in the slightest, a smirk fixing itself on his lips when MJ leans into him and wraps her arm around his back. He drapes his own over her shoulders, pulling her that much closer to him.

“Hey Jess. This is the famous boyfriend I’ve told you all about,” she introduces, patting a hand on his hard stomach and smiling up at him for a moment.

Grayson lets go of MJ long enough to extend his hand. “Grayson.”

Jesse accepts and shakes his hand politely. “Jesse. MJ and I are teammates.”

“So I’ve heard,” he says, keeping a tight smile on his face as Jesse continues to square up to him, like Grayson has posed some kind of challenge.

Jesse nods, a grin of his own popping up as he gets the idea that MJ has maybe talked about him before. Grayson wants to roll his eyes, but he stays trying to be the bigger person here.

“So what do you do, Grayson?” Jesse asks.

Another hot flash overcomes him. He’s heard the question often enough to know there are two ways people ask it: innocently and genuinely; or knowingly and almost maliciously, like Jesse is now, waiting for him to say the ‘i’ word and berate him for it passive-aggressively.

MJ tightens her arm around him some, and it calms him down enough to answer with an even tone. “I do social media.”

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg, though,” MJ steps in for him with a grin. “He and his brother have a whole production team under them. And they're CEO’s and part-owners of a fragrance company, Wakeheart. I think I’ve told you, whenever you compliment my perfume, that it’s Grayson’s, right?”

She’s incredible, really. Grayson smiles and shows off the diamonds in his teeth, which glint in the harsh artificial light. “Well, Jesse, if you like MJ’s perfume so much, I’d be glad to send you our whole collection. Maybe you’ll find one that’s right for you.”

He can see Jesse’s resolve start to waver, especially when MJ stands on her toes to kiss Grayson’s stubbled cheek. “Very generous, huh Jesse?”

Jesse clears his throat and digs his keys out of his pocket tellingly. “Ah, yeah. Thanks, man, good to meet you. See you Monday, MJ.”

He brushes past the couple without another glance, and he at least has the decency to blush a little from embarrassment. MJ turns and wraps her arms around Grayson’s middle, staring up at him with big green eyes that sparkle with amusement.

“Do you think he got the picture that I’m completely, totally, head over heels in love with you?” she asks, swaying slightly as he wraps his arms around her as well. “And that he has no chance in this universe whatsoever?”

“I don’t know, I feel like you could’ve laid it on a little thicker. Hyped me up a bit more,” Grayson jokes, dipping down to brush her lips with his. A blonde statue glares at the pair of them when he pulls back and glances over MJ’s head. “Chanel is staring daggers at us. Should we make out right here so she can see how I feel the same about you?”

MJ giggles and shakes her head. “Unfortunately, nothing will faze that bitch.” She nuzzles his nose with hers affectionately, the chaste display a perfect disguise for the dirty whispers that comes out of her mouth next. “Mm, my CEO boyfriend can take me home, though, and fuck me nice and hard in the shower.”

Grayson’s eyes turn a shade darker, and he bites his plump lower lip. He wants to slip his hands down to her ass, but he’s also very aware of how public they are right now. “If we even make it to the shower,” he murmurs.

MJ scrunches her nose and raises her brow in a look of mild disgust. “Gray, if you think I’m sucking your dick after it’s been in a cup for nearly three hours, without you taking a shower, you better think again. I don’t think even Chanel is down for that.”

Grayson lets out a belly laugh and releases her, taking her by the hand instead to go find Ethan. “Noted, baby. Noted.”

#no smut but #might post some tomorrow👀#thank u again bb for sending this in it means a lot❤️#dolan twins #grayson dolan #grayson mj #grayson mj blurb #blurb #g blurb

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peaky-gray · 4 years

Text

Save Yourself

Pt. 6/?

A/N: we've made it to part six, lovelies! I hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think and if you want more!

Listen while you read.

TW: Oswald Mosley. He deserves one

PART ONE. PART TWO. PART THREE. PART FOUR. PART FIVE.

Walking up the stairs to the offices, Tommy was preparing you, Michael, and Arthur for what was to come, Michael asking what the strategy was. It must have been the fifth sentence you’ve heard him speak all day. He didn’t say a word to you the entire trip over to London, only staring out of the train window, not daring to look at you.

Tommy speaks to Michael next to you as you climb the stairs, “ You and Prudence can smile,” Tommy looks at Arthur, “And you, don’t smile.”

The four of you walk into Tommy’s spacious office, Tommy taking his chair behind the desk, Arthur standing by the window, you and Michael sitting with a vacant chair between yourselves as per Tommy’s direction. You didn’t know why the seating arrangement had to be so specific.

Arthur asks the question of the hour, “So, who we meetin’?”

Tommy answers, “The man we’re about to meet is the minister for the Duchy of Lancaster. He is also deputy to the Chancellor of the Exchequer and Cabinet adviser to the Prime Minister of Great Britain.” Now you knew why the seating arrangement was so important.

Tommy continues to speak, “You three have met bad men before. The man we’re about to meet is the devil.”

You glance at Michael while the phone rings, trying to gauge how he was feeling about the encounter that was about to happen. All you find is the cold exterior he always had during business meetings with strangers; a true businessman, Michael was only warm and friendly with clients he knew. He was always stern with new clients so he or the business was never taken advantage of. So far, his strategy has worked. You had seen it first hand. He and you worked together as a team during business meetings, able to work together seamlessly; this was a stark difference.

“Send him in.” Tommy sighed loudly across from you. You never saw Tommy nervous, he always appeared collected even if his mind was in shambles. Today, he looked nervous, and that sat a fire of panic in your stomach.

Everyone in the room was in suspense, Michael turning to look at the door as it finally opens as a tall man sporting a mustache enters. You and Michael stand to greet him, warm smiles on your faces as you were previously told to do so.

The man speaks as he sits down between you and Michael, “I never seem to get to meet you without your family.” Family. You were still a part of the family, never seeming to be able to get out of its clutches. Once a Shelby, always a Shelby.

Tommy speaks sternly, “I understand you know a man called Jimmy McCavern.” At the mention of Jimmy, both you and Michael start to fiddle with your hands, uncomfortable with the meeting already.

The man, Oswald Mosley, doesn’t bother to answer the question right away, asking for a cigarette instead. Taking one and lighting it, he throws the lighter on the desk, the thud echoing through the room.

“Who on earth is Jimmy McCavern?”

Tommy sharply inhales, “Over the last 12 months, you’ve been making approaches to various men across the country who you think might be able to help you in your cause. McCavern is one of these men. He runs the East Glasgow shipyards. He killed an associate of mine.” Associate, apparently to Tommy that’s all Bonnie was.

He continues speaking, “I want to know what your strategy is.”

The man ashes his cigarette on the floor, bits of it floating onto your shoes; you roll your eyes, Michael notices.

Motioning his head over to Arthur, the man speaks, “That one’s your brother, yes?”

Michael speaks to Mosley, “Yes. And I’m his business advisor, next to you is the assistant business advisor. We would like to talk business.” So, it turns out he can acknowledge you.

“Michael. Michael Gray. You lost all your cousin’s money in America playing the fool. A night club in Detroit called the Gladiator is your regular. You lost the money...and found a wife there.”

You jerk your head towards Michael, needing him to see the expression on your face. Pain, disappointment, and shock are etched into your features as Michael stiffens, looking at the man. Michael catches your eye as Oswald begins to speak again, this time looking at you.

“Prudence Jones. You were once engaged to Michael, then he left you while he was in America. You then ran off with Bonnie Gold before his unfortunate end. Truly heartbreaking.”

You sit shocked, both at how he knows that and at how uninterested he seems with the entire conversation. He really was the devil. You can see Michael look at you sympathetically, confirming for you that he actually still did have a heart. But the expression left as soon as it came.

“And poor old Arthur Shelby, standing there at the window, - is afraid his wife will never return.”

You can hear the wood chair creaking behind you as Arthur clutches onto it.

“My spies tell me she’s been seen with another man.”

Arthur continues gripping the wood, starting to splinter under the weight, Tommy calming him in Romani.

Next to you, the man begins to speak again, “And...bingo. Twenty seconds in, and I have them speaking their lingo. Mr. Shelby, I do have plans. I will have need of men like you. Except, of course, there is no other man like you. You, in particular, I need. But please. Don’t imagine I would trouble myself with turf wars. You have many other enemies. Shuffle the pack and pick another card.”

He stands up, reaching into his inside breast coat-pocket pulling out a letter and tossing onto Tommy’s desk. “That investigation of the dead journalist, I've made that go away. Read it and, uh, come back to me. Next time, bring only an open mind and a cigar to celebrate our union.” At that, Oswald Mosley throws the cigarette onto the floor, stomping it out with his shoe and walking out.

Normally you didn’t smoke, but after that encounter you did today. Reaching for the container of cigarettes in front of you, yours and Michael’s hands brush, him reaching for one too. You pull away first, Michael taking a cigarette out and handing you one before grabbing another for himself. You weren’t going to read too much into it because if you did, you would give yourself a headache and only break your own heart even more than it already was.

Tommy opens and reads the letter, throwing his glasses onto his desk, sitting down, exasperated.

Michael, who was standing in front of you leaning on the desk, breaks the silence first, “What the fuck was that all about, Tom?”

You hear Tom whisper ‘fuck’ and Arthur shoving the chair over, breaking a small table and the china set sitting atop of it.

Tommy yells at Arthur, immediately giving you a headache. You hated yelling, as did Michael. He never yelled in front of you, and the rare times he did yell, he asked you to leave the room before doing so. This time you didn’t have a chance to leave as Tommy continued to yell.

“Arthur! Do not let them get inside your head! That’s exactly how these people work.”

Arthur again asks the question everyone was thinking, “Who the fuck are these people? Hmm? Who the fuck are they?!”

Tommy sighs, “I’ve just been invited...to become the deputy leader of a brand-new political party. These people say they are the future.”

Behind you, Arthur huffs loudly, anger rolling off him in waves, as you and Michael finish off your cigarettes while Tommy was clutching his eyes, trying to think of a way to fix this. All of you were fucked.

Tag list: @multi-fandom-iimagines @liviakomtrikru20

#michael gray #michael gray imagine #michael gray x reader #michael gray fanfic #michael gray fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders x reader #bonnie gold #bonnie gold imagine #bonnie gold x reader #bonnie gold fanfic #fanfiction #save yourself #animal kingdom #j cody #j cody imagine

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carewyncromwell · 4 years

Photo

[POTC AU] Captain Orion Amari of the pirate ship Artemis and Captain “Carey Weasley” (Carewyn Cromwell) of the HMS Robin Moodboard

x~x~x~x

“Captain,” said Skye rather sharply, “are you sure about this?”

Orion didn’t answer. He was keeping an eye on the incapacitated HMS Robin through his naval telescope as his own white-and-gray painted ship, the Artemis, sailed away from it.

“Their crew won’t be able to come after us, while they’re stuck on that sandbar,” pointed out the first mate, McNully. “And even if they were able to lighten the load enough to get off of it, there’s only a 12% chance they’d decide to fire on us, while we have their Captain aboard.”

“It’s their Captain I don’t trust,” Skye said irritably.

“Captain Weasley surrendered himself to us honorably,” said Orion calmly. He lowered the telescope, tucking it away in the inside of his long olive suede jacket, and strolled past the helm. “We can afford to show him a bit of courtesy in return, considering how much easier he’s made things for all of us...”

“But tying him up and throwing him in your cabin?” demanded Skye, as she pursued Orion down the stairs to the main deck. “He should be locked in irons in the brig -- he’s our prisoner -- ”

“‘Prisoner?’” Orion repeated airily, raising an eyebrow. "I believe I called him a guest, when I first ordered you to take him aboard.”

“Most guests don’t require being tied up, Orion,” McNully pointed out amusedly. Given that he was missing both legs, he transported himself down from the helm by lifting himself up into some loose ropes in the rigging and then swinging and climbing down to his rolling chair left at the base of the stairs.

Skye, however, still persisted. “Captain, I’m serious about this. Something’s off about this Captain Weasley, I can feel it. He’s not acting like the other officers we’ve taken. He was way too calm, way too...nice.”

“I don’t know if I’d say ‘nice’ is the right word, considering he initially cut off one of my wooden legs, when I first arrived on the deck of his ship,” said McNully. “But he has been very civil since he surrendered to us, I have to admit.”

“Of course,” said Orion. “He cares about the safety of his crew, and the terms of our accord were that we take him and spare his crew and ship, was it not? It’s in his best interest to submit to our authority, at least in the interim.”

“There is a 64% chance he’ll fight back as soon as the HMS Robin is out of range of our cannons, though,” McNully warned him. “Perhaps we should break out some manacles, just in case...”

Orion seemed perfectly disinterested in the suggestion. He’d turned his focus to the sailors in the rigging.

“Set a course southwest, helmsman!” he called. “Heave to and full sail! We’ll make a quick stop in Tortuga for supplies on our way to drop off our cargo...”

Skye barreled in front of Orion to stop him from walking any further.

“Tortuga?! Captain, are you mad!?”

“Thanks to Captain Weasley trying and failing to lighten the load of his ship and escape the sand bar, our plunder was underwhelming,” Orion said patiently. “We still need soap and rum before we travel much longer.”

“But if we make port, then that Weasley could escape!”

McNully couldn’t bite back a laugh. “Escape? A Captain of the British Navy, escaping onto an island full of pirates? There’s not even a one percent chance of that happening.”

“Don’t underestimate him,” growled Skye. She snatched something out from the inside of her shirt. “I found this ‘round his neck, when I tied him up -- ”

She held out a gold chain -- dangling on the end was a round gold medallion engraved with a sinister-looking skull.

Orion’s shoulders stiffened noticeably. He held out his hand so that Skye could give the necklace to him.

“Dunno where it’s from, but it’s definitely a pirate medallion,” Skye said under her breath suspiciously. “That ‘Carey Weasley’ may be a Navy stooge, but he’s got links to piracy too, mark my words.”

McNully rolled himself around to get a better look at the medallion too.

“It looks to be solid gold,” he murmured. “Whichever pirate he got that from -- or stole it from, there’s about a 45 percent chance of that -- was likely one of the wealthier ones...”

Orion’s thumb ran over the medallion absently as he stared at it, his dark eyes rippling with a bizarre, indecipherable emotion. Then, after a long moment, he pocketed the medallion inside his olive coat and turned on his heel.

“Stay on course for Tortuga, McNully,” he said quietly. “I should have a private word with our ‘guest.’”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

Orion swept toward his cabin door at the back of the ship, just under the helm. His dark eyes lingered on the doorknob for a short, palpable moment, before he twisted it and pushed the door open.

Sitting in the center of the room was a short young man dressed in a navy blue and white Navy uniform bound to a chair with thick ropes. His ponytail was a shocking ginger red and his blue almond-shaped eyes were focused on the floor in front of his tall black boots rather than on Orion as he entered.

The pirate captain considered the Naval captain carefully for a moment as he slid the door closed behind him with a soft snap. After a moment, he spoke very levelly.

“...Greetings, Captain.”

The red-haired officer smiled in dark amusement.

“Good of you to remember to speak first,” he said coolly. “It’s bad enough luck to have a ginger on board your ship at all, isn’t it?”

His voice was a bit high, which like his perfectly clean face could hint to a very young man, but that voice still echoed with experience and intelligence.

Orion raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t take you for a superstitious sort.”

“I’m not. But I’m Captain of a ship, and I’m more than used to that particular wives tale. Every sailor with red hair becomes very used to letting everyone else initiate any conversations.”

“Must be difficult when there are two of you,” said Orion amusedly. “Like your Lieutenant. Percy, was it?”

Captain Weasley’s eyes narrowed upon the floor without looking up.

“Yes,” he said very coldly.

Orion’s eyes swept around the room, narrowing on a spot on the far wall. He’d had a pair of decorative swords hung up there...

Turning his gaze back to Weasley, he took a few slow, leisurely steps forward, his hand running along the scabbard attached to his belt.

“...How do you like the accommodations?”

“I don’t much care for being tied up,” said the Captain dryly.

“I suppose anyone else would feel similarly...” said Orion very solemnly, “...if they were tied up.”

CLANG!

In an instant, Orion had to bring up his sword to block a blow from another cutlass. The ropes had fallen completely lax and cut open to the floor, and Weasley had leapt to her feet, holding both of the ornate decorative swords that had been on Orion’s wall in his bleeding hands. He must’ve been able to move his chair enough to knock them off the wall and use them to cut his bindings, but catching the blades with his bare hands made him also cut open his palms.

Orion blocked again as the Naval Captain slashed and parried with both swords, beating him backward.

“You used my swords to cut yourself free, then?” asked Orion. “I’m surprised you were able to move enough to reach them, with how tightly Skye must have bound you...”

“I was captured by the Spanish five times, during the War,” the Captain shot back coldly. “I’ve had more than enough experience being tied up -- ”

Once he’d beaten Orion back into a corner, Weasley made a break for the door, but Orion quickly bent down and yanked the rug out from under him.

“AH!”

Weasley felt flat on his face. Orion lunged forward, and Weasley rolled over, blocking his cutlass with both swords.

“Five times?” said Orion, his eyebrows raised in interest. “And you presumably escaped every time? Impressive. I know full well how difficult it can be, to evade the Spanish.”

“Ha!” Weasley gave a very cool laugh. “I’m sure you do!”

Orion and Weasley crossed swords, slashing at the air and slamming their blades against each other in dangerous shings. Weasley kept trying to break for the door, but Orion stubbornly tried to force him back -- he was not going to let him get away.

“You’re very talented with a sword, Captain,” said Orion.

“I don’t need your flattery,” Weasley shot back sardonically.

“And I don’t need you running out onto the deck and causing a scene,” Orion said very gravely, his dark eyes narrowing upon the other Captain’s face. “You’d be surrounded within minutes, once you left my cabin -- ”

Weasley shot her leg out, kicking Orion right in the shin. Orion fell back with a grunt of pain -- within seconds, Weasley had crossed both of his swords against the pirate captain’s neck.

“Not if I have a hostage of my own,” said Weasley softly.

Orion’s dark eyes were wide for only a moment before his face relaxed again.

“A Naval officer resorting to blackmail? And after my crew and I showed you hospitality...I thought you were an honorable sort, Captain.”

Weasley’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You’re in no place to question my honor, Captain -- I know full well that all of the ‘hospitality’ you’ve shown me is only skin-deep.”

Orion raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?” he said, and his level voice betrayed a bit of edge despite himself.

“The Artemis has been capturing and marooning Naval officers up and down British shipping routes for months now,” said Weasley. “It’s terrified the British Navy and the common man alike. People don’t think it’s safe to travel, because they’re afraid that pirates will pillage and plunder any ship they might board -- and the Navy is finding fewer and fewer officers willing to sail those routes, for fear they might be next.”

“As intended,” said Orion placidly. “Less Navy officers on the route means less pirates hunted down like wild beasts.”

“And less people to protect civilians and merchants from those pirates who act like wild beasts.”

Weasley urged Orion up onto his feet, his blue eyes very cold upon the pirate’s face as he walked behind him, ushering him across the cabin toward the door. Blood dripped from his still bleeding palms down the blades of his two swords.

“I don’t intend to be another statistic that can be used to strike fear into the hearts of others,” he murmured coldly. “I don’t care how gentlemanly you seem -- I don’t abide bullies, no matter who they are.”

“A shame you work alongside an entire Navy of them, then,” said Orion very softly.

He abruptly slammed his head backward right into the Naval Captain’s forehead.

“Augh!”

Weasley was stunned just enough for Orion to duck out from under his swords. Dashing back just enough to grab his sword back up off the floor, he prevented Weasley from again reaching the door by slamming his blade against both of the other Captain’s and pushing him back.

“Since when do you defend the Navy so passionately?” Orion challenged him.

Weasley’s blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. “‘Since when -- ?’ All of the Weasleys -- all of us, who are of age, were seamen, if we’re not still!”

Orion’s lips spread into a bizarre, detached sort of smile. “...Then ‘Weasley’ isn’t just a name you’ve borrowed: it’s a family you’ve found...”

Weasley looked oddly stricken. “What...?”

His eyes then narrowed as he slammed his right sword against Orion’s to push him back and then slashed at his shoulder with his left. Orion just barely avoided the blow, which swept through his long dark hair.

“I seem to recall you weren’t always so cold toward pirates,” said Orion lightly. “May have even harbored one or two, right under the Navy’s nose...”

Weasley’s face had gone very white, but he refused to show any fear.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he spat.

CLANG. SHING. Orion and Weasley leapt and spiraled around each other as if they were in a highly choreographed sword dance.

“Your sentiment was very much the same, back then, if memory serves me,” Orion plowed on, his voice remaining rather detached but going lower in his throat. “‘I don’t like bullies, no matter who they are.’ Except back then, that sentiment was directed toward the Navy -- ”

“Don’t patronize me!”

Weasley threw his left sword against Orion’s with another CLANG -- Orion managed to grab the Naval Captain’s right arm and twist his wrist.

“ACK!”

The blood-stained right sword fell to the floor with a clatter. Orion looped Weasley’s right arm behind his back, trying to restrain him.

“What changed you?” Orion whispered in the Captain’s ear. “What’s filled you with such hatred?”

Weasley tried to wrench out of Orion’s grip. Upon not being able to, he stomped on Orion’s foot and used the distraction to pull away and put some distance between them again. The Naval Captain was breathing hard, his blue eyes boring into Orion’s face critically, analyzing him.

“I don’t hate pirates,” said Weasley very softly. “But most pirates aren’t as gentlemanly as you, Captain Amari. Most, when they capture innocent people, don’t just let them go unharmed. Even you don’t drop them off anywhere inhabited -- even you follow the Pirate Code and leave them on deserted islands -- ”

“Along rum-runner routes,” Orion said softly. “They’re always found alive.”

“Even if that were true, you don’t give them back to their families!” Weasley shot back, and his voice for the first time sounded righteously angry. “You still rip them away from their lives, terrify them and their crews, and make them wait around, not knowing if they’ll ever see home again!”

“Those officers were not our enemy, nor are you. We don’t harm anyone who hasn’t given us a reason to.”

“You clearly do, by roping innocent people into this! You don’t think I know this is all to get back at the East India Trading Company, for pressuring the British Navy into hunting down pirates?”

“You don’t think I have reason, to want to protect my crew from people who have sold their souls to the Devil purely out of blind loyalty?” said Orion, and his voice and dark eyes rippled with a faintly icy edge for the first time.

“‘Blind loyalty!’” spat Weasley. “‘Blind’ -- I may be an officer, but my loyalty is not blind. The Company may think that they can buy our service, but they cannot buy any part of me. My loyalty is mine to bestow, upon the deserving.”

The Naval Captain’s blue eyes seared with a vengeful, painful kind of fire.

“The British Navy may be flawed, but it’s where I’ve made a life for myself -- and I don’t care how much you hate the Company, you have no right to separate good men from their families!”

Orion’s dark eyes widened slightly upon the Captain’s face. Then they softened, gaining a darker, almost sadder glint.

“Your brother,” he whispered.

Weasley stiffened sharply. He took a step to the side, which Orion mirrored -- soon they were circling each other, their swords at their sides as they considered each other.

“I have many brothers,” he said coldly.

“Only one blood one, if I’m not mistaken,” said Orion softly. “An older one -- a smart and talented man, who raised you after you both lost your parents...”

Weasley’s blue eyes darted over his face, narrowing almost to slits.

“...Who are you?” he whispered at last.

“You already know who I am. I’m Captain Orion Amari.”

“And yet I don’t recall colliding with an ‘Orion Amari’ previously, however many stories I’ve heard about him.”

Orion smiled slightly, but the expression didn’t quite touch his eyes. He sheathed his cutlass, holding his hands out with the fingers slightly spread, to showcase he wasn’t armed.

“I wouldn’t expect you to. It was a very long time ago -- it took me a while to recognize you, as well, after ten years. But this...”

He reached into the interior pocket of his olive coat and withdrew the gold medallion, dangling it in front of him by its chain. Weasley made a subconscious move as if thinking to grab it back, but he resisted.

“...I remember it very well,” murmured Orion.

His dark eyes drifted down to the medallion as it bobbed back and forth in mid-air.

“You showed it to me, to reassure me that you meant me no harm. Said your brother stole it from your grandfather’s cabin, before he stowed away with you in a jollyboat and you both escaped. Said your grandfather was a pirate too, but a much meaner one...Captain Charles Cromwell, of the ship Revenge.”

He could still see the gentleness that had been in those blue eyes -- feel the soft hand reaching out to touch his cheek, to try to comfort him when he was shaking from head to toe...

“...Soon after, the Navy caught up with me, and you hid me in a hole under a loose set of floorboards under your bed. You were able to charm the soldiers enough to persuade them you hadn’t seen me. Even your own brother believed you, until you came to get me, long after the soldiers were gone -- and immediately after you pulled the carpet up and helped me out, you -- ”

“Insisted you stay for dinner.”

Orion looked up, startled.

Weasley’s face was very white as he stared at Orion, his almond-shaped blue eyes very wide and alight with emotion.

“You were really thin and you weren’t very clean,” he murmured, “so I refused to let you leave until I took care of you properly. You were too scared to sleep at first, so I sat up and held your hand and sang songs to you until you fell asleep. And when I asked your name, all you would tell Jacob or me was -- ”

“‘Smithy,’” finished Orion, his voice oddly hushed.

His face didn’t break into a full smile, but his dark eyes had welled up with an intense, rippling, admiring kind of softness -- the kind more appropriate to see on the face of a man in love.

The Captain called “Weasley” stared at Orion for a long moment, his blue eyes rippling in amazement and disbelief. Then he dropped the remaining sword in his left hand to the floor with a clatter and swept right up to Orion, his arms encircling the pirate in a full embrace.

“It’s you,” he whispered incredulously, a smile rippling through every word. “After all this time...you’re alive...you’re here...?”

Orion had stiffened very slightly when the Naval Captain had reached him, but within seconds he’d tentatively brought his arms around him in return. Gradually, slowly, his grip tightened, his soot-blackened fingers digging into the fabric of the officer’s blue Navy coat and his chin resting on the other’s shoulder.

“...You believed me dead?”

“Well, you refused Jacob’s and my help -- we knew you had to be a fugitive, for you to give us a fake name, and when you left that night without a word and never resurfaced again...well...we feared the worst. I reassured Jacob for ages that you seemed resourceful, and that you might’ve had a way out of Port Royal, but...Jacob and I had only managed to get away from Grandfather because we could tag team to steal the jollyboat and then take turns rowing until we finally reached land. As far as we knew...you were alone. And no sailor can sail off an island alone.”

“I was fortunate enough to be able to stowaway on a merchant ship until it reached Portobello. I then enlisted with another crew, once I reached Tortuga.”

“That was the other part of it. With the Company demanding such brutal action against pirates...if you had somehow survived...”

“Weasley” exhaled.

“...all I’d hoped was that you’d somehow been able to go straight, so you wouldn’t end up a target.”

“You know full well how hard that is,” said Orion very solemnly.

“...I know.”

The Captain’s soft voice echoed with sorrow and compassion -- just as it had, when they’d first met...

Orion closed his eyes absently, breathing in slowly. He could smell rosemary...soap, no doubt.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” murmured the Naval Captain.

Orion slowly opened his eyes. “...I’m glad that that knowledge doesn’t disappoint you, Carewyn.”

The Captain called “Carey Weasley” -- in truth Carewyn Cromwell -- finally pulled away enough to look him in the face.

“Of course it doesn’t disappoint me,” she said severely. “I may be an officer of the Navy and I might have to march lock-step with the East India Trading Company sometimes, but I’m not that terrible.”

“I suppose with your family history, I couldn’t expect you to feel no sympathy, for our plight,” said Orion, “but with your brother having been taken by pirates...I admit, I wasn’t sure.”

Carewyn’s almond-shaped blue eyes were very solemn.

“Jacob joined a ship as their navigator, so as to earn enough money to support us,” she explained. “On the way back from Africa, however, his ship was attacked by a pirate captain named Howell Davis. Most of the ship’s crew made it out alive, but the pirates took all of their cargo...and Jacob along with it.”

Orion’s eyes narrowed. “Did they know Captain Cromwell?”

“I don’t think so. Even if they did, they probably wouldn’t have made a connection, since Jacob was using the name ‘Roberts’ at the time. But after he vanished, I had to find a way on my own...so I disguised myself as a boy and joined the Navy. It was there that I met Bill Weasley, who sort of looked after me, since we were the only two gingers in the ranks at the time. Then he figured out I was really a girl, and he decided I should use his last name so as to better hide my identity, since everyone in England knows the Weasley family is full of sons. Soon Bill’s brother Charlie joined up too, and since Charlie’s the same age as me, we played it off that we were twin brothers. Percy joined right after the War was over, after Bill joined the church and Charlie took up a blacksmith’s apprenticeship in Port Royal.”

“And you became a Captain yourself.”

“I didn’t have much of a choice. I don’t have any sort of dowry or money to my name, but Navy captains at least earn a better salary. And while I’m at sea, people won’t question why I’m not married and haven’t started a family yet...for now, anyway. I’ve already had to try to dissuade Governor Farrier from trying to matchmake me with his daughter so that I’d have a reason to stay near Port Royal and help him in his anti-pirate crusade...”

“It’s good to know that you don’t kowtow completely to your new masters, at least,” said Orion.

Despite the faint wryness in his smile, his eyes and voice were incredibly sincere. He felt so...so very happy, knowing that.

He reached out and took both of her hands in his. They were still bleeding from the cuts on her palms.

“Now then,” he said softly, “we should tend to those straight away. Your hands should never be stained with blood -- even your own.”

Carewyn smiled slightly as Orion led her to sit down on his bed before bustling over to find some bandages.

“Orion...”

The pirate captain’s shoulders tensed slightly.

“Yes?” he said as levelly as he could without turning around.

Carewyn laughed quietly. “I’m sorry...I just never knew your real name before. ...It is your real name, isn’t it? Orion?”

His heart gave a light flutter at her saying his name again. Her smile seemed to echo in every syllable...

Orion swallowed back the lump in his throat.

“...Yes,” he said softly. “It is.”

“Orion Amari,” Carewyn murmured to herself, almost like she was tasting it. “...It is really a very handsome name.”

“...Mm...”

Orion suddenly felt very shaky on his feet, and for once, it wasn’t due to the back-and-forth swaying movement of the Artemis.

“...much better than ‘Smithy,’ I suppose,” he said as airily as he could.

Carewyn giggled behind her hand. “I don’t know. I reckon ‘Captain Smithy’ could still catch on, if one were to put in the effort.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #au #pirates of the caribbean #potc au #carewyn cromwell #orion amari #aesthetic #moodboard #my writing #my fanfiction #bill weasley #jacob cromwell #charlie weasley #percy weasley #jules farrier #other people's mcs #yes bill is basically a quasi-will turner even if he's in the clergy and charlie's the blacksmith #bill is smitten with the governor's daughter <3 #and he charlie and carewyn are actually all saving up so they can buy their own ship and go into business as merchants together!!#since they're all rather poor #but yeah I had bill as being in the church because I kind of love the thought of this chill gentle priest suddenly whipping out a cutlass #and kicking everyone's arse #kind of like aramis in the man in the iron mask!! 8D #and yeah once charlie and bill learn carey's been taken they'll at first be terrified because 'THEY'LL FIND OUT SHE'S A GIRL D8'#and so they and jules (who's actually carey's surrogate sister in this universe too!) would commandeer a ship to go save her #only for yeah charles cromwell and the cursed pirates to show up #looking for their last medallion #and yeah yeah yeah you get the idea #huge mess

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someone-give-me-a-hug · 3 years

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I never believed in karma

This is a little story based mostly on a story of when I was younger and a prompt I found somewhere that said right a story about why you believe in karma. I was bored and so we have this. also this isn't proofread so :) there are a few mentions of abusive behavior.

I never believed in much as a kid. I knew from the age of 4 that the Tooth Fairy wasn’t real. That Santa was nothing but a myth. Not even being read stories of miracles and magic, giants and dragons could sway the little pessimist in my head who would constantly nag that the world was cruel and the universe could never give back. My parents hated it, in fact, it became a running joke that they found it so hard to convince me to believe that they would drop me off at the police station one day and see if I would believe in the miracle of them coming back. It was never that funny but everyone else would laugh. When I was about 8 my parents were divorced, it was like the only world I had known had been split down the middle like a dry log and placed on the fire that fueled my spitful ways. I was angry, at myself, at the world, at the same stupid universe who tried to trick kids into thinking the chocolate eggs in their garden came from a rabbit who had now torn my life into 2 separate factions; one filled with the rage of a drinker who screamed at the little things but wore the sweetest smile and held me tight as though I might be the next to leave and another filled with false promise and manipulation. Neither was ideal and so I taught myself how to grow up and focused on becoming better than my parents. The years went by in an endless cycle of the seasons. Spring spent watching the cherry blossom tree in my fathers' fancy new house bud and grow whilst wishing to be anywhere but there, Summers spent in isolation, left alone and separated from my friends, Autumn spent in public libraries to get away from home for a few hours and Winter spent praying for the isolation of summer or really anything to get out of Christmas dinner and having to face everyone. Father time treated me as well as he could, the image of a wise old man, gray beard littered with the stories of my life, and eyes that looked straight through you as if you were a ghost. No matter how much time passed I still didn’t believe in anything of great significance and I certainly didn’t believe in Karma. That was until I turned 11. It had been a couple days after my birthday, I had gotten a few bits and bobs that would find their way into the draw of rubbish that was religiously searched by my dad but most importantly I had gotten a phone as a way of contacting either parent when I was staying at the other's house. To me this was a dream come true! I could finally text the people that mattered and blend in with other kids my age who for the last 2 years had been trying to act 5 years older on the internet. I wasn't allowed it at night (which was understandable as I would spend all night trying to contact and interact with people all within the four walls of my room and huddled in between the 2 plush white pillows I had on my bed). Little did I know, my dad would search through the messages sent to my mum or grandma about how unhappy I was up at his with his girlfriend who treated me like I was a problem, and where I went below the dog in the pecking order. Now in these messages, I had referred to my dad's girlfriend as a “Step-witch” and when he found this out he wasn’t happy at all, I was locked in the lounge and shouted at for more time than I would like to admit. Now one thing I will say is when I get scared or too emotional I can’t talk, the words escape my throat and the oxygen can never find its way in. I begged and pleaded fresh tears gliding down the salty remains of the old ones to be able to write as a way of speaking and saying sorry. “No!” they insisted “we won’t tolerate this disrespect and you aren’t a toddler you can speak like a normal person!”. After that, I wasn’t allowed to use my phone at all and all the messages I sent had to be run through them before my finger could hit the send button. A few weeks later when it was time once again to make my Monday trip to Dad's after school I was shocked to receive a message from my father telling me my mum would be dropping me up as they couldn’t manage it. It wasn’t until mum left me on their

meticulously de-weeded and bleak front door and had to let myself in with the spare key that I realized what had happened. The house had been swept through by the flu, everyone was sick! Not wanting to give up the ongoing battle of where I should live with my mum, my dad had said he was busy and asked her to drop me up when in fact he was bedridden by the vicious illness. They were all coughing, sniffling, sneezing into a tissue, and then throwing it onto a growing pile the size of Mount Everest herself. The only one who seemed to be unaffected was my Oldest step-brother, let’s call him Dan. Dan never treated me like some old gum he had stepped in that just wouldn’t get off his shoe like the others, he never said anything bad to me or about me (at least to my face) and he was the only person in the house who treated me as if I was human. So as my Dad and Sammy (let’s just call her that for now) were holed up in their room Dan took it upon himself to take care of me for the 3 days of my stay. You see Dad and Sammy had lost their voice and resorted to writing on paper to communicate to us what they needed (or they used their phones but they were charged on the other side of the room to the bed and they could hardly muster up the strength to walk all those 10 steps to get them). However, there was 1 problem with this: all the led in the pencils were always broken and could never sharpen right, all the pens never wrote and we could never make out the frantic hand signals they would make. Now I’m not saying they deserved it for everything they did nor am I saying that it was karma who ripped their voices from their throats just as they had ripped my only means of communication to the outside world and to plead my case that day. All I am saying is from that day forward the universe and all her wonderful ways stuck on that tiny list of things I believed in. And who knows maybe next year I might catch a glimpse of a fat, red and white man and his big clumpy boots climb back up the chimney, leaving presents and mince pie crumbs in his wake.

#Story #i wrote this when I was sad #wish it happened like this #tw mentions of abuse #tw manipulation

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whathappensnexts-blog · 4 years

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Chapter 1, part 1 of 2.

***Warning. In this story there is use of drugs. This was written purely for entertainment purposes and all and any use of drugs is highly discouraged. ***

We were chilling in the park when we got a message on our phones. “Where are you? Come here now.” The others have gone to a party in which me and Finn had no interest in participating. We just wanted to hung out in a quiet place and smoke some grass. Little did we know that our peace was about to be shattered. “Hey the others are leaving and they want us to meet them. Shall we?” I said in an uninterested tone. “Why not? Maybe we can chill together” he replied in the same manner. We passed by the beach in which less than a week ago we had eaten acid.

There we were me, Finn and Tom a guy we knew that also wanted to try some LSD. That bastard had invited a whole bunch of people to watch us trip. I didn’t like it but I didn’t let it get under my skin either. The thing with acid is to not get nervous. Otherwise you are risking a psychotic meltdown from which you may never return. I’ve seen it happening. It actually happened to Finn that night.

It went down like this. Forty minutes after we ate the tab, we thought that it wasn’t working. Then when I turned around my head, I saw with my peripheral vision a pink-green-gray shadow at the side of some buildings in the distance. Where they real or not? We couldn’t decide. A few minutes later on Tom was laughing and saying “Dude…I don’t know…man…” Finn had curiosity painted all over his face. He was trying to understand whether or not what he was feeling was real. I felt everything getting more mellow. It seemed like everything was breathing, even empty space. Everything had an inner gentle movement, like the movement of a calm sea. I remember smiling to Finn. “Oh my God…You are shining!” he said. Yeah.

We were well under the influence now. Me, Finn and another two guys stood up and we started going towards a public stage a few meters next to us. The games of light and shadow made the sand under our feet seem like a sea of human skulls. Not in a frightening way though. There was no fear at all. Let it happen. Don’t fight it. Go through it. Don’t take it seriously. Tom shouted at us. He came closer. I didn’t understand what he said and to whom. I only knew that he wasn’t talking to me so I didn’t really care. As he turned to leave and go back with the others it was like time and space warped around him. In just two steps he had covered an impossible distance. How could this happen? Never mind that now. We turned around to the opposite direction and headed to the stage. It was late and there were no other people. The street lights made everything appear golden. The stage was inviting us to sit there right under the golden light, elevated two inches above time and space. We rolled a joint. Someone did at least.

After a while we headed back to the others. Two new people had arrived. That idiot Tom called two more idiots. We were fine with the rest but these two did not fit with us. They needed to go. They lingered on for a needlessly long time. The conversation was going in circles. Damn. They knew we were on acid and they were saying something about how well they knew psychedelics. They had this look on their faces so common in people nowadays. The look of confident know-it-alls, so certain that they were much better than you without even caring to evaluate you. No politeness in these people. They didn’t even seem familiar with the concept that someone might be better than them at least in one aspect. Ridiculous. They had this confident look in their faces but I could clearly see that behind their eyes there was nothing but rocks. Not dirt to be cultivated, to accept and nurture and give birth to new things. Just rocks. Try forming a bit more complicated sentences and they’ll look you like an alien. What a terrible way to live.

I offered them some weed and, in a bit, they were gone. Finn had gone paranoid after that pointless, looping conversation. He was pacing nervously up and down, with his fist on his chin and looking down towards the floor. Every five minutes he would look at us and say “Did you hear me? Was I talking right now?” He wasn’t. poor man he was on bad trip now. He wanted to return home. One friend of us escorted him back to his place.

We were sitting behind the stage now, me, Tom, another guy and two girls. I liked the one with the long, curly golden hair. She had smoked a ton of weed and she looked like a flower girl from the sixties. She made me feel like a hippie. The other girl was a redhead and she was completely drunk on the cheapest red wine possible. She was in a worse condition than us. I was actually beginning to sober up. She was climbing and jumping and dancing on benches. She lost her balance once or twice. Jesus. Here I was on acid and supposedly in need of supervision and now it was me who had to do the supervising. Good responsible people.

The other two guys had left for a while and left me alone with the girls. I don’t remember what we were saying but I knew the redhead was talking nonsense. Drunk dreamy bubbly nonsense which I accidentally destroyed. Why did I have to talk? Why not let her bubble on? Maybe because I was a bit bummed the others left me.

When the others returned and we entered the car she started sobbing. Poor girl. I felt bad. She had taken what I said too seriously or I took what she said too lightly. She was also surely affected by the wine and at this point probably her stomach as well. Cheap wine is not good for the organs. We arrived at McDonald’s and then we went to eat by a church. We thought now that the acid had completely worn off. Although a cat was looking at as strangely.

A bit later the others left. Now it was me and Tom. It was around 5 o’clock in the morning. We headed back to the beach, to the rear end of the stage. We sat down and we looked at the sky. And then it hit us. A last punch from the acid hit us right in the face. The street lights where now turned off. The sky had a deep dark emerald green color. The clouds looked alive and I could feel the distance between me and them and them and the sky. I could understand the empty space behind them. It was like I was looking at the sky through crystal clear water. The stars were connected with each other with a thin shiny silver-blue thread, like a spider’s web. And the moon looked like a hole, a light at the end of a tunnel, an exit out of this giant egg that was the celestial sphere and that we were inside it. All of this came together under a big question mark that always seemed to linger on. What happens next?

Some old people started coming out of the sea. We hadn’t noticed them going in and the sun had not shone his first rays on this land yet. It was darkness all around, in the end of October and these really old people where coming out of the sea. We weren’t sure if they were real. I think they were. Good for them. “What is this the zombie apocalypse? Let’s get out of here.” They were the first unfamiliar faces we’ve seen in quite some hours now. We went to take a ride with the first morning tram. It was around six o’clock now.

As we were on the station to take the tram, another old man approached us. He started talking to us. He was a fisherman and he was talking about fisherman gangs and good spots to fish. He had crazy eyes though he did not appear crazy overall. He was coherent. But I had the feeling that his mind was not completely his own. But then again whose is? The fact that people agree on one kind of madness doesn’t make them less mad.

At that time, we decided to call Finn. Poor man he hadn’t slept a bit. How could he? The shadows of his room appeared to be demons. No, he needed to be with us now. So, we met a few stations later on the wave breaker. It was morning now the sun was rising and the sky was… the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. I am unable to convey the filling of the colors I saw. I am not sure they were totally real. The majority of the sky was yellow. A bright, strong, vibrant, rich yellow, the yellowest and truest yellow you could ever imagine. It was like the heart of the sun, the heart of honesty. A very strong color, gentle but with unmistakable authority, the color of the sun god. Around it some gentle pinks and oranges very alive as well. It was like the night has just opened her eyes and was slowly becoming a bright new day.

#writing #story #gonzo journalism #young writers #adventure #literature

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