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vro0m · 1 year

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vro0m’s rewatch - 135/310

2014 Monaco GP

Good morning! Here we go for another episode of the worst GP ever... With extra extra spice. 👀

(aka important lore)

Nico is on pole. It seems it was controversial but I don't have the build up so I don't know why. Let me check Wikipedia. Oh so Rosberg set the fastest lap and then locked up in his second hot lap and had to reverse on the track. It brought up yellow flags that forced Lewis to slow down and he couldn't challenge him for the pole. Nico was investigated because the stewards suspected he might have done it on purpose but they concluded there was no evidence of wrongdoing. Mmmh.

The journalists say there's a lot of tension now between them and generally that weekend. Johnny, who is on the grid, says Lewis came up to Nico to shake his hand before getting in the car.

Alright so, actually, same thing happened with this review than with the last one: I watched while that website was down and now it's back up so here's the full build up content.

They talked about some controversy that happened back in Spain that I actually explain in detail in the end of the review as I've read about it on Wikipedia after watching the race when I didn’t have the build up 👀 Brundle says he doesn't believe Nico fucked up the quali intentionally but he also says he's a minority in the paddock to believe so. Although Damon Hill agrees with him.

Here's the complete incident report. Nico was ahead by 0.05 only after the first hot laps. He started his last attempt half a lap ahead of Lewis. Oh. Yeah. That incident looks way more shady than I thought.

You can see Nico starting to swerve around for seemingly no reason at all? Like he's hesitating. Then his wheel locks up. Weird. In the post quali interviews Lewis is… I'd say… in a state of calm rage? He says : "I was on a pole lap. I was on a pole lap."

When asked "there isn't any feeling that there's anything cynical (sic) about it, is there?", he makes a face. "Who knows?"

The journalist asks, kind of surprised, if he thinks he could have done it deliberately. He says that's not what he said. (But then what did you say, love?)

Of course Niki says it wasn't deliberate. Mika Hakkinen said he always felt like the racing had to be fair, "you can always do some little tricks out there". I don't know what that means as far as the incident goes. Briatore says teammates are "number one enemies". Gerhard Berger says you could see the wheels were locked (were they? He was going left right left right on the track that wouldn't be possible with locked wheels would it?). Barrichello also thinks he didn't do it on purpose (lmao thinking back to Brundle who said he was a minority thinking so, everybody is defending Nico so wtf are you talking about?).

Natalie Pinkham asks Lewis how he's feeling today. He says good. He's smiling. She asks "feeling strong?" he says as always. She says Nico apologised to him, how's their relationship now? He hums, shakes his head, and answers "same as ever" . (Not very convincing.) She says he's been able to go over the data and does he feel calmer about the situation now. He looks aside while she asks the question. He's uncomfortable. He still smiles though. He says no, and he chuckles.

She repeats "no? Has it made you feel any better to see the data?", he's still chuckling and he's moving around like he's trying to avoid her somewhat. He repeats "no".

She decides to turn their attention back to the race. He won for P2 in Bahrain, can he do it again? He says it's not so easy here. But still it's gonna be an interesting race and they'll push as hard as they can. She says "so barring unreliability, the start is everything." He hums. "That and the strategy." The circuit is incredible and he's fortunate to be in front of all these people and represent for the UK. He's very blessed, he's going to enjoy it and try to put on a good show for everyone. Of course it's difficult but that's what they're paid to do.

Johnny and Anthony have spent a good part of the night going over the images and debating it. Johnny thinks it was deliberate. Let's see. Johnny argues that "he goes all squiggly" which shows that the braking lock up doesn't happen until much much later. Anthony says they'll agree to disagree because they've been debating it all night and all morning and although it's smiles all around you can tell he's had more than enough of it.

Nico is calm and smiling and happy to be home.

Johnny did an interview with Lewis in a car driving around Monaco. It's from earlier in the week. They play rock paper scissors for the right to drive the car.

He says he loves it here : he's left alone, he's relaxed, the air is clean and he likes living next to the water, as he likes water sports. He says he doesn't like cycling though, at least road cycling, "I'm not shaving my legs and all that stuff," he jokes. Johnny says he likes what he sees with him now, he truly does seem relaxed and in control. He asks if he feels that. (But I see him rubbing his ear so I don't think so, that's a tell of his.) And indeed, he laughs and says he's just a good actor.

"You get a good car and then everyone's opinion changes of you, you know?" he says. Johnny jokes, he says he feels the opinions of him have always been positive. (My man have you been living under a rock?) Lewis says "nnnnooo…" He says people have been saying he's not focused, "even 2012 when I was doing well" people still had negative things to say. And now that he has 4 wins, everyone's all happy. "It's just funny you know" he adds. He says every year he tries to unclutter his life, and he feels every year he's getting closer to– he doesn't finish his sentence. He says just like everyone he still has a lot of… for a sec I think he's about to say baggage lol but he says "stuff going on that you would like not to be going on". "You still have bills to pay" (rolling my eyes rn) "same things everyone has" so he's always trying to clear these things out but he feels this year with management, family, friends, where he lives, he's in a great place and enjoying it.

A little bit later he says there was this old lady waving at him and he jokes "she's obviously a racing fan!" Johnny jokes back "I think she was waving at me actually" and Lewis claps back : "She probably was, yeah, more your age".

(why is he holding the security belt away from his body lol he does that pretty much the whole time)

He asks what he'd be happy with that weekend. He says of course he's here to win. "However you can't win everything and I've won the last four races so this weekend, I'm gonna be open, you know? I'm here to win, I want to win and I'll do absolutely everything in my power to make sure I get my car right and I'm on point throughout the whole weekend." He says Nico was very fast there last year so he has to be more on his game this year. He says he heard "some really funny things the other day", he thinks it was Jenson and Nico talking about mind games. He says if you ask his engineers you'll see he never plays mind games, "any mind game I play is on the circuit, I get on the circuit and I do my time and that's the game that I play". Of course he says Anthony always told him to do his talking on the circuit. "I like to win on pure ability".

You know, I wonder if he truly believes what he says there. He can’t be that naive, can he? When he wins and then says he was slower than Nico (but he still won, so he’s a better driver), that’s gonna get in Nico’s head. When he wins and he says Nico is so, so good (but he still won, so he’s a better driver) that’s gonna get in his head. And that’s not saying he intends to play games but it’s the same result. And I think he’s smarter than that, so to some extent I believe he knows. I still think he’s sincere in what he says, he doesn’t lie when he says he thinks Nico was faster or that he’s a good driver, but he must know that Nico might interpret it a certain way. Or he is indeed extremely naive there.

Formation lap.

And they're racing!

It's a clean start for Nico but Lewis is right behind him and there's very very close racing behind them. It's truly a miracle everybody came out of it unscathed.

Oh my god

78 fucking laps?!?!?!

I HATE MONACO.

And here you go, there's a crash. Right on the way down to the hair pin. There's a Force India stuck in a barrier in Mirabeau, it's a safety car. The one stuck before the hairpin is Perez. Several people pit. Not important ones. Lewis complains of his brakes temperature. Bono reassures him that "they're cool but they're not cold".

On lap 4, we go again. Seb has issues, he's being overtaken left and right. He has no power… Rosberg sets the fastest lap and Seb pits. Seb leaves the pit after a, what, a minute long pitstop, probably? Lewis sets the fastest lap, he's only half a second behind Nico. Seb says he's stuck in first gear. That's not gonna end well is it? Rosberg sets the fastest lap. Seb is called to retire the car. Rosberg goes quicker still. Lewis is still under a second behind him. The others are falling back already. Nico's engineer tells him his tyres are doing better than his team-mate. Lewis is slowing down a tad indeed.

It's lap 10, 68 to go 🤪 Weirdly the stewards decided they would investigate the incident between Perez and Jenson that saw Perez DNF after the race. What are they paid for. Chilton, Bianchi and Gutierrez are being investigated for being out of position on the grid. Kvyat retires. Lewis is now 1.4 seconds behind Nico. He must have destroyed his tyres following him so closely for so long. He says he's already feeling his rear going. Chilton gets a 5 second stop and go penalty for being out of position on the grid, so does Bianchi, and so does Gutierrez.

It's lap 20. I'm barely paying attention already. I'm bored out of my mind. Lewis has been told he's in the pitstop window and he's picked up the pace again. The gap that was 1.8 is now 1.2 already. Behind them, Daniel is also closing on Raikkonen. These two's times are now matching the Mercs. They're not gonna be able to stay out for much longer without losing their advantage. Anthony thinks Lewis wasn't told he was in the pitstop window but the safety car window. Rosberg locked up slightly again. Daniel is just half a second behind Raikkonen now. There's yellow flags? Someone lost a piece of front wing… oh. There's a Sauber stopped off track at the exit of the tunnel. Oooofff yeah. He lost it coming out of the tunnel, lost all grip and went to hit the barriers on the opposite side of the track which launched him straight into the run off area beside the chicane. There's debris everywhere, that's surely gonna be another safety car… so that yeah, the safety car is out.

Jenson made a very late decision to pit and his mechanics are all over the place. So what now, is Lewis gonna pit or does Nico take precedence because he's in front? Yep. Rosberg pits. Lewis pits. He didn't have to wait too long but he was slowed down by other people pitting… ooooh there's almost been a collision there. That man's reaction says it all.

Lewis asks : "What is the reason you didn't box the lap before?" We don't hear the answer. A bit later here he is again. "I can't believe that we just had to pit, " he says. "Please inform me of what is the next option I have." (I think). Bono answers, very calmly as always : "So Lewis this is gonna be a race to the end so it'll be all down to tyre deg or either weather conditions." There's still 50 laps to go. The chance of rain is 20%. So that's a bit of a desperate answer tbh. Half a lap later, he's at it again. "We should have pitted on that lap I know I should've." Then he says something like "you wouldn't call me in, guys".

Now that's too much complaining for me. I know he's pissed to begin with because he thinks he would have been on pole if it wasn't for that incident with Nico, but the attitude is not it. Where's the perseverance, boy? Where's the fighting spirit?

Raikkonen pits now?! Super weird. Did he have a puncture? He's out in 14th… catastrophic. The unsafe release between JEV and Magnussen is being investigated. If you remember, the penalty supposedly should be a grid penalty for the next race, that's what the new rule says. Crofty says that Nico and Lewis were just behind Sutil when his accident happened and that's why Lewis is pissed because he saw it and it was clear it would be a safety car. But as we're reminded, the driver who's ahead gets first call on the pit stop, and from the team perspective they still have a 1-2. It was safer for them to wait to see if there truly was a safety car.

The safety car comes in at the end of lap 30. I can't fucking believe there's still 48 laps to go. Monaco seems to last for days. Here we go. There's been an overtake. Unbelievable. Who would have thought. Hulkenberg on JEV I think. The gap between the two Mercs is 0.9. JEV actually gets a drive through. Okay. Another backmarker overtake. Literally nothing is happening.

It's lap 40. Nico is warned to be careful with fuel I think. Lewis is 0.7 behind. Nothing nothing nothing. Lewis has been told to switch some specs to "save the battery". Nico is told again that using certain gears increases the fuel consumption. Bono tells Lewis where Nico has been told to lift and coast.

It's lap 50 and I can't wait for this to be over I'm so fucking bored. The gap is now 1.6. So even the fuel saving hasn't helped Lewis. JEV's engine has blown up. He retires. The gap is 1.1. Nico is told the fuel situation has stabilised and to keep doing what he's doing. Valtteri's engine has blown up. He's stopped just at the exit of the hairpin corner. Oh god. They're recovering him without any safety car… the crane is off track but like. The marshals are in front of the barriers rather than behind them. Terrifying.

Lap 60, the gap is 2.1. Bored bored bored. Gutierrez spins and is facing the wrong way. He's getting out. The car is not in the racing line but it's not a good place to be stuck at. Marshals on track again, I'd say at most a couple of metres away from the other cars going by. I hate this shit. It allowed Lewis to close the gap again. 0.6. Bianchi gets another 5 second stop and go penalty for taking the first one while the SC was deployed. For some reason the Merc mechanics are in the pitlane? Bono says "OK Lewis just get back to us, mate, let us know what's up?" I think? What? Oh dear. Yeah so the gap is over 4 seconds now and Lewis says he can't see out of his left eye?! What the fuck? The mechanics are back in. Daniel is 9 seconds behind him, lapping one second faster.

70 laps in. We're almost free. Lewis asks for updates. Bono gives him the gap to Daniel. Lewis says he doesn't care about him, he wants to know the gap to Nico. Currently it's 5.7. And Daniel is only 5.3 behind. So he should care. 5 laps to the end, Daniel is indeed only 1.4 behind. Tbh the whole weekend must be infuriating for Lewis because of how little luck he's had but it's also a good humbling moment to remind him that he and Nico aren't the only ones on track. 0.8. Lewis is stuck in traffic. 0.4. Oh dear. Raikkonen tried to overtake Magnussen and they both got stuck in the hairpin. Raikkonen's nose is resting against the barrier and Magnussen is stuck right behind him as Raikkonen went too wide in the corner and couldn't make the turn. Unbelievable. Yellow flags. 0.4. Both cars in the hairpin have managed to go again. 4 laps to go. Green flags. Raikkonen is in the pits once again. 0.6. 3 laps to go. 0.4. 2 laps to go. So many backmarkers to go through. 0.5. 0.4. Final lap…

And it's the end of the race.

Nico wins. Lewis keeps P2. Daniel P3. It's the same podium as the last race.

The marshals are working as barriers here to keep the team workers out of the way of the drivers. They're standing in a line holding hands in front of them. They get smooched between Nico and his team mechanics as they hug.

Lewis gets out of the car very slowly. He touches hands with the team members. The journalists are eyeing the reaction between these two. Oh. Lewis took off his helmet and the energy isn't good.

Oh. Now Brundle says Niki confirmed to him on the grid that Lewis apologised to Nico after Spain for using a power setting he wasn't supposed to use to stay ahead. Mmh. Shady.

Lewis is not too happy receiving his trophy. They still haven't talked or interacted at all.

Side note but Charlène just. Casually kissing everybody is so funny to me for some reason. (Don't explain to me what la bise is, I'm from Switzerland, where I’m from it's three kisses instead of two, I know all about it).

The vibe is horrible. They're not looking at each other. Not getting close for the photo. I didn't expect it to go to shit so early on. It's champagne time. They're not even in the same area. Now for the interviews. Why. Why is it Benedict Cumberbatch interviewing them again?

Nico says Lewis drove very well and pushed him massively. But he stayed cool and was able to pull a gap with his fresher tyres. The team has built an amazing car.

Cumberbatch asks Lewis "Did you get something in your eye?" and Lewis starts to answer "yes through the visor some…" but then he shrugs it off "but anyway it's not important." He says it was really good for the team to get a 1-2.

The camera colours are really weird now, sorry if the gifs are looking bad I did whatever I could. Very yellowy.

He says he had great pace but it's a very difficult circuit to overtake.

So that's Rosberg back on the lead of the WDC. Also Bianchi scored Marussia's first ever points by finishing P9. It was helped in part by the 8 DNFs.

So I know it comes a bit late but now I'm reading about that race setting Lewis used in Spain. He was required by the senior members of his team to apologise to the team. OH MY GOD. Wait a fucking minute. Actually Nico did the same fucking thing in Bahrain?! So Toto banned them both from selecting their own engine settings from then on. Oooh that's so shady? I was a bit disappointed with Lewis for that (still am) but actually Nico started first then? Tsssk. That was not mentioned in the Wikipedia article about Bahrain, I'll tell you that much.

Also apparently Lewis didn't accept Nico's apology for the quali incident which. Okay so first of all if it was an accident why is he apologising and also not accepting it is very childish imo. Niki basically said he didn't like that vibe and he'd talk to them before the next race. Toto said such an incident wouldn't be allowed to happen again and the drivers would keep their autonomy as long as they did nothing "deceitful". Lewis said he was surprised at how quickly the situation escalated (so am I, as I said, I truly thought their relationship had started degrading later than that).

Then both of them spoke and Lewis tweeted a picture of them when they were young to defuse the tension with the caption "We've been friends a long time, and as friends we have our ups and downs" and then "Today we spoke and were cool, still friends, no problem." Very convincing /s.

There was no penalty for Jenson for his contact with Perez in the first lap. Raikkonen was reprimanded for a contact with Magnussen late in the race.

I ended up finding the post race interview, so here we go. He says his eye is better and kind of brushes it off but Natalie says it really impacted his race and he says he thinks it wouldn't really have changed anything. Asked about Daniel he says while he was closing the gap it was a serious concern because he was driving with one eye and he knew he'd get him until that dirt cleared up from his eye. But it did with 2 or 3 laps to go so he was able to stay ahead.

"Can you tell us about communication you had with Nico since the race, have you talked directly to each other?"

"No."

"Do you not think communication is important if you're gonna kinda clear up any bad feeling?"

"No."

"You don't think it's important?"

"Well I mean he spoke, he– he, he says things I mean I– (he fumbles with his collar) we had a meeting with Toto and Niki and I said what I needed to say in there and he said what he needed to say and that was… that's as far as we need to ever go really," he finishes with a slight awkward smile.

She changes the subject. He apparently said that he knew that they wouldn't bring him in but they should have. He hums. He says it's his opinion. He explains that when he was at McLaren each driver had a strategist whose job was to get each driver individually the best possible result. But here "unfortunately" they only have one strategist "who's amazing, he's absolutely amazing" but that means he looks out for whoever is ahead and the second one comes second so he knew from the get go that he had less of an opportunity to win. So he needed a miracle and that's what he was thinking, an opportunity came and if he was still at McLaren he'd have been pulled in on that lap and that might have given him the slightest advantage. "But anyway that doesn't really matter" (Lol, nobody believes you, love.) "I'll work it out with the team".

Natalie jumps right in. "It does matter though, doesn't it, because it means that you came second in this race so ultimately it matters very much." He acquiesces "but ultimately they always make great decisions and I have to go, you know, by what the team does." In these races you have to grab every opportunity and the start was gone and he was in the pit stop window when the SC came out and after that there was no other opportunity.

"So where do you go from here with Nico and going into Canada, that's gonna be a circuit that does suit the raw pace of the Mercedes so it's a great opportunity for you guys, but what about in terms of mending bridges with your friend?"

"Oh well we're not friends." (fumbling with the collar again) "Erm, you know, we're colleagues and we'll work to get the team" (touches his ear) "as many 1-2s and points as possible."

"Does the– does the fact that you've known each other for a very long time not count for anything in terms of friendship?"

He hums, then looks aside, thinking, for 3 whole seconds.

And then looks back to her, smiles slightly, uncomfortable, and shrugs.

"Maybe."

Next step, Canada.

#f1 #lewis hamilton #vro0m's race reviews #2014 #2014 monaco gp

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landinoandco · 3 years

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Mick Schumacher x reader

A timely confession

Request from @gpiggy98

Warnings: fluff:)

Word count: 1.8 k

Rating: Teen and up

When Guenther had announced that Mick Schumacher was going to be joining the team - the whole of Haas were ecstatic. There were many ways to describe him, his kind and nurturing nature, his dedication to any job he sets out to do and his gentle manner that could put anyone at ease. As gutted as you were to not be Romain’s assistant going into the 2021 season, getting Mick was definitely going to make up for it. The day you were scheduled to meet him, to go over the pre-season press plan - you were excited to show him around, introduce him to the team and talk about the new challenges you were going to be facing together. What you hadn’t expected was the inability to form a proper sentence whenever he came near you - which, as his assistant proved to be less than practical.

“Hey, it’s lovely to meet you.” Mick had said when Guenther had introduced you that day.

“I - uh - likewise. I’m really looking forward to working with you this year.” You had stuttered. Never in your career before had you stuttered when introducing yourself - a pink flush creeped up your neck betraying you completely. Fortunately for your sake, Mick smiled innocently and shook your hand, when he clasped your hand in his you couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter.

Guenther watched on in amusement, obviously thoroughly enjoying the experience of you making a fool out of yourself.

After the tour - in which you had tripped over your words a fair few times - you said your goodbyes and trudged angrily up to Guenther’s office. Slouching on the chair in front of your desk, you sighed loudly. “What a day.” You uttered, pinching the bridge of your nose with your thumb and forefinger.

“How did it go?” Guenther asked, passing you a glass of water.

“I kept tripping over my words, to be completely honest with you it was slightly traumatic.” You replied honestly, taking the glass gratefully and taking a sip.

“You get the chance to work with Mick and you call it slightly traumatic?” Guenther mocked, the corner of his lips turning up.

“Tomorrow’s a new day - maybe I’m coming down with something.” You wiped your forehead in anguish.

As it turns out you were coming down with something but unfortunately it wasn’t really something that could be cured in a matter of days. You finally worked out what was wrong when Mick had asked you to grab a little bit of lunch with him before the first race in Bahrain. You had to keep reminding yourself that it wasn’t a date, it was for work and only work.

It was a well known fact that Mick was a heartthrob, a real life Prince Charming who drives cars for a living. His crystal blue eyes were seemingly easy to get lost in - perhaps that was half your issue. The way he was so softly spoken, lulled you into a trance. His mannerisms resembled that of a golden retriever pup and after that you realised - you were falling for Mick Schumacher.

You were sitting in a terraced cafe, looking over the city landscape near to where the track was. Picking on chips, as Mick asked about your career up to this point.

“What made you want to become an assistant?” He asked, passing you the plate of chips.

You picked one up and waved it at him, “I’ve always been in love with the sport and what better way to experience it first hand than work with the drivers. I could never have been one so join them, I suppose.”

“Did you ever race as a child then?” He asked, leaning onto his elbows, a lopsided grin plastered onto his face.

“I did for a while.” You nodded and took a bite of your chip.

“Maybe, during the summer break, we should go go-karting. Show me some of the good tracks in the UK.” He declared, completely oblivious to the effect it had on you. The familiar pink tinge that had gotten too used to creeping up onto your neck, the corner of your eyes crinkled as you gazed into his eyes.

“I would really like that.” You stayed transfixed, gazing longingly at him. If only he knew how you truly felt or even better - if he felt the same way. You knew he never could, at the end of the day he had been given an opportunity to drive in formula one and you knew he wasn’t going to let a girl he worked with distract him from that.

You cleared your throat and tore your eyes away from him - as much as it pained you - and stood up but as you turned back around, you realised that he was still watching you, his eyes glinted and the corner of his mouth quirked up.

“I suppose we should think about getting you back, wouldn’t want them thinking you’ve gotten lost.” You said, forcing a smile onto your face.

A few weeks later and it was time for the race in Imola, the rain was pouring down and the team’s strategists had re-grouped to come up with a strategy to fit in with the weather. Unlike for people at home, watching a wet race as part of a team was never enjoyable - the tensions thick throughout the race. Over the few weeks that you had been working with Mick, your feelings only grew stronger but since the season was well underway you found yourself spending more and more time with him. It was an impossible situation that you wished upon nobody.

You had never been good with nerves and that was clear as you paced up and down his room.

“Liebe.” It was his new nickname for you. “Why are you so stressed. When you start stressing, so do I and do you really want me to-” You stopped pacing and sat next to him, he placed his hand on your shoulder in an attempt to calm you. If anything it made you worse.

“I know, I’m sorry Mick.” You exhaled shakily and looked around the room. You had seen a fair few wet races in your time and not all of them had ended nicely, in fact the majority of the time someone ended up in the wall. “Racing in the rain always makes me nervous.” You looked down at your lap, toying with your fingers. You looked at him desperately, “Just promise me you will be careful.”

“Damn,” He whispered, “You know I was really considering driving off the track today. A little off-roading never hurt anyone.” He laughed at your horrified expression. “I’m only teasing, Liebe. You know I will be careful. Extra careful so I won’t get a telling off from you - or Guenther.” You allowed yourself to chuckle slightly, he nudged his knee with yours and tried to catch your eye but you deliberately avoided it, nibbling on your lip and furrowing your eyebrows.

He placed his finger under your chin and lifted it to meet his gaze then placing his hand either side of your face. Breath hitching in your throat and your heart having an absolute field day, you blushed profusely, once again unable to look away from his intense gaze.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked, you could feel his breath fanning across your face. You shut your eyes, hands clammy and you didn’t know whether you could trust your voice.

“I care about you.” You managed to stutter, your eyes still closed. At least this way, you couldn’t see his expression when he realised.

“I care about you, Liebe, but you already know this-” He began carelessly.

“No, Mick.” You opened your eyes, his brows knitted. “I care about you more than I should.” Your tone was hushed, his eyes flickered with realisation, his mouth curved into a beaming grin. He moved his face so your lips were only a tantalizing distance from each other, “Why didn’t you say so sooner.” His lips brushed yours as he spoke and when you didn’t answer he closed the distance. Capturing your lips with his, it was like two puzzle pieces had been put together.

There was a knock at the door and the pair of you jumped apart - a voice called out: “Mick it’s time to head to the track.”

Reluctantly he got up, brushing down his race suit and held out his hand to help you up - instead of letting go once you got to your feet, he proceeded to pull you into his chest. “We shall talk about this after the race, Liebe.” He kissed the tip of your nose and walked out the door, leaving you lost for words behind him. You could still feel the ghost of his lips on yours, relishing in the events of a couple of moments ago - playing it over and over again in your head.

It was a tense 2 hours in the Haas garage - the race far from lacking action; with Latifi crashing into the wall on lap one then on lap four Mick losing the backend of his car whilst under the safety car and crashing into the exit of the pitlane. Fortunately with a new front wing he was able to carry on and finished the race 16th. They weren’t the only two to crash as Bottas and Russel came together - even Hamilton ran off the road. Imola was proving to be savage in the rain.

As soon as Mick crossed the finishing line, the whole garage relaxed, hugging and cheering. He had matched his result from Bahrain and managed to finish in front of Nikita. As far as Haas was concerned - it was a successful day. As his assistant you were to meet him at Parc fermé to take him to his weigh-in and post-race interviews. As soon as he saw you he took his helmet off and wrapped you into his arms, your feet coming off of the floor. You giggled and placed your hands either side of his face.

“I was as careful as I could be.” He assured, a smirk toying at the corner of his lips. You shook your head at him, your mouth curved into a wide smile.

“You did a good job.” You said to him, he wrapped his arms around your waist - pulling you closer into him. Then he dipped his face and connected your lips, rain falling around you. It was atmospheric and cheesy all at the same time.

There were wolf-whistles and cheers around you, as passing drivers walked by. You pulled your face away, both of your cheeks resembled tomatoes but it didn’t really matter. You knew you could never be happier with Mick by your side.

They say home is where the heart is and as long as you were with Mick - you were home.

#f1 #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher one shot #mick schumacher fanfic #f1 x reader #f1blr #f1 2021 #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula one one shot #formula one fanfiction #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one #mick schumacher

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curiousconch · 3 years

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Chase You / Chase Me (Pt. 2)

Part 2: Before I dive right into you

Catch up here: Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: In the aftermath of their pretend wedding in Las Vegas, Gabe begins to unravel his growing feelings for Alex. But as he attempts to bring his past to light, someone from Alex's previous life casts a shadow on the future.

Book/Pairing: Choices - Laws of Attraction / Gabe Ricci x MC (Alex Keating)

Words: 2.4k+ (sorry 🙈)

Rating/Warnings: Mature (16+) / alcohol consumption, some swears

Disclaimer: Most of the characters as well as some dialogue belong to Pixelberry. I am merely borrowing them.

A little after 1 AM, Las Vegas

Gabe can't help but smirk at the look of mischief in Alex's eyes as they stood by a quiet spot in the middle of Las Vegas. With her in that glittery dress, he somehow can't bring himself to part from her yet.

He knew it wasn't only him who felt that tingling in his fingertips when he brushed her cheeks, her breath smelling strongly of martini. He was very aware that Alex felt the same when she stared back at him, standing at that cramped cheap chapel while an Elvis impersonator stood nearby. The moment she stepped away when he said that it's just all pretend made Gabe's heart ache with regret.

So here they were, standing awkwardly after he shot down her advances again.

But he was sure he didn't want the night to end here.

After calling for a car, he shoved his phone inside the pocket of his slacks and turned to Alex.

"I was serious when I said I wanted a celebratory drink," he glanced apologetically to his side where she stood. "Our hotel bar offers my favorite scotch."

Alex raised her head, smiling. "Knew you had it in you, Gabe."

A car ride and a couple of glasses of Lagavulin later, there they were, lounging on stools at their opulent hotel bar, warm lights and jazz music providing a backdrop on the casual atmosphere.

"And I could not believe the rat thing worked! Who would've known they kept a rat in there as a pet? Like really?" Alex raised her glass to her lips, as Gabe sat on the barstool beside her, cradling his own drink.

"Beginner's luck, I would believe," he chuckled in reply, leaning forward, tie loosened and his coat hanging at the back of his chair.

"I am so offended," Alex gasped as she shoved her hands flat on her chest in mock disbelief. "I'm not only the boring nerd when I was in high school, Gabe. I was that nerd who sang and dance at the drama club!"

Gabe shook his head, his lips pursing. "That makes so much damn sense, Alex." He took another swig of his third shot, fighting for dear life from laughing his heart out. Not wanting to give her that satisfaction, he threw a sarcastic dig at her remark. "That's so believable, seeing you could snatch an Oscar from Meryl Streep herself and the no one wouldn't even bat an eye."

"Ah, law was plan A, sir." she saluted, placing her empty glass on the bar counter. "Acting was a fallback in case it didn't pan out." she giggled.

Gabe grinned as he rolled up his sleeves, beckoning the bartender for another round. "You should have made it your plan A, seeing how you turned out," he teased, bringing up the fun bit they did to retrieve a copy of Lydia Rothswell's marriage certificate. The very same act that almost made Gabe kiss Alex in the middle of The Strip.

"Aww, Gabe, finally found a better lawyer than you? Feeling threatened yet?" Alex leaned in, snickering as their glasses were refilled. "Don't worry, I' ll settle for being a Junior Partner for now," she said as she reclined, before throwing in a playful wink.

"Well someone's head just became bigger," he gave her a smug look.

"Just trying to keep up with all the cockiness in the room," she smiled coyly, watching Gabe's stupefied expression. It was clear then that she scored a slam dunk at the championship of comebacks, laughing at his astonishment.

Gabe finally gave up, joining Alex in her laughter. As their joy receded, he let himself take in the sight of Alex without any inhibitions. What he was beginning to see was the extent of her wit, her ability to keep her cool, and the sharp humor that matched only his.

Under the warm light of the lounge, she brilliantly shone. He couldn't focus at what she was now saying as he danced at the appeal of them becoming more than colleagues. Perhaps he resisted his own feelings long enough that he was past the point of denial. Or simply because he was starting to get drunk.

Though before he can even begin to consider that, he was still sober enough to know that he first needed to tell her the truth.

The truth that sometime long ago, their paths have already crossed. And that he did something very horrible.

Call him cynical, but he wasn't kidding when he admitted he was an all-or-nothing kind of guy. And that meant laying down all his cards on the table. Because for him, Alex was more than the occasional one-night stand. And he can't be certain of how long he could keep himself from his budding feelings, all stakes be damned.

What better time to be honest when there was enough alcohol in his system to prevent all rational thinking? It's now or never, he figured.

"Alex, I -"

"Alessandra? Alessandra Keating?" a deep voice came from behind him, interrupting Gabe. He cocked his head to get a clearer view, as a man with slicked back blonde hair approached from a private booth nearby.

Without hesitation, the tall stranger in the dark suit stepped forward, his striking features Gabe would have easily recognized anywhere. That face was almost in every blockbuster movie in the last five years.

"Julian? What are you doing here?" Alex asked, as abashed as he was. Gabe saw how she clammed up the very second she recognized the man.

"Oh my, it really is you!" the man stopped beside Alex's bar stool, welcoming himself to their company. The way he was looking up and down at her made Gabe's jaw clench so hard, his teeth gritted. But the man's next movement stunned him all the more. In front of him, the man embraced Alex, making Gabe suddenly want to combust. His tumbler could've shattered if he tightened his grip on it a little more.

"Uhm, Julian, hi," Gabe surveyed Alex as she writhed within the man's arms, waiting for any signal from her so he could do something, anything, to make this man go away. But she assured him with one look, shifting a little, making the man who wedged himself between them release her.

"It's been so long! When was the last time I saw you, like, 12, 13 years ago?" the man exclaimed, his annoying smile making Gabe want to slam his fist somewhere. And it wasn't on the bar counter.

Gabe heard Alex scoff, fighting hard to regain her composure. "Yeah, high school," Her icy demeanor took over, one that Gabe only saw in the courtroom. She brushed her dress as she tilted her head to Gabe's direction.

The man turned to Gabe, the surprise evident as he acknowledged Gabe's presence behind him. The two men sized each other up sending an undercurrent of tension between them. Before Gabe could even consider acting out of impulse, Alex cleared her throat to diffuse his temper.

"Julian, this is Gabe. Gabe, this is Julian, my -"

"Ex," Julian interjected, before turning his attention to the lawyer. Apparently, this guy had a habit, Gabe observed. "We were together senior year. Alessandra, my angel, we had the best time together, didn't we? We looked good together, at least after Alex thought to improve her image here. Sadly, we had to break up. Teenage romances, you know?"

The picture couldn't be any clearer; this was the person Alex was speaking about during their dinner back in New York. And hearing the way he talked, no wonder Julian got under her skin. He was a damned manipulative pretentious liar. Gabe could hear the dishonesty between the words, not an ounce of authenticity in sight while the blonde hotshot rambled on.

Alex wasn't showing any sympathy either, her brown eyes staring daggers at him, as he went on about his monologue, emphasizing on how she was his back then. She was clearly infuriated by his attempt to own her, as well as his lack of shame. As Gabe quietly considered her reaction, he deliberated on a strategy to put her out her misery. The moment an idea came to mind, he gave Alex a subtle look asking her to back his play.

Alex nodded, sitting a little straighter. Finding the instant shift in her, Gabe made his move.

"Sweetheart," he slowly raised his voice as he said the endearment, enjoying the contempt from the other guy when he was interrupted. "You never told me Julian Wintour was your ex."

Alex smiled smugly, appearing pleased with the nickname Gabe chose, a clear pun on the whole high school sweetheart trope. "Never crossed my mind, babe. It's such an unimportant detail in my past," she waved her hand dismissively.

"Ah, nonsense," he finished his drink and gestured for the bartender to clean up. "Mr. Wintour's history would have made a good conversation starter." Gabe straightened his vest and stood, collecting his coat. He sauntered towards Alex, circling around the now speechless Julian. He draped his jacket over her shoulders, clearly making a statement before he reached for her hand, wrapping it in his.

"Why? Isn't the shiny nameplate of Senior Partner not good enough?" Alex expertly rode along, locking eyes with her former flame before gazing back at Gabe enticingly. "Forgive him, Julian. My lovely boyfriend here has a bad hobby of underselling himself," she smiled warmly, the irony of her statement eluding her ex. Gabe was about to smirk with her ingenuity, stopping when he felt her arm slowly wrapping around his waist. He barely stifled a groan at the intimacy of her touch.

The other man went beet red at the gesture. For embarrassment or infuriation or both, Gabe didn't fucking care. All he cared about was for Alex to slap this douche's face, metaphorically speaking.

"Anyway, Julian, it's been a pleasure. It's been a long night, and we're about ready to retire at our penthouse suite," steadily, she got up from her seat. The command in her was undeniable, forcing anyone to feel nothing but regret the day they decided Alessandra Keating wasn't good enough for them. Then with a flourish, she turned around as she let Gabe take her away from her past lover's scrutinizing gaze.

Inside the elevator, Gabe caught Alex's exhale of relief, probably thankful that Julian was out of her sight. Gabe still held onto her hand, though Alex didn't seem to notice. As they began their ascent, he waited for her to break the silence, deciding that the questions running in his mind can wait.

"I would have traded my rankings for the look of disbelief in Julian's face," Alex said turning to him, to which Gabe arched his brow.

He smirked devilishly, knowing Alex could take the hint. "I believe I could offer a sight better than that."

She grinned at the innuendo, further lightening up the mood between them. "One day, Gabe, I'll take you up on that," she said, crossing her legs as she leaned on the polished wall behind her. "Though I'm sure you're dying to know... How did I end up dating the Julian Wintour?"

Gabe pondered before answering. "Hmm, actually not the first one that comes to mind, no." He tapped against his temple. "I doubted you would ever bat an eyelash to his direction."

Her eyebrows rose. "Ah, you think so highly of me." She chuckled, shaking her head at his reply. "But yes, he was my ex. And yes, he was the red on my ledger. He was my first love," she admitted. "That ideal, once in a lifetime, true love everyone's talking about? Julian was it, or at least I thought he was." she sighed, glancing at her reflection on the polished metal panel beside her. "But when things started to go downhill for me, he was the first one to walk out," she paused, taking a deep breath. "By cheating on me."

Gabe's body went rigid, clenching his fists so hard until his nails dug unto his palms. What the fucking hell? I know I should have punched that guy's perfect teeth! He decided against airing his vengeful thoughts, staying quiet as he glimpsed at her image on the walls.

"Joey reminded me how Julian made me doubt myself. If I'm really over what he's done to me, if he's still in my head," she continued, rubbing at her nape. Gabe felt her gaze fall on him, which he reciprocated. "But after walking out from him tonight, I am much more certain that I made it out, after all."

Gabe felt her squeeze his hand as she said those words, and his heart somersaulted inside his chest. "So thanks. I needed that little nudge," she said in finality.

He turned to beam at her as he relished the triumph in her words, hoping that it was enough to convey that he was proud of her. And to be part of that discovery about herself, about who she always was in his eyes - someone who was his equal.

When they arrived at her floor, she gently freed her hand from his grasp invoking a sharp exhale from him. She stepped out of the elevator, her gait as undeterred as ever. But then she turned, her soft expression dimmed by the lack of light. "And while we're on the subject of appreciation," she uttered, before dropping one last revelation.

"Thanks for that save you also gave me ten years ago," Alex glanced up at him with half-lidded eyes, her words laced with meaning.

It took him a few moments before he could even comprehend what she was trying to convey. He searched her eyes for some explanation but found none. "What do you mean, Alex?" he said, managing to find his voice.

"I know exactly who you are, Gabriel Ricci."

With that, the doors slowly closed in front of him, her sly smile fading from his sight until he can only see his own reflection. He examined her last sentence, repeating the words over and over in his head. There was only one plausible explanation: she only knew half of the truth. His body sagged against the wall as he shut his eyes, angry at himself.

No Alex, I think you really don't.

Author's Notes: Thank you for your continued reading! As some of you may have already noticed, this part was written purely in Gabe's POV because I wanted to expose his conflicted feelings for Alex. It's probably my own version of revenge, with PB stretching that slow burn as much as they could 🤭 Share your thoughts in the comments, I'd really appreciate it! 💖

Taglist: @adiehardfan @pixelnutrookie @starryjieun @fucking-random1 @sarcastic01lily @spookycolorpeanut @ophrookie @suitfer

@choicesficwriterscreations

It's my first time tagging a couple of folks, so please inform me if I missed including you. Also, want to be added or removed from the tag list? No problem - just let me know 😊.

#choices laws of attraction #laws of attraction #choices laws of attraction fanfiction #laws of attraction fanfiction #choices fanfiction #choices fic writers creations #fics of the week #gabe ricci x mc #gabe ricci

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morgana-ren · 4 years

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Come Down to the Black Sea (II)

Here’s the second part to this fic! In case you’re not caught up, here’s the first! (Part One)

There’s a sickly sweet sense of satisfaction that tugs his blistering lips into a sharp grin when you inevitably return. You couldn’t stay away from the ocean even after your traumatic encounter with him. The pull is too strong, and while any normal person would stay far, far away from the shoreline after learning what stalks beyond the edge of the sand, you’re not any normal person, are you?

Oh no, you’re much too brave for that. Or maybe much too foolish.

The next time he sees you, he has to admit, you look different than what he’d gotten used to. Maybe a little less aloof. Maybe a little more vigilant. Perhaps even a hint of visible bitterness that his presence taints your peaceful metaphorical sanctum. Your thinly pulled sneer and cautious glances hint at something akin to spite and he’s unsure if the snub intrigues or enrages him further.

You keep your distance at first, sitting far back on the concrete curb only a few meters from the tarmac of the dimly lit parking lot. You look out, squirming uncomfortably as you stare long to the ocean as if you're trying to relax but failing miserably. The souring experience with the sea creature has poisoned any semblance of tranquility you found before, and your resentful vigilance is written plainly on your features. Even as your muscles pull taut from the tension you’re holding in, the skin beneath your eyes still crinkles as you occasionally search out in the distance for the telltale sign of silvery hair or leering crimson eyes beneath the murky waves.

He lets you have your comfort days, keeping himself hidden well in the shadowed waters as you regain your footing and attempt to trust the thought of the ocean and her creatures again. As he predicts, every moonrise, you move slightly closer to the sea. Only slightly, but it's more than most of your kind would do given the circumstances.

He's curious if you believe he's moved on by now. After all, he's been a good boy. He hasn't drowned any swimmers in weeks, and more boats have made it to dock than usually do when he’s skulking the depths.

Humans expect most other creatures to react to their presence being known in one way; fear. In all of your novels, movies, all of your self indulgent garbage, the creatures flee in the face of the mighty human race or face ultimate destruction. Your hubris blinds you. He's not going anywhere. Not until he's gotten what he came for.

Not long after you return to the beach and his impatience reaches an insurmountable peak. He pops his flaxen head up to the surface and studies you until you inevitably realize you’re not alone. Your initial reaction is one he expects, and that’s fear. Your secondary reaction however? That one is the one that grates at him. Irritation. You’re irritated at him.

You don't flee from your spot like he thought you might, but you visibly tense up for a moment. Once your rationality takes over once more, he swears you shake your fucking head at him as you tear your eyes away from his general direction. The unmitigated gall of some humans. He cannot deny that it sparks his interest, though.

He stays the night with his gaze fixed on you; a gaze you don't return. In fact, you actively keep it pulled away for the duration of your stay. It irks him more than it ought to. Are you trying to pretend he isn’t real?

How dare you ignore him. You didn't even know he existed until recently and you think you can go back to pretending you don't know? Is your arrogance so overwhelming that you'll turn a blind eye to him over petty hurt feelings?

Okay, maybe he tried to drown you, but if you had just returned his call, it never had to be this way. You would be dead and he would be miles down the coast, wreaking havoc on some new stretch of land. Instead, he's stuck here in a battle of stubbornness with some human idiot because you couldn't just die like you were supposed to.

What makes you so goddamn special?

Well to hell with that and to hell with you. You’re nothing. Just another ordinary human girl, and he'll drag you to the trenches if it's the last thing he does. He swears it.

That night and every night after, he allows you to see him. His eyes might as well be the lighthouse to his location, and if that wasn't enough, you can always make out the silver mop of hair somewhere in the distance. He calls to you and he knows you can feel it. He sees you jerk instinctively towards the ocean, having to consciously keep yourself rooted to the ground, but you always manage to resist somehow.

It infuriates him, rage building deep in his gut as he sees trickles of light from the sun climb over the horizon and paint the sky with yellows and lavenders as a harbinger of the daylight, and thus the end of his time with you. He watches the rising tide erase your footsteps every morning only to be replaced the following evening, inching ever closer to his territory.

'Patience' He reminds himself.

Sure enough, one evening as the moon pulls over the sky, you're situated yourself once again on the rocks where you first met, albeit further back than he'd like. You learn from your mistakes, it seems. Unfortunate. For him at least.

He cautiously swims to the edge of your makeshift perch, hoisting himself up slightly out of the water once more and resting his head on his crossed wrist as he blinks his large red eyes up at you. You still refuse to return the favor, despite the fact he knows that you’re aware of him based on the way you pull your body further into itself when he makes his appearance. The silence lasts for several minutes before he opts to speak, growing weary of being ignored.

"I knew you'd be back."

You don't even so much as nod.

"It's rude to ignore someone. Where are your manners?"

Despite his persistence, you refuse him the attention he craves. Something wells in the pit of his stomach that feels a bit too much like the humiliating sting of rejection, and he doesn't like that one bit. He doesn't like being ignored.

He brings his arm back and spreads his webbed fingers, letting the water pool around the center of his palm before slapping his hand in your direction. Stark cold sea water drenches the entirety of your front and he watches in amusement as your skin pimples and you recoil, frozen in shock for several seconds. He can't help but chuckle when you begin to screech, angrily wiping your face and yanking at your doused clothing that slaps against your skin with each movement. Try to ignore that.

"What the FUCK!"

"Don't ignore me, brat."

Your face contorts and soon you're hissing and sputtering, unable to formulate words in your fit of pure rage. A smug little grin plays on his mouth as he rests his head in his palm, watching as you fail miserably to find some venom to spit back in his face.

"Are you kidding me? You tried to fucking drown me and you’re pissed I’m ignoring you?"

He shrugs, huffing out his cracked lips like you're the biggest drama queen on the planet. "You're still breathing, aren't you?"

"I wonder if I'll get a special price when I sell you to a fucking sushi restaurant!"

The smile fades from his face and he scrapes a talon against the rock. Apparently dark humor is only funny if it’s not being aimed at him. "I'd like to see you try, human."

You two glare each other down for a moment before you sigh and tear your attentions from him to his dismay. "Just go away. Whatever you are, I don't care. Just leave me in peace."

"You know my name." He spits through gritted teeth, instinctively rising a little higher in defense.

"Yeah, I also said I don't care. Go away, fish."

You are so fucking lucky he can't reach you.

"No." His answer is simple and deliberate, trying to keep the urge to slither onto the rock and dig his nails into your yielding human flesh at bay. Land is your territory, and he rather enjoys the home field advantage.

"Why? You have an entire ocean to go be a dick in. Why do you have to bother me?"

He ponders your words for a moment before settling on a less than sufficient answer. You aren’t sure what you expected.

"Because I can. It could all be over if you'd just quit being stubborn and get in the damn water."

"Asking me politely to kill myself, huh? That's a neat strategy."

"I've heard your kind say drowning is very peaceful. Probably better than any other way you'll die."

"Nice sales pitch, bud. Still no takers."

You sit in uncomfortable silence for a few more moments, and he decides that this is going nowhere. Obviously the shock of meeting a sea dwelling humanoid has worn off and isn’t working to his advantage any longer. He's going to have to try another route.

He heaves himself up to sit directly on the edge of the crag itself while keeping the bottom of his tail below, steady flicking back and forth in a rhythmic fashion. Shaking the water from his hair, he slicks it back out of his face and runs his fingers through the length, brushing the tresses back behind his fins. He’s allowing you an up close and personal look at something most humans will never get to see. No matter how angry at him you are, he knows you can’t resist the urge to look.

As expected, your curiosity is a bit too much for you to overcome. While you do initially move to scoot away, it’s quickly replaced with a particularly intense look, clearly marveling at the differences in your physiology versus his own.

His torso is human enough, albeit with an unusually iridescent sheen to it, until you get to the rounds of his hips. That's where thick, black scales accumulate and eventually lead into a sleek, muscular looking tail. The fins on the side of his head twitch slightly as he massages his scalp, and you wonder if it's how he hears things or if it's just a natural reaction to the stimulation. His nails are sharp but he seems to be acutely aware of their placement, avoiding harming himself at all while your cuts are still healing up under a rather gratuitously thick blood tacked bandage from when he grabbed you during your previous meeting.

His hair isn't blonde, it's literally silver. It frames his pallid face in shaggy waves that reach lazily down below his shoulders and somehow glows with unnatural shine that haloes his head in the moonlight even when sopping wet. While his eyes are that of a predator, they're oddly mesmerizing; a deep, luminescent scarlet that contrasts his pale skin beautifully. You're willing to bet that's a technique developed by his kind to disarm and lure prey, though one of his victims or perhaps another sea dweller must have tried to gouge it out, since one of his eyes has a jagged, pale scar stretching from his thin eyebrow to the chapped, baggy flesh underneath.

Life in the sea must be just as treacherous as land, as puffy, pink scars crisscross the expanse of his skin, some rounding from the front of his chest all the way around to his back. There's prominent marks around his gills as well. Small, repeated nicks just under the column of his neck. It’s a rather peculiar pattern, but he seems unbothered by them, and most look fully healed. Apparently he's become more cautious- or perhaps more skilled- with age.

How old is he anyway? He looks about your age, but it's rough to tell between the dried patches of flesh that litter his face. Even from beneath them though, you can tell he's oddly alluring; it somehow adds to his unique attraction. He's even got a little beauty mark adjacent to a jagged scar that runs through his chapped lips.

He’s like something out of the story books you read or the tales you were told as a child. The beautiful creature that haunts the darkness, another pretty mask death facades in. His appearance bodes nothing but an omen of ill will, yet you can’t bring yourself to run from him no matter how much your inner child shrieks at the danger.

Fairy tales aren’t real, and according to the rest of the world, he shouldn’t and doesn’t exist, and yet here he sits right in front of you as if it's the most natural thing in the world. Decades of fantasy stories with tales of nefarious monsters pretending to be something they aren’t just to entice the clueless protagonist into their ultimate demise should have somewhat prepared you for this moment, but you’re too enthralled with the flick of his tail and self indulgent thoughts of being special to really adhere to the rules of self preservation set forth by predecessors ignorant to his existence.

You're so lost in observing him and every oddity that his body offers up to your gluttonous mortal eyes that it almost causes you to jump when he speaks again, turning to face you with eyes crinkling in mocking amusement.

"Huh, you're staring. How rude of you. Unless it's for a different reason, that is."

"What? Wait- no!" You shake your head adamantly even as a telling darkness creeps up your neck and across your cheeks.

"Humans are bad liars." He grins, tongue poking out from beneath his sharp canines. "It's okay. You can come down and get a closer look if you'd like."

"Ha-ha. Nice fuckin' try."

"Suit yourself." He clicks his tongue and turns his attention from you, languidly stirring the water where his scaled appendage swishes just beneath the surface.

You eye it, far too curious to resist leaning your head forward slightly to get a better look at it in the cloudy water. “It looks… slimy.”

He balks at your rude admission and it’s apparent you’ve insulted his pride. For a moment, it seems like he wants to admonish you for your careless affront to his form, but he seems to think better of it. Instead, he remains quiet for a moment, trying to think of something tactful to say.

"Well, it's not. Think...." He pauses, filing through his knowledge of human creatures for a decent comparison. "A snake. They might look slimy to someone ignorant, but they're soft and smooth."

"Not if you rub them the wrong way."

"Obviously. That's why you don't do that, idiot."

"What about your-" You gesture vaguely before pointing at the scales that dot his arms and chest. "-Those."

"Are you stupid or something? It's the exact same thing." He runs a clawed finger up his own arm and then clenches his hand. "Smooth."

"Huh."

"If you'll come down here, you can feel it for yourself."

"Give it up, tailbait."

His wet hand reaches upward and scratches lightly around the scars that mar his neck. He didn't actually expect it to work, but he's irritated nonetheless. This shouldn’t be this much trouble, and he shouldn’t be putting this much effort into anything. Why does he even bother?

"Fine then."

Despite his tantrum, he knows you're tempted. He can tell by the way you keep eyeing him. You're presented with a once in a lifetime opportunity, and it’s not in your nature to pass it up. Granted said opportunity is a loaded spring trap, but still, it's rough for you to even pretend you’re not interested.

Although, to be fair, the same can be said about him. He never really talks to humans beyond the regular ‘Oh god, what are you, please help me, let me go, I don't want to die like this’ nonsense your kind spouts off when you realize what's happening. This is his first actual conversation with one of your kind. He’s not happy about the circumstances surrounding it, but he’ll take advantage of it while he has the chance.

"What about you? When your skin isn't wet, what does it feel like?"

You pause at the question, unsure of what really to say. You drag your own fingers across your arm, trying to find a way to describe it. "Uh... Fleshy? Sort of squishy? It can be soft or rough depending on where you touch. Maybe a little hairy depending on who?"

He stares blankly and you realize that's probably not the best description, but what the fuck does he want you to say? It’s such a weird thing to describe. You’ve never even really thought about it before.

You reach your arm forward to let him touch for himself, but immediately yank it back when you realize what a dumb fuck move that is. He must realize it too, because he's cackling loudly as you cradle your offending arm and look at him as if he’s the one in the wrong. He could have easily yanked you forward and taken you under if you had gone through with giving him the chance.

"You're a fuckin' dick."

"I didn't do anything. It's not my fault you're an idiot."

"Shut up." You knead your teeth into your lip, scanning him over again. "What about your magic?"

"Magic? What are you? A child?"

"What do you want me to call it, then?"

"Do you call it magic when one of your kind uses a harpoon gun?"

"No, because it's not."

"Then why would what I do be considered 'magic?"

"A harpoon gun is human technology. What you do isn't. At least as far as I know. You weren’t like… made in a lab, were you?"

He gives a grunt and scratches at his neck again. "Typical human. A tiger has claws it uses to defend itself and catch prey that come naturally to it and not to you, but do you consider it magic? Well mine is no different. We evolve different from your kind, but we're not any sort of mythical. Just because we're not known to you doesn't mean we're some sort of wild outlier. Humans aren’t the end-all-be-all of intelligent life."

You consider his point, nodding after a few moments. "You're right. My bad. It's just... it's new to me. I'm just trying to understand. Is it rude to think of you as mythic? I don’t mean for it to be, it’s just-"

He huffs angrily before you can finish, scowling again. "We adapt to our environment, same as you. Typical human arrogance. You all think you’re so intelligent and so learned. If you haven't heard of it, it must not exist, right? The mighty human race, epitome of knowledge despite knowing nothing at all!”

You break up his tirade before he starts going off, raising your hands defensively to disarm him. "Fair enough! I didn't mean to offend you or imply something offensive. Sorry! I’m still learning."

He says nothing, but the rage building within him begins to deteriorate. At least you're smart enough to recognize you're stupid.

Another stark silence, the sound of waves crashing and wind blowing is all that passes between you. A gale brings in a new bout of smells; salt and slight sulfur, the same scent that’s comforted you throughout the entirety of your life. You inhale deeply, relishing in the peculiar sense of nostalgia the sea offers you, even knowing the danger you're literally facing.

The sounds of the waves pushing and pulling with the tides relaxes you, lulling you into a sense of contentment. Leaves rustling and waters bristling on the surface. The sand stuck between your toes. The breeze in your hair. The call of the ocean.

You can't see the look of peace that overtakes his features, but he can feel it too. Eyes closed, a rare look of tranquility settling across his face as he turns from you and faces the horizon and the open water.

The wind eventually dies down and you break the unspoken moment of serenity between you. You make the choice to speak.

"Why do you hate us so much?"

His eyes snap open and you are made instantly aware of your folly.

Wrong choice.

"I'm not surprised.” He hisses, shoving away from the rock with a look of disgust that tells you that you’ve made an egregious error. “Typical human. You know nothing."

With a flick of his tail and another splash of water directed your way, he's gone, submerged beneath the water with nothing but a ripple headed off into the sea from beneath the waves. Even several minutes later when you bring yourself to peer over the edge, you can't see the silvery glow of his hair or the deep crimson of his eyes.

He's really gone.

It doesn't bring you the comfort it should.

You sit on the edge for a few moments, even rolling the dice on dangling your feet in but nothing slippery attaches itself to your ankle or threatens to drag you below. Orange tinges the horizon and birds begin to chirp, you realize it's time to go home. You don't feel the peace of mind you usually do as you begin the long trek home.

Taglist: @dubliinwaltz, @lemonzoey

#Shigaraki Tomura #shigaraki x reader #BNHA #Shigaraki #Siren!Shigaraki #I got told I'm not tagging these with the right tags to reach the x reader audience so if you have any advice lemme know

227 notes · View notes

min-youngis · 3 years

Text

something’s got to give - b.bh

banner is mine, tq and bless

you got love / so you got everything - Something’s Gotta Give, OneRepublic

~ Pairing : Byun Baekhyun x Reader

~ Genre : Fluff, Comfort, Humour but like,,,lowkey

~ Summary/Excerpt : With you in the middle of your thesis and him busy with the new album, meals in the recent past have been in the nature of take-out or haphazardly put together salads, usually with a way higher calorie count than the recipe intends. It’s only right that either of the options are jazzed up once in a while, like tonight.

Established Relationship

~ Word Count : 1,938

~ Warnings : some sleepy neck kissing and Tiredness™, but not TIREDNESS, ya feel? kinda sappy too ngl

~ A/N : this man is my latest and most inconveniently timed hyperfixation bye

i’d love to hear feedback, spread the love!

masterlist in my description.

~~~

He’s a veritable wildfire, jumping over the back of the couch and nearly displacing the open laptop from your folded legs, smelling fresh from his recent, post-practice shower and still keyed up from the just-elapsed recording session, unable to still his continuously tapping feet, pressing excited and exaggerated kisses to wherever he can reach on your partly amused and partly exasperated face.

Midway through a peck on your quickly reddening cheek, he notices that he’s sitting on top of one of your notebooks, and now he’s jumping up again, snatching it up from the couch, dusting it off happily before bowing low and handing it over to you with an apologetic ‘So sorry, my bad,’ as you accept through your giggles. Tiny water droplets from his damp hair flick onto your reading glasses, but not so obscuring that you need to clean them to enjoy the show.

Exuberance undiminished, with a wide grin that could rival the sun fixed firm on his face, he leans over the open back of your laptop and primly presses the save button on the research paper you’ve been tackling for the better part of the day, before plucking the device off of you and setting it on the coffee table.

Grabbing your hand in his, he pulls you up, forcing you to displace the cozy blanket cocoon that you had more or less made your permanent residence address since the morning. Grumbling, you let go of the ends and let yourself be dragged up, recognising two indisputable facts.

1. You haven’t moved in hours, as your cracking knees cheerily remind you.

2. Post-recording Baekhyun is the best Baekhyun. The literal embodiment of serotonin.

He makes sure you’re steady on your feet, blanket free from your legs before he insistently begins to tug at your hand, making you slightly stumble from the numbness of your limbs, but follow him nonetheless.

You still make sure to let out a groan though, to keep up appearances and such, but there’s no fooling him, as he comes to a sudden stop on his determined near-skip to the kitchen, turning around before you can wipe off the fond, delighted smile from your face at his antics.

His eyes meet yours, his whole being screaming joy, and his grin is sly at catching you slipping and sappy. Maybe you’ve just been staring at a screen for too long, with just the clacking of the keyboard to keep you company, and the most emotional occurrence in the last few hours was when you had gotten frustrated that Word kept messing up your numbering; but even as he smiles victoriously at you, giggles at your half-hearted eye roll and deliberately weak punch to his chest, and whispers, “Whipped,” in your ear before dropping another rapid kiss on your cheek, you feel like you’re soaring.

He spins around just as quickly, grip perceptibly tightening on your hand as he gives a small, playful squeeze, and now he’s continuing his determined walk to the kitchen, you slightly jogging to keep up.

You aren’t expecting it when he twirls you into the room in front of him, giggling at your surprised yelp that morphs into a fond chuckle as you’re faced with takeout covers on the table and a small vase with a single, obviously fake rose.

He’s crowded into your space without you noticing, and there’s a tickle at the shell of your ear when he says, voice deep and obviously imitating that one chef from Shrek, “Dinner is served.”

It’s a contrast to the warmth his body exudes so close behind you, his kisses slowing down and moving lower to the side of your neck, as his arms wind around your frame, single finger dipping under your uni hoodie and teasingly tickling the sensitive flesh on the side of your body to evoke a wheezy giggle from you.

“Classy,” you snort, as you take in the electric candle that’s presumably running out of battery and flickering in its position next to the vase.

He lets out an amused puff of air against your jawbone, snapping out of his calmer, softer mood as quickly as he had entered it, once again becoming jumpy and letting you go with a last squeeze.

Moving to the table that you’re still observing (there are rolled up tissues in an old pen stand), he pulls out a chair and bows low, with an exaggeratedly flourishing hand and a terribly posh accent as he says, “I would be delighted if you could join me for this fine dining experience.”

Playing along (and really, how are you expected to not, with his infectious energy and devastating grin?), you curtsey best as you can in your sweatpants and hoodie attire, and still slightly numb legs.

With you in the middle of your thesis and him busy with the new album, meals in the recent past have been in the nature of take-out or haphazardly put together salads, usually with a way higher calorie count than the recipe intends. It’s only right that either of the options are jazzed up once in a while, like tonight.

He gives up trying to be dorky towards the end of the meal, but only after he’s donned a noodle moustache and called himself Master Shifu, fought with you over the last dragon roll with an incredibly dirty strategy that had involved some strategic arm-stroking and knuckle-kissing (he nearly won), and tucked a bunch of tissue papers into the top of his t-shirt in a poor attempt to create a ruffle collar, awful French accent included.

But now, as he leans back in his chair, exhaling heavily as his chopsticks sit tired in his permanently lazily elegant grip, you see it happen. His shoulders finally drop, his foot stops its incessant tapping, his eyes slow down their darting around the table in their quest to find other ordinary items that can be repurposed for a laugh and some drama.

If post-recording Baekhyun is a wildfire, post post-recording Baekhyun is the calm after a storm; sleepy, tired, no longer intent on making his presence loud, loud, loud.

It’s how it always goes, and you revel in the peaceful predictability of the occurrence and the privilege of being privy to it, sudden quietness only serving to soothe the room’s excitement into soft calmness.

Now is when real talk happens, when he'll ask about your progress and you’ll enquire about his album. The conversation spans terrible citation formats and pretty chord progressions, and by the end of it, you’re both droopy-eyed from the wind-down and the MSG.

Empty plates and cutlery are scattered around the table, white takeout containers stacked in a valiant effort to keep things tidy. Baekhyun's face glows in the lamplight, his body languid and lounging on the chair, his hair mostly dry now and his hands placed contentedly on his stomach, calm smile of a satisfying meal and a productive day fixed firmly on his face. It's almost unconscious really, how you gently push your chair back, too used to the quiet now to disturb it with sudden noise, and slowly pad over to him.

Maybe it's the new, white hair that looks super soft, or his old sweatshirt that you know for a fact is the comfiest thing he owns (from experience), but there's warmth emanating from his very being and god, if you don't want to simply drown in it.

He lets his knees spread apart a bit more, enough for you to wedge yourself in between them so you're looking down at him, your hands coming up to card through the back of his hair as his arms wind around your waist. His head falls forward so his face is smushed into your stomach, and he lets out a tiny puff of air that’s a mix between a sigh and a groan. It's hardly the most comfortable position for either of you, with his back curved awkwardly and your knees knocking into the edge of the wooden chair, but it still settles and warms you.

"We’ll wash up tomorrow?" he asks, words muffled against the fabric of your hoodie.

“Hmm.”

“Don’t fall asleep on me.”

The drowsy slur in his voice and his lazily looped arms that are really only being held up by your hips are a testament to his hypocrisy, but you choose to not call him out on it.

Instead, with a deep breath in preparation – because there’s a curious sense of comfort that comes with continuous discomfort, especially when you’ve got the lingering smell of lemon body wash and the close proximity to warm clothes combatting uncomfortably positioned limbs – you give his head one last pat slash stroke hybrid before moving your palms down to cup his jaw.

The mission to pull his face out of its adopted nook is by no means an easy one, but you’re nothing if not determined when it comes to going to bed. He whines at first, arms tightening in protest around your waist and head adamantly stuck in position, and your heart claws its way up to catch in your throat. Maybe you both should just sleep like this? Now that you think about it, it isn’t that bad, nothing a massage won’t fix tomorrow. And falling asleep to the smell of leftovers is all the rage now.

“Five more minutes,” you hear from below, where your fingers have subconsciously gone back to carding through his white strands. “And don’t stop the hair thing.”

He feels your stomach rumble with your muted chuckle. You feel his face widening with a grin. A thought creeps in, unbidden, that maybe this is what all the hubbub about the good life is about.

But your bed is calling out to you, and there's a chill so typical of this time of night settling into the apartment, and you know, instinctively, that if one of you doesn't move right now, five minutes could easily be pushed to seven hours. So however lovely this all is, how many ever conversations your mind has with your heart about idealism and uncomfortable hair stroking as a love language, with an almost cruel disregard for how soft Baekhyun looks at the moment, something's got to give.

"Five minutes are over."

"Liar."

But his head comes up anyway, heavy eyes looking at you accusingly.

Your mouth quirks up in a tiny smile at the sight. Determined to follow through, you move your hands away from where they were fiddling with the hair on the back of his head, let your palms run down the fluffy sleeves of his sweater to where his fingers are interlocked at the small of your back, and gently untangle them.

Apart from a perfunctory whine, he lets go easily enough, standing up slowly even as you step away. Together, the two of you work in a silent tandem, the promise of comfort a powerful motivator, pushing you to drop the boxes in the sink as he refrigerates the leftovers.

You flip off the light switches and make your way to the doorway where Baekhyun stands, his hand outstretched and waiting for yours, sleepy eyes closing ever so often even in the duration of your short trip across the room.

"Did you like the candle?" he mutters into your neck five minutes later, once you're both under the covers.

"It was my favourite part."

His lips curve into a smile, amused puff of air making you shiver slightly at the tickle, your fingers unconsciously tightening around his hand in response.

With a sleepy hum, he replies, "Nice. Don't steal my moves for tomorrow's dinner."

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magic-and-moonlit-wings · 3 years

Text

Chapter 52: Adoption

Becoming The Mask

Bold italics are trollish. Although honestly, I'm thinking about doing away with them? At least in scenes where it's just trolls talking to each other and nobody is present who doesn't already understand trollish. And in scenes where multiple languages are in use, I could just indicate them with dialogue tags.

+=+

"Blinky," said AAARRRGGHH, "I want to talk. About Jim."

"Certainly. What about him?"

"Jim needs help. Support."

"… Do we not already support him as his trainers?"

"Not that kind, not for fighting and strategy. For … feelings. For belonging here."

"Support of a familial or parental nature, then."

"Yes. I think …" AAARRRGGHH trailed off, then started again. "Jim has a human family, but he is not human. Or, not only human?" Changelings were oddly in-between and AAARRRGGHH didn't know how exactly Jim thought of himself, species-wise. "Jim is a troll, too. So he needs a troll family, too. And deserves one."

"AAARRRGGHH." Blinky put his hands on AAARRRGGHH's forearm. "Are you absolutely sure you're not projecting? Thinking of things you wish you'd had when you joined us? Master Jim seems largely content with his relationships as they stand –"

"He's scared." No matter what exactly Jim was afraid of – Gunmar specifically or failure in general – he was definitely scared. "He needs support."

Maybe AAARRRGGHH was projecting, but – but he and Jim had both deserted the Gumm-Gumms, so AAARRRGGHH should have some idea how Jim was feeling about that, right? What the boy expected and feared for his future?

I can't afford to mess this up, Jim had said.

AAARRRGGHH wanted Jim to feel safe and welcome on Trollmarket's side, not convinced that rejection was looming if Jim didn't immediately and perfectly do everything asked of him.

"What did you have in mind, beyond what we're already doing?" Blinky asked.

+=+

"Master Jim." Blinky steepled his upper hands together and folded his lower arms behind his back. "AAARRRGGHH and I have been discussing your … place, within troll society. Namely, that you don't officially have one, outside your duties as Trollhunter."

Behind Blinky, AAARRRGGHH winced. Jim carefully did not.

"That isn't going to be acceptable in the long term."

Now AAARRRGGHH covered his face with his hand. "Blinky," he groaned.

"So, to that end … How would you feel about being adopted?"

Jim's jaw dropped. That was not the direction it had sounded like Blinky was going with this.

"By … you guys?"

"Yes," said AAARRRGGHH.

"It would present the widest range of options," said Blinky, "although it could be just one of us if you'd prefer."

Jim looked back and forth between them. AAARRRGGHH nodded.

"What exactly would this mean?" Jim asked.

"Well, first of all, you are not required to renounce any family you have already," Blinky assured him. "You would remain 'Jim Lake Junior, son of Barbara'. You would simply also have the options of introducing yourself as 'Jim, son of Aarghaumont' or 'Jim Galadrigal, son of Blinkous'."

Jim covered his mouth to hold in a laugh. Not only did he have access to Dictatious' library, now he was being offered use of Dictatious' family name? If the Dark Underlord's Counsel ever found out about this, there would be steam shooting out of his ears!

"You'd also be welcome to share our dwelling, should you choose to live in Trollmarket at some point, though of course you had a standing invitation to our dwell before this so that wouldn't change much," Blinky continued.

That was news to Jim, actually. He'd only ever been in their home with one of them there with him.

"Perhaps the most direct benefit is that, as members of your family, AAARRRGGHH or I would then have the right to intercede on your behalf in legal matters, such as if you were accused of a crime or offered some sort of contract."

"Like an adoption contract?" said Jim. Blinky chuckled.

"I suppose, yes."

"And what would my obligations be to you?" Where did they stand to benefit, other than potential 'legal intercession' if Jim tried to broker a business deal with someone? This deal sounded heavily slanted in Jim's favour.

"… You'd be expected to acknowledge us as your fathers, I suppose," said Blinky. "Adoptions are forged by mutual agreement unless the whelp is still too young at the time to understand what's going on."

"Family is … mew-chew-all care," AAARRRGGHH said. "You tell us, if hurt, or scared, or sad, and let us help."

Jim narrowed his eyes at AAARRRGGHH. Being vulnerable like that would be a heck of a concession.

Although, it wasn't like they were as good as Toby yet, at telling whether Jim was lying …

"I accept," Jim decided. "How do we, ah, seal the deal?"

+=+

Apparently trolls didn't have adoption papers. Jim was instead loudly reintroduced to various trolls around the marketplace – Bagdwella, Rot and Gut, Shmorkrarg, Tagaw, Neorbin, Plagsnork – as Blinky and AAARRRGGHH's son. The newly forged family was given many "congratulations" and one "whatever".

Krax seemed to be the only one concerned.

"You … do know humans don't tend to live more than a century?" he asked Blinky gently. "If that."

Blinky huffed and neatly sidestepped Jim's actual lifespan. "I assure you AAARRRGGHH and I discussed all possible concerns before approaching Jim."

Krax shook his head. "You're both braver trolls than I."

"Vendel!" cried Blinky, spotting the Elder across the pub. "AAARRRGGHH and I have exciting news!"

"You're finally getting married?" Vendel guessed dryly.

"Close!"

AAARRRGGHH nudged Jim forward. "Meet our son, Jim."

Vendel dropped his mug and coughed. He pounded on his chest a few times and cleared his throat. "I see."

"We've adopted him," said Blinky boastfully.

"Yes, I inferred as much," Vendel said. "Well, congratulations, I suppose." He gave Jim a little nod. "Welcome to Trollmarket, Jim Galadrigal."

"Thank you, Vendel."

+=+

The Soothscryer rumbled into position the moment Jim set foot in the Hero's Forge.

"Oh, sure, now you guys wanna talk to me."

He climbed the statue and put his hand in its mouth, which still unsettled him. The room around him went dark and blue, stars lighting the ceiling.

"Jim!"

Even if he'd heard that voice before, the happy tone would've made it hard to recognize. The Ghost Council was not usually pleased with him.

A spectral troll faded into existence and held out four arms as though for a hug.

"Welcome to the family, youngling!"

"What?"

"Blinkous hasn't gotten around to teaching you about me yet, and I'm sure Dictatious had the sense not to endanger himself mentioning a Trollhunter ancestor," the ghost said casually. "I'm your great-great-grandfather, Araknak Galadrigal. More famously known as Araknak the Agile. I was the Trollhunter after Maddrux the Many, I know you've heard of them."

"Uh, maybe?" The name sounded familiar but Jim couldn't place it.

"The Battle of Doomscavern," said another ghost, who didn't bother manifesting beyond a flicker of floating light.

"Oh, right." Jim had read that one out loud, months ago, for Blinky to test his trollish literacy (and deliberately messed part of it up so Blinky wouldn't realize how literate Jim was).

"I've been keeping an eye on my descendants as best I can, though the Amulet," said Araknak. "Very happy Blinkous decided to adopt you! If my parents' ghosts were in here, they'd be so excited. With that scholastic mind of yours, you were obviously meant to be a Galadrigal."

"Says the troll who became a warrior because he didn't think he was fit for academics," sneered another ghost light.

"I could outwit you any day, Spar!" Araknak snapped. To Jim, he added, "I was, in the human terms, an odd duck. My parents were proud of me anyway. They used to follow me around to watch me fight things. I suppose you should expect that from Blinkous twice over, now."

"I guess."

Jim climbed down from the Soothscryer but didn't take Araknak up on that hug he still had his arms open for. The ghost shrugged his upper shoulders and let his arms fall.

"So, since I'm here," said Jim, "do you have any advice about the Triumbric Stones?"

Deya the Deliverer manifested beside Araknak. Jim recognized her from her displayed body, and a few illustrations.

"If you ever meet Merlin, punch him in the face," she ordered Jim. "This could've ended a lot sooner if he'd just given the stones to the Trollhunter instead of hiding them."

"In fairness, that might've been Tellad-Urr the Terrible," said Araknak.

"No," said a different Trollhunter, Jim wasn't sure which one, "if one of the stones is Gunmar's Eye, it would've been Deya, because that happened when he usurped Orlagk."

Deya growled and punched her palm. "I should've hit the wizard harder, then."

"So aside from punching Merlin," Jim said.

Deya cut him off. "The Eye is Gunmar's blind spot. Your armour got dimmer when your dad was carrying you back to the library the other day, so you weren't as easy to spot. See if you can go full invisible."

"It wouldn't have activated in the Forge because you weren't trying to hide from anyone there," added Araknak. "Maybe in a sparring match, but not with just the equipment."

Deya chuckled. "Unless you, what's the term, Epic Failed and were so embarrassed the invisibility kicked in."

Jim's heart sped up with excitement. "I have a stealth mode now? That's perfect! I mean, not super useful against Gunmar unless I'm back in the Darklands, but, for other things!"

"Yeah, I would've loved a stealth mode at your age," Deya agreed.

"… I'm in my four-hundreds," said Jim, suspecting Deya was misreading him as an adolescent or younger child rather than a young adult.

"I know. My four-hundreds sucked."

Araknak folded three of his arms together and tapped his chin with his upper hand. "That's right, you were Jim's age when you started trying to re-enter troll society, weren't you?"

Deya kicked him. Araknak shrunk down to a wisp of light before her foot could connect. Deya smacked him in the back of the head when he reformed.

"I deserved that," Araknak admitted easily.

Jim was confused. He'd heard and read a few stories about Deya, but all of them were about her time as a Trollhunter.

"Were you … temporarily banished, or something?"

"I was raised by humans," said Deya. "Kinda like you were, except they knew I was a troll."

"You're a Changeling too?!" asked Jim eagerly. No wonder her pre-Trollhunter life was undocumented –

"Nah. It's just a thing that happened sometimes. Fleshbags can't exactly tell Gumm-Gumms and any other trolls apart, so they'd attack our villages in, what'd they call it, 'pre-emptive self-defence'. Sometimes they'd keep a whelp or two alive as an exotic pet."

"Oh." Well, that was sickening. Not shocking, considering everything Jim knew about human history, but sickening.

"That's probably how Morgana got troll whelps to experiment on in the first place before she allied with the Gumm-Gumms," Deya continued.

Jim growled reflexively at Deya's insulting tone when speaking of the Pale Lady, but her hypothesis did seem likely. Although Morgana hadn't successfully developed the Changelings until after making her alliance with Orlagk the Oppressor, she had been experimenting with transmuting living stone into flesh and back again for centuries prior to that.

"Anyway, I escaped after a couple hundred years, and met trolls again when I was about your age, but obviously I didn't really fit in anymore, and I didn't luck into an adoption. I didn't even know my real name until the Amulet called me a few centuries later."

Jim cringed in sympathy.

"Then I soundly thrashed anyone who doubted me, killed a bunch of monsters, punched a wizard, saved the world, and became one of the most revered Trollhunters ever, the end."

"You forgot leading the migration to this Heartstone and founding a new Trollmarket," said Araknak.

"That part was honestly super tedious."

"True."

"Hey!"

"We were all watching, remember? The peace was refreshing at first, but the squabbles you were called to resolve …"

Araknak and Deya both shuddered.

"Worst part of being the Trollhunter."

"And how."

Jim was only half-listening now, trying to visualize himself translucent like the ghosts. Hide me, hide me …

He watched his hands. They weren't fading away. The fingertips of his gauntlets might have gotten a little darker?

The memory-replay-cloud, or vision-window, or whatever it was, appeared, showing Jim on AAARRRGGHH's back. Jim studied the image.

The silver parts of his armour had a greenish tinge, which might have just been a reflection of AAARRRGGHH's fur colour, and the blue light from the plates' etchings had faded out.

The black scale mail, visible here and there at the joints and gaps where armour plates met, was maybe a little closer to gray than black? The image was a bit washed-out, though. But it would make sense in a stealth mode, because gray blended into the shadows better than a true black.

"So that's another benefit to stealth," said Deya brightly. "People can't find you to ask you to deal with petty stuff."

+=+

While walking home, Jim considered who to tell, and how to tell them, about his new relatives.

His human friends should know, of course, because they spoke to Blinky and AAARRRGGHH regularly. They'd all be happy for him.

Enrique might get jealous, but if Claire knew, then he was likely to find out, so Jim should probably take the initiative of telling him.

Nomura, he probably should not tell. Jim's experiences with Trollmarket were basically the opposite of hers – or so the gossip chain implied; it wasn't like she ever confided in him about it personally – so she'd probably get bitter. A bitter Nomura was a violent Nomura.

Stricklander would probably find it hilarious. Jim's infiltration of Trollmarket had exceeded expectations in all regards.

(Hopefully he'd find it funny … Jim had some time to work out exactly how to tell him, at least.)

Jim was so concerned with how his fellow Changelings might react, it did not occur to him to worry about how his mother would feel.

+=+

"What were you doing in Trollmarket today?" Barbara asked, cutting up her steak.

"AAARRRGGHH and Blinky adopted me," said Jim brightly. Barbara dropped her cutlery. "It's mostly a bureaucratic thing, to give me a place in Trollmarket besides of my job. Jim Galadrigal might have a say in discussions that Jim Lake Junior wouldn't even be allowed to listen in on."

If Barbara had taken a bite already she might've choked on it. Jim had gotten adopted? He'd changed his name? What next, was he going to move into Trollmarket full-time?

She blinked quickly to avoid tearing up. Jim reached over but stopped before touching her hand.

"How could you make a decision that big without telling me?" she demanded. "I know, I know, you're technically an adult and don't need permission, but – this is a big deal, Jim! You could've at least told me before you said yes."

Oh, my God, I've become my mother. That was nearly what her mom had said when Barbara called to say she was spending a semester in Rome.

"Do you …" Oh, no, the tears were coming. "Do you not see me as a mom anymore?"

Jim gasped.

"This doesn't – Blinky said, troll adoption doesn't mean cutting any ties you had before," he said. "And, I, I didn't want to push it, but, I don't really know how you feel about me. Now that you know what I am."

AAARRRGGHH and Blinky know what I am, and offered me a place in their home, and you found out what I was and kicked me out, was unspoken, but Barbara heard it loud and clear.

She grabbed her son's hand, still on the table so close to hers.

"You've been my son for sixteen years – I'm sorry I took the truth as badly as I did but I swear I didn't just stop caring about you. And I should've told you that sooner, but I didn't know how you felt about me, either. Did – did you ever see me as a mom? Or just some human you were playing house with to keep your cover?"

"What?!" Both Jim's hands were on Barbara's now. They had a crushing grip on each other and were staring straight into each other's eyes. Jim's eyes glowed red. He was tearing up, too. "Mom – Mom, I got so, so attached. I'm not, I wasn't, supposed to be, but – it's an open secret for Changelings, we always get attached to our host families. You mean the world to me."

Almost as quickly as it exploded, the tension in the room started to drain away.

"I guess we should've talked about that sooner," Barbara admitted. "In … in the interests of full disclosure, I've been scared to bring it up. As long as I didn't ask, I wouldn't have to hear … an answer I didn't want to hear."

"Same," said Jim. He looked like he was trying to smile; with his red eyes and the tear-tracks on his upper cheeks it came across rather like a grimace. "So … we're still a family?"

"We're still a family."

"Finally!" barked Draal from the basement. "Now you can stop shying away from each other."

Barbara jumped as their lodger reminded her of his existence. Jim blinked and his eyes turned blue again. They both laughed.

Barbara made a mental note to check out some of those family therapy books at the library again. She doubted anything had been written about her specific situation – "I recently found out I had adopted my child, who has now also been adopted by someone else, and I don't know what to feel about that second part" – but at least there should be some advice on 'communication with your teenager'. And maybe 'co-parenting'.

+=+

Previous Chapter (Jim fights Blango for the Killstone)

Table of Contents

Next Chapter (Claire and Not Enrique debate his name)

Jim and Barbara's talk was supposed to drag out a lot longer and have more tension, for the first part since neither of them really wanted to be the one to bring this up and for the second part because there was a lot of emotional ground to cover, but then feelings got intense and they both blabbed quickly.

I've got some new ideas, based on Wizards – some of them are here in Deya's backstory – but I think I'll wait until the movie comes out before fully updating the fic's outline again. As I believe I've said before, I am not keeping all of it; I've gotten a few comments asking if I'll be incorporating aspects of Wizards into this story, and my answer remains "some but not all". (For example, this timeline continues to have Trollhunters prior to Deya.)

Some elements from the spinoff novels and comics appear in this chapter: Araknak the Agile being an ancestor of Blinky's (though the exact generations were not spelled out in that comic), Barbara spending a semester studying in Rome, and Shmorkrarg being a common trollish name.

#Becoming The Mask chapters #Changeling Jim #Trollhunters #Tales of Arcadia #My Fanfiction #Monday is fanfic day!#family #adoption #AAARRRGGHH #Blinkous Galadrigal #Araknak the Agile #Deya the Deliverer #Dr Barbara Lake #TOA novels and comics #toaWizards #except not really

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tolkienhorror · 3 years

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My pain, your thrill, chapter 2

Warnings: Abuse, torture, cbt, watersports.

Please note: This was created on a tumblr prompt given by @outofangband on my main blog. Prompt: Morgoth/Sauron, Omorashi

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"Where do you think you're going, Lieutenant?"

Mairon cursed inwardly but he knew better than to turn his back on his Lord when he was regarded with that certain icy hiss in Melkor's voice, especially in front of a whole group of orc and Balrog commanders. Oh, so one of those days it was. "I have a pressing matter in my office to tend to, milord. It will be but a minute." He tried, though he knew how small chances were of convincing his master once Melkor had got it in his head that this was another good moment to remind Mairon of his place.

Of the annoying fact that years after what had probably the biggest failure in Mairon’s career, he still deserved retaliation at every chance, even and especially in the presence of others. Nothing better to keep possibly rebellious minions in check than demonstrating every now and then that not even the highest people in Melkor's ranks were safe from his power. And that very decision being made in this fortress had to be sanctioned from the highest place – not least because last time Melkor had given Mairon free reign, they'd lost their most valuable prisoner. Melkor could hold grudges for an incredibly long time. "If there's any dealings more pressing than debating strategies to increase our hold on these lands, Lieutenant, maybe you would be better advised servicing the enemy." The temperature in the room seemed to drop with every of Melkor's venomous words until Mairon was shivering under the flimsy fabric of the ruby robe matching his hair that he'd chosen for this gathering in the weak hope of appealing to his master's occasional appreciation for beauty in his bedroom.

Another failure, obviously.

While the orcs, too, shivered and ducked their heads at the aggression suddenly roaring through the hall, more than one of the greyish, scarred faces showed a scornful grin.

A weak flame of delight flickered in the red sockets that were Gothmog's eyes from the other side of the room. From the way, the tip of the Balrog's whip wrapped around a leg of the table, Mairon could tell, the bastard was fondling the handle of his preferred weapon, probably daydreaming about Melkor becoming angry enough with Mairon to order him to serve his most hated rival tonight once more.

Mairon had no interest in a repeat performance of that kind and bowed his head in apology, quickly taking his place behind Melkor's chair again, his face blank as he forced himself to listen to every detail for the upcoming attack wave that he'd long memorized anyway. This was not about his uninterrupted presence in a wholly expendable meeting, of course. It was another test of will, of physical endurance. If he didn't have to be so careful about his lover invading his mind to monitor his thoughts, Mairon would probably allow himself to silently admit that he was getting a little tired of these games. Even coming up with the most attractive and mighty new shapes when the last one got too ruined became tedious at some point, especially when your master had no second look to spare for it.

It wasn't just that Melkor refused to forgive him. He refused to touch him.

Well, that was if Mairon didn't count choking on his lover's cock every once in a while. It felt like at least two Ages since Marin had last been fucked; and since his lover forbade him from finding at least his own pleasure alone, the growing yearning was mixing with more frustration by the day.

Even more so since Melkor had found out that it was a lot more fun, torturing Mairon when he also prohibited him from using any of the powers his folk was gifted with, merely reducing his physical and mental resilience to the embarrassing fragility of an elf.

Mairon wasn't only mildly irritated and impatient any longer. He was miserable. What had Eru been thinking, bringing something so flawed and insufficient to life? When it wasn't some deep cut in this far-too thin skin from his master's whip that Mairon had to sing together every other week, he ended up mending bones or pushing some organ back where it belonged. It was time consuming, it was most uncomfortable and most of all it was humiliating.

Yet, apparently, his lover was of the opinion, none of that had been humiliating enough yet. Mairon should have been suspicious already when Melkor had insisted on sharing a couple of cups of wine too many before this meeting. And he still handed him a new one without even looking at him every now and then, though Melkor himself was doing the talking and Mairon certainly had no need for any more wetting of his throat. Debauchery usually was not for either of them.

It was only now, hours in, that Mairon started to feel, he needed a bathroom break rather sooner than later. And how very inconvenient it was when you were not allowed to just cleanse your body out with a few hummed tones from your lips. It went from inconvenient to distracting after the next cup because Melkor still made no move to end this stupid discussion about arms deployment anytime soon. By now, Mairon's robe was starting to stretch uncomfortably around his midsection, and the muscles in his lower body cramped from the growing need to relieve himself. Only now, it started to dawn on him why his Lord hard insisted on him attending this gathering from this very particular spot, with no empty chair in sight. Distraction turned into annoyance and growing anxiety when the first few pairs of eyes turned his way repeatedly because it became more and more impossibly to stop shifting his weight and trying not to press his legs together too conspicuously. Inside his head he was cursing in all languages he knew the choice for this nothing of a piece of clothing, the white and gold color of which would give away immediately if he failed to control even such a primitive, basic function of this useless body for just a second. Mairon thought, he was doing a pretty good job, still hardly moving a muscle, but whenever he caught just a glimpse of his master's twisted mind in the shredded, cloudy bond between their souls, he could feel the lazy acid bubbling there that was Melkor's sadistic arousal, and he knew, his little, inaudible gasps and the heat of his temperature rising, radiating from his body more by the second, did not go unnoticed.

More than one of Mairon’s own subjects was openly leering at this point, some whispering and chuckling darkly as pale eyes watched the small beads of sweat from strain building on Mairon's forehead.

Gothmog was shamelessly staring at his midsection and licking his lips with his forked tongue, clearly indulging in the perverted fantasies of all the things he would be allowed to do tonight if Mairon managed to anger his Lord enough with his mortal weakness.

It was mostly the stubbornness not to give in to these wordless taunts that helped Mairon, somehow, to hold on to the last of muscle control by sheer willpower alone until the room finally started to empty.

"Am I excused, my Lord?" he got out between gritted teeth, his hands hard fists by his sides just from the effort of not grabbing his bloated midsection, or his aching cock through his clothes, to make sure he would make it the few feet down the hall, to the next free chambers, to finally empty his bladder.

"Not until I decide you learned how not to fail me," Melkor said flatly, still not turning around but busy gathering the last of parchments from the notes one of the orcs had taken during the conversation. "But if that's what you mean: Since you are obviously not even able to control a weak shape like this for half a day, you may go. Try not to make a mess on the floor."

Another day, Mairon might have returned the provocation, might have stayed just in spite, to prove to his master that he was very much capable of everything his Lord asked him to do. Only he was not, not when he was deliberately slowed and restricted in his powers. Mairon was ready to prove himself to his Lord anytime, but not if it was only for Melkor's amusement. If he wanted to be a thrall, he could as well have stayed in Valinor. "Milord." With a rather cool nod, he finally walked past his master, his steps as stiff as his posture. Not for long though, because just before he could get out of reach, a harsh slap from a huge hand suddenly landed on his behind, hard enough to bruise. Thanks to all his muscles contracting from the unexpected impact, a sinister pain stabbed his midsection. With a small scream, Mairon toppled over and reached between his legs in growing desperation to prevent the worst, but it was too late. His hand came back wet, and another hot, treacherous stream trickled down the insides of his thighs, darkening the front of his robe, leaving a sharp-smelling trace on his skin and dripping from his knee-high leather boots on the uneven, rocky ground.

"Look at that. Here I was just thinking about complimenting your excellent fashion choices, my pet, and you had to ruin it again." The same unforgiving hand grabbed his hair and pulled him back upright before he could regather his composure. The ominous lights of the Silmarils shining on his master's pale forehead stung in Mairon's eyes when Melkor pulled him close and licked the salt of sweat and tears of humiliation off his cheeks, off his lips, then biting the sensitive skin hard enough to bruise.

The other hand found the bulge under Mairon's now-ruined robe and pushed against it until Mairon cried out, fighting the hold on his braid in vain, shuddering both in disgust and relief when another small trickle of shame escaped his straining cock, the wet patch at his front growing.

He had long learned better than to beg, but his eyes were apparently a clear enough mirror of the torture of the last few hours, because Melkor's sharp-toothed grin only grew; he let go of him unexpectedly and pushed him away to get up, a clear bulge of arousal showing under his own tight pants. "It looks like we'll have to start teaching you discipline from the very start again, my pet. I will see you in my quarters tonight. I trust you will keep yourself properly hydrated until then." With that, his master left him to his shame.

*********

Mortified and wrathful as he had been, it turned out, it didn't take Mairon long to wish himself be back in that moldy conference hall full of people amused by his comparatively meager suffering.

"Is this not what you wanted, my favorite pet?," Melkor chuckled when another pained groan came from Mairon's lips at the merciless metal pull of metal rings around his cock and balls, endangering his skin that was already stretched beyond its limits, raw and chafed, more by the minute.

Even if he could have, Mairon would not have granted his lover the satisfaction of an answer. But he tried to turn his head away from the thick metal phallus stretching his mouth open anyway, in vain, when another gush of ice cold water came through the hole in the middle of the toy, flowing fast and harshly right towards the back of his throat. Which left him no choice but to swallow again though his belly was already bloated painfully from too much fluid once more, hanging low from where his master had strung him up by his wrists and ankles, swinging and gurgling lazily with every thrust of his master's enormous cock into Mairon's lube-dripping hole. Swinging, just like the huge bucket that his master had tied to his swollen genitals with heavy chains, positioned in such a way that every unwanted new stream of waste from Mairon's bound cock filled it up further. It was really only a matter of time until this easily breakable flesh would no longer be able to resist that gruesome tug, and Mairon had a vague idea, his master had no plans of patching the deadly, tasteless kind of wounds up that unpleasant moment would leave. Apparently, another body had run its course. What bothered Mairon most about spending all his energy once more on another disposable shape, was that his lover was right, of course … This was exactly what he had wanted. Finally being the center of his lover's attention again, being speared open by that magnificent cock, used and abused only for his master's pleasure … He thought he might even have been able to come just from this, in spite of the pain in his groin, if his lover had not once more made sure he couldn’t. No, the noises from his lips were not of protest. They were offense. After all these punishments Mairon had endured today – in all of these last years, really –, the least he deserved was finally being allowed to come properly again.

But his wishes, as was life in Melkor's fortress, were rarely of any concern for his lover, so he had to be satisfied with the telltale twitch of his lover's crooked cock inside of him when Melkor reached under him to feel the grotesque swellings of Mairon's overfilled stomach and bladder and press his sharp-nailed fingertips deeply into the cramping organs until Mairon screamed around his gag and relieved himself unwillingly into the bucket once more.

If it was only the pleasure of his suffering that could close the wound of hurt pride and tactical disadvantage that Mairon's mistakes a few years back had torn, he would happily sacrifice another dozen bodies. Something tore between his legs that was not supposed to come off when the relentless pull of the chain ripped harder on his flesh, and Mairon was pretty sure, that was no longer just waste in that bucket, but that was also when his lover came deep inside of him, finally, the comforting, too-hot pulse of rotten seed warming his shaking body from the inside. Mairon's trapped balls gave another helpless pulse of their last ruined orgasm before they came off with a wet gush. As he gave him to the darkness of agony washing over his mind, Mairon decided, his next shape definitely needed a bigger bladder.

#Sauron #morgoth #fanfiction #DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT #outofangband #angbang

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catapults101 · 3 years

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Hi there. This is my first post and I’m very new to the app so I hope I do this right! If anyone actually sees this then... enjoy I guess!

The Hero felt an air of confidence inside them as they walked into the Villain’s hideout, something they certainly weren’t used to. But for once, the Hero was the one with the information, the one in control of the situation.

“Hi there, Sweetie. Glad you could make it.” The Villain purred as they came into view, clearly having a different idea as to who held the advantage.

The Hero let there powers flare for just a moment, but it was purely for intimidation. They wouldn’t be using them today. “It’s hardly an occasion for pet names. I assume they are unharmed?” The Hero motioned toward the sound of clinking chains in the corner, masked by the dark, dingy lair.

The Villain flashed their teeth playfully. “I don’t know why you would assume that.” The lights flickered on begrudgingly, revealing the Hero’s Sidekick. “But I’ll play along. Here’s your little pet.”

The Hero threw a glance toward the Sidekick. They were cuffed tightly to the wall and gagged with a piece of cloth. Other than the bruises left by the cuffs, the Sidekick was unscathed, and despite the terror on their face they seemed to have been treated fairly well. The Hero nodded. This was exactly what they had expected.

“Looks pretty healthy to me. Hm, isn’t that something.” The Hero’s words came out slowly, leisurely. Deliberate. It scared them, how much they felt like a villain in that moment; but they already committed to the strategy.

The Villain flicked their eyes up to meet the Hero’s, their gaze menacing. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” Maybe a bit uneasy. Maybe.

“What do you want from me, Villain?” The Hero pushed the conversation along.

“You know what I want.” The Villain was regaining their composure. “And if I don’t get it,” they slipped a knife out of their jacket pocket, “we all know who pays.” In two long strides they had reached the Sidekick, who stilled quickly as the blade grazed their neck.

The Hero chuckled, shaking their head. “I really doubt that.”

The Villain’s eyes were now wild. “Oh, so you don’t think I’ll do it? You’re acting like I’m not a seasoned killer. Like I haven’t killed right. In. Front. Of. You.” They tilted their head, running the knife back and forth along the Sidekick’s neck. The Hero was starting to get a bit uneasy themselves. But as they watched the way the Villain handled the knife, so as not to draw a drop of blood, they were slightly reassured.

“Well, if you really want my opinion, I don’t think you will. First of all, of course, because I won’t let you. But it’s not going to come to that.” The Hero paused to look first at the Sidekick, who wore a perplexed but trusting look on their face, and then to the Villain. “Because your dirty little secret? It’s that you won’t let yourself kill them.”

The Hero smirked as the Villain flinched. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, but you should just get on with it. This isn’t very heroic of you.” The Villain growled impatiently. Despite their calm demeanor, a storm was brewing in the Villain’s mind. They were more desperate than the Hero had ever seen them.

“You really want me to say it?” The Hero had an edge to their voice. The Villain was silent, for once in their life. The Hero snapped their head to the Sidekick, who appeared to be on the edge of their seat. “You’re in love with them. With Sidekick.” The Hero finally declared.

The Villain seemed somewhat prepared for this reveal. They let out a burst of laughter, but it was too loud and painfully unnatural. The Hero was quick with the comeback. “Fine then. Go ahead, I guess. Slit their throat.” A challenge. The Villain normally thrived on challenges, but this was so entirely different.

The Villain recoiled in shock, as did the Sidekick, though their restraints hindered them. “What? Well, how... what the hell?” The Villain tried to form a sentence. The Hero forced on a poker face and stayed quiet, waiting for the Villain to make their move. “Okay. If you want to have your precious Sidekick’s blood on your hands, so be it.” The Sidekick began to thrash, but they calmed as the knife, which had remained on their neck through the whole transaction, pressed harder onto their sweaty skin.

The Villain took a deep breath, staring a hole into the Sidekick. The Sidekick closed their eyes, unable to look at anything, least of all the Hero, the traitor. They all waited, feeling each other out. But in the end, the Villain was the only one who could make the move. They put an angle on their knife and started to cut. As it sunk in, a strangled cry came out of the Sidekick, and in an instant the Villain shakily dropped the knife and let it clatter to the floor, shaking their head in defeat.

“Damn you,” the Villain spat.

The Hero’s phone vibrated and they slipped it out, knowing exactly what it meant. They turned it around and wiggled it at the Villain. “I think I’ve got a deal for you. This is a message from my team. They are going to be here in three minutes, guns blazing. Of course, we could sit here and wait for you to muster up the courage to kill Sidekick. Or, you can hand over your little crush, and maybe, by some stroke of luck, you just barely slip our grasp. Just this once. It would be a shame, but-”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” The Villain cut in spitefully. They began unlocking the chains and then ripped out the gag. The Sidekick coughed as they fell forward, rubbing their wrists and stretching out their cramped muscles. The Villain yanked them up and threw them at the Hero’s feet. The Hero helped up the shaken Sidekick gently, whispering an ashamed apology. Despite the somewhat victorious outcome of the situation, it made the Hero sick to have toyed with the Sidekick’s emotions that way.

“Well then,” the Villain called out, already at the escape door, “see you soon, Hero. And as for you Sidekick,” they grinned viciously, “I can’t say I didn’t enjoy our time together.”

He slipped out of the room, leaving an amused Hero and a blushing Sidekick.

#hero/villain #writing #writers on tumblr #snippet

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lewlthea · 5 years

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The Actual Thing Going On With Edelgard Von Hresvelg.

Spoilers: It’s not fascism, nor racism (at least not in the way people think). Also, actual spoilers for the game.

If there has been a controversial character in Fire Emblem Three Houses, it’s Edelgard Von Hresvelg, one of the game’s main three lords, the house leader of the Black Eagles, the princess and sole heir of the Adrestian Empire, and an antagonist in every single route but hers. She has been a polarizing figure within the community: Some people think she’s an irredeemable monster, others think she’s a misunderstood leader. When it comes to Edelgard, theres hardly a grey opinion towards her; She’s either black or white. Today, I wanna talk about Edelgard’s actions towards the 4 routes, what they actually portray, and how and why the entire discourse towards her was caused deliberately by Intelligent System’s incredible mishandling and mistreatment of the character.

I remember Nintendo’s 2018 E3 conference quite well. I was at with a group of friends, watching at one of them’s house because he had a bigger TV. I remember making jokes about how “there was going to be a new Fire Emblem” because loving Fire Emblem when Intelligent Systems is Like That is a living nightmare.

And then this happens.

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Words could not express the joy I felt when the trailer was over. It wasn’t just a new Fire Emblem game: We were going to have another lady lord, and an axe-wielding one at that - something the fanbase had been desperately craving since the recent surge in Hector’s popularity - and for once, it was like when I first found out that there would be a new female character in Shadows Of Valentia with Faye, and it was the tipping point for me to finally buy a Nintendo Switch.

Of course, just like Faye, things weren’t that simple.

Because some months before E3 2019, which promised to reveal more info on Fire Emblem 3 Houses, Reddit exploded. All because of someone who goes by the username Thanibomb, who claimed to have leaked info on the game, saying a lot of information about all the characters, some of them very questionable (With things such as Lysithea would die due to her crest complications, and it would cause the major 5-year war, and other things like Claude being the one who shot Dimitri’s eye off), while other info being oddly specific. A part of it that made me particularly chuckle was when such user said that Dimitri would have lost an eye, and would cover it with an eyepatch. I found it so silly and, along with some friends, claimed it to be fake and carried on.

And then E3 2019 happened.

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And Dimitri had an eyepatch.

And still, even after Thanibomb, things remained optimistic. All lords looked nice, they seemed to have their own ideals, their own paths, and no fights were breaking out within the fanbase yet. But then early copies were sent to reviewers. And then 4chan got a hold of one of those. And then the main leaks started. And by the time the game got released, it was too late. The amount of hate comments towards the character was so overwhelming; some calling Edelgard a fascist, others claiming that she was racist, others even saying that she gives racist remarks towards Claude ingame (a blatant lie). A personal favorite comment of mine was how Hubert and Edelgard looked like the perfect alt-right couple.

(Should I remark that these kinds of comments stopped as soon as they found out that Hubert could A-support Ferdinand, and most of them moved on to fetishize the relationship between the two of them instead. Ironically, before that happened people despised Hubert in general solely because of his unusual appearance and shady behavior, but that was soon seen as ‘nuanced’ the moment he could be paired off with another man.)

And so, a fight between the fanbase begun: (Mostly) Blue Lion fans bashing Edelgard’s character, Black Eagle fans defending her vehemently, and Golden Deer fans between either on any of those sides or just making memes for Joe Zieja’s rally campaign for the GD. Mostly the latter. But that’s beside the point.

A (Kinda) Brief Summary of Edelgard’s Presence In Azure Moon, Verdant Wind, And Silver Snow.

Throughout the game’s second part, unless you’re playing the Crimson Flower Route, Edelgard will always be an antagonist who cannot be spared, and she cannot survive unless it’s in her own route. However, the way she is percieved changes depending on each route you are making, with each route leaving small fragments depicting Edelgard’s past and shaping her character in full scale.

In Verdant Wind/Silver Snow, Edelgard isn’t the final boss. She is one of the bosses before the big fight. (Nemesis in Claude’s case, Rhea in Seteth’s). She’s one of the obstacles, but not the main one, therefore there is not much insight on her character; However, there is still one element present in those routes that is curiously omitted from Azure Moon that is the reason why she doesn’t really have too much focus, that being Hubert’s final letter.

In both routes, Hubert seems to highly respect Seteth/Claude’s prowess in the war and their cunning mind. (Especially Claude; Throughout both Verdant Wind and Crimson Flower, he commends Claude’s tactics and strategies multiple times). In the letter, he gives the location of where Rhea is confined and asks them to eliminate Those Who Slither in the Dark, the game’s true villains and the ones behind most, if not all the game’s tragic events. Even more curiously, though, is the fact that the letter does exist on the Crimson Flower route, and can be seen briefly on Hubert’s B support with Ferdinand, being the reason of their argument throughout the conversation. Not a single mention of the letter exists in the Azure Moon Route. (Of course it would not make sense for it to exist gameplay-wise due to the player having already murdered Arundel/Thales earlier in the game but. It’s still something to be accounted for).

Speaking of Azure Moon, this is a much more trickier route to talk about. Not only due to the fact that Edelgard is this route’s final boss, but also because all of the things we discover about Edelgard within it are never mentioned in any other route, only brief mentions about the time she spent in the Kingdom; nothing more.

In here, her time spent on the Kingdom is expanded: Both Edelgard, her mom Patricia and Arundel were sent off to Faerghus due to exile, with Patricia being set off to marry King Lambert. There, she meets Dimitri, and they both become fast friends. By the time she has to leave, Dimitri gifts her with a dagger (Which, in Faeghus, are important gifts that mean ‘to cut a path towards a better future’), and she returns to Adrestia. Some time after she leaves the Tragedy of Duscurr happens, caused by Those Who Slither in the Dark. However, due to a misunderstanding caused by eavesdropping on a conversation between Thales and the Flame Emperor, Dimitri mistakenly believes that the Flame Emperor was behind it all, and once the Flame Emperor’s identity is finally revealed to be Edelgard, she is instantly demonized and called a ‘witch’, even though she openly declares how she had nothing to do with it. This goes on until Rodrigue’s death and Cornelia’s reveal that Patricia was the one behind the Duscurr Tragedy so she could return to the Empire and “reunite with her daughter”. (We never find out about what happened to her and she is not mentioned during the Crimson Flower). Dimitri tries to talk Edelgard off their final confrontation, but Edelgard insists that it is far too late for her to back down for their ideals are far too different, and she refuses to live in a world where the Church of Seiros exists. Dimitri then hands back her dagger (Which she accidentally dropped before the timeskip), and they both retreat to prepare for the final battle.

This route’s final boss is an Edelgard who was absorbed direct power from Those Who Slither in the Dark, and adquires a grotesque, corrupted form. No other character in the canon possess such a thing, and only Edelgard can assume such form. Once she is defeated, Dimitri tries once again to spare her, only for Edelgard to stab him with the dagger, making Dimitri realize that she would never give up on her dream, and finally kills her.

An Even More Brief Explanation of What Does All of This Means.

Okay, all of that info was nice, fun, good, yadda yadda. What does this mean and why was it needed.

Well, for starters, let’s ask ourselves a question: After reading the summary, can you say that you know what drives her to seek out the destruction of the church?

What is her reasoning behind the unification of Fodlan?

Do we get anything out of her other than “Scary dictator” or “An obstacle that had to be sadly removed” or “Under better circumstances... We could’ve been Allies (tm)”?

We don’t. Because Intelligent Systems did not bother to show Edelgard’s motivations, despite her being the villain in almost all the routes.

During Verdant Wind and Silver Snow, Edelgard herself does not matter: she’s solely important because she is threatening the church, she is your scary big bad dictator that you have to beat in order to rescue Rhea, only to find out that in reality she was just a stepping stone to the real villains, Those Who Slither in the Dark. (In game it is said that Hubert came up with this name. In my humble opinion Hubert can go fuck himself because this is the shittiest name I have ever seen and I am tired of having to type this five word long thing every paragraph or so). As soon as you read the letter, suddenly Edelgard, the Empire, and all the questions you had as to why she Did It dissappear because now you have another objective, another goal.

This is even more offensive during Azure Moon because she is the focus, the final boss, but it doesn’t matter why she did all of this nor what her ideals actually are despite them being the reason why she cannot be spared. The game would rather focus on getting reactions out of the player when the intimidating big meanie does something that makes Dimitri go angry than actually focusing on the clashing of Dimitri and Edelgard’s ideals, why they cannot go back to what it once was, what happened to her to change this way, why did ‘El’ actually die. All you have is a dictator in red which does things for no reason other than “I will destroy the Church and unify Fodlan so I can govern over all of it”. Nothing more, nothing less.

....Of course, you do realize that I have avoided to talk about a certain thing.

So, About That Crimson Flower Route...

If there is a way to truly understand a villain, one must walk on such person’s footsteps. Most people criticizing Edelgard were the ones who hadn’t played her route yet, or had only played Azure Moon and was led to believe that all of Edelgard’s actions are unwarranted or pure nonsense.

There is a reason why people sing their tune differently as soon as they experience the Crimson Flower.

For starters, to be able to fight for Edelgard, you have to first have her support up to C+, go with her to Enbarr once she asks of you, and then defend her from Rhea at the Holy Tomb. The reasoning behind that is so that you fully understand what Edelgard has gone through and the reason why she cannot agree with the existence of the Church.

The Azure Moon route tells you of Edelgard before she returned to the Empire.

It never tells you what caused her to change after she went back.

Edelgard was part of the crest experimentations caused by Those Who Slither in the Dark, alongside all her siblings. Her father, the emperor, was unable to do anything about it, as the real people in control of the Empire were Arundel/Thales and Duke Aegir. Being the sole survivor of such things to return to society and see how everything is defined by whether you have a crest or not and finding out that the Church, who instead of breaking down such system to favor equality would rather turn the creatures who run it into figures to be worshipped is. Something.

There’s another reason for Edelgard’s sudden betrayal, a more sinister one, and why she feels like everything needs to be done in a quick pace. In her C+ you find out she has a second crest, The Crest of Flames, just like the player. People who bear two crests have a shortened lifespam, however.

When Edelgard declares war against the Church, and to unite Fódlan, it’s not solely because ‘Church bad’: She declares war against the unfair crest system, against the hypocrisy of Rhea’s dragon entourage, and of course, to destroy Those Who Slither in the Dark later on the road.

However.

Just because Edelgard’s behavior is justified, does not mean she is 100% in the right. She herself admits that the path she follows is one drenched in blood. But there are several times in the game that makes you stop and think for a second that she can still make bad decisions, and that sometimes her decisions might have horrible consequences. One of them is for example to never take away Brigid’s status as a vassal to the Empire and return it back to it’s former glory as an actual country, which shows how the entire Brigid kerfuffle is something akin to colonization. We should also point out that when she unifies Fodlan, in some endings she remains the Emperor, completely missing the point of what she fought for.

Another case that shows one of Edelgard’s biggest flaws is with the Silver Maiden incident.

Edelgard had just conquered Arianrhod, the Silver Maiden, and due to murdering Cornelia, enrages Ariandel/Thales, whom causes the situation above out of a show of power. She knows it was Those Who Slither in the Dark, but she needs to give explanations fast and she can’t reveal their identity or else they would slip away and it would be impossible to locate them and destroy them. So what does she do?

She says it was Rhea who did it, actively lying to her closest allies, one of them being the Prime Minister of the Empire.

For Edelgard, the ends justifies the means, and as long as she gets the results she wants, she will do what it takes. Even by alienation. And that’s a dangerous way to go on.

...So, where do I want to go from here? Who is to blame for the hatefest Edelgard is receiving?

Intelligent Systems Kind of Didn’t Know What To Do With Edelgard.

Now hold on. That sounds a bit too harsh, don’t you think? She was the first lord shown in the E3 2018 trailer, they have placed a very big emphasis on Edelgard everywhere hell the game’s main theme is about her, why would you claim that??

Well, first and foremost, I should start by saying that Crimson Flower is the game’s shortest route, with the total of 18 chapters. From those 18 chapters, there is only one cutscene, with most of the route’s major events being shown with either the game’s basic models or still images.

For comparison, Verdant Wind has the total of 8 cutscenes, counting the final one before the timeskip, with 3 of them being unique to its route.

Azure Moon has the total of 5 cutscenes, 3 of them being unique to its route.

Silver Snow has 4 cutscenes, having 2 unique ones to its route.

The other two main lords have several support options with people outside of their respective houses; Edelgard only has one.

Remember when I said that one of Edelgard’s main enemies are Those Who Slither in the Dark? The game never lets her deal with them personally. You never truly fight them during Crimson Flower.

In a way, the game feels as if while Edelgard is the focus, you shouldn’t side with her. It really makes it feel as if someone at Intelligent Systems just snickered and said ‘Hey wouldn’t it be cool if we could let our players side with/date our villain?’ without even considering or respecting such villain’s motivations, her ideals, and what truly makes a character unique.

In the end, all they truly cared for was if Edelgard was romanceable enough for the player, not if she made sense or was appealing as a character, whether as a villain or a savior.

And considering how the fanbase is behaving towards Edelgard, they succeeded.

#fire emblem #fe3h #fire emblem 3 houses #fe edelgard #i spent an entire night writing this #my neck hurts so badly

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gerec · 4 years

Text

Vampire AU - Cherik, Xavierine

Another AU that I started for Rare Pairs and never finished; here’s 1300 words about pining vampire!Erik, human!Charles and vampirehunter!Logan :D

Pairing: Logan/Charles, implied Erik/Charles Warning: Non graphic violence mentioned

Some of this was already posted as an answer to ask, but there’s more of it here :D

And here’s a link to the first snippet I posted - a Charles/Jean centric historical powered au!

---

Perhaps it was a little fitting, Erik conceded, that they were meeting here of all places; tucked away in the warren of catacombs beneath the City of Lights. It was more for sentiment than any real need, for the coven had a perfectly functional penthouse overlooking the River Seine. No, they were meeting here because Shaw liked walking amongst the dusty old bones, lording his immortal status over the uncaring dead. It served too, as a way to remind his children and theirs of a long and shared history, while blithely ignoring the discontent brewing within.

Erik would happily volunteer to lop off the bastard’s head, if he didn’t have other, more deserving enemies to slaughter.

The others filed out one by one, until Erik was left alone inside the hollowed room with his maker. His eyes drifted to the candelabra with its dancing flames, and then down to the half a dozen empty bottles on the table. Though it hadn’t sated him for over three hundred years, Erik still ate food and drank wine on rare occasions, evoking memories of a pleasure he no longer felt but couldn’t entirely relinquish.

It rankled that he was so like Shaw in this way, unwilling to give up the vestiges of humanity, and all that had once made him Erik. But where he longed to find the man that still lived inside the monster, Shaw had no such qualms about his nature. He saw himself as god to their weak human prey and acted accordingly, using his vast resources to influence the affairs of mankind. In this way Shaw remained closely connected to the times – no matter that he’d lived hundreds of years already before their fateful meeting.

It meant that he had access to information that most of them couldn’t easily obtain. And that made Shaw a necessary evil, with Erik doomed to live forever in his shadow.

I know you, Erik. I know what you are. But there’s still good in you too. I felt it.

He pushed the stray memory away, digging sharp nails into his palms until he felt the blood ooze through his fingers. Now was not the time to think about him, and how much his heart still twisted and ached, over a man Erik had no business ever befriending in the first place.

“Erik, my boy,” Shaw said, and he bristled at the faux sympathy that colored his honeyed words. “I wish there was more I could do to help you. I can see that you’re still hurting from the loss of that human--”

“Leave it, Shaw.” He had no patience for lies tonight, not when he knew just how much the man had hated Erik’s…hated Charles Xavier. “Tell me what you want, so I can get the hell away from this place.”

Away from you was what he meant, and of course they both knew it, though Shaw was happy to ignore Erik’s rage and defiance, as pointless now as it had been the day he was turned. It would have been better to die with the rest of his family, though Erik came to realization much too late. No, Shaw would never let him forget that Erik had chosen his destiny; that he was the one to go down on his knees, and beg the caped stranger to take him away.

“I have information,” Shaw intoned, deliberately drawing things out to get a rise out of his protégé. “Information I know you’ve been searching for these past few months—”

“You know who killed him?”

Shaw smirked, and patted Erik on the shoulder. “I do. As it turns out, the Professor was murdered by one of his own.”

He stilled, and fixed his eyes on Shaw’s ageless face. “Who was it?” he snarled. “Was it Howlett?”

“Xavier’s lover? No.” Shaw poured himself another glass and sniffed at the wine delicately, oblivious to the way Erik’s blood burned and his insides raged. “Nathaniel Essex, their resident doctor. Some rivalry over research, from what I understand. He knew about you, so he made you the scapegoat. Now the Order thinks that you killed him, Erik. Drained his blood and then burned everything to get rid of the body.”

“I would never—” Erik bit his lip and exhaled harshly, until he could speak again without screaming. “Is he still there? Essex?”

“Still at their headquarters in London, yes,” Shaw answered, “and surrounded by at least twenty vampire hunters. I don’t think I have to tell you that it would be suicide, hm? If you try to take them on by yourself.”

“I’ll take Emma, and Azazel too,” he said, already making plans in his head, and a list of what they would need – surveillance equipment, weapons, explosives – to get them inside. “Summers is powerful but imprecise, and McCoy holds back too much when he’s fighting. McTaggert, Cassidy, and the rest of the others…we can handle them.”

“What about the boyfriend? Howlett,” Shaw said blithely, knowing full well how Erik felt about the man and the number of altercations they’ve had over Charles. “That one has a healing mutation that makes him tough to kill. Perhaps a diversion would be the better strategy there.”

“Or you could come with me, and help me kill them all.”

Shaw chuckled, and wrapped an arm around Erik’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t want to deprive you of your revenge, dear boy,” he demurred, managing to sound almost genuine in his sympathy for Erik’s plight. “And besides, Xavier’s life meant nothing to me. I did my part by getting you a name. The rest I’m afraid, is entirely up to you.”

“Fine,” he snapped briskly, shrugging Shaw’s arm away, disappointed though not surprised by the answer. Shaw made no secret of his disdain for humans after all, not even the ones like Howlett and his team who had powers that made them dangerous to their kind. “Then tell me what I owe you for this information. I don’t want the debt hanging over my head.”

Shaw tsked. “You are my child, dear boy; the closest thing I have to a son. And when the time comes you’ll be the one to take my place at the head of this coven. What I do for you, I do out of love, Erik, so there will be no more talk about debts.” Then he smiled and added, “I think it will be quite some time before we see each other again, hm? Perhaps the next time we meet you’ll have put all of this ugly business behind you.”

Erik sneered. “Going somewhere, Shaw? Is it to plot world domination again or something a little more manageable?”

He didn’t like the way Shaw’s eyes gleamed in the low light of the cavern, icy blue pin pricks that seemed to mock Erik’s petty defiance. “Nothing quite so grand,” his maker said with a wave of his hand. “Some…personal business to attend to, and then some time to enjoy what this new century has to offer.”

The shiver down his spine was entirely unexpected, given the benign response, though Erik knew he could never trust what was behind Shaw’s words or intentions. Still, he had business that was more important than uncovering whatever mischief his maker was scheming; Erik just hoped it wouldn’t get in the way of his own plans.

“Then it’s goodbye.” He grabbed his coat and slipped into it deftly, pulling the hood over his head. “Let’s not see each other again anytime soon.”

Shaw’s wry chuckle followed as he headed to the tunnel exit, and words he would have missed if it weren’t for his enhanced hearing;

“As you wish, dear boy.”

Erik grunted in disgust, determined to put all thoughts of the conniving old bastard right out of his head. So he turned his thoughts to the Order, and to exacting revenge, and to Charles’ smiling face the last time he called Erik ‘old friend’.

He was going to rip Essex’s heart out with his bare hands.

#gerec writes #cherik #xavierine #vampire au #ficlet #rare pairs #unfinished

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resonatingfern · 4 years

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Confessions

for the ‘confessions’ prompt for @tyrias-library, featuring my Commander Bearach and @duskroots‘s Finnas.

Something had been bothering Bearach for weeks.

It started out as a quick, sharp pain in his chest. Over almost before it began, like something had pricked him and ran off the moment its job was done. He could easily ignore it, and paid little mind to when it came and went.

Then it started to last longer. His chest would ache and squeeze in on itself, and no amount of rubbing at his skin or taking steadying breaths would cease the sensation. He thought maybe some old wound was catching up to him and had the healers check his health. They assured him nothing was wrong — he was in perfect health.

Still the feeling continued. Bearach started to pay more attention to when it happened, in order to catch what triggered it. The pattern appeared random: during a meeting discussing where to send a group of scouts, on patrol late at night while the camp slept, while he sparred in the morning to make sure he kept himself in top shape.

He realized the trigger only when Finnas was held in his arms one night, his grip perhaps a little too tight around the smaller sylvari. Bearach’s lips were on his throat when he felt the pain in his chest again, this time warm and flooding to the rest of his body. He pulled away, surprised that the feeling would return now of all times.

He looked intently at Finnas, his mind piecing together all the information he’d gathered. Finnas had been there during the strategy meetings; he’d walked beside him during his nighttime patrols; he’d sparred with him, the two of them fighting in sync.

Finnas was the cause of the ache in his chest, and in the flickering candle light of his tent Bearach realized it wasn’t a wound or a sign of trouble at all. It was an emotion, deep and pushed aside his whole life, demanding to be acknowledged.

“Stay with me tonight,” he said suddenly, the words for once leaving his lips without careful consideration.

Finnas pulled back, the orange glow of his eyes fading as he looked down at Bearach’s hands on his waist. The separation of his body against Bearach’s only made the pain in his chest worse, like some vital part of him was tearing away with Finnas’s increasing distance.

“Bearach,” he said, his voice soft and lacking the distinct sweet melody Bearach had become accustomed to. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. I know your position and I don’t—“

Finnas paused, still looking away. The outside noise of the camp at night had all but dispersed, leaving the tent silent save for the guttering of candle flame and the two sylvari’s breathing. The moment stretched out, Bearach waiting for more explanation. He thought he had an idea of what was coming; he was the Commander, and as such his position came from danger and responsibly and a thousand other things that would chase people away.

During the last handful of months had he deluded himself in thinking that Finnas was able to look past that? Maybe it had been wishful thinking on his part. Maybe Finnas drew him in so completely he forgot who he had to be, and the drawbacks that came along with that. It wasn’t like him to let his emotions cloud the truth, but Finnas was bright enough to eclipse the more rational parts of him.

When Finnas spoke again it was hardly above a whisper, and said down into his lap, the words pooling somewhere around his knees.

“I don’t want to just fill an empty space until something more important comes along.”

Bearach remained still, though more due to disbelief than anything else.

“What?”

Finnas didn’t repeat himself, and instead just shrugged. He was still avoiding Bearach’s eyes, darting up only to catch them briefly before looking away again.

Another moment of silence passed while Bearach gathered his thoughts. He felt each second tick by, knowing they likely felt even longer to Finnas. He wasn’t going to reply until he had his words all lined out, though — this moment was far too important for another rash statement. Like the best of battle plans, this needed deliberation and intent.

“When have you ever known me to not put total commitment into the things I do?” He said finally, a hint of his ‘Commander’s voice’ creeping in before he cleared his throat and started over, a touch more tenderly. “There is nothing half felt or fleeting about my feelings. I would sooner step down from my command than leave you after a night. Don’t be ridiculous, Finnas.”

Bearach reached down to hold Finnas’s cheeks in both hands, keeping his face tilted slightly up at him. He’d seen some of the Pact soldiers do this to their loved ones, though he wasn’t certain the amount of pressure he should exert. Likely not enough to squeeze the other sylvari’s cheeks out the way he was, so he eased a little and let his thumb caress Finnas’s jawline instead.

“You have my complete heart. I promise that. You know I don’t break those. So —“

He paused, suddenly feeling an unusual tremor in his hands. They wanted to shake, just like his heart wanted to race. Was he nervous? It was a new feeling, though he supposed many of the feelings he had around Finnas were new.

“So please,” he continued, his voice dropping the last bit of defense it had. “Stay with me tonight.”

The tension in Finnas’s body seemed to melt away before Bearach’s eyes. His face, still held between Bearach’s hands, brightened with familiar yellow glow, outlining the smile that now took over.

“Well, how can I say no to the Commander,” Finnas said, and Bearach felt his hands reach for him again, settling around his waist. His own face fell at the use of the title, though; right now he didn’t want to be the Commander. Not when he was alone with Finnas like this. Not after he’d spilled his heart out for him.

“To you, Bearach. How can I say no to you,” Finnas amended with a soft chuckle. He leaned in and pressed his lips to Bearach’s, the warmth flooding off them and into Bearach.

Bearach kept his hands on Finnas’s cheeks, though now he did press his fingers in. He wanted to keep him close, to never feel the sinking of his heart again like when Finnas had pulled away or like when he wouldn’t meet his eyes. He wanted to continue this feeling — this racing of his heart and lightness that filled every space in his body.

When his breath became short, Bearach lifted his lips fully from Finnas and pulled back just enough to take in the flushed look on his face. He ran his thumb over the other sylvari’s bottom lip, across his jaw, down his neck.

“You are the most precious thing to me,” he said, his voice almost reverent.

“Smooth talker,” Finnas laughed. He smiled and moved his hands to Bearach’s chest, where he was certain he could feel the rapid beating of his heart. “I love you, too.”

#oc: bearach #my writing

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kashimos-hajime · 5 years

Text

home | l.l.

Summary: “Come home to me, my love. Please, bring him home.” You’re a youthful little creature, but anyone who knows that life’s most vibrant gifts are the ones most dangerous, knows to stay away.

WARNINGS: ANGST, but happy ending, blood, death, sacrificial rituals, mentions of suicide bc loki :( Pairing: pre-Thor to postTDW!Loki x sorceress!Reader Word Count: 6.5k

A/N: Okay, so months ago, I entered a certain writing challenge, and forgot about it. Layla was kind enough to tell me to take my time, and now I have it completed! My prompt was: “Excuse my tantrum, can’t you see I’ve got my hands full.”

@wxntersoldiers, enjoy bb!! You deserve it :)

They've hidden you away on this war-hungry realm, where the blades are sharp and the shields are sharper. Shoved books and herbs and tutors every which way they think you will intercept them, so that they can mold you into a lady worthy of Asgard’s standards. Placed your blades out of reach, because Vanaheim is the peace to Asgard’s war. The country to Asgard’s city. Farmers to their rich.

They call you simple. You are your father’s daughter, after all, and he was merely a farmer before he was a king.

So, yes, you are the farmer’s daughter, who just happened to be lucky to marry the Prince of Asgard. The simple girl who is well-spoken, and polite, and trusting without a fault. The pretty, simple girl from a peaceful realm who doesn’t understand that their Prince will never love an idiot like you.

What you know as the truth is all that matters.

Your father is Freyr of Two Kingdoms. Of Vanaheim and Alfheim and you are to lead both. Your father reads aloud strategy instead of bedtime stories, and you paint with a sword instead of a brush. You grow up a battle-hardened warrior who has not yet lost a battle, and your father’s father sends his blessings to you. He tells you the ocean sings in your veins and the winds rest in your heart. He tells you that you are the tsunami’s rage and the torrential rains of fall.

But all the courtiers call you is farmer’s girl. Little peach.

A farmer’s girl who wields a scythe like a second arm, who’ll cut someone in two if it means it’ll make your father proud. A sweet little thing who has knives hidden in a smile. A fountain of limitless potential without a leash, a witch, if anyone’s ever seen one, without a master.

Your father’s sister amends that immediately.

She bleeds you over the fire, and teaches you things your father does not dare to speak of. Sorcery, and spells, and little tiny tricks that’ll tip the balance to your side. Black magic, they call it. You say it’s making use of what you are born with.

Little peach. Dark princess.

A little peach who is her mother’s daughter, shimmering and beautiful.

You’re a youthful little creature, but anyone who knows that life’s most vibrant gifts are the ones most dangerous, knows to stay away.

It’s a shame, you realize, that an arranged marriage was made.

You’re quite sure that if you’d met Loki in any other circumstance, you’d love him and he’d love you. He’s quiet and polite, and not hard on the eyes at all. In fact, you’re quite sure he’s attracted to you, too. After all, there are worse brides in the nine realms.

But, then he listens to what the court says, and you keep up the pretense that you’re nothing but the clouds in your head. Not that it’s hard. You simply don’t fight it, and let the people do the rest. You have no interest in defending yourself against opinions that don’t matter. You only care about one.

Your mother’s whispers tell you to paste that smile on your face. It’s not worth the trouble to fight what they think of you.

Your father’s glare demands you to show them who you are. You are my heir, and you will earn their respect.

Your lady aunt Freyja takes no side, but you can imagine her voice perfectly. My autumn child, you know what men do for a woman’s love.

You smile and open up a book as your betrothed enters the library. His eyes rake over you for a moment as you let out a soft hum, face turned away. The sun shines through the window, illuminating the dust that flickers through the air and you flip a page deliberately to catch his attention again.

“What are you reading?” he asks two shelves over.

“Some odd book about seiðr,” you respond and your gaze rises to see him pausing. He grabs the book he has floating somewhere between him and the shelf, and turns around, meeting your eyes. He searches for something deeper. You drop your eyes back to the book you’ve read countless times before.

He sits down on the opposite end of the window sill bench and you tuck your knees to your chest. You hold the book open, and his eyes flicker across your face, drinking you in.

“Interesting?” he inquires. You send him a smile.

“Enough.”

No more words are said. He simply cracks open his book and you return to yours. You cannot help the smile that spreads across your face.

Many things, Aunt Freyja. People do many, many things for love.

That is your little hideaway, the library. Only Loki knows when to find you and where — that spot on the window sill bench, after dinner and before breakfast — and he comes to join you often.

Mostly, he asks questions. You smile and answer all of them willingly. You’ve let him come to you, and now you have him in your grasp, and you in his. The moment he finds out you also know how to use magic, know how to do things that not many on this war-hungry realm can, you feel something in your chest lurch at the very sight of him. Perhaps it’s the way his eyes spark when he reads something new, or the gentle way in which he smiles at you.

No matter. You enjoy the games you play together.

You watch the way the sunlight hits the smooth apples of his cheeks and brow bones as you play with the magic at your fingertips. The two of you play a game where you must get pieces through hoops the other positions. It can be as outrageous as one’d like, but in the lazy setting sun and the fullness of supper, neither of you go farther than the distance between the two.

He holds a hoop between the two of you and your lips twist as you telekinetically toss a piece through it. It lands in his lap and you smirk victoriously.

“Now, I get a question,” you announce. Loki leans back against the wall, a satisfied smile upon his face. “Lemon tarts or berry tarts?”

“You know I don’t like sweet things,” Loki deadpans and you smile, tucking your knees to your chest. You flick your fingers and retrieve the piece still in his lap as his own wooden blocks float around his fingers. “Lemon tarts.”

Taking your own hoop and holding it up above your head with a wave of your fingers, you feel the warm gush of power flow down your fingers. The wooden hoop shimmers with blue magic as you look up, making the final adjustments to its position.

“I’m ready,” you announce and Loki picks up a piece with his fingers. It soars through the air with a flick of his fingers and through the hoop, and he catches it before it can drop on your head. He smiles with a little ‘ahah’ and holds the little wooden piece in his fist as you lower the hoop onto your finger with an amused smile.

It seems only in the sanctuary that is the library does Loki smile like he does. You’ve been here quite a while to know that he’s not the favourite son. The Allfather tries his best not to make it so painstakingly obvious, but you can see it plain as day.

He wears his smile in the court like a courtesy. Whilst you float around, a butterfly searching for nectar, he is the crow perched on leaves, wondering when he can return home to his murder — his flock. You’ve tried to draw that smile you know lurks within him out, but fail every time.

Here though, he blooms like the sweetest flower and you reach over to skim your fingertips over his knuckles. His eyes flicker down before meeting yours.

“Why do you act like that in court?” he asks softly, and you tilt your head.

“Like what?”

“You know what I mean, my lady.”

“I know what they think of me,” you say with a cunning smile. “You can’t make people change their minds, and an advantage can only be used once. But why should I care about silly little opinions when only one truly matters?” Your magic dances across your fingertips and over Loki’s hand as he slowly turns it over to grasp your palm. His fingers slide over your wrist, feeling your pulse that beats in your ears.

“And whose opinion is that?” he asks, tone bemused. You roll your eyes, draw back, and gesture to one of the hoops he has floating around his head.

“One question per point,” you remind him, drawing your hand away. Pink stains his cheeks and you send him another sly smile. “Come on. A few more rounds before bed.”

“Bed?” he repeats with a glint of mischief. You fling a block at his nose which he deflects easily, and his smirk causes your lips to press into a flustered smile. “Too early for bed, isn’t it, my lady?”

“The night is still young.”

“Ah, you know that wasn’t what I meant.”

“If you’re so eager, a request could be made to my father to move the wedding up a fortnight,” you chuckle. With the wedding only a month away, everything is falling into place. The few things you have left to deal with is the final fittings for the dress, and the final draft of the menu.

“I’ll resist the temptation, little witch. The wait will make it sweeter.”

Your heart beats a little faster. By his little self-satisfied smirk, you know he knows, and you curse Loki for being able to turn the tides of your little battle against you.

The day of the wedding is scheduled for the first day of autumn, and gentle wind kisses your cheeks as you walk through the gardens. A spiral of orange and yellow, red and brown, follow your steps as your father walks you through one last time.

“You’ll return home, then? Once the wedding is over?” you ask softly. The sparrows chirp overhead, flitting from one branch to another. You smile at the sweet songs, leaning against your battle-worn father. He wears a handsome grey pelt around his shoulders, his cape dragging behind on the cobblestone road as you tilt your head to the grey-blue sky.

“Yes. Once I’m sure you’ve settled in, and you’re comfortable here.” Autumn blossoms sprinkle the pathway as you ascend the steps to the Great Hall and you turn to your father with a smile reserved only for him.

“I am happy here. If they’d let me bring out my sword once in a while, then it’ll be perfect.”

He nods, cupping your face and tilting your chin up towards him. His dark eyes flicker over your face, thumb stroking your jaw and you smile bittersweetly. You know what he sees — his little girl.

“Thank you, Father.”

And at last, he smiles. It vanishes a second later, but the love that swells in your chest does not as he sends the guards a nod.

The doors open, and you are presented to the people who are to be yours.

Loki wears his ceremonial armor, golden horns glinting in the morning sunlight that streams through the open ceiling. Rich green spills from his shoulders, his cape pooling around his leather boots as he turns to look at you. A reverent silence hangs in the air, filled by the soft lull of harps and choir voices, and you lower your eyes to avoid the evident smile that’ll occupy your face as soon as you see him.

When you reach the altar, you turn to gather up your dress that tumbles on for miles to see attendants already holding onto it, adjusting it so it flows prettily down the golden stairs. Your father watches with a hard stare, making sure you look as beautiful as you can be and you place your hands on your father’s shoulders.

“Thank you, Papa. For everything.”

He nods once, and then takes hold of your hands with his rough ones. His thumbs brush over your knuckles as he turns to Loki, who holds out his own hands.

You look at the man who is to be your husband in mere moments, and he hides a smile beneath that helmet of his. Your father places your hands in Loki’s, giving you away, before descending down the steps and standing next to your Aunt Freyja who hides a clever smile behind her hands.

Marital bliss lasts for centuries. The both of you are in no rush for children, still young and eager to learn about the world and each other.

“If it comes, then we let it come,” Loki whispers into your neck one night before bed. You press your whole body against his, wrapping him in a tight hug as his arm drapes over your waist. He kisses your jaw and brushes hair away from your face, eyes dark in the shadows of your shared rooms. “But in the meantime, I’d like to get in a lot of practice.”

“Practice, hm?” Your face is flush against his chest, and you press soft, tiny kisses against the bare skin you find there, fingers tracing shapes along his back. He sighs, his hand trailing up and down your side as he takes you in. Your eyes peer up at him modestly, and you reach up to touch his face. You feel his smile warm against your palm, and you wonder how it is that you’ve fallen in love with the man when he’s the one who is supposed under your spell.

You suppose it isn’t hard to wonder why.

“Oh, yes. Lots and lots of practice.” His nose wrinkles against your cheek and your laughter is silenced by his kisses as you wrap your arms around his neck. The sheets twist around your body as you slide a leg between his. The burn of his skin spreads delightfully into your bones as you sigh, brushing fingers over his cheeks.

“I adore you, you know that?”

“Of course I do,” he whispers, and he seals that promise with a kiss.

Your first is a daughter, and the birth is difficult. You think it’s the stress — the whole ordeal has been a hellish year, and the fact that Thor has been banished such a short time ago.

Loki has been exiled to pace outside your room to let the midwives work as you let out a torrential scream. Outside, Asgard faces a storm, bullet rain that dents metal with every one of your pained shouts as wet wind carries the fate of your child to all corners of the realm. There is blood, so much blood that they have to change the towels beneath your waist twice.

And even then, it’s a struggle.

Frigga brings you sustenance — filling soup and water — as well as updates on your husband.

“He’s going positively mad,” your mother-by-law whispers and you let out a breathless laugh as another contraction rips through you. Something tears and you grip onto whatever is closest, clamping down with all your might. The midwives murmur amongst themselves but you cannot see through your tears to bother asking what’s wrong.

The labour continues on for another day and a half before you can rest. Frigga departs your bedside to go look and you raise your head blearily. You’re quite light-headed, and you wonder why there is such a silence. You can hear the gurgles of a child, the tiny little wails but otherwise, nothing.

“What’s wrong?” you croak, blinking. You need to see your baby. You gave your life and soul to this child and now they won’t even tell you what’s wrong. “Is it a boy, or a girl?” Nothing. “Answer me!”

“We… we don’t know, Princess.”

Your whole world shatters. You try to sit up but Frigga stops you as agony rips between your legs mercilessly. Groaning, you slide back down as she cups your face. Your blown eyes search hers, and you feel the tears coming before you can stop them. Hair sticks to the sweat on your skin as you let out a quivering breath, trying to stop yourself from sobbing.

“What’s wrong with my child?” you ask weakly, closing your eyes as tears burn hotter than the flames surrounding you. Frigga shushes you and you feel the shift of the bed as she turns to the midwives.

“You do not speak of this moment. You do so, and you will not wake up from your sleep. Leave.”

The door opens and closes. A soft bundle is pressed into your arms. Frigga stuffs pillows beneath your head and urges you to open your eyes.

“There’s a secret we’ve been hiding from Loki his whole life,” the Queen whispers as your eyes peel open. Tears blur your vision instantly but you blink them away. With a weak finger, you pull the towel away from your child’s face. “Something we should’ve told him long before he met you.”

“Boy or girl?” you ask quietly. The child turns in your arms, eyes squeezed shut and a closed fist hitting your finger softly.

“You have a sweet little daughter.”

Nodding to yourself, you feel your fingers go numb as you stare at your tiny little daughter. She’s so small, so gentle, and yet she already has such a climb in front of her. Your heart swells for your firstborn child, and you hold her to your forehead, breathing in her scent as you stroke her tiny chest.

You kiss her blue, marked cheek, and her tiny blue knuckles, play with her creamy little fingers and brush a knuckle down the unmarked side of her face. You watch as your half-blue daughter searches for food, and you swallow a hard knot. Bearing your breast, you let her feed and try not to cry once again.

“When will you tell him?” you ask. Frigga looks on with guilt, with shame. Your eyes stare frostily at her, and you wonder if this is why the Allfather favours Thor over him. “I won’t hide this from him.” The Queen has no answer, and a wave of nausea crashes over your head as you turn to look at your daughter. The birthing pains have faded, replaced by new, deeper cuts on your heart. “Please bring him in.”

When Loki meets his tiny little daughter, blue and cream, frost giant markings along her face and body, he confesses that he knows. Knows he’s a monster.

You tell him with every ounce of yourself that he is not even though you know he won’t believe you. So you tell him you love him instead, because he knows that that will never change.

“Thor! You’re back!” You rush to him, pulling him into your rooms as you admire your brother. His golden hair shines in the candlelight and he wears a fatigued smile as you go to pour him some tea.

“There’s no need for that,” he says with a wave and you send him a strange look. Something about him seems off. He’s no longer the jovial man you know, or perhaps, something has happened. Before you can entertain that thought, though, a shrill cry pierces the air and you go to the cradle beside your bed.

Your daughter squirms and wiggles, and you pick her up, shushing her quietly as you turn to look at Thor. He stares at your daughter for half a moment, and you smile sadly.

“They hid the secret from you, too,” you begin and he rips his gaze to you. “Sweet brother, Loki has been raised in a lie.”

And that is what makes the next bit of news so utterly horrible.

“Where is he, anyhow?” you ask. You gently rock your daughter in your arms, hoping that’ll soothe her to sleep but with a newborn, you’re only learning more and more everyday. Thor grimaces, fingers slotting together as if he’s trying to figure out the right words to say. You go to your balcony, looking at where the bridge has shattered. You arch an eyebrow, tilting your head and absently stroking your daughter’s cheek. “The Bifrost was glowing awfully bright before you returned.”

“Autumn sister,” he whispers, and his voice has grown thick. You turn to him, the wind tugging at the skirts around your ankles as he steps onto the balcony with you. The moon casts you both in silver, and you swallow.

“Bad news?” Your voice shakes and you try to pretend it’s from the cold that does not bother you, not the fear that seizes your heart and threatens to crush it into tiny pieces of dust. When Thor does not answer, you shake your head and whip around, holding your child to your face. Yours and Loki’s. Our daughter.

“I’m sorry—”

“No. No, please don’t tell me,” you whisper. Kissing her cheek, you hold the child close to you in hopes that it’ll fend off whatever words Thor will say. “Don’t tell me, please.”

“He let go of my hand,” Thor whispers and you close your eyes, breath rattling in your throat. “He let go, and he fell.”

“No. He wouldn’t.”

“He did.”

A myriad of emotions digs into your heart, splitting it with a chisel and hammer, carving it into something that resembles a broken heart. You wilt, sinking to your knees and holding your daughter close. The last pieces of Loki you have left.

“Was I not enough?” you ask to the winds. Thor drapes his cloak around your shoulders, gently touches your daughter’s cheek who meets her uncle for the first time, and shakes his head. “Was our daughter not enough?”

“It was never anything you did,” he whispers, hugging you tight. You close your eyes, and tears trace over onyx armor as he presses a tight kiss to your temple. “Some secrets never should have been secrets.”

“You’re sending Thor to Midgard, but not me?” You throw open the doors with a slam, storming into the throne room. Odin Allfather sits up in his chair, his conversation with his wife all but broken as you stop. Blue autumn winds follow after you, brushing against your skirts, your hands, curling around your fingers. “I’m his wife, if you don’t remember.”

“You have a daughter. I don’t want young Hela to lose two parents,” he replies, an easy response, a trained one. You sneer, hands curling into knuckle-white fists. Magic rushes to your fingertips, but before you can protest, he slams Gungnir into the floor. “My decision is final.”

Frigga’s, however, is not. With a promise to take care of your daughter, she sneaks you into the Observatory. Thor flies you in, and the two of you hold on tight to each other as Frigga waves farewell.

“I need to return before he thinks anything’s amiss,” the Queen Mother explains with a slight smile. “Bring him home.”

“We will,” the two of you promise.

When Odin’s dark magic powers the Observatory for the first time in centuries, he sends not one but two warriors down to Midgard.

“Loki?” you whisper, and he wilts under your stare. Something flickers in your eyes as you press your hands against the glass. He’s trapped in some sort of cage, and you paste on that smile of yours as he walks towards the thick walls.

He places his hands deliberately to cover yours, and you lean forward, your forehead touching his. The soft thunk tells you he does the same and you close your eyes. You can nearly feel the heat of him. Almost, not quite, maybe.

“What have they done to you?” you ask as your heart tries to touch his. It wrenches out of your chest, and you open your eyes to meet his, smokey blue, a gaze you don’t know. “Who did this to you?”

There is no answer. He merely backs away into the end of the glass container like you’d shocked him.

“I’ll kill them. I’ll kill whoever did this to you,” you promise. The glass begins to bend under your burning hands and the blue magic under your fingertips phases through the glass. The rest of you follows, and you are in the cell with him. He watches you like an injured dog, and your heart cracks as you open your arms.

“Stay back, wife,” he spits, but you don’t care. His poison has never touched you. You continue towards him.

“I’ll kill them all,” you repeat as the uncertainty in Loki’s eyes grows. “I promise you. I promise I will do whatever they’ve done to you to them tenfold. I will bring you home to our daughter.” You think of little Hela back home, and you smile. “She’s missed you. She’s your little girl.”

“She’s a monster,” he whispers harshly. You falter and your arms drop to your sides. “Don’t you see?”

“I’ve never cared much for monsters.” Blue mist spills into the air, tasting like cold starlight and warm spices as you reach out one hand to him. “And I know how to love one with everything I have.”

Tendrils of magic weave from your fingers out to Loki, who has half-turned away from you. It caresses his face and whispers over his jaws, taking hold and turning his cheek towards you. His eyes meet yours and you smile.

“Come home to me, Loki.”

He takes a step towards you and your heart swells in your chest. Your fingers strain for his cheek and your smile grows as he walks into your reach. Your hand cups his face, and you let out a relieved laugh. You absorb every inch of him, the sunken quality of his eyes, the hollowness in his cheeks. My husband.

Your arms wrap around his neck and suddenly, he’s embracing you back desperately. His arms clutch at the leather that binds your armor together and you kiss his neck softly.

“She looks so much like you,” you whisper, tracing shapes on the plane of his shoulder. “Come home to me.”

“I will. When the work is done, I will.”

“What?” Your head raises off the crook of his neck and shoulder, and you stare into his eyes. Swallowing, you open your mouth to speak but then he pushes you hard, blasting you through the glass and onto the metal floor. “Loki—”

“Trust me, wife,” he says with a sly smirk. In between the lines of his face, you can read him like any book in the library. “It won't take long.” Dusting yourself off, you nod and swallow the hard knot of fear in your throat.

Safe in his chains and muzzle, he presses his forehead against your cheek and in your mind you can hear one name.

Thanos.

The frost that crawls down your spine is not from the cold. You hold your husband tight against you as Thor twists the glass cylinder containing the Tesseract. Blue cosmic energy washes over you and you return home to your daughter, who cries when she sees her father.

You bring your daughter to his cell, sit on the lip of the stone and hold her up in your lap as he sits on the other side of the golden barrier. A tiny grin encompasses his face and makes him glow as Hela reaches forward.

“Hello, darling,” he whispers as you pull her back from the barrier. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Loki.” You sigh, fingers scratching the stone you sit upon as you wrap an arm around your daughter. “She took her first steps today.”

“Really? She’s a quick learner, then,” Loki praises and you smile sadly. You press your hand against the barrier despite the tingling electricity burning beneath your palm as a blue shockwave ripples over the gold.

“You should have been there to see it,” you whisper over your blistering skin and Loki’s eyes widen. Tears burn into your eyes as your burning hand curls into a fist. “Loki, I can’t do this. You should be here—”

“Hold fast, my love.”

“This is no way for us to live.”

He places a hand against the burning barrier, and you close your eyes the tears race down your face. Hela’s soft hand wipes them away unknowingly and you open your eyes to gaze at your daughter. You see so much of your husband in her that it makes everything ache.

“No one ever said this was fair.” You look up again to see his palm, black and white instead of cream. There is no wince or flinch at the blood that pours down his wrist and you glance down at your own hand. The burns have already begun to fade, but the ones on your heart will forever remain raw.

“I need your help,” Thor whispers, tugging you away from the harbour. You’re torn away from Frigga’s funeral jarringly, blinking as you collide with people although Thor makes a clear enough path as you reach a small archway in an alley of some street. You thrash your arm out of his grip, backing to the opposite end of the archway. He stands there, stung, but all you can muster is a glare. The candlelight illuminates half of his face, the other cast in shadow, and your fist clenches.

The fires heighten, burn blue.

“What do you want from me?”

“We need to end this threat. We need to find Malekith and destroy him before he comes for the Aether.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” You cross your arms, jaw stiff as you take another step back to his step forward.

“Promise me you’ll help me. I need you.”

“Why should I?” you snarl, poison biting at your words. “Have you ever gone to see your brother? He rots in a cell whilst you come bringing you little lady love to Asgard.” Thor’s mouth opens and you raise a hand to silence him. “Save it. I want to hear nothing from you.”

“I told you I wouldn’t help you.”

“You’re being childish.” Thor enters your rooms. You spin around from where you’re holding your daughter, mouth open in protest. “You act like some simple girl who doesn’t understand the consequences. If Malekith gets his hands on the Aether—”

“Excuse me if I’m having a bit of a tantrum. Can’t you see I’ve got my hands full?” you snap. You send a wicked glare at your brother-by-law who seems to wilt underneath your stare and you inhale sharply. “What do you want, Thor?”

“Convince him to help me.”

Your eyebrows furrow together, and you frown deeply. “Why should either of us help you?” you ask breathlessly and Thor looks away. “You imprison your brother who was tortured, manipulated—”

“You want revenge for Frigga?”

Your heart breaks into shatters at the mention of her, and your breath catches in your throat. “You know I do.”

“Then, what other reason do you have to help me?” Thor’s eyebrows raise in sympathy and he extends a hand to you. “Your daughter will be cared for, I promise you.” You kiss your daughter’s cheek, gaze into her red and blue eyes, before nodding.

“Fine.”

“Move!” You run away from Jane whom you’d been protecting and scream, blue magic flaring around your fingertips as you push Thor away. No, no, no. “Let me see him.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers painfully and you let out a horrified breath as he clutches as your sleeves. Blood spills over the soil as you bow your head, pressing your face against Loki’s. “I’m sorry, wife.”

“Loki, no. Hold on, sweetheart,” you tell him, placing a hand over the wound, fingers bending as you search for the source of blood. A poisoned blade, cursed with something dark. You can fix this — you can fix this if you have time—

Loki’s fingers let go of your sleeve, slip off your hands as the pale blue of his heritage overtakes every part of him.

“No. Loki, no!” You cup his face, but his head rolls away at the force and you let out an outraged scream. “No, no, no!” Slamming a fist against the dirt, pure cosmic energy flares between the cracks of the dirt as a pair of hands reach for your shoulders. With one hand holding Loki’s body towards you, you twist to slap Thor away. “Stay away from me!”

“We need to find him,” Thor whispers through a thick, tear-ridden voice. “Malekith is still out there.”

“You killed him! Why should I help you?” you scream, skirting towards your husband’s body, holding his head in your lap. You brush the hair away from his face and sniff through your blurring vision. Hot tears drop to the soil and onto Loki’s pale face as you bow your head. Agony rips your heart to shreds as it collapses in your chest, and you struggle to breathe through your clogged throat. You tear your gaze wretchedly to him.

“Y/N—”

“Go! Leave!” What little air you can breathe rattles between your teeth as you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to cleanse the image of your husband from your mind as you run stiff fingers through his hair. “Leave me!”

“I’m sorry.” The words whisper at your ears, but you shake your head. Forcing your eyes open, you reach a hand to the wound. And here you thought you’d never need what you’ve been taught ever again.

Dragonsroot, heartsbane. You’ll need a warm fire, fresh, young blood.

For the first time in so long, Freyja’s voice sings in your mind and you press your lips together. The magic tendrils stitch Loki back together from within and you use your other hand to pull the poison from his blood as you pray to your father. You haven’t in so long, that you wonder if he’ll still hear you. Vile, black magic stains your blue and you toss it aside, letting it curl and sink into the dirt.

Take me home, Father. Grant me safe winds, Grandfather, and blessed waves. Bring me home.

There is movement under Loki’s eyes, so quick that you think you must have hallucinated it and you blink the tears from your eyes. “Loki?” you whisper, brushing your hands over his tear-stained cheeks.

“Is that any way to greet your father?”

Whipping around, you let out a breathless laugh upon seeing your father. How long has it been? Decades? Centuries? He looks older now than he did before, but no less strong. The mere image of him grants you strength and your heart mends momentarily with sticky sap and pure spite.

His flintstone eyes widen upon seeing his child on this foreign realm, holding onto the dead prince of Asgard and he walks to you, falling to his knees. Trying to hold back your tears, your throat blooms in pain as you throw your arms around him.

“Please, help me,” you sob, your forehead pressing against your father’s broad shoulder. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Little one,” he whispers, holding you tight, “we know someone who does.”

In a pyre built by you and you alone, Loki burns.

The smell of burnt leather and hair fills the air, no matter how many flowers and sweet fruits loiter in the clearing you do this in.

Your aunt’s instructions echo in your ears and you turn back to look at the castle over your shoulder where your daughter awaits. She’d been rescued by your father earlier that day whilst your aunt aided you in gathering what you need.

She stands on the edge of the clearing now, waiting, watching.

“This is your last chance,” Freyja calls softly and you shake your head. You need to do this, even if you aren’t sure it’ll work, even if it might kill you. Holding out a hand, you close your eyes and blow out a breath between your lips. The wooden handle of your knife is pressed firmly into your palm and you drag the silver tip over your fingers, not cutting the skin.

You toss a glance to your lady aunt, who nods and gathers the two bowls. In them, grinded heartsbane and chopped dragonsroot you’d prepared yourself. She walks to the back of the pyre, throwing them into the flames.

Immediately, it bursts white, flickers of other colours you’d never seen before burning into your eyes as you walk up the pyre. The wood trembles beneath your bare feet and the fire licks at your skin greedily as you close your eyes. As your skin begins to blister, you stuff down the mortal throes that make you want to scream until you bleed and walk deeper into the fire.

You can barely see through the white flames and you fall to your knees, blood clotting in your throat as you reach blindly for his body. He is yet untouched, covered in oils and blessings, and his skin is smooth and cold to your touch as you reaffirm your grip on the knife.

Say his name, then your wish. Give your blood, your sweat, your tears. Show them you are worthy. Spirits more powerful than us will decide.

“Loki,” you whisper and the flames twist and flicker. You trail your hand down his shoulder to his chest to the scar on his abdomen you’d tried your hardest to heal. “Come back to me, my love.” A rush of magic, threads of sorcery, run down your arms and flows down the knife, burning orange in the fire. “Come home.” Your teeth clench together and you peel open your eyes.

You are all ash and bones, black peeling skin, blood and tears, and what is left of your strength is visible in the magic that whispers over your skin. Bringing the knife to your stomach, you inhale flames and ash.

Please, bring him home.

And you sheathe the knife in your stomach, in the exact placement as the scar on Loki’s body. Blood rushes forward as you yank the knife out breathlessly. You drop the knife, and it slips between the wood of the pyre.

“It’s not his time,” you whisper through the blood rising in your throat. It bubbles between your lips, burning blue under your skin and you bow your head. Closing your eyes, you let the fire wash over your blackened body and lay down next to your husband. Your hands touch his cool skin, and you sigh blissfully. The air is thick, humid, and a wave of exhaustion hits you.

The simple princess, you think as you fall asleep. There is movement beside you, but you hold Loki closer, eyes shut against the bright white flames that purr against your skin. You think you can feel cold hands touch your waist where silk has burned away, and the fire begin to die. The only one that burns now is the one inside your heart.

Little peach.

Farmer’s girl.

Yes, that is all I am.

#fic: home #loki #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson x yn #loki laufeyson x y/n #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x yn #loki x y/n #loki laufeyson fanfic #loki laufeyson fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #laylas4kriot #my writing

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she-rainbow · 4 years

Text

Fireside

Better late than never. I wrote this for @sherawintergiftexchange for @the-steampunk-dreamer whos prompt was “catradora, enemies to friends to lovers, but not quite lovers yet,” so of course I just wanted to write these two nerds healing.

“I’m sharing a tent with Mermista?” Catra hissed under her breath at Glimmer who looked like she couldn’t be bothered with the next thing that came her way. She made her way through the labyrinth of tents and clicked her tongue as she told Catra to walk with her if she was going to waste her time complaining.

“Eternia, Catra, I’m sorry. It was the only way to make the tent assignments work.” She said. “Your only other option would have been Adora, so I thought I was doing you a favor.”

“Can’t I switch with your tentmate? We’ve got plenty of experience sharing a confined space without killing each other.” Catra flashed her a grin, but Glimmer was thoroughly unimpressed.

“No, Mermista specifically requested not to be put with Bow because quote he’s a ‘wet blanket,’

Whatever that means.” She signed a document that a general held out to her, then turned to Catra. “Plus Bow and I need to talk about some things.”

“Wait.” Catra zigged through a few tents as Glimmer teleported away from her. “Talk to Bow about things. What things?”

A sparkly blush rose to Glimmer’s cheeks as Catra caught up with her. “Nothing. Just things. I’m not talking about this with you.”

“So there’s something to talk about.” Catra said, raising a brow and crossing her arms.

Glimmer growled and shot a tiny sparkle at Catra’s ear, which she batted away. “Enjoy your night with Mermista.”

“C’mon Sparkles. She’s not exactly my biggest fan.”

“None of the Princesses are your biggest fans. What do you propose I do about that?”

“Glimmer, she’s going to kill me in my sleep.”

“Sleep with one eye open!” Glimmer suggested with a hyper bright smile.

“She still mad about the whole Salineas thing.”

Glimmer crossed her arms. “I think she might have a right to still be mad about that one.” She laughed at the exhausted look Catra gave her. “Fine. I’ll talk to her. At least convince her not to kill you tonight… unless you do something to deserve it.”

“Very funny, Sparkles.”

“I have to go. Good night, Catra.” She called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the nearest tent, leaving a dull trail of purple glitter behind.

Catra took a deep breath and crossed her arms. “You don’t have to pretend you weren’t listening,” She tossed at the shadow who’d been sitting, cross-legged around the corner where she and Glimmer had turned.

“Just seemed polite.” Adora said, not looking up from whatever she was fiddling with in her hands. She dropped the obscure object in her lap and fumbled at a pouch on her belt and quickly tossed its contents to Catra who caught them—earplugs. Adora finally met Catra’s eyes with a small smile. “Mermista snores. You might want those.”

“Oh,” Catra blinked a little bewildered. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Adora replied, dusting herself off and sending Catra a quick wave. “Night, Catra.”

Catra could hardly reply before Adora had fled the scene, and she was left with earplugs in her hand and nothing to do but go back to her tent.

Catra tiptoed across the campsite, following the scent of the night’s rations. For all their shortcomings in war strategy and army building, Princesses beat the Horde where food was concerned. Every dinner she’d had in the Rebellion far exceeded the tasteless slock of ration bars in the Horde. She snuck a few sausages and headed for the remains of the evening’s fire. The moons had disappeared on the horizon, but the newly hung stars blinked down at the team’s setup. They were on their way to the entrance of the Heart.

That brief interaction earlier with Adora had been the most they’d talked since she’d joined the Rebellion. For the entire journey, and ever since Catra had emerged from a Prime ship escape pod hand in hand with Glimmer, Adora had been quiet, simmering, like a silent anger was constantly percolating inside her. Adora isolated was something Catra wasn’t used to. Back in what felt like another life, she spent every second with Catra, and when Catra took to her own solitude in the highest reaches of the Fright Zone, Adora had a trove of friends and admirers to occupy her, before she would look for Catra. She always eventually looked for Catra.

Adora didn’t look for anyone much these days. Her friends checked on her — Bow and Glimmer caught her after strategy meetings, only Bow ever made her crack a smile though. Glimmer usually seemed to just deepen the concerned crease in Adora’s brow. She trains constantly, even with Scorpia sometimes, and flinches anytime someone anyone mentions She-Ra, so mostly no one does. Her goal is clear: to bring back She-Ra or at least train hard enough to make up for the difference. Micah was teaching her in magic, and she’d managed pale gold beams of light, sharp, weak, nothing like the power of the sword, nothing like She-Ra. It was all dumb Princess stuff to Catra, or dumb sorcerer stuff, which was even worse. One eight-foot goddess wouldn’t make the difference defeating Prime.

Catra focused her attention the place she’d felt strongest in a fight, the war room. Meanwhile Adora meditated, avoided her friends and gave only small indications she was listening during strategy meetings.

Adora’s solitude might have explained her avoidance of Catra if it had been subtle enough to be anything but deliberate. After Catra’s first Princess Alliance meeting (where Glimmer had proclaimed to a half-anxious, half-angry Princess Alliance that Catra was the Rebellion’s new strategist and that was that), Catra tried to talk to Adora and was abruptly blown off with a lame excuse. She’d been lucky enough to have Double Trouble in the wings during that one. “Tough break, kitten.” They’d drawled, emerging from the shadows. Catra didn’t try again after that.

But something was changing, slowly, every day. Adora maintained eye contact during planning sessions and gave the smallest of chuckles when Glimmer and Catra snipped banter at each other at strategy meetings. They hadn’t talked though, really talked. As Catra heard one of Prime’s ships whizz overhead, she was reminded that they might never talk. Not before the world truly ended.

“You can’t sleep either?” A voice broke through her thoughts. Her vision focused, and she realized the visibility hadn’t come from the stars and her night vision. The fire on the outskirts of their camp emitted a gentle glow like it had been minded for hours.

Catra took the question as an invitation and sat wordlessly next to Adora who was crouched over a small branch in her hands. She took her knife to it again and again in what looked like the calmest act of aggression Catra had ever seen until she realized the cuts in the wood were purposeful. A small design was making its way up the sides of the branch. “What are you doing?” She asked.

“It’s called whittling.” Adora answered not looking up. The front few strands of her hair were pulled up and out of her face, but a stray bang fell onto her forehead. Catra pretended not to notice. “It’s where you cut into a piece of wood and turn it into something else.” She held up another carving in her lap, a small owl she’d cut into a stick the size of her thumb.

“You had time to pick up a hobby?” Catra asked.

Adora shrugged. “We travel a lot.” She looked up at Catra. “What kept you up?”

Her mind fluttered briefly to Mermista, how she could easily blame it on her snoring, how Adora gave her shoddy earplugs that couldn’t block out the sound. But they were a peace offering, and for once, Catra wanted to be at peace too. Glimmer had been telling her she needed to be more honest with herself and others. She could start here. “Nightmares.” She answered simply, hoping Adora wouldn’t make her elaborate. She didn’t know if she could explain her night terrors to the person who’d so often starred in them.

“Me too.” Catra wondered how many of Adora’s nightmares she’d featured in.

She looked down at Adora’s hands for a subject change. “So, what’s that supposed to be?”

Adora flushed and ran her thumb across the side of her carving. “I swear I already knew what it was going to be before you got here.”

“What?”

“It’s a cat.” Adora held it up, indicating the angled top that would become the edges of ears.

Catra took the carving from her. “Eh, I don’t know. Something looks off.”

Adora laughed softly and snatched her totem back. “Well, you would be the expert. It’s not done yet.”

“So, how do you know what it’s going to be?”

“I don’t know.” Adora fixed her eyes on the unfinished branch as its polished side gleamed in the firelight. “It’s like the wood tells me what it’s going to be… That sounds dumb.”

“A little.” Catra smiled, then hesitated. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Adora seemed far away as she looked at the softly roaring flames in front of them. “Scorpia says you’re trying, so I should try too.”

The answer surprised her, but wasn’t strange. Her first night after returning from Prime’s ship, she’d stayed up all night talking to Scorpia, working through their problems, sharing their struggles, apologizing, so much apologizing. They hugged at the end of it, Catra actually sinking into her friend’s embrace. She vowed silently to never take Scorpia for granted again, then with a heavy sigh and great effort, she verbalized her promise. Scorpia had been her most staunch defender since, a role that Catra neither deserved nor particularly wanted in the face of Princesses she’d waged war against. Her anxiety spiked thinking of the two discussing her. “You talked to Scorpia about me?” She feigned nonchalance.

“More like, Scorpia talked to me about you.”

"Why?" The question had no bite.

"She asked why I was avoiding you."

"So, what did you tell her?"

Adora fixed Catra in a gaze before chewing on the inside of her cheek, calculating her words. "I don't know what I'm supposed to say. How I’m supposed to start."

"You’re in luck. You don’t have to start. I know what I want to say." Adora just stared at her dumbly. "I'm sorry."

Adora tilted her head still confused. "You’ve already apologized."

"Yeah, to the Alliance, to Sparkles and Flipper and Scorpia and that little ice girl. She’s still so upset about Princess Prom."

"Well, you did kind of ruin it."

Catra chuckled. "But I haven't apologized to you. I'm sorry, Adora. For kidnapping you. Stealing the sword. Fighting you. Not listening to you about the portal..." She paused, already exhausted with a list that couldn’t even begin to summarize all the crimes she committed against the only person she’d ever loved. “How do you say sorry for a million things you’ll never be able to make up for?”

Adora blinked, and the smile she gave was quiet as a whisper. “I guess you just keep trying.” After they shared a moment listening to the fire’s crackle, she continued. "I'm sorry too."

Catra had the audacity to scoff. "What for?"

Adora turned to face Catra. "I didn't just say it because I was dangling off a cliff. I never wanted to make you feel… like a sidekick or anything like that. I wasn’t always a good friend."

“I don’t exactly have much moral high ground where being a good friend is concerned.”

“Maybe,” Catra thought she saw the start of hesitation on Adora’s face, but it quickly melted away. “We could try again?” Only Adora could make a question feel unassuming and optimistic at the same time.

Catra smirked at her. This felt fragile and fresh, like any deviation could leave this little thing they’d built by the fire as shattered as the sword’s blade. Still, trying was all she’d done since she got here. “If you’re trying, I’m trying, Princess.”

When Adora went to pack up her bedroll the next morning, a small stick clattered onto the floor as she shook the blankets. She picked it up, recognizing her whittling project from the night before. She’d ended up leaving it by the fire in frustration over the ears. Catra was right; there was something off about them. Now, its ears were rounded, face narrower, eyes smaller. There was a note wrapped around it. In scrawled letters it read, “It told me it was a mouse.”

Her hands closed around the note and she grinned, remembering the last time she’d found a mouse in her bed, also set there by Catra. So much had transpired between them, and Adora hadn’t thought she could ever get that relationship back, wasn’t even sure if she wanted to. But it gave her hope that things were changing.

#she ra winter gift exchange #she ra secret santa #catradora

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earth-ambassador-jim · 5 years

Text

Changeling Loyalties chapter 8

Goblins and Conspiracies

Toby is quite happy with his life, but then the Amulet of Daylight just had to choose his human friend. What’s a changeling to do? Good thing Toby never really liked Gunmar anyway.

AO3 - Fanfiction

~~~~

The search for the missing amulet was proving to be incredibly frustrating. Blinky kept suggesting that they should try shrinking Jim down to have him search for it. Toby was very staunchly against it and, as Aaarrrgghh was also siding with him and against Blinky on that particular issue, Jim had decided to save that for a last resort.

“I’m just saying we should try lighting a fire in the entrance to see if the smoke comes out somewhere else,” Toby said.

“And if it does? What’s to say that the amulet is not lodged in some crevice somewhere? Just waiting for discovery?” Blinky returned.

“Oh! Maybe we could use a spycam!” Toby held his hands out parallel. “We could like strap it to a remote controlled car and send it in. It would be totally secret agent cool!”

“Preposterous, your human vehicles are far too large to fit into such a small hole. Why, even the smallest of them would not even fit into the fergalator.”

Toby patted Blinky’s arm and shook his head.

“No. No. We have small toy cars that drive around just like the regular ones.”

“Really?” Blinky blinked and cocked his head. “How fascinating! Can you acquire one of these tiny cars for our use?”

Jim glanced at Aaarrrgghh who let out a chuckle and leaned over to him.

“Blinky like learning human things,” He whispered very loudly. “Want car to play with.”

Jim grinned at that. Blinky shot the large troll an affronted look.

“I’m not planning to play with the car I merely wish to document how it works so that I might better understand human culture. That is all,” Blinky said crossing his arms with a huff.

Toby snickered.

“That’s okay, you can play with it too…”

“What is going on here?” Everyone jumped at Vendal’s gruff voice.

Jim turned to see the elderly troll bend slightly as he entered the shop. He used his staff to brush aside a hanging sock before moving to stand pointedly in front of Blinky.

“Why is the Trollhunter not in the Forge training? I believe I heard you talking about cars. What sort of foolishness are you up to now?”

Blinky winced lowering his head slightly as he tapped his fingertips together.

“Well… You see…”

“I lost the amulet,” Jim said coming to stand beside him.

“Master Jim…”

He couldn’t let Blinky take the blame for something that was his fault.

“A gnome stole it from me. We caught the gnome, but we haven’t managed to get the amulet back yet. We’re working on it.”

Vendal stared at him for a moment. Jim straightened up, feeling rather like he was in the principal’s office waiting to find out if he was going to have detention. The elderly troll let out a huff and turned back toward Blinky.

“You have all of today and tomorrow to find the amulet. After that the Trollhunter must return to his training.”

“But without the amulet…!” Blinky started.

Vendal pinned him with a stare.

“You will continue looking for it. I will make arrangements for a substitute trainer in the meantime.”

Vendal turned away from them to walk out of the shop.

“Find the Amulet soon. The longer it remains lost the more unrest will grow in TrollMarket.”

~~~~

“Well, hey! Maybe it will turn up tomorrow.” Toby said in a tone of deliberate cheerfulness as he and Jim made their way home.

“I doubt it,” Jim said with a sigh. “I can’t believe it, I find an important magic artifact and then I lose it… Ugh! Stupid!”

“It’s not your fault…”

“How?!” Jim snapped, turning toward him. “I was the one who couldn’t hold onto it against a gnome. A gnome! How am I supposed to protect people from Bular if I can’t protect an amulet from one lousy gnome?” His shoulders slumped and he gripped the straps of his pack. “Maybe I’m just not cut out for this.”

Toby opened his mouth and then closed it, unsure of what to say. He didn’t want Jim to be Trollhunter, and he was fairly certain Jim didn’t want to be either, but he hadn’t anticipated Jim taking the loss of the amulet this way. He knew about his friend’s anxiety, he had even learned some strategies to help him with it over the years, but…

But he hadn’t been prepared for Jim to blame himself this hard for it, for it to affect his sense of confidence this way.

Toby frowned.

Would it go away? Could he expect Jim to move past losing the amulet or would he just keep blaming himself for it? He just wanted his friend safe, was that too much to ask?

Why did things have to be complicated?

~~~~

For history class Mr. Strickler was taking them to the museum for a more hands on lesson and some general all around fun. Honestly, long-term goal to destroy humanity aside, he really was a good teacher.

“Excuse me.”

Toby turned around from the rock exhibit he had been looking at to find Claire approaching them. He hazarded a glance to the side toward Jim. Yep, he was turning bright red. Toby snorted and rolled his eyes.

“What’s up?” Toby asked, because someone had to respond to her.

Claire blinked at him.

“Oh sorry! I was talking to Jim,” She said with an apologetic smile. “But I didn’t mean to…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Toby waved her off. He grabbed Jim and shifted him forward. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

He shot a wink and a thumbs-up to Jim who had recovered and was now sputtering. Hopefully he would not fall into trying to impress her with mediocre Spanish like he had the past few times he had attempted to talk to her. Toby shook his head. There were a certain things about humans that were still super weird to him. Dating practices were definitely at the top of the list. Trolls just went for the throat… both figuratively and literally. He paused with a frown. Or was that just Gum-Gums?

He was drifting along searching for something else to occupy him when Eli’s high pitched voice drew his attention.

“At first, I thought it was an alien,” He was saying. “Definitely not human. It’s some sort of monster.”

The girl he was talking to leaned away and rolled her eyes.

“Come on. Give it up, Eli.”

Toby inched closer.

“No, no! This time I have photographic evidence,” He insisted waving his phone.

Uh oh, that doesn’t sound good.

Toby quickly nudged his way in between Eli and the two other teens.

“Hey, Eli, can I see your phone real quick?” He said swiping it from his hands. He looked at the screen and then did a double take. “Oh my gosh.”

A chill ran through his veins. That was definitely a goblin. A squashed goblin. They would be out for revenge. He needed to do damage control fast.

He twisted as if he was going to turn to show the picture to one of the other kids. He let his feet cross and went down with a yelp the phone clattering out of his hands.

“Are you all right?” Eli squeaked.

“Yeah,” Toby let out a self-depreciating chuckle as the other kids around him laughed. “Just clumsy I guess… oh here let me get that for you!”

Toby grabbed Eli’s phone off the ground, hitting the delete button as he did so. A picture of Eli posing with ninja stars replaced the goblin.

“Oh no, I deleted it!” Toby did his best to sound truly sorry as he pressed the phone back into Eli’s hands. “I’m so so sorry.”

“That’s okay… I guess,” Eli sounded really put out. Toby would have felt bad but he had probably just saved his life.

“Look,” He said thinking quickly. “If there’s any way I could make it up to you…”

“Not really,” Eli sighed.

“Hey… I know it’s a little late, but I really did want to hear about what you found.”

The skinny human immediately perked up.

In just a few minutes Toby had all the information on the goblin he needed, way too much personal information, and a few weird conspiracies.

“Well it’s been nice talking to you, but I need to go check on Jimbo,” Toby said, peeling himself away from the conversation. “Bye!”

“Bye,” Eli waved. “Let’s talk again?”

Toby wove through the other students, twisting his head this way and that, until he spotted Jim. He broke free of a small cluster that were ogling a mummy and jogged over to his friend.

“Jimbo! How did it go?”

Jim glanced at him and sighed.

“Okay…. But I think…” He sighed again, shoulders slumping. “I think she might actually have a crush on you.”

Toby choked on his spit and went into a coughing fit.

“Me?! Why would she have a crush on me?”

He had interacted with Claire only a handful of times and she had literally never shown any interest outside of getting whatever project they were working on and basic social niceties. She’d even gotten his name wrong a few times.

“Well she approached me to talk about you. She had a whole bunch of questions.”

Toby stilled. Questions weren’t good.

“What sort of questions?”

“Like what sort of stuff you do in your free time, what kind of things you like, and if you had any pets… what was the other one?” Jim broke off tapping the back of his hand. “Oh yeah… She wanted to know if you had a part time job or something?”

Toby frowned. This was weird…

“Look Jim. I don’t know why she’s asking those things, but I highly doubt she has a crush on me and if she does I have no interest of returning it,” He said firmly, making careful eye contact with Jim.

“You don’t have to…”

“Seriously. I’m not interested in her,” Toby repeated firmly.

Well aside from why she was asking questions about him…

“I believe you,” Jim said. “I guess I’m just disappointed…”

Toby held back a groan. Why him? He grabbed Jim’s arm.

“Come on let’s go look at the Viking exhibit.”

Who knows, maybe there’d be a picture of Alfhild or something.

~~~~

Toby wasn’t terribly excited to spend a night off hiding in the bushes across from Eli’s house, but life was like that sometimes. Unfortunately Kracka hadn’t dropped by so he was on his own. From what he could figure out it sounded like it was a delivery driver who had squashed the goblin: one who had just happened to leave a note about where and when he would return.

He checked his watch and yawned, another ten minutes. It was about time to start scouting to see if he could find the goblin swarm.

There was a loud whine from an approaching engine and Toby ducked back down behind his bush waiting for it to pass. It didn’t. Was the delivery driver early? Toby peered over the bushes.

It was Steve.

Toby watched in puzzlement as the blond teen parked his Vespa in the driveway and approached the front door. He knocked and stood there, shifting and glancing around every few seconds. After about a minute a woman, who Toby assumed must be Eli’s mother, opened the door and let him in.

That was… strange… Was there a group project Toby had forgotten about?

Before he could think about it much more there was the rumble of another vehicle approaching. He ducked down just as the delivery truck pulled to a halt before the house. The driver hopped out, singing tonelessly to whatever music was playing on his headphones, and retrieved a package from the back. Toby winced as he dropped it a few times before making it to the front door. How did that guy still have a job?

Movement from the corner of his eye brought his attention back to the issue at hands.

The goblins were emerging from the bushes. Several of them climbed up the light poles. It was hard to tell at this distance, but he thought that he saw Bob on one of the far poles. Other goblins were beginning to emerge from the bushes; it seemed that Toby’s guess was correct. The swarm flowed down the street toward their hapless victim.

The delivery driver handed off the package to Eli, who had answered the door, and then pushed past him into the house. Toby tensed. The driver was already a dead man, but if he stayed in Eli’s house too long the goblins might go after him as well.

Toby debated whether he should do something. Goblins were near impossible to reason with in this state, but if he got ahold of Kracka he might be able to get him to convince Fragwa to wait to go after the driver until…

The goblin swarm descended on the delivery truck. It shook back and forth violently as they began to devour it.

Right… He’d forgotten that goblins often didn’t differentiate between objects and people when they were going for revenge. Toby felt his muscles relax; it seemed there would be no need for death tonight. In a matter of seconds the truck was gone. He glanced up and down the street to make sure there were no onlookers.

The doorknob started to turn. Thinking quickly Toby raised his hands to his mouth and let out a “watch out” call. The goblins’ heads shot up at the sound and they scattered into the bushes only a moment before the door opened and the delivery driver came out.

Toby glanced around for an escape route. It was best that he got out of here before the delivery man called the police to look for his “stolen” truck. They would wonder what he was doing here so late at night. He should probably note down the event to give to Alfhild or Stricklander; the Janus Order liked to keep track of these sorts of things.

There was a crackle from a bush near him and he spotted a goblin he didn’t recognize emerging. It eyed him speculatively. Not wanting to become dinner, he quickly flashed his eyes at it. It tilted its head.

He heard a surprised chatter from his right and then another goblin moved in front of him. It snarled at the first goblin which laid its ears back and skittered away.

“Oh! Hi Foon,” He said, relieved.

“moi hara whm?” Foon asked.

“I was just making sure no one saw.”

Foon cocked its head. “Moi sell wewsh’oiw?” It wanted to confirm that him who did the watch out call.

Toby nodded.

Foon grinned and Toby relaxed. It looked like it was off of the frenzy of the revenge hunt now.

“Wa rayacga salalrewa. moi wouc?” Foon asked, bouncing on its toes.

Right. They usually celebrated if they managed a successful revenge hunt. Toby wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to join though. Goblin revelries got pretty wild and he was tired.

Foon tugged Toby’s pant leg before climbing up on his head. “Moi lism. Moi wa goc’w saa mish.”

It was right, Toby thought guiltily, with all the stuff going on with Jim and cleanup he hadn’t had much time to just hang out with the goblins.

“wac'toir,” Toby decided: he would go along with them. It would be nice to relax and let loose just a little. Anyway tomorrow was Saturday, so he could sleep in before he and Jim went to Trollmarket.

He took one last glance at Eli’s house where Eli and Steve where talking to the delivery man, before slipping away through the bushes.

~~~~

Author Note:

I'm back!

In case anyone is wondering the goblins are speaking a cipher (well starting this chapter anyway). Any real words in another language that appear are purely coincidental.

Nice to get those background story lines progressing.

There will be no Jlaire (Jim x Claire) in this story. Just figured I'd clear that up.

Anyway as always let me know what you think!

See y'all next time!

#Trollhunters #Tales of Arcadia #trollhunters fanfiction #toby domzalski #Tobias Domzalski #Jim Lake Jr #changeling toby #changeling!Toby #james lake jr #Changeling Loyalties #blinky #aaarrrgghh #Goblin OCs #OC: Foon #OC: Bob #elijah pepperjack #my posts #my writing #Getting all those sweet sweet plotlines set up

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spyder-m · 4 years

Text

Lather, Rinse, Repeat

Summary: "Could use a shower." For anyone else, it seemed like a perfectly innocent comment. Cloud, however, couldn't help his mind from wandering. Cloti shower-sex.

A/N: Special thanks to Marle_Nadia and 04JETTA of the Once Upon a Star Dischord for helping out and betaing this for me!

Ao3 / FF.net / Twitter

“Could use a shower.”

Tifa's chest jutted out as she stretched her arms over above her head, sighing contentedly with the crack of stiff muscle.

Unable to shift his gaze quickly enough, Cloud was drawn to the way the movement accentuated her breasts; struck by a particularly vivid memory of that same flesh, pressed bare against him. The moan, even more wanton and throaty, that broke from her swollen, kiss-stained lips was burned into his memory.

His gaze lowered, thankful for the loose fit of his standard Soldier trousers that managed to conceal the blood flowing to his crotch.

Cloud scowled, meeting Tifa’s eyes with a glare. She blinked, raising a brow at him, but the curl of her lips revealed her true intentions. On the surface, it may have seemed like an innocuous comment, but she was definitely doing it on purpose at this point. It had reached the point that simply hearing the word, or even the sound of running water would stir an ache in his loins, the images flashing back.

And Tifa... Tifa wasn't helping.

Lately, she had been acting differently. Much bolder than usual. It was a prospect as alluring as it was dangerously frustrating.

Anytime she caught him watching her; an unconscious habit he found himself falling into more and more often; her eyelashes would bat over wide, sultry eyes. When they discussed different battle or infiltration strategies, she would bite her lip, coyly, in concentration, her tongue occasionally reaching out of her mouth to dance across her lips.

Whenever she needed to examine a map or sign nearby him, she would lean unnecessarily close, deliberately melding herself against his back or shoulder. As they maneuvered and crawled through tight spaces, she would duck her head under his own; the fragrant scent of her hair catching in his nostrils. It was one he recognised, the shampoo he recalled rubbing into her scalp with slack, spasming fingers.

Tifa it seemed, was trying to take over his every waking thought, to flood his every sense. Perhaps not realising, foolishly, that she already had long ago.

Cloud sighed, scratching the back of his head. It was lucky Barret didn’t seem to suspect anything.

They had been cooperating well on the mission, becoming familiar enough with the other’s fighting style to cover their blind spots. Still, he couldn’t imagine the man would take kindly to finding what he and Tifa had been up to in private. Not when he had a young daughter around. Not if he knew how dangerous it potentially was to their mission, how distracted it was making Cloud.

He'd already slipped up earlier, getting hit by a water spell from a Shinra grunt. Had he been focused, it was a blast he could have easily dodged. His pride was bruised badly enough without Barret chewing him out over it.

"What the hell's your problem?!"

"N- nothing. I'm fine."

Cloud flinched at the stammer in his voice. Even with the dark glasses shielding his eyes, Cloud could sense Barret leveling him with a hard, measured stare.

"Hmph. Never thought I'd say this, but I think I liked it better when you were acting like a cocky, little prick. At least then you got things done."

Cloud growled as the man passed him, but found he couldn't argue the point. Any chance of a sarcastic retort dying on his lips before he could even think of it. He hadn't been performing to his usual standard, and it showed.

Even worse, the spell had left his hair sodden, blonde locks falling into his eyes. It reminded him of being underneath the shower head, dripping to his bones.

With a chuckle, Tifa approached him to rest a hand at the base of his neck, carefully sifting the fringe away from his eyes. Cloud swallowed, struck by their proximity, the soft weight of her body. Impulsively, his fingers splayed out over her waist and the laughter flickering in her eyes darkened almost imperceptibly.

Cloud stilled at the sound of Barret's voice, as he waved his big, dumb arm about, calling for Tifa to come check on something with him. He cursed, an icy glare shot towards the Avalanche leader for having interrupted them.

Nudging him back with a playful flick of her wrist, Tifa's lips pouted, a kiss ghosting his cheek. Cloud, to his horror, flushed, turning his head to the side. Though, it did little to disguise the colour that lit his pallid face.

How was she able to fluster him so easily? Cloud wondered. What was he, regressing back into a bumbling, awkward teenager again?

He prided himself on being unflappable and cool under pressure, never losing composure. Not when Barret raised his voice at him, not when they were jumped by enemies. It alarmed him that Tifa, somehow, had so effortlessly been able to find the chinks in his defenses.

She could read him, could tell how often she occupied his thoughts. The soft spot he'd already kept for her in his heart, growing, spreading throughout his entire being. It was written in the mischievous, knowing smirk she offered him.

It was her fault for being so gorgeous, so… captivating.

Ever since their first night together, that first taste, he had been snagged helplessly.

It had been going on for a while now, a routine they were both well practiced in.

At the end of each mission; once they'd arrived back at the station; Avalanche would split up, taking their own separate routes home. It was a precaution. If they weren't in a group, they were less likely to draw attention to themselves. They would shower and change, washing away all the dirt and sweat that built up on their skin, before returning back to Seventh Heaven for a briefing.

Cloud and Tifa, however, would stay together.

It didn't stick out as unusual to the others; they lived next door to one another and were headed in the same direction anyway. Though, what the group didn’t realise was that the two relished that time in between meetings as one of the few opportunities they had to be alone together.

It was something they planned to take full advantage of.

Tifa’s fingers would brush against the back of his palm as they walked through the marketplace, struck by the temptation to close the last vestige of distance and take his hand.

She wanted to blend seamlessly in with the rest of the couples and happy families around them, but knew better, of course. Word spread quickly around the slums, and if she was seen sharing affection with the new merc in town it would garner attention.

All she had to do was hold off a few more minutes. For now, standing close to him, basking in his calming presence, was enough. He would sense the weight of her fingertips grazing past, his eyes flickering softly towards her, soaking her in an endless stream of blue.

They would need to rein their temptation in, somewhat. As much as they wanted to devote the rest of the night to each other, they couldn't keep the others waiting without raising suspicion. They couldn’t forego showering, as it would be obvious something was amiss if they returned to the bar still filthy from the mission. So, they needed to find a middle ground, a way they could get sufficiently cleaned up while still taking advantage of this rare, private moment together; still being able to alleviate their pent-up urges.

It was fortunate that Marle wasn't normally around this late, making it easy to sneak into her room without raising questions.

The moment Tifa had the door locked behind them, Cloud engulfed her in a tight, heated embrace, no longer able to stave off the longing that clawed inside his gut. Fists clenching into the fabric of his turtleneck, Tifa's mouth greedily sought his. Her tongue probed eagerly at his lips, encouraging him to take her.

It became a scramble as they frantically tore each other's clothes away. Their lips intertwined, fingers catching at buckles and buttons and holsters. Still riding the adrenaline from their mission, bodies caked with sweat and dirt. It was rough and carnal, an excitement and urgency carrying through their every movement.

Yet, there was an unspoken efficiency to their actions. Much like in battle, they had come to follow each other's flow. As they stumbled under the shower head, their hands would blindly clasp at the taps, starting the stream of water. They had since memorised the exact place they fit into the wall. On reflex, Cloud's arms lifted as he felt her tugging at his shirt, sliding it promptly over his head.

It was at this point that Tifa would draw back momentarily, her eyes dripping over the planes of his scarred chest. She had come to deeply appreciate the way Cloud's body had filled out over the years, no doubt the result of rigorous Soldier training.

While the sleeveless turtlenecks he favoured highlighted the sculpted muscle of his arms; bulging and relaxing with each arc of his Sword; this peek of flesh teased only a small offering of his lean, toned physique. Sensing Tifa's lingering gaze, Cloud smirked, deciding to give her a show. His hands fell flat against his hips as he threw his head back, jutting his chest in dramatic fashion.

Tifa couldn't help the flutter of laughter that rose from her throat at the childish gesture. Still, she reveled in how the pose made him seem taller, his posture straight as he stood confidently in his own skin. As endearingly cute as Cloud had been at a younger age, his growth from a skinny, withdrawn teen into the strong, capable man before her was incredibly sexy.

Tifa's tongue traced her lips, hungrily, her hands unconsciously reaching out towards him.

Of all things, it was the pad of Cloud's rough palms that woke shivers up her spine as he guided her back into his arms. Though, not a stranger to Cloud’s touch, it was usually blanketed by the gloves he wore so often. Without them, there was a new, startling intimacy to the contact, as she could make out the nicks and calluses littering his fingers, the uneven pulse radiating through them; a sense that there was nothing between her and Cloud.

A harsh gasp ripped between the gaps in Cloud's teeth as they collided once more, her warmth singing his suddenly hyper-sensitive flesh. Instantaneously, Tifa felt his reaction to her touch, his erection brushing against her inner thigh. She whimpered, the tip barely grazing her extremities.

Despite the pleasure pulsing through him, Cloud was rapt momentarily by a pang of guilt, conscious of how close they were already. For as important as Tifa was to him, it didn't feel right. He wanted to take things slowly and lavish her with the love and care she deserved.

Sadly, between running the bar, looking after Marlene, Avalanche missions and working as part of neighbourhood watch, Tifa had rarely a free moment to herself. At any other time, breaking away from the rest of the group would raise suspicion.

Steam began to rise from the tiled floor, catching Cloud's attention. It curled around their ankles, letting him know that the water had heated up. Hands settling on Tifa's arms, he guided them under the stream.

Cloud grunted as the cool water lashed over his back, bolstering the feeling of the soft, warm body in his arms.

Their breaths caressed through contented exhales, the water soaking their aching muscles.

Cloud fumbled for the band at the end of Tifa's hair, making a deliberate effort to stop and fleetingly savour the sight of her as those voluminous strands were freed, draping over her clavicle, around her waist in midnight waves.

It was an image he wanted to last him as long as possible, unsure of when their next chance together would be.

For someone who did not wear his emotions blatantly, there was an ineffable thrill for Tifa in finding his eyes blanketed by haze, softening as they fell to her. She turned her head slightly, a fleeting shyness resurfacing under the intense affection of his gaze. It was an endearing sight. His unruly, blonde spikes were damp, drooping over his eyes.

Fanning the ember of bliss sparking within herself, her teeth gnashed at his ear, tonguing the stud that hung from his lobe.

Clasping the bar of soap, Tifa pressed it firmly against Cloud's pectorals, letting suds build and ooze tantalisingly over the planes of his chest. Her open palms dragged slowly, lightly peppering kisses along the clean patches of skin they left. She kneeled lower, eventually following the pale line of hair under his belly button, drawing teasingly close to the heat pooling from his loins. An almost pained expression overcame Cloud’s face, his breaths growing shorter and harsher as he sucked them in between his teeth.

Abruptly, Tifa’s hands drew away, moving instead to coat suds over his strong shoulders. Cloud shuddered at the loss of her touch where his body ached most for it, but did not cease in lathering his affection upon her. His lips descended from her jaw down between her breasts, lapping at the water pooling there.

He took care in washing her, reaching every crevice of her body with a loving caress of his fingers, a flicker of his tongue.

He would linger deliberately over the firm angles of her legs, the taut ridges of her abdomen and up her neck. He tended to the muscles she had exerted over the course of their mission, kneading the tension from the taut flesh. Eventually he reached her face, the familiar eyes that regarded him differently, wanton and needy. He'd cup her cheek and shift forward with a chaste kiss, placing his hands warmly on her shoulders to keep her place.

Reaching for her shampoo, Cloud drizzled a healthy amount into his palm, sweeping the mass of hair from her shoulders and massaging his fingers deeply into her scalp.

He watched, transfixed, as he unfurled the heavy, shining mass of hair, sifting his fingers through each strand of her dark locks. Tifa's eyes rolled back, his name spilling from her lips in a series of long, low moans.

It wasn't long before the sound left him panging with arousal, his penis prodding stiff against her back. Cloud winced, wanting nothing more than to enter her, to finally relieve himself of this ache. Yet, he wanted to be selfless, devoted to Tifa's needs first and foremost. His hands slithered underneath her arms, reaching to cup the full weight of her breast, teasing her nipples.

Tifa's harsh, ragged breaths descended into pleading whimpers as, from behind, she felt his fingers pierce the juncture between her thighs, slipping easily inside of her. It came completely by surprise, a shock wave ripping through her body, almost buckling her knees out from under her. Her body arched forward with an unrestrained cry, opening herself more to the relentless, methodical thrust of Cloud's digits.

He could feel that damp, pent-up arousal clinging to his fingers, sensing that she was already close to breaking. As with anything, Cloud remained focused and thorough in his task; knowing the exact strategies to push her closer. His mouth latched onto the juncture between her neck and shoulder blade, trailing bites and kisses, his tongue dragging over every inch, all the while steadily increasing the pace of his fingers, drilling in and out.

Just as Cloud could sense the last of her restraints ripping away, Tifa caught his wrist with uncanny speed, whipping around to face him. Swallowing, he felt his erection throb as he was engulfed by narrowed, dark red eyes, pinning him down. His own eyes bulged as Tifa's hands abruptly clasped him by the ass, hoisting him off his feet and roughly grinding his crotch against her own.

The air was torn from Cloud's body at the sudden burst of pleasure tearing through his abdomen. A shiver up through his spine, the nerves in his groin twitching eagerly, as they sensed the relief they had longed was near.

Tifa, it seemed, was stubborn in her refusal to finish without him.

As weak as the orgasm brought on by his fingers left her, it didn't compare to the hot flow of him coming inside her. She didn't want to detract from that feeling, to waste any modicum of her release on anything less.

Dipping her stance to get the right angle, she moaned as his dick skimmed the burning ache of her folds. Cloud's voice, low and throaty, covered hers as he was enveloped by the tight, familiar heat of her. The bliss sparked low in his body, steadily pooling throughout his veins as his tension and unresolved urges began to ebb away. The mutual release they had been yearning to find in one another. A feeling only exacerbated by the fleeting affection they had been able to share openly, sparking memories of the more tender caresses they were missing. Finally returning to her felt more heavenly than Cloud could have imagined. Like so much with Tifa it felt like home; warm and comfortable. Burying his face into her neck, Cloud inhaled the soap and shampoo mingling with her distinct scent as she adjusted his position in her arms.

She'd taken to doing that more often, lately.

He wondered if she'd noticed the effect it had on him. The way feeling her strength, the muscles in her forearms tensing against his thigh, left Cloud even harder, an intense, bleary-eyed climax flowing through him.

In truth, Tifa reveled in the control she had over his body, finding it exhilarating to hold that power over someone as strong and stoic as Cloud.

She delighted in the whimpers, the unrestrained moans that ripped from his throat. In feeling the way his body sunk boneless, into her arms as he reached his climax, knowing that she had been the one to reduce him to that quivering bundle of nerves. It was intoxicating.

Cloud's legs wrapped around her waist, trusting in her secure grasp. He was thankful for the squats he routinely did, as his hips surged forward, drilling forcibly into her. Her face flushed, swollen, stained lips parting as her breaths grew shakier. Cloud gritted his teeth as the pressure started building, urging himself to hold on, determined to bring her to the same burning intensity that she gave him. Tifa cried out, her head throwing back as she rocked her hips to match his rhythm.

Cloud didn't feel the need to restrain himself with her. He knew her strength intimately, and that she could take the brunt of his efforts. If anything, she seemed to revel in the sensation it woke in her. In the past, he had only valued his body as a tool, something he fixated upon improving, all in the hopes of achieving his dream and becoming closer to her.

Now, he was growing familiar with the ways his body could bring her to heights of ecstasy, connecting them on a physical, spiritual level. The places he could touch to make her weak in the knees, leave her quivering and weak in his arms.

That knowledge was invaluable.

Tifa's arms tightened around his back, muscles clenching in a vice around him. With a final, powerful thrust, that strain building deep within him, burst. Cloud groaned, feeling himself spill inside of her.

Strength drained, Tifa braced herself against the wall, settling back onto the tiled floor. Cloud collapsed into her embrace, the full weight of his body bearing upon her, his slowly softening member still joining them. Her cheek was cushioned against his chest, lulled by the erratic pulse of his heartbeat as it steadily settled.

All the while the water continued to flow, a gentle stream that massaged their twitching bodies, as the two found their bearings, righting themselves back to the plane they had just been elevated from.

Slowly, Cloud’s vision began to refocus, his disoriented senses rooting back to the curve of her head at his shoulder, strands of her hair brushing against his skin. Drawing back, his hand lifted her chin, drowsy, pools of red easily finding him.

"Hey..." he uttered.

"Hey," she answered back.

"I hate to break this up, but… we should probably get going."

Cloud frowned, wanting nothing more than to hold her in the afterglow of their love making. Even with the hard, uncomfortable floor, Cloud would have been content to lie there for hours.

He longed for something like their first time together. The night after he'd snuck out with Jessie, Biggs and Wedge, when Tifa had visited him in his room.

It had been a little clumsy and apprehensive, at times, but there was a genuine affection guiding them forward. A mutual want to bring out the most blissful feelings for the other. Tangled up with her in that cramped bed, Cloud slept more soundly than he could remember; never once disturbed by eerie voices. Even if it had ended prematurely, with Tifa waking up early to return to her own room.

Their current arrangement did, however, have its own advantages. They had been able to explore so much more of each other, building up their confidence to the point where they no longer felt hampered by shyness. They were growing ever more familiar with the other’s wants and urges, bringing each other to increasingly pleasurable heights.

With what they had learnt, Cloud could only imagine the slow, steamy sex they would be able to share when they had a proper moment together.

"Hey! Ya hear me? Pay attention!"

With the obnoxious voice invading his consciousness, the memory faded and Cloud looked up, noticing Barret staring him down impatiently. Scanning the area, he could see that the others had managed to open the door and were waiting on him to make their way through to the next room.

Shaking his head, Cloud moved into step behind them.

Realising his mind was plagued with alluring thoughts of Tifa, Cloud decided to try and distract himself.

His eyes darted around the surrounding perimeter, hoping he could find something that would calm him down. The more mundane or unappealing, the better.

Tracing the broad back of Barret in front of him, Cloud snapped his fingers.

Right. Barret. He could rid those thoughts from his mind if instead of Tifa he pictured Barret… in the shower.

Wait.

…

Oh Gaia, why?

That’s an image that would forever scar his brain.

No, that won’t work, Cloud thought, shaking his head. I need something else.

Adjusting his gloves, Cloud was drawn to the glow of the Summoning materia he’d slotted into his bangle.

Perhaps focusing on his gear could take his mind off of it?

Willing to try, Cloud reflected on how much he’d come to rely on the materia recently. How useful it had been in helping them out of dire situations in battle when the odds were stacked against them.

He basked in the vibrant red glow, holding unique power, the same colour he’d seen reflected in hazy, lidded eyes as he rutted breathlessly into-

No! No, that wasn’t going to help either.

"Hey! Merc! We don't have all day! What are you waiting for?"

Eyes refocusing once more, Cloud turned towards Barret with a blank expression. He shook his head with a scoff before moving past.

Tifa winked, beckoning him to follow with a flick of her hand. There seemed to be an almost deliberate swivel to her hips as she moved away from him, her ponytail bouncing hypnotically against the curve of her backside with each step.

With a sigh, Cloud discreetly adjusted the crotch of his pants.

Looks like he was just going to have to hold out until they made it back.

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