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therealeagal · 2 years

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Thoughts on stuff.

Decide for yourselves whether my words have value or if they are naught but the ravings of a madman. Whichever you decide, don’t @ me, bro. I’m not here to debate, just to pontificate. Let’s begin.

Society is a balancing act. You can’t expect people to go from 0 to 100 in one sitting. Quite the opposite, actually.

You gotta chip away at it. This is the theoretical purpose of liberals and conservatives.

Liberals push us forward in bold new directions. They bring us new ideas and new concepts.

Conservatives restrain us, they stop us from going too far too fast, so that we can deal with new developments in the time allotted to us when and as they become available instead of having to split our time between twenty different new ideas, any one of which makes zero sense to anyone not “in the know" as the kids are saying these days.

Theoretically. Some may argue that conservatives have gone above and beyond the call of duty and gone too far. Others argue the exact same thing about liberals.

Who’s right? Can it be both? Don’t be fatuous. Of course it can’t be both. One side has to be right and one side has to be wrong, otherwise there’s no point of there being sides.

Which side is right, you ask? Depends. It depends on a lot of things.

As for me, I’m happy to take the side of the liberals. Yeah, they’re annoying...and self-righteous...and prone to thought-policing...to name but a few...

But despite their many many flaws, I generally find them to be on the correct side of most discussions, regardless of how obnoxious the manner in which they express themselves is.

Example: I’ve never met a single liberal who opposed gun control because they think a gun will protect them from the largest, most powerful, most well-funded military in human history in the apparently inevitable event that “Fightin’ Joe” Biden, reigning Rune Factory 4 speedrun world champion, goes full tyrant.

Seems pretty unlikely if you ask me. In multiple different ways.

Subject of discussion. What is the best way to enable social progress?

Consider:

There once was a king who thought himself quite the philosopher. Passing by an aged shepherd on the road one day, he asked the old fellow “How many seconds in eternity?”

To which the shepherd replied, “My king, there is a great mountain on the far side of the world. Every day a bird flies to the top of that mountain and sharpens its beak on the peak. When that mountain is ground to a tiny pebble and then into sand, not one second of eternity will have passed.”

Then the king had the shepherd put to death for being a smug asshole.

There are two morals to this story:

Firstly, if you work at it enough eventually you will wear down all opposition so never give up even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. Slow progress is still progress.

Secondly, letting people know more than they need to know is never beneficial. That shepherd was smarter than the king. But he stood to gain nothing from letting the king know this fact.

These may seem distinct morals, but in actuality, they are interrelated.

We’ve discussed this before. The you the world sees is much more important than the you that you are.

This can be seen as a detriment, where society will refuse to acknowledge your true self, or it can be seen as a boon, where you can get farther in life as someone you aren’t than as someone you are and none need be the wiser and you’re laughing your happy ass all the way to the bank.

Who cares if Bob Q Somebody from Climax, Virginia doesn’t know the real you? Why does Bob need to know? Fuck Bob. A pox on Bob. A pox on him, a pox on his dog, a pox on his grandma.

Lies are an excellent social lubricant, second only to money in their power to make other people happy with who you are. Or maybe who they think you are. Name one person who ever got anywhere by telling people the truth. Can’t do it, can you?

How many people can you name whose reputations were ruined when the truth came out? I bet there are a lot of them.

Admittedly, lying is a bit of a double-edged sword. In the hands of a master it can be extremely effective. But used inexpertly and it can lead to disaster. But with the double insulation of lies and popularity (which is really just a lie that people tell themselves).

Popularity is more important than the truth. Again, the you the world sees.

If you’re popular and you get caught in a lie most people won’t really care. The opposite, in fact. They’ll make up excuses for why it’s ok that you lied. Or how it wasn’t really a lie in the first place because OBVIOUSLY it’s the result of manipulative editing by the untrustworthy media and OBVIOUSLY you’re innocent of any vicious slander and/or libel that has been hurled at you because OBVIOUSLY in truth you’re truly the true victim in this case. Let none speak a word against the true truthfulness of your truth.

Take for example, that one celebrity. You know the one. That one you’re thinking of right now. THAT one.

Conversely, if you’re unpopular and get caught in a lie people will jump on it and be all like “See? See?! This proves what a shitty person this person is!” One hates to bang on the Trump drum yet again, but he’s just so useful. The man is a microcosm of human foibles, but in action and in responses to his actions.

Well, people already hated him, so when he got caught in boilerplate political lies that even Obama would have told it was seen as just one more piece of evidence that he’s a horrible person.

The better the lie, the more effective it is. If it’s a shitty lie, one that’s easily disproven or very obvious in its status as a lie, then it will have a more difficult time getting off the ground.

But if it’s a good lie that people will believe just watch and see how many doors open for you.

There will, of course, be people whose opinions you respect that mayhaps could be made to know your true self. Your friends. Maybe your family. Maybe your neighbors. Whoever. If you can’t show them the real you then they’re not worthy of you.

But just because your loved ones should know doesn’t mean Bob should know. Fuck Bob. A pox on Bob. A pox on him, a pox on his dog, a pox on his grandma.

So my advice for you today, my children, is to be the best you you can be. Be the you that can do the most good for the world. Be the you that can grab the biggest slices of every one of life’s many pies. Be the you that can travel further than everyone else. Be the you that can climb high than any other fool who dares compare themselves to you.

Even if it’s not the you that you are. Who’s gonna know the difference? Bob? Fuck Bob. A pox on Bob. A pox on him, a pox on his dog, a pox on his grandma.

#society #lies #lying #the you the world sees #the you that you are #pontification

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chaifootsteps · 2 years

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I just came across a couple of commentaries concerning Stoliz and Stolas more specifically, and one of them had good points (but could be picked apart) while the other was right on the nose (or beak, in this case).

The first indicated that Blitz had never indicated that their relationship was more than a transaction that was meant to be kept on the down-low, and that Stolas in comparison had never tried to keep their "relationship" a secret, rather it was Blitz's use of the grimoire was the secret. But the analysis fails to point out that, up until Ep.7, Stolas hadn't been taking the relationship seriously either. He didn't in LooLoo Land; he didn't in the Wrath Ring. Blitz was his toy that he could call on once a month (and I'm assuming more often than that as time went on) and whose entire job relied on this little game that Stolas insisted that they were both playing. Which they weren't. Because it's not a game to Blitz. It's work; it's an exchange.

However the post also brought up that Blitz hadn't been specific on-screen with his boundaries with Stolas either, which is a fair point. One could assume that he was too afraid to, and that saying anything would lead to Stolas refusing to give him the grimoire, but I don't think we have enough evidence to say that for certain. With TV shows, the only canon we have is what is presented to us in each episode, not what we assume to happen in the background while we're not looking.

The other commentary was super interesting because it framed Stolas as being sad and pathetic and wanting to sort-of roleplay having a loving relationship to escape his marriage, but he's altogether "just too afraid to stand up for the relationships he so desperately seems to want". He doesn't stand up to Stella when she reacts to his cheating with abject violence, he doesn't stand up to Asmodeus when he's bullied for giving up his outwardly perfect and luxurious life for a common imp and a pale fantasy. The author suggests it's because of his position as a Goetia, but then why would he make such a big deal about Blitz in the Wrath Ring? Why doesn't he bother about keeping their affair a secret? He's simply got absolutely no emotional backbone and his very presence is a source of discomfort and hatred.

Sorry for dumping all that on you, but you always have such in-depth thoughts about this show and I love seeing more of them!

Oh, that's total bullshit to say that Blitz has never tried to assert boundaries. Blitz has done nothing but tried to assert boundaries just about every time he's ever been seen on screen with Stolas and Stolas has blithely ignored them every single time.

The first time outside the pilot we ever see them interacting, Blitz tries to tell Stolas this is a bad time and that he's trying not to get killed. Stolas does not care, pushes ahead until he's gotten the sexual deal from Blitz he wanted, continues to ramble on about what he wants to do with him long after Blitz isn't even on the phone anymore.

In Loo Loo Land, Blitz asserts on the phone that he's not having sex with Stolas, isn't going anywhere with Stolas unless payment's involved, and then at the park, begins to tell Stolas that he will go right the fuck off if Stolas tries anything sexual with him. Stolas says he's cute when he's serious, to Blitz's disgust. Blitz also says he won't be sleeping with Stolas because he's not "a day hooker."

In Harvest Moon, Blitz says not to call him Blitzy. Stolas continues to call him Blitzy, and until this most recent episode, almost never called him by his actual name. I think he did like once, and it was while he was knowingly ignoring Blitz's attempts not to get shot in the head.

It's up for debate whether Stolas ever wanted something more substantial with Blitz or whether that happened as his family moved out and his life fell apart, but we've seen that Stolas at the very least has a nasty, nasty habit of ignoring what people are saying to him and just hearing whatever he wants to hear. As far as he's concerned, Blitz's many, many protests might as well not even exist.

And in the minds of really diehard Stolas apologists like the one you're describing, he's right. Blitz's feelings and attempts to assert boundaries are dust in the wind.

#lepoppeta #Stolas #Blitzo #Helluva Boss #actual blog post

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mageofseven · 4 years

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Demon bros check the Devilgram for any post updates & see MC uploaded a post that says, "Mammon sent me a crow familiar to protect me" with an image of a crow holding a knife to its beak. Underneath the image, MC added a comment, "I've always wanted a pet crow & now I know which brother I'm marrying". How do bros react?

Lucifer:

Face-palm. The oldest is shaking his head at this.

Knows it is likely just a joke or an exaggeration on the human's part, but still finds it ridiculous.

Plans on scolding the second brother as soon as he gets home because who gives someone a crow with a knife? How is that helpful or even safe?

Swears to himself that is the only reason for the reprimand, but can't help but be jealous by the human's words.

Mammon:

Holy shit--its really that easy???

Would give them a million crows if that were true.

Tries not to get his hopes up about the marriage thing, but it would be a lie to say that he didn't like the idea of it.

Spends the rest of the day bragging to everyone who'd listened about what MC said.

Not even Lucifer bring his spirits down!

Leviathan:

Unsurprisingly, the Avatar of Envy is jelly.

Especially because it's Mammon of all people that is one-uping him

...not that the third brother felt it was hard to do, but still.

Debates whether to take MC out on a ship to show off different sea creatures, maybe even show them Lotan.

I mean ya, he's tried summoning him around them before, but seeing him out in open waters is a whole different thing.

Lucifer probably won't let him, but he really wants to do something to impress MC.

Satan:

Pretends it doesn't bother him, but it does.

Becomes a bit more curt with MC the next time they talk.

Is a bit standoffish with the human, but it doesn't last for long.

Being passive aggressive to them won't change anything, especially when they don't know why he's upset.

Goes from avoiding them to finding different reasons to keep them around him

And even pulls them away from his brothers at times

Especially Mammon.

He will make them see who they're really meant to be with.

Asmodeus:

Cue pouting.

Like, how could they choose Mammon over him? And because of some bird at that!

Gets extra clingy with MC

And insists that they have to spend every day with him till they love him and not his scumbag brother.

Extra touchy, though not in a sexual way.

Hugs, kisses, handholding.

If he is not touching them in some way then the boy is back to pouting.

This lasts for full week till the man stops feeling so insecure.

Beelzebub:

Poor bb is sad 😔

Doesn't treat MC any differently though.

Clings a little more to them, but in a more subtle way than the Avatar of Lust.

Walks closer to them and offers to do more things for them.

Tells himself to just move past it and if they're happy, that's all that matters.

Still wishes he could do something for them that makes them just as happy as what Mammon did with the crow though.

Belphegor:

The brat is being bratty

And a little more forceful with MC.

He's not asking them to nap with him, he's telling.

Boy just seems extra grumpy.

In truth, he's hurting on the inside, but isn't one to just admit such a thing.

MC will have to be observant and do some digging to figure out why he's acting the way he is

And then comfort the poor demon and tell him it was just a joke

And give him all of the cuddles he needs to feel okay again.

#obey me #obey me otome #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me mc

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ikorous · 3 years

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Slow Show

Post Hogwarts Dramione One Shot. Rated M for explicit content.

"Draco slowly dipped his head down and kissed her shoulder while pulling the strap just a little farther down her arm. He could feel the goosebumps rise under his lips."

AO3

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Slow Show

Draco leaned back on the bed as Hermione pulled one of the diamond earrings out of her ear, dropping it carefully into a large jewelry box on the vanity where she sat in front of a silver mirror. She started on the other one and he curled his arm behind his head, watching her remove the heavy stones from her soft body.

"It was a beautiful ceremony," she said, continuing the conversation they had struck up after leaving the reception much later than he had planned to. He had to practically drag her from the woodland clearing the happy couple had hosted their wedding in.

Hermione had argued that since he was the best man and she was one of the bridesmaids, they couldn't just run off without seeing the reception completed. He pled his case that he couldn't stand here and look at her in that dress for hours without hauling her off into the twilight woods and having his way with her. She retorted with a twisting smile and told him to "Be good, Draco," to which he replied, "You know I am."

He relented eventually, seeing how happy she was celebrating her friend's nuptials and sipped on some shimmering purple punch that was surprisingly strong as he watched the dusk light up the gold in her braided curls. Britain's wizarding elite had gathered, draped in their fine silks and showing off their family heirlooms along with a number of the war heroes still highly celebrated even all these years later.

It had been the event of the season and as happy as he was for his friend, all Draco wanted to do from the minute Hermione had slipped on her midnight blue gown adorned with golden stars was to peel it off her body and slide himself into it. The reception had been trying, to say the least.

But at least he got to spend a good amount of time spinning her around the charmed forest dance floor, whispering sweet nothings into her ear and watching her blush and squirm against him.

Hermione stood up and opened the wardrobe before pulling at the straps of her celestial gown.

Draco jumped up from the bed, landing gracefully on his feet and in two long strides stopped behind her, placing his hands over hers and stopping the straps just as they reached the curve of her shoulders.

"Allow me," he said in a soft voice. Hermione paused and Draco glanced up at the mirror in front of them to see a small smile beginning to form on her lips. Her hands slowly fell from under his to rest at her sides and her warm brown eyes rested on the reflection on his silver ones in the mirror as Draco slowly dipped his head down and kissed her shoulder while pulling the strap just a little farther down her arm.

He could feel the goosebumps rise under his lips.

His long fingers gently pulled at the straps until they were hanging down by her elbows and the gown was making a valiant effort to stay on her body. Hermione took a deep breath and Draco trailed his fingers back up, over her skin, and to the nape of her neck where her necklace still hung.

"You were saying something?" he drawled, pretending he didn't notice the effect he was having on her.

"Yes," Hermione breathed out and blinked a few times. "Wasn't Luna beautiful? And Theo… I've never seen him that-" she sucked in a quick breath as Draco started on the zipper down her back, drawing out its journey down to the small of her back. "Well… you saw him tonight."

"Won't forget it either." He rolled his eyes and reached back up to start pulling the pins out of her hair as Hermione held the dress to her chest, keeping it in place. Not for long, my love. Draco smirked to himself then added, "To call that dancing is a crime against wizard kind."

Theo had met Luna a few years ago while Draco and Hermione were still dating. He had told Draco how he thought the dreamy blonde was cute after they had all gone out for drinks a few times, but Draco hadn't realized that the offhand comments were actually a deeper attraction growing in his friend. Six months ago he had asked her out and three months later they were engaged. Hermione had been thrilled, knowing the trouble Theo had with his family after the war and Luna had brought joy back into his life.

As soon as Hermione had seen them together, her cinnamon brown eyes had sparked and her chest filled with a deep breath. She clasped her hands together in front of her as Draco chuckled and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him and he felt the excitement coming off of her in waves.

He had to admit; he hadn't seen Theo laugh like that or… even smile that much, not until he was with Luna. It was nice. Theo had never fully recovered from losing his father in the war and Draco had spent many long hours talking with him, about memories, about Quidditch, or about anything Theo needed. He was glad to see his friend find some peace with the woman he loved. Salazar knew Draco had found his with Hermione.

And Theo doted on Luna, indulging in all her whims and fancies. Following her around with eyes almost as large as Luna's and sweeping her into his arms just to kiss her for no good reason other than he was madly in love. Luna always laughed and smiled, touching his face gently and whispering so low no one but her now husband could hear, bringing a silly smile to Theo's normally sullen face.

Theo had carried his bride to a carriage pulled by some strange creatures that looked a bit like oversized oranges with wings and beaks and took to the sky, heading off on their honeymoon in Thailand to explore the jungles and look for something that Draco didn't even bother to try and pronounce and Hermione vehemently argued wasn't real. But she had still kissed Luna on the cheek, hugging her tightly and wishing her well before Theo scooped her up.

As soon as the carriage had left the ground, Draco was pulling Hermione through the crowd. Intent on getting his wife home where he could fulfill the carnal promises he made her on the dance floor.

"I thought it was sweet. And anyways Luna always did dance to the beat of her own drummer. Theo was just… trying to learn her steps," she giggled a little, eyes shining in the silver glass as he finished pulling the braids from her hair and let them tumble down her bare shoulders. He breathed in deeply, smelling the rich scent of her perfume.

The corner of his mouth twitched. He loved to take off the fine gowns she wore to social events. Loved to pull out the pins from her hair and run his fingers through her curls as they fell loosely around her. Loved to kneel down and slip the heels from her feet before sweeping her off of them and carrying her to their bed.

"You think everything is sweet," he said dismissively, trying to keep the hammering in his chest under control.

"You can't honestly say you aren't happy for them," Hermione retorted. "Yes Theo was… exuberant, but people in love always are.

"I suppose," Draco said drolly and slid a finger down her spine.

Hermione scoffed and his eyes cut back up to hers in the mirror. "Draco," she said seriously. "Do you not remember hiring a dragon to take me up on only to have it breathe fire and light up 'Will you marry me?' on the ground below? Exuberant if I've ever seen it."

Draco smirked and moved his hand back up to the back of her neck and debating with himself whether to unclasp the necklace or leave it on her chest so it would bounce with the movements of his thrusts. "Well, it got you to say yes that time."

Hermione rolled her eyes this time, but the small smile grew just a little. Draco decided to leave it on. He liked seeing her in jewels. Especially ones he had bought for her.

"It was what? The sixth time you asked me?" Hermione tilted her head to the side slightly and narrowed her eyes playfully.

"Seventh," Draco answered.

"You're not counting that first time when-"

He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back against him. "When we were drunk and I was fucking you in the back of that Muggle car you used to drive around? Yes, I'm counting that."

Hermione flushed pink.

"As I recall, you almost said yes." Draco breathed out, making a few curls ruffle beside her face.

"I said a lot of things that night."

He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her midriff, holding her. "Oh, I remember."

"I don't know how," she tucked her face down in embarrassment. "You were stone drunk. We both were."

"I could never forget our first fuck."

She slowly blinked her eyes, letting her dark lashes brush across the tops of her cheeks. "My husband, the romantic."

"That's right," Draco said, sliding his hand up to hers and pulling slightly, making the gown slip dangerously low on her chest. "You bring it out in me."

She smiled again, her cheeks pinking as she glanced up to see him smirking back at her.

"Now I want to bring these out," he said huskily and pulled her hand down farther, letting the midnight blue gown slip over her slender frame and pool at the floor around her golden heels.

Draco hardened behind her.

Where the fuck she had found panties that small he had no clue, but he would buy one of every thing in the shop if it even looked half as good as these did on her. Hell, maybe he'd just buy the company so they could exclusively make lingerie for her. Either way, she was going to need a new pair because he was going to tear these apart with his teeth.

Draco cupped her breasts, kneading them with long fingers until her breathing quickened. He could feel her skin heating up against him and fought the urge to watch his hands on her in front of the mirror, electing to keep his eyes on the twin pools of deep brown that were darkening with desire in the silver glass. When her mouth parted slightly to allow a small gasp Draco's thumbs and fingers moved to her hardened nipples, rolling them skillfully before giving them each a soft pull and causing another breathtaking gasp to slip from her.

"Let me have you," he murmured into her ear, breathing out against it. "I was on my best behavior tonight. I want my prize."

"Were you? You spent half the night at the punch table with Blaise and the other half pawing at me-"

Draco tightened his fingers on her nipples and Hermione let out a weak whimper.

"Would you rather I be bad then?" he asked in a husky voice. "Because I'll fuck you against this mirror and make you watch your own face as you come, or-" he snaked a hand down to her rest under navel. "I can lay you down on our big, soft bed and use my tongue for even better things than getting you wet on a dance floor."

"How do you know you got me-"

"Oh, I know, my love," Draco said in a low voice, gazing deeply into the reflection of her dark eyes. "Just like I know you're going to let me lick you clean."

Her eyes opened wide and stared back at him.

"Yes," Hermione whispered back, brows pulling together in want. "Oh, God, yes…"

Draco bent his knees and swept her up in his arms, carrying her over to the bed and laid her down softly, watching as her body sunk into the thick blanket, bare except for the necklace of golden stars, her tiny panties, and gilded heels that were sinfully tall. He stepped back to admire her, this gorgeous woman in his bed that finally allowed him to call her his wife after years of chasing her.

He pulled his shirt from his shoulders, tossing it to the floor and his trousers followed after. Draco climbed onto the bed and pulled her legs up, and knelt in front of her. Kissing her ankle, he slowly made his way up to her creamy calf, relishing the taste of her skin.

"Draco, my shoes-" Hermione started.

"Leave them on," he growled. "I want you to dig those heels into me when I'm fucking you."

"Oh, God." She pushed her head back, letting her loose waves spill out onto the pillows behind her. She looked like a Queen, surrounded by a crown of curls and adorned in gold. And he was her loyal subject.

He switched legs as he reached her knees, trailing his lips over the smooth skin of her thigh and resting her legs on his shoulders as he slowly bent himself lower towards the place he had been trying to reach all night and now only a little piece of fabric was keeping him out.

Draco breathed out as he reached the apex of her thighs and felt her tremble. He grazed his lips over the fabric, he was just about able to taste her through it and planted a small kiss right in the middle. Hermione breathed out deeply, letting all the air leave her lungs in a wistful sigh. He sucked on them causing a sharp intake of breath and when he had enough of the wet fabric in his mouth, closed his teeth around them and started to tug.

Hermione used her legs on his shoulders to push her ass up from the bed so the last bit of clothing easily slid from her body. Draco growled in appreciation as they moved down her legs easily. He could taste her on them and sucked at them as he continued to pull them down. He paused when they reached her knees and looked down at his wife under him.

Desire darkened her burning cinnamon eyes and he bit down harder, grinding the thin fabric in his teeth before yanking them back quickly and ripping them over her heels and pushing her legs back open.

"That's the third pair of underwear you've ruined this week," Hermione said, trying to sound forceful, but her flushed cheeks gave her away.

Draco shrugged. "Stop wearing them then."

Leaning back down, Draco pulled her thighs around his head and felt the tips of her heels resting below his shoulders. Finally, he had her right where he wanted. Pulling his eyes away from her center only long enough to watch as sparks shot off deep in her gaze, Draco ran his tongue along her fold.

A shaking breath left her and her head fell back against the pillows again as his own fell deeply between her legs. He kissed her lower lips the same as he would the ones higher up, letting his tongue slowly part into them. She opened easily for him, but he still worked his tongue over her as if she was not already ripe for the taking.

She tasted sweet and tangy, a wonderful combination that he dove in deeper for, trailing the length of her fold, spreading the creaminess over her and mixing it with his own saliva before gathering it back up with his tongue and drinking it down. Her breath was getting quicker and he ran his tongue inside her slit as his lips gently caressed her sensitive skin.

She gave a small twitch when the tip of his tongue touched the bud hidden away. Draco had to stop himself from grinning as he ran his tongue around it in gentle strokes, breathing out heavily onto her. He moved himself lower, towards her opening and found it soaked again. Dipping his tongue inside, he collected the fruits of his effort and trailed them back up to enjoy them on the bundle of nerves he had left quivering in his absence.

He flicked his tongue over her, bringing her closer with every swipe. Hermione let out a breathy moan, barely more than a whisper, but enough to drive him on. Draco rested his arm on her lower stomach, spreading his hand out over her to part her farther with his fingers then opened his mouth over her and let his tongue work itself back and forth, up and down until her little moans turned higher and quicker.

He shifted his tongue, coaxing her on with broad, flat strokes then switching to short, little laps, nodding his head as her hips began to move up, trying to meet him.

Her noises grew louder and he felt a deep ache of his own as his body called to claim hers. Her thighs were shaking around his head, closing in and muffling the ever-increasing sounds coming from her. The last thing he heard before they clamped around him, trapping him against her was Hermione desperately calling out his name.

Draco licked at her, keeping the same pace until he felt her start to convulse and gradually began to soften his tongue's swipes, knowing she was growing more sensitive with each one. He wasn't sure how long it took her to release her thighs from around his head, but the sound of her deep breathing and whimpering moans flooded back in as he kissed her to completion.

He placed soft pecks against her lips, her skin, her thighs as he slowed and sat back up. He could feel her on his face and ran his tongue around the edges of his mouth as he gazed down at the sated and satisfied woman below him.

Hermione's face was turned to the side, her eyes barely closed and chest rising and falling quickly as she tried to catch her breath.

"Good enough for you?" Draco smirked and her burning brown eyes fluttered open. All she could manage was a nod and a small noise of approval. He chuckled as he leaned down over her, not letting their bodies touch just yet. She reached up and ran her hands over his chest and around the back of his neck, pulling his mouth down onto hers and giving another small moan as she tasted herself on his lips.

Draco felt his muscles contract and a deep throbbing of his own need hanging just inches away from her. He extended their kiss while pushing her slightly under him, getting her body in position for him and spreading her legs wider with his knees before placing himself on top of her.

"This is going to be fast, okay? I've been at half-mast since our first dance tonight and I need this. Now."

Hermione nodded, swallowing and moved her hands down to his chest and around his sides to hold on, knowing it was going to be quick and rough and urgent. Draco lined himself up with her entrance, pressing the tip of himself against her warmth then leaned down to capture her mouth with his again.

"Wrap your legs around me," he said in a hoarse voice and glanced down at the gold and jewels resting right above her bare breasts. Hermione hiked her legs up, pressing her knees above his waist and locking her heels across his back.

He couldn't stop the hiss that escaped him when he slid himself inside her, every muscle in his body tightening as he moved himself back and forth, speeding up quickly. Hermione's nails dug into his sides and back as she gasped with each thrust. He placed his hand on the top of her head, holding her under him as he pushed harder and deeper into her core.

Hermione was whimpering, gasping out moans in between heavy breaths. Her body moved under him as he quickened his pace, unable to slow down. He could feel her closing in around him and groaned as her warmth squeezed him. "Fuck, Hermione," he breathed out, starting to pant as a pressure built deep inside him.

"Just…" her breath caught in her throat. "Just a little more, please…"

Draco let out a low moan from deep in his chest. He couldn't wait much longer, his body was calling for a release and she felt so good around him, letting him dive into her as deep as he wanted, as he needed. She had done what he asked and the points of her heels were digging painfully into his back, pressing in harder every time he pulled himself back just to plunge back down into her. Fuck, he loved that feeling.

He crashed his mouth onto hers, driving himself into her faster, faster, faster. She tightened her thighs around him and he felt her walls close in on him, shaking with pleasure. She moaned something that might have been his name, but his lips didn't leave hers long enough for her to form real words.

He couldn't hold back anymore. She was clenching him and his blood was racing hotly in his veins. "Shit, oh, oh!" Draco pulled himself from her at the last second and spilled himself over her center, watching as he shot more and more, his body feeling weaker as his heart beat loudly in his ears.

Hermione was panting, trying to come back down from her second orgasm when he ran two fingers up her slit, gathering what he could of himself on them and lifting it up to her open mouth.

"Your turn." He grinned, grey eyes shining. She opened her mouth and he slid his fingers inside. Draco couldn't breathe while her tongue slid around his long fingers, sucking them clean. He felt his cock twitch again and slowly pulled his fingers from her mouth, running them over her lips and savoring their soft wetness.

He shifted slightly, resting his body on the bed next to her while simultaneously snaking an arm around her waist to keep her body against his.

"God, Draco…" she sighed and turned her head on the pillow towards him. "I can't feel my legs."

He grinned at her and sat up, picking up one of her legs and pulling the golden heel off of her foot and then did the same to the other, dropping them over the side of the bed. "Lift your head," he commanded and unclasped her necklace when she did so. Hermione's head fell heavily back down onto the bed of curls splayed out over the pillows.

He tossed the priceless piece of jewelry somewhere, hearing it clatter into some corner. With the last bit of his strength he pulled a throw from the bottom of the bed up, covering up his beautiful, satisfied, and exhausted wife.

"Sleep, my love," he murmured, kissing her hairline. Hermione gave a small moan and let her long lashes close over her deep eyes. He settled down next to her, pulling her into the crook of his arm and she nuzzled her face into his chest. Draco ran his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp and when her breathing changed into slower deeper ones, he gently pulled on her long curls, lifting them up and letting them fall back down.

He felt sleep weighing heavily on him, muscles loosening and limbs weighed down. He rested his chin on top of her head and closed his eyes, using the last few seconds of consciousness he whispered, "I love you, Hermione Malfoy. My wife. My love."

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this. Also I would like to give a special thanks to mysweetorangetree for helping me name this fic and being an amazing person in general.

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justanobsessedfangirl · 4 years

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Harry Potter Preferences - Marauders Era - How He Asks You Out

Request from Anonymous: Can you do a Maradaurs preference, you can choose the topic just something cute and fluffy

Author’s Note: I wasn’t sure whether to include Peter Pettigrew or not. Obviously, he’s an awful person, but I think it could be interesting to explore his character when he was younger and more innocent. I also debated about adding Severus Snape. In the end, I didn’t add either of them. If someone would like another part including Peter and Severus, I’d be happy to write that! And if you guys have any other opinions and/or requests, I’d love to know!

Masterlist

Sirius Black

An angry bird was pecking your shoulder.

You were in Transfiguration, wand in hand, the clawed goblet in front of you halfway turned into a dove. To your right sat your best friend, her cup even less birdlike than your own, and to your left was a gray goose with a sharp beak.

It pecked you again.

“Would you stop that?” you huffed, shooting the bird a glare. You refused to look at the table of Gryffindor boys across the room, even though you could hear them snickering.

The goose looked up at you. Its beady black eyes matched your intensity. Its orange beak gaped open and it let out a loud honk as its wings spread, beating the air. Honking even louder, it sprung off the desk and flew toward your face.

Just before it bit you, it froze in midair. Professor McGonagall’s stern voice rose in place of the honking. “Mr. Black. Please do a better job of controlling your work.” With a flick of her wand, Professor McGonagall sent the goose whizzing to Sirius Black’s table.

He was surrounded by his friends, smirking. “Sorry Professor. I got distracted.” He looked at you, gray eyes bright with amusement. The goose sat in his lap.

You frowned, even though your heart beat a little faster at getting his attention. Ignoring those feelings, you sniffed and looked away. “You’re supposed to be making a dove, you git,” you muttered, making your friend giggle.

“I hope the rest of you are doing a better job of staying focused. There will be a test next class. I expect all of you to do well.” Papers rustled as the class began packing up. Over the swell of students chatting and laughing and gossiping, Professor McGonagall said, “Your only homework is to study.”

You scoffed internally. Fat chance of that with a trip to Hogsmeade this weekend. Before you let your thoughts drift too much, visions of chocolate frogs and sugar quills and fresh butterbeer already dancing through your mind, you raised your wand, said the spell, and tapped your goblet once more.

Metal morphed into feathers. The long stem split in two, forming short pink feet. Farther up, the cup rounded into a proud chest, the upper portion growing, growing, growing into a small head. In seconds, an adult dove stood in front of you.

Giddy joy brought a smile to your face.

“Wow! Nice work, Y/N!” your friend said.

“Yeah, that was pretty good,” said a different voice.

Slowly, you took your eyes off your dove, which was preening its feathers, and found Sirius Black. He was smiling, but when wasn’t he? He always looked like he was in on a joke you weren’t.

“Maybe you could give me some tips? Say...at the Three Broomsticks tomorrow?”

You had to fight to keep your jaw from dropping. Your heart was beating uncontrollably and your tongue had dried up. Your palms hadn’t, so you discreetly dried them on your skirt while you tried to think of something, anything, to say. As if to prompt you to answer, your friend nudged you on the back.

“I don’t know if that’s the best environment to study,” you heard yourself say.

Idiot! What were you doing? Of course you wanted to go to the Three Broomsticks with him!

But what if this wasn’t real? What if this was another one of his jokes, one of the pranks that he and James and Remus and Peter always pulled?

“I’m sure we can figure it out.” Sirius shifted and you finally realized he was still holding his goose. He set it on your desk. The gray beast (you wouldn’t forget that sharp beak of its for a long time) waddled to your dove. The two birds stared each other down. After a second, the goose took a step forward. The dove allowed it. It moved closer. The dove tensed, tucking its wings in tight, then sat. The goose joined it. Both eyed the other warily.

You looked back at Sirius. “Okay,” you said. “I’ll see you at the Three Broomsticks. Tomorrow.” And I’ll figure out what game you’re playing, you thought.

Sirius smiled. “Perfect.”

Remus Lupin

The Gryffindor common room was quiet at such a late hour. The house-elves had come and gone, silently cleaning around your piles of books and parchment and quills. You yearned for your bed, but instead of calling it a night, you rubbed your bleary eyes and continued working on your partner project alone.

“Lazy Slytherin,” you mumbled. “Knows I can’t afford a bad grade.” You crossed out a line in your essay about how Laverne de Montmorency had invented numerous different love potions in the 1800s - you’d already written about it in the fourth paragraph, using slightly different wording. You reread the fourth paragraph, decided you didn’t like the sentence there either, and promptly crossed it out. In a margin in the second paragraph, you added the detail back in, creating the third iteration of the same fact and the same words in a mostly new order. “Thinks he’s too good to work on a project,” you continued grumbling.

With a heavy sigh, you dropped your quill and leaned back in your chair. Maybe I could just...your eyes fluttered closed. Moments later, they shot back open as a weight was draped across you.

“What-”

“Sorry!”

You looked down at the blanket that now covered your legs, then up at Remus Lupin, who stood over you with red cheeks and upraised hands.

He continued, “I didn’t mean to wake you. I thought you might want a blanket.”

It took you a second to remember how to form words. It felt like you’d left all of them on the parchment, and now that you were face to face with Remus, who hopefully hadn’t just seen you drooling, you were struck mute. “Thanks,” you managed to say.

Remus rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Um, are you working on the Potions project?” He shook his head. “That was a stupid question, of course you are.” He gestured to the table, where your Potions textbook was wide open to the section on Amortentia. “How has your partnership been going?”

You shook your head. “Awful.” With that reminder, you picked up your quill, dipped it in ink, and scrawled another sentence about the most powerful love potion in the world.

Remus eased into the seat next to you. He smelled familiar, like warmth and the woods and the Amortentia Professor Slughorn had shown the class yesterday. You squeezed your quill tighter to try to get rid of that memory and make your blush go away, but you didn’t think it was working.

“Maybe...I mean, if your partner isn’t helping...I would be happy to...We could work together in the library tomorrow?”

Your quill stopped mid-stroke. If your blush had faded at all, it was back now with a vengeance. You glanced up and saw Remus staring intently at the table, his ears tinged pink.

“Yes!” you blurted. His head shot up, a smile growing on his lips. You cleared your throat and said, more calmly, “Yes, that would be very helpful. And kind. Thank you, Remus.”

“I’m happy to help, Y/N.”

Your heart fluttered as he smiled sweetly at you.

Neither of you spoke for a second until you heard a crash from behind you. You spun around. Tumbling down the stairs to the boys’ dormitory were James and Sirius. Peter Pettigrew followed behind on foot, wearing a sheepish look. Next to you, Remus groaned and covered his face.

“Well,” said Sirius, struggling to untangle himself from James. “Did you finally ask her out?”

James Potter

The rain was coming down hard, making it difficult to see even your teammates, much less the glimmering gold of the Snitch. You wrapped your hands tighter around your broom and squinted. From this height, you could see the entire Quidditch pitch. In the stands were swaths of blue and bronze, your fellow Ravenclaws out in the bitter cold to support you. The other half of the bleachers were filled with people clad in scarlet and gold.

You scanned the air for the Gryffindor seeker, James Potter. Through fog and rain and hail you managed to catch a glimpse of him circling the Ravenclaw goal posts. Then, in a split second, he took off, barreling toward the far side of the pitch.

Without a second thought, you pointed your broom nearly straight down and zoomed after him. As you shot through the rain, the cheering grew louder and louder. You couldn’t make out any words. You didn’t care to, anyways. What you wanted was to get that Snitch before James Potter.

Losing would sting. But losing to him? That would kill.

You leaned forward, hoping to make your broom speed up. The wood vibrated under your hands. You felt the magic coursing through it. You gritted your teeth and pushed it faster.

James wove between the stands, swooping low and making Ravenclaws duck. He didn’t seem to be following anything, and for a moment you worried that you should have stayed up higher, surveying.

But then you saw a flash of gold. The Snitch hovered mere feet off the ground at the center of the pitch. You darted for it. James pulled up from a dive and went after it too, coming at it from the other side.

He was closer. You were faster. The Snitch flitted to the side. You adjusted with ease. It climbed; you climbed; James climbed. It dropped; you dropped; James dropped. It was running out of space to maneuver as the two of you closed in.

You gritted your teeth, wind whipping at your hair. The rain meant nothing, even as small drops pricked at your face like needles.

You would win. You were going to win. You were almost close enough to stretch out your hand. James was close too. He reached out a hand, you reached out a hand, one of you had to fly up or to the side to save you from a collision, but it wasn’t going to be you because you felt the flutter of wings brush against your fingers. The Snitch was there, golden and beautiful, and behind it was James, his hazel eyes focused and determined. You felt cold metal under your fingertips, you felt the Snitch, you felt James’s hand, you felt your bodies crash into each other, you felt the ground underneath you, and then you were rolling and tumbling along the pitch, limbs twisted with James’s.

The two of you came to a stop in the wet grass. One of his legs was across your stomach, and your left arm was flung over his chest. Your ribs pierced your sides with every inhale. Your head pounded. Your face felt warm with blood until the rain set to washing it away.

James groaned. You were so close that it was audible over the fans screaming and a professor yelling orders.

“Could you move your arm?” he asked through gritted teeth.

You tried and piercing pain raced from shoulder to fingertips. Biting back a squeal, you said, “Uh, no, I don’t think I can.”

“At least close your hand so I don’t have to see it,” he grumbled.

Your fingers twitched. You felt metal slick with rain. Delicate wings fluttered against your palm. You were holding the Golden Snitch. Ravenclaw had won.

Despite the pain, you grinned. You even let out a quiet cheer.

Beside you, James groaned again, this time out of annoyance. “Just wait until the rematch.”

“I’ll gladly beat you again, Potter.”

Other voices grew louder as professors made their way across the pitch.

“I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other in the hospital wing,” James said.

Your nose throbbed. Stars danced across your vision, falling with the rain. “Probably.”

“So it’s a date, then?”

A surprised laugh left your lips. “What?”

“I’ll pick you up in around, oh, 20 minutes or so? We can share a treacle tart after Madam Pomfrey fixes your nose.”

Professor McGonagall arrived, wand in hand, and you felt your body start to float, coming to a hover a couple of feet off the ground. Turning your head to look down at James was painful, but seeing the earnest, hopeful look in his eyes was worth it. He had the hint of a devilish grin on his face.

“Ok,” you said. “But next time you ask me out, don’t feel like you have to crash into me.”

His smile grew. “Sorry, I just couldn’t help falling for you.”

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rainbowbutterfrosting · 3 years

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The Revived - Chapter 8: Miscommunications

This is chapter 8 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @rainbowbutterfrosting and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy! Discord link here.

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur, Niki

Word count: 3,534

Content Warnings: kidnapping, being tied up, being blindfolded, threats of starvation, violence (punching), yelling, threatening in general, pain, panic attacks, chasing, mentions of begging

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

Despite Wilbur’s looming fear from the last trip to the nether, it went a lot more smoothly

this time around. Maybe it was the armor that made him look threatening or the fact that it was more familiar to him. Ghostbur worried about his safety, but Wilbur made sure to give him frequent updates. The ghost relaxed slightly but seemed to still not like the fiery place very much. Wilbur agreed and promised to make his future trips a little quicker.

He came out to the other side just fine. His bandages felt noticeably uncomfortable from the previous heat when Ghostbur’s voice chimed in, “When can we get these things off? I don’t like them that much.”

“Not yet, probably in a few days though.” Wilbur wasn’t sure how strong the potion Technoblade gave him was.

“In your world or my world?”

“A few days in my world,” Wilbur’s voice lowered to a whisper once he realized that someone might see him talking to himself. Yet the second he said the words, he realized the exact weight of them. He remembered screaming, crying, and Ghostbur begging for Wilbur to make it stop. It was strange to speak of it now, as if it was something as simple as a different timezone, and not the cause of so much suffering.

How long had Ghostbur really been crying with pain?

“Ah, alright,” Ghostbur said, sounding mildly disappointed, which stood in contrast to the grim thoughts suddenly plaguing Wilbur’s mind.

Wilbur didn’t focus on the trail ahead as he looked at the sky. A sky Ghostbur couldn’t see. “This will probably sound stupid, but do you want me to describe stuff? Like how I did when I was eating steak.”

Ghostbur immediately seemed more cheerful, “Yeah, that would be really helpful!”

Wilbur smiled, “It’s pretty dark out.” He took a deep breath in, trying to fully notice the details for Ghostbur. “The torches light up the area a bit, but I can still see some skeletons in the distance. The moon looks nice tonight. I mean, it’s… I should’ve paid more attention in high school. It’s the phase of the moon where it sorta looks like a C. I’m not sure if it’s first crescent or third crescent. I’ve heard of both of them though.” Wilbur felt a passive sadness when he couldn’t depict it, but Ghostbur didn’t seem to mind.

“Don’t worry, I don’t know what it’s called either! But I still know what you’re talking about… are there any stars out?”

Wilbur hummed in agreement, “I wouldn’t say there’s lots, but there are quite a few.” Wilbur sighed, “The sky’s got this gradient. It’s not too noticeable unless you look for a while. It’s black to a slightly lighter black. Not exactly a gray, but just a slightly lighter bla-” Wilbur sharply cut himself off when he heard a bird chirp. He turned his head towards the sound and walked closer to it.

“Is everythin’ okay?” Ghostbur’s worried tone reminded Wilbur that he was supposed to describe things to him.

“Yeah yeah, it’s all good. I just thought I heard a bird.”

“Ooh!” Ghostbur exclaimed excitedly, “I love birds! They have such cute little beaks.”

Wilbur laughed lightly, though the sound had still made him a little wary, and he walked a little more cautiously. “We’re in a forest. We shouldn’t be too far from L’Manberg, I think…” Wilbur said, hoping he could count on Ghostbur’s sense of direction in the nether, or on his own vague memories. His head was still a muffled mess. “It’s mostly oak trees.” he heard another chirp, and looked around for the source, but before he found it, he heard another sound that hit him with a great deal more force.

“Meowth! Get back here!” someone yelled, followed by the sound of frantic running. Wilbur froze on the spot.

“Ooh, who is that? I could barely hear it but someone was speaking. It kind of sounded like-” Ghostbur was cut off, by a relieved sigh from the same voice as before.

“There you are. You can’t keep flying off like this.”

“Niki! It’s Niki! I remember her from your memories. She is so nice and sweet and-”

Wilbur spotted her too, as Ghostbur kept talking, standing behind the trees. Niki, who was holding a red parrot, and who looked so alone and unbothered, completely unaware of Wilbur’s presence. A million thoughts burst through Wilbur’s head. All the memories of L’Manberg, what had led to it, and what it had led to. And as Wilbur listened to her talk, it was at once familiar, and different. As if the voice was tinted with something shakier. Something exhausted. Though Wilbur was tired too, so perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him.

Had Niki been told that Wilbur was back? Perhaps it wouldn’t matter much to her. While Wilbur mostly held fond memories of her, he was uncertain what Niki would make of him now. What Wilbur’s actions had led her to think of him, and whether she even considered him a companion in the first place.

Wilbur stood there, frozen in silence, as he debated whether to hide his presence more or to let it be known. Before he had the chance to make a decision, Niki turned her head, and the silence turned a great deal more deafening and suffocating.

Niki was looking at Wilbur, her face going pale in less than a second, and her mouth gaping. Wilbur noticed that there were bags under her eyes. Her hands loosened from the bird, the bird promptly flapping its wings to land on her shoulder. She didn’t move an inch to show that such a thing had happened.

“What’s happening?” Ghostbur asked confusedly, “Why aren’t you saying hi? You must’ve missed each other so much!”

Perhaps Wilbur would’ve spoken, but the way Niki was looking at him, made the words twist into knots in his throat.

Then, came Niki’s words, quiet and broken, “I thought it stopped.” she said, and she rubbed her eyes, her breathing becoming faster. “It was destroyed. The memories were supposed to be gone, I wasn’t- I’m not supposed to-” she didn’t finish her sentence, instead blinking and shaking her head vigorously.

Wilbur was finally able to speak, “Hey.” The words were quiet, but they were loud enough to fill the silence between them.

Niki turned away muttering a mantra as she walked further into the forest, “You’re real, he isn’t, you’re real, he isn’t.” Her whole body shook as she left.

As she was walking away, Wilbur realized that he needed to go to her. At least clarify that he was back and not Ghostbur instead. He made long steps as he gently called out, “Niki, how have you been?” Though instead of a response, she simply walked quicker, almost quick enough to be a jog.

Wilbur frowned and called out, slightly louder this time, “Niki, wait up.” He jogged up to where he was only a few steps behind her. She looked back, a startling fear clear in her eyes as she burst into a sprint away from Wilbur.

“Niki!” Wilbur shouted as he ran after her. They both ran between trees, hopping over tree stumps and large sticks. The wind flew by as Wilbur quickly gained ground. The two ran for a few minutes, their lungs and legs burning, but not stopping. Wilbur tried shouting her name again, but he figured it was just a waste of time.

Niki ran to the left, which Wilbur spotted was an entrance that was decorated with stone bricks and spruce logs. As Niki ran down she missed one of the stairs and tumbled down the rest. Wilbur saw this as a chance to finally catch up and ran down. Niki heard his steps as she tried getting up, her legs shaking to the point where she could barely stand.

Both of them gasped for air as Niki refused to look in Wilbur’s direction, instead viewing the stone wall in front of her.

“Niki…” Wilbur breathed out, leaning onto the wall behind him for a moment before he held his hand out to Niki. It took him a few moments to realize Niki wouldn’t even see it unless she looked over.

“Niki… you need some help getting up?” The only response he received was Niki’s gasps for air. Wilbur knelt down next to her. “Hey I uh…” Wilbur’s mind was blank once again as he searched desperately in his mind for anything he could say. “You come around here often?” That probably wasn’t Wilbur’s best, but he needed something to get them started.

Niki laughed- or sobbed? Wilbur couldn’t tell, but he hoped it was the former. He placed a hand on Niki’s back, but when she flinched he immediately pulled back. Wilbur put his hands in his lap, unsure of what to exactly do with them. He waited moments with Niki, watching her shaking frame as she tried to get her breath back. It must’ve been from fear rather than exercise.

Was Niki afraid of him? He didn’t think he was that bad of a ruler of L’Manberg, but he supposed so if she thought of him as a monster to run away from. Maybe he was a monster- no, he couldn’t go down that path now. Niki needed him. But what for? The only time she looked at him was out of fear and she couldn’t even look at him now.

Instead, he focused on her bird. Well- at least he assumed it was hers. “I always thought birds were nice. Their wings are soft.” Wilbur forced a chuckle at the end, trying to bring in a light joyful atmosphere that didn’t exist anywhere around them. Sure, the torches brought a warm glow to the stairway, but it didn’t remove the tense air around them.

Niki covered her ears, bending further over in a way that looked like she was hiding from Wilbur, despite him being only a few inches away. Wilbur clearly heard that Niki was sobbing. He looked sympathetically at her but knew she wouldn’t be able to see it. He supposed he would have to wait this out with her.

“Niki sounds sorta like you did earlier, is she okay?” He was apparently waiting this out with Ghostbur as well.

“Are you oka-” Wilbur cut himself off when he realized that Niki probably didn’t even want to hear him. He sighed as he sat back against the wall, the smooth stone supporting him.

Was Wilbur making things worse for Niki? He wasn’t an idiot, he knew she was scared of him. Yet, he hoped that she was like Tommy, who behind his spite and anger still talked to Wilbur for at least a few hours. But she was her own person. A person so different than the one peacefully baking a pie for when Wilbur and everyone else returned back home. Or when it was someone’s birthday and she would make them a small cake of their favorite flavor. She seemed full of this fear that made Wilbur feel something that resembled pity.

Wilbur sighed quietly to himself. Not out of annoyance, but the willingness of patience. Despite being recently revived, he hadn’t spent many moments in the quiet. He told himself it would only remind him of limbo, but it was really quite the opposite. It just depended on his surroundings. He tensed when he remembered the stone walls around him were similar to the ones in limbo, but he focused on Niki. He didn’t want her to be hunched over, sobbing and shaking, after running away from Wilbur, but he appreciated her presence nonetheless.

He pulled his legs to his chest and rested his head onto them. He closed his eyes, but all that filled his mind was Niki’s sobbing next to him. He was never the friend that made everyone happy or wiped away all their tears. But he knew he would be there for Niki when she was ready.

Wilbur opened his eyes, yet the darkness that he saw seconds ago still remained. It took him moments before he figured out that there was some kind of cloth over his eyes. He tried to move his hand, but he found an odd kind of resistance when he did so. The odd feeling of rope around his hands made him realize it was around his ankles as well. They were spread apart about half a foot, each of them tied to something Wilbur couldn’t identify. He shifted against whatever he was sitting on, but his abdomen also felt the familiar pressure around his hands and ankles.

“Oh, are you awake now?” The echoing voice of Ghostbur was slightly quieter than normal, but Wilbur chose not to focus on it.

“What? I didn’t even fall asleep.” Wilbur tried to squint into the darkness, but it was of no use.

“Oh, I thought you did. You stopped responding for… a week? Probably not in your time though, just my ghost time.”

“I-” Wilbur’s voice wavered, he didn’t remember falling asleep, he supposed that he was so exhausted that he didn’t feel the passage of time through a dream. “Sorry for leaving you hanging.”

“It’s alright! Someone else was with me for a little bit. That was nice.”

Wilbur sat up slightly, the implications of someone else in Wilbur’s- well Ghostbur’s now as well- limbo were much more frightening than Ghostbur realized. “Who did you see?” Wilbur cleared his throat.

“Didn’t see them. It was sorta muffled? I could’ve sworn that they were in another room but they were talking about you!”

“What were they saying?” Wilbur’s voice returned to being skeptical.

“I-”

Ghostbur was interrupted by Niki’s voice. “You’re awake.” Her voice was sharp with edges that seemed to cut into Wilbur.

He slightly frowned before forcing a smile, “Niki! Glad to see you again.” Wilbur awkwardly laughed, “Well, I guess see isn’t the right word. It’s good to hear you though.” Wilbur didn’t know if warmness naturally welcomed itself into Wilbur’s voice or if he forced it to maintain some kind of control over his circumstances.

However, control was desperately out of his hands as he felt the collision of something hitting his face. He could barely process it before the pain stung his cheek. “What the fuck!?” The words came out before Wilbur processed them, but he frankly didn’t mind.

“What’s wrong, what’s wrong, what’s wrong,” Ghostbur’s worried voice spoke quickly to the point where Wilbur wouldn’t be able to catch what he was saying if it was something different.

“Who are you,” Niki growled at Wilbur. The words made Wilbur’s breath catch in his throat.

“Wilbur, my name is Wilbur- what’s going on?” Panic flew into his voice by mistake. Did Niki not remember who he was? He supposed that would make sense as to why she was so scared earlier, but he wasn’t gone that long. After thirteen and a half years, he still remembered her clear as day.

“Don’t start fucking with me,” another punch came from the other direction. Wilbur hissed in pain along with Ghostbur. “Who the hell are you?” Niki’s normally high voice lowered in a way that made Wilbur subconsciously shiver.

“I- I’m Wilbur Soot. Ex-leader of L’Manberg, uh- son of Phil. Father of Fundy. I-” Wilbur was cut off by another collision to his bottom jaw. Wilbur winced from the pain as it hit a burn that was somehow uncovered. Ghostbur’s mantra of apologizing slipped into Wilbur’s speech, “I’m sorry.”

Niki laughed, “Oh, so now you have the audacity to feel sorry? You come all the way out here, dressed in something he would wear, claim to be him, and you expect me to be nice to you? Oh, perhaps I’ll bake you a pastry and wish you a farewell. Hm, that sounds nice right?”

Before Wilbur could speak, Niki punched his jaw. “Look, look, please stop, I'm sorry. I just wanted to talk.” While he feared for his own safety, he also worried about the pain Ghostbur was in as well.

“Talk about what?” Niki hissed out.

Wilbur flinched as he expected to be hit again, but found after a few moments that nothing came. “I just saw you and figured we could- I honestly didn’t think it through. I- I saw your bird. Uh… he was red! He was chirping and I followed him into the forest because getting revived still didn’t revive the brain cells I’ve lost over the years. And, and…” Wilbur tried to think about what details were relevant. He didn’t want to get too off-track and upset Niki, but at the same time, if he was too vague he might receive the same consequence. “I saw you, you talked to him… I can’t remember what, but you saw me! And I saw you, and we ran through the forest. I honestly think I chased you.” Wilbur awkwardly laughed, waiting a moment for Niki to respond.

Although it wasn’t with a punch, the way she grabbed the front of his shirt frightened him all the same. “Why are you dressed like him? Sounding exactly like him. Acting like him, even.” The shirt slightly coming off of his chest made him realize he didn’t have his armor on. He hoped Niki didn’t destroy it.

“A-acting like who?” He prepared himself for the impact, but he wasn’t ready for it to happen, hoping she would not hit him again, as he still winced from the impact.

“You fucking know who!” Niki yelled.

Ghostbur’s apologizing interrupted any clear-thinking he would have had. “Please, just shut up and this will stop happening,” he whispered before realizing Niki could still hear him.

“Don’t you dare tell me to shut up, I have control over everything that happens here. I have control over if you’ll eat today or in two weeks. I have several favors from Technoblade that I’ll gladly redeem. I can make your life here a living hell. Don’t fucking test me.”

She let go of Wilbur’s shirt, and the chair slightly toppled as she was apparently pulling him up the whole time. He heard the footsteps echo away slowly as he quietly spoke, “Fuck.”

Ghostbur’s murmur waved into his mind. He heard Niki walk away previously and took that as a sign that he could talk. “I- I’m sorry for cursing and shit- wait- I’m sorry for cursing and stuff.” He hoped the slip-up would have made Ghostbur laugh, but he barely got anything as a response.

The still present sting on his cheek reminded him of why. He was about to apologize, but he didn’t know what for. About going to where Niki was? For scaring her? For getting punched? He should probably say something about the last one, but it wasn’t his fault at all. He was tied down and blindfolded, there wasn’t much he could honestly do. He tried to reason with her, but she apparently thought he was someone else.

Instead, he sighed as he shifted slightly. The ropes were still just as tight as before.

“Why did she do that? She knows I’m me right? I told her, but she just didn’t understand somehow.”

Ghostbur thought for a moment, “Maybe… Maybe she doesn’t believe you? I- I’m sorry, I know it’s stupid.” Ghostbur’s voice trailed off as he felt he was already being dismissed.

“Oh,” realization struck Wilbur harder than Niki punched. “No no no no, when is she coming back?” He knew Ghostbur didn’t know the answer, but he sought relief regardless.

“I… I think she said tomorrow or two weeks? Sorry, it’s sort of hard to remember.”

Fear panged through Wilbur’s chest as he shouted, “Niki? Niki, I need to tell you something.” The silence of air filled his ears. “Niki!” Was Niki really going to leave him down here? After all they’d been through, she was going to toss him aside like garbage? No- garbage wasn’t tied down to a chair. Garbage was at least allowed to be outside.

“Nix! I admit that I’m not Wilbur,” the lie wouldn’t take him far, but if Niki was in denial it was possible it could get him out of here. After seconds of silence, Wilbur was greeted by quiet steps. They slowly walked closer as Wilbur almost grinned from getting Niki’s attention. Niki moved the cloth around Wilbur’s eyes and took it off.

He squinted at the sudden brightness and saw that Niki had tears in her eyes. “Niki, what’s wrong?” He tensed thinking he was going to get hurt or perhaps taunted, but Niki collapsed in front of Wilbur, looping her arms around Wilbur’s abdomen. A sob erupted from her throat as Wilbur felt familiar pity in his chest.

“Um- it’s alright, it’s okay?” Wilbur didn’t know how to comfort her, but he still wanted to do something. Niki only sobbed harder, clinging to Wilbur for dear life. “I’m not really sure what you want me to say. How about deep breaths? Just go in one two three four, good, now hold one two three four.” Wilbur continued counting for Niki and felt her trembling slowly decrease. “Nix, are you okay?”

Niki hesitantly stopped holding Wilbur, only to pull a hand over her mouth as she started crying again. She slowly took her hand off to slowly admit, “Wi- Wilbur… it’s-” Niki cut herself off as she awkwardly hugged Wilbur’s neck. Wilbur sat still in the chair, unable to move due to the bonds around him.

Warm tears dripped onto Wilbur’s neck, “Wilbur you’re alive.”

#dream smp #dream smp fanfic #wilbur #c!wilbur #alivebur #ghostbur #c!niki #dsmp niki #dsmp wilbur #dsmp

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tagsecretsanta · 3 years

Text

From @MissSquidTracy

to @scattergraph

Secret Santa does not own this work, full credit to the author above!

Gordon liked to think of himself as the fashionista of the family.

Sure, his Hawaiian shirts sometimes drew attention of the unwanted kind, but the aquanaut was a firm believer in using clothing as a means of non-verbal communication. John was living proof of this theory.

Unfortunately, all of the freedom associated with self-expression went down the toilet with a resounding ‘flush’ when tradition dictated your attire, even if only for a day.

“Seriously, grandma?” Alan grouched, his bottom lip poking out to form his signature pout when he spied the Tracy matriarch descending the stairs with an armful of colourful sweaters.

“Zip it, kid,” Sally rasped, her tone offering no room for negotiation, “This year marks the tenth anniversary of the Tracy Christmas Album, and I’ll not have your attitude souring the occasion.”

Scott and Virgil shared a look of mutual disgust as Sally handed them two hideously baggy and itchy looking jumpers.

“Don’t you two start as well,” Sally warned, yanking a loose thread off the sleeve of John’s before tossing it towards the redhead, “Anyone caught sulking will be in the kitchen with me for the rest of the afternoon. I’ve just finished a fresh batch of liver and onion stuffing and could use a taste tester.”

Five jumpers were yanked over five heads in perfect unison.

A nod from Sally affirmed her satisfaction with her grandson’s new-found cooperation.

Gordon grimaced and scratched absently as the coarse fibres tickled the soft skin of his neck. Posing for the annual Christmas album photograph was a tradition that stretched right back to their days on the ranch, yet he found himself becoming more disillusioned with it the older he got. Maybe it was the discomfort of wearing an unnecessary extra layer in Tracy Island’s heat. Maybe it was the disappointment of no longer having snow to wake up to on Christmas morning. Maybe it was the absence of his parents, and for the last three years, at least one of his brothers.

“Who’s on the roster for today?” Kayo asked, striding into the room and wordlessly scooping up the one remaining jumper that was equally as ugly as the abominations adorning the torsos of her male colleagues.

In an effort to preserve the family element of the season, Scott had devised a strategy where just one member of International Rescue acted as the primary point of contact for any rescue calls that came through on Christmas Day, be them sea, earth or space based. Last year, Virgil had volunteered and been called to Nigeria to deal with a flash flood. The year before, Kayo had drawn the short straw and ended up assisting with the evacuation of a small town in Chile when a nearby volcano blew it’s top. The year before, Gordon had helped clear away the debris caused by a three-way semi collision on one of Australia’s busiest highways. The aquanaut had been instrumental in ensuring three hundred people made it home in time for Christmas, despite it coming at the expense of his own.

Fairness dictated that Virgil, Kayo and Gordon were exempt from being called upon this Christmas unless absolutely necessary. Accordingly, the honour of being ATD (available to deploy) fell to Scott, John, and Alan to hash out.

One quick round of rock, paper, scissors later, and Scott found himself wondering what brothers three and five would look like with their heads shaved.

“Alright, scoot in!” Sally ordered, returning with Alan’s tablet which she held aloft in an attempt to get a good angle, “Scott and John, you two stand at the back. Gordon and Virgil, you kneel in front of your brothers. Kayo and Alan, I need you both to sit at the front. We’re going for a tiered approach this year.”

A healthy amount of shuffling ensued as each Tracy (plus Kayo) moved into position and tried desperately to make himself/herself look decent. Scott yanked on the hem of his jumper in an attempt to cover up his belt. Virgil tried to hoist his up so that he wasn’t rocking the off the shoulder look. John scrubbed at his nose as the acrylic material began to trigger one of his many allergies. Gordon fanned his face with a hand as sweat began to bead across his forehead. Alan tugged fruitlessly on sleeves that fell woefully short of his wrists, and Kayo demanded that Virgil tell her honestly whether the shape of her jumper made her look fat.

Sally was firmly of the opinion that jumpers had to be vomit-inducingly ugly in order to be ‘festive’. The designs adorning each of the six knitted atrocities in front of her offered indisputable visual evidence of this belief.

Scott was brandishing a bright blue snowman, while Virgil sported a dark green reindeer (complete with light-up antlers). John was the unwilling wearer of an orange gingerbread man, and Gordon was proudly modelling a yellow penguin (complete with a squeezable beak that sang Jingle Bells if you so much as looked at it). Alan appeared indifferent to the red elf plastered across his chest, and Kayo was trying to make the best of her rapidly unravelling black turtledoves.

“Smile!” Sally sang, her finger poised, “On the count of three, everybody say cheese! One…two…three!”

“CHEESE!”

Click.

Flash.

The end result was less than impressive. Scott had blinked at precisely the wrong moment. The grin plastered across Virgil’s face was nothing short of horrifying. John’s eyes were almost as red as his hair. Gordon was shamelessly modelling a chunk of leftover spinach in his right canine. Alan had twisted his head to peer at Virgil at the last second and was a blond and red blur…

Unsurprisingly, Kayo was the only one who’d managed to look straight at the camera and smile like a normal person.

After reviewing her rather substandard snap and tutting in disapproval, Sally tightened her grip on the tablet and ushered her dispersing grandsons back into formation with a ‘shoo’ motion of her free hand, “Come on you lot, form up. Nobody leaves this room until we have a decent photo. How you boys can look so good in real life but so bad on canvas is beyond me. Your dad always said-“

The sudden departure of an elf wearing Tracy brought all dialogue to an abrupt halt.

“Sorry, grandma!” John yelled as he made a beeline for the stairs, the redness of his nose akin to Rudolph, “But this wool is giving me a nosebleed. You’ll have to take the next shot without me, or just make the one we have work. It might be for the best, as you know how Alan gets unforgivable gas whenever he’s forced to pose.”

The youngest Tracy let loose a honk of outrage, but was dutifully ignored as, one by one, his other brothers began to filter out of the lounge. Excuses of varying degrees of believability bounced off the walls as three more bodies scampered to freedom.

It took all of ten seconds for most of the lounge’s inhabitants to disperse, leaving Kayo and Alan alone with a somewhat disappointed looking Grandma Tracy.

“Oh well,” the Tracy matriarch sighed, reaching to pick up the blue snowman that had been ejected over the first floor bannister, “There’s always next year.”

Kayo smiled thinly and made a mental note to spend next Christmas with her father.

-x-

As well as being the family fashionista, Gordon was also a self-appointed expert in gift giving.

His affinity for making people smile helped tremendously, since it made the process of choosing something his recipient would find meaningful much easier. He wasn’t adverse to buying his brothers practical gifts that they could use in their everyday lives (the tea cosy he’d bought for John the Christmas of fifty four was still in active service), but he knew they had all of the utilitarian gadgets they could ever want or need, courtesy of Brains and their nine figure bank account.

Cue unicorn poo bath bombs, flamingo slippers, and personalised face cushions.

This year however, he’d outdone himself.

Unbeknownst to anyone outside of the family, Gordon was quite the expert on upcycling. He had a knack for seeing potential in things that other people had written off as trash (like Scott, for instance), and took great delight in working with his hands.

It had taken several days, but he’d finally managed to relocate one of their dad’s old hoverbikes from the ranch to Tracy Island. It had taken up most of the room inside Thunderbird Four’s dry tube station, however he’d managed to offload it in the hanger and perform the desired modifcations in the (relative) privacy of Four’s module.

Alan had stopped believing in Santa when he was seven. With Lucy dead and Jeff away for three quarters of the year, Scott had taken it upon himself to safeguard whatever remained of his youngest brother’s innocence. Every year on Christmas Eve, without fail, the eldest Tracy donned a red suit and beard and made a big (and often loud) show of depositing presents under the tree. Unfortunately, a rather heated debate one year over Santa’s handwriting (which looked suspiciously similar to Virgil’s), had culminated in the death of Alan’s wide-eyed belief.

Gordon had found the whole debacle rather heart-breaking. Sure, he’d been a year younger than Alan when he himself had stopped believing, but the process had been much gentler. He’d made the innocent mistake of asking John one year to help him with some basic calculations regarding the speed and size of Santa’s sleigh, however had ended up on the receiving end of a lecture from his redheaded brother on reindeer anatomy and wind resistance.

His belief had died peacefully in its sleep nine hours later.

Still, having a belief squished verbally was a lot less harsh than having it squished visually. Poor Alan.

Gordon smiled to himself as he inspected his handiwork. He’d outfitted the storage compartment on the back of the red hoverbike he’d abducted to look like the back end of a sleigh. He’d toyed with the idea of enlisting the help of a couple of real life reindeer (or ponies) to act as draught animals, but had decided against it after reviewing the vaccination and transport requirements.

Despite managing to complete the modifications inside Four’s module, Gordon had been forced to relocate his creation elsewhere when he and Virgil had been called away on an impromptu rescue involving a couple of unqualified divers. With his back against the wall, the aquanaut had picked the first alternative hiding place that had come into his head.

The roof.

As ridiculous as it sounded, the glass roof of Tracy Island’s lounge was anchored into numerous rocky outcroppings that, when utilised effectively, provided excellent cover. So long as nobody glanced up, of course.

A sigh of pride bubbled up Gordon’s diaphragm. He might not be able to reverse the damage caused by Virgil’s handwriting gaffe, but he could at least give his youngest brother a laugh and deliver his gifts in style instead.

So preoccupied was the aquanaut with buffing out an imaginary mark from the hoverbike’s bumper, that he failed to notice the Island’s automated weather system bark out the alarm for a storm warning.

Thankfully, John didn’t.

-x-

Scott had checked high and low.

And then high again, just to be sure.

The eldest Tracy was stumped. Gordon had somehow managed to vanish clean off the face of the earth.

Not that such a discovery would usually cause the eldest Tracy any concern (the aquanaut had a knack for evading capture), but Christmas lunch was due to be served any minute and they were one body short at the kitchen table.

“Gordon?” Scott called, shoving his head into the bathroom for what felt like the billionth time that hour. He’d tried calling the aquanaut’s phone, but had been sent to voicemail both times. His biometric tracker showed that he was still on the island, however couldn’t generate an exact location for him. EOS’s heat signature scans weren’t much better, courtesy of the wonky connection brought about by the oncoming storm.

“I’m stumped,” Scott huffed, admitting defeat with a bemused shrug, “He’s gone. I’ve checked the hanger, the changing rooms, his room, the bathroom, and the gym. Nothing. It’s like he’s poofed into thin air.”

Virgil opened his mouth to reply, however was cut off by the arrival of John, whose expression was an expert blend of concern and flippancy.

“I’ll give you three guesses as to his location,” the redhead began, “If you win, I’ll do your laundry for a week. If you lose, you have to eat my portion of grandma’s stuffing.”

Scott quickly did the math. It was a risk he was willing to take.

“Is he stuck inside his launch chute?”

“No.”

“Is he swimming in the lagoon?”

“No.”

“Is he hijacking Thunderbird One again?”

“No.”

….

“Well?” the eldest brother demanded, hands on hips. He had no interest in John drawing out his victory for any longer than necessary.

The redhead allowed a small smile to grace his face before gesturing with an index finger towards the ceiling.

Scott blinked as his blue gaze clapped onto a jean-clad butt scrabbling around atop the reinforced glass, oblivious to the small audience he’d amassed as he tried to evade the rapidly intensifying rain.

“The roof?” Scott honked, one hand fisting itself through his hair, “I take my eyes off him for two minutes, and he ends up on the roof?”

“Whoa, whoa!” a new voice piped up, it’s baritone depth failing to bring Scott any relief, “He’s where?!”

The eldest Tracy said nothing, opting instead to stab a finger upwards. Ever the cooperative one, Virgil cast his eyes in the desired direction, a small frown infecting his face as he did so.

“We should probably get him down,” the engineer announced, cringing when Gordon slipped on the now wet glass and starfished on his back, “He’s still wearing his Christmas jumper, and the blasted thing will short-circuit if it gets damp.”

A loud ‘thwack’ echoed around the lounge as Scott’s palm got itself well acquainted with his face.

-x-

John had never been one for big displays of emotion.

A polite smile or, in extreme cases, a shoulder pat were usually the preferred methods his brothers employed whenever they wanted to convey feelings of endearment towards him.

Christmas was an exception, however, and it was without a shred of his usual awkwardness that the redhead enveloped his fish brother in a tight hug, the scent of singed fabric tickling his nostrils.

Virgil’s extraction of their younger brother hadn’t quite been quick enough, and it was with a suitable amount of humility that Gordon shuffled back into the safety and dryness of the lounge, a thin trail of smoke rising from the beak of his thoroughly soaked penguin jumper.

“How bad was it?” John queried, biting his cheek to keep his humour in check as he took in the static strands of hair atop Gordon’s head. The aquanaut looked as if he’d just stuck his finger inside a plug socket which, on reflection, wasn’t as much of an inaccurate analogy as the redhead had originally thought.

Gordon ignored his space brother in favour of slowly shuffling towards the staircase, an involuntary yelp escaping when his traitorous jumper suddenly gave off a stray spark.

Virgil snorted and flicked a hand through his hair to rid it of the rainwater it had collected, “Nothing to worry about on the health side of things, but man John, you should have seen it. He nearly took off like a firework.”

The redhead quirked an unimpressed brow, “Serves him right for skipping over the electrical safety briefings I sent down last week. You’d think he’d have a better understanding of how water and electricity don’t mix, what with his ‘Bird being the only one kitted out for aquatic reconnaissance.”

A shrug was offered by Virgil in lieu of a response, “I’m sure all will be revealed once he’s properly earthed himself. Meanwhile, I’d better get that hoverbike down before it crashes through the roof and lands on someone’s head. Can you send Scott up to help? I could use a couple of his grapples.”

John threw his brother a mock salute before breezing off towards the kitchen, only to stop when he caught sight of a familiar blue outline on one of the sofas.

“Be there in a minute!” Scott mumbled, his cheeks bulging like an oversized hamster as he chomped his way through an indulgent looking doughnut.

John felt his gaze darken as he took stock of the stray sprinkles in the corner of his eldest brother’s mouth, “Where did you get those?”

Scott held a finger up as he swallowed, thumping his chest when a stubborn piece of dough got lodged, “Mainland, to make up for grandma’s sprout and salmon tart. Help yourself, there’s plenty left. I’ve only had three.”

The lack of control Scott had when confronted with unhealthy snacks never failed to amaze his brothers.

“You want to take it easy,” Virgil warned, motioning with one hand to his waistline, “Too many of those could send you to an early grave.”

Scott flicked his hand dismissively and reached for a fourth doughnut.

“Don’t care. I won’t be the one carrying the coffin.”

- FIN -

#thunderbirds are go #Gordon Tracy #alan tracy #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #John Tracy #tag team secret santa #secret santa 2020 #MissSquidTracy

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crossmusings · 3 years

Text

Broken Eggs

Foster

An FFXIV Write Submission

Braum had never particularly liked boars- Particularly wild boars. They were ill tempered, territorial, mean things, with more muscle than sense. Once upon a time, somebody might have talked him out of that opinion, if they’d shown him one sweet enough to disprove it. Now, he was fairly certain he’d never be able to look at one again without debating whether pork was on the menu for the evening. The stable had been devastated by the creature long before he’d arrived to help. Maybe the Chocobos within had been making too much noise, or maybe the thing had just woken up and chosen violence for the day. Whatever the case was, it had torn through the fences like they were made of tissue paper; The valiant young farmhand and the birds he was charged to raise and protect had fared little better. It had gone on a rampage, putting its tusks and armored hide to work ripping at the ground, the structure, and its ill fated residents all, scattering wood and dirt and gore through its trail of destruction. The cacophony had drawn Braum’s attention, leading him to charge off from the road. He’d been too late to do anything more than dispatch the Boar, and carry the limp body of the farmhand up to the house that overlooked these stables. The owners, a kind older couple of Hyur, had been devastated. He had suffered through tears and wails, and an awkward, shaken hug before gently separating himself from the duo to go and tend to the boar, so they wouldn’t have to. He was half way out of the ruined stables, dragging the slain boar behind him to take to the Woodwailers so they could sort out what to do with its hide and meat, when he heard it. A tentative, weak little peep. At first, he thought it might be the death rattles of one of the grown Chocobos- but when it came again, it came from nowhere near any of the bodies. It was off in a corner, half muffled within a heap of hay. The smart thing, perhaps, would have been to leave well enough alone. Whatever it was was sure to be more heartbreak, or at the very least, a problem for the breeders whenever they found the nerve to come tend to the remains of their stock. Some itch at the back of his mind had him dropping the rope anyway, warily approaching that hay and whatever hid within it, afraid of what fresh sadness he might encounter. At first, all he saw was broken eggs- a warm nest, ruined in the boar’s rampage. Then came another peep- and a flash of movement that startled Braum badly enough to force a strangled grunt out of his throat, as he stumbled back a step and fell firmly on his plate-shrouded ass. At first, he wasn’t sure what he was looking at. It was an ugly little thing- shiny, wet, covered in little pieces of white chitin and a stretchy, opaque membrane, a blunt beak spread wide to loose... A defiant, soft peep. He realized, belatedly, that the little bits of white, and the membrane, weren’t attached to it at all. Just hanging off of it, and soon discarded as it stretched its little wings and shook off, sending little pieces of goop and eggshell flying. With no feathers to speak of, at least for another few weeks, it was no wonder he hadn’t recognized the fresh-hatched Chocobo at a glance. Even so, once he got past the initial shock, he couldn’t help but recognize it as a precious little thing. Most of the egg, it successfully discarded from itself, save for a small piece that sat squarely atop its head, slipping forward to cover its still-closed eyes. It looked, for a moment, quite a bit the same as when he closed the visor on his helmet. He found himself smiling at this little walking miracle- a survivor of a horror it hadn’t been alive to witness, saved by chance and a bit of hay, mere inches from less lucky kin. He’d have to bring it up to the farmers. But then... Would that be a kindness, or cruelty, to give them something helpless and new to care for, when they had just lost all else? It was near an hour later, that he finally managed to drag the boar’s carcass to the nearest camp of Woodwailers, out of breath and sweating through his gambeson, quietly regretting ever choosing to wear plate in his career. One of the Wailers met with him quickly enough, trotting over from the cozy fire they rested around, wielding a lance and a smile- wary but polite, as most of them tended to be. “We got word from one of the scouts you were on the way. Nasty business, back there- a real shame. Good of you to bring the carcass, though- leather workers would have our skins if we didn’t treat it right, even with what it caused. You can leave it there, we’ll take care of it.” Braum, of course, could only pant and nod, giving a weary thumbs up to the man as he dropped the rope and doubled over to catch his breath. Twelve, but he’d take a fight over hauling something that heavy over any distance. When the Wailer realized no verbal reply was coming, he simply shrugged, stepping around Braum to undo the rope he’d tied around the boar, gathering it into a good loop to hand it back to the man, a question on his lips. “Say- any of the birds survive? They aren’t the only breeders in the shroud, but... Every Chocobo counts, these days.” Braum, managing by then to straighten up and take the rope back, shook his head slightly, affecting an apologetic expression- One that turned rather quickly to awkward stone when a curious peep sounded from the satchel at his side, the blunt end of a beak pushing free from under the flap. The Wailer, to his credit, seemed to understand well enough, a faint grin tugging at his lips. He put a finger to them, offering Braum a sly wink and jerking his chin towards the road.

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite

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cant-blink · 4 years

Text

My Name Is...

Summary: Rodan asks San if he could teach him the dragon’s native tongue.

“Hey, San?”

Rodan’s voice was thick with sleep, cracking in some places, and he shakes himself to further wake. It’s late, and he had only just stirred from sleep from within the magma pool of their volcano nest. He’s been sleeping all day, as he tended to do nowadays since needing to heal his broken wing. But dozing off all day doesn’t make him any less tired when he wakes up in the middle of the night. It was in complete defiance of his natural circadian rhythm to force himself into this nocturnal habit, but it was the only way he can talk to the heads one-on-one.

The left head especially was the easiest to start conversation with, as opposed to Ichi, who keeps the chit-chat to a minimum, or Ni, who doesn’t talk at all really.

Besides, he had a goal tonight and he doubted the others will help. If anything, San was his best chance.

Upon hearing his voice, the left head’s horns perks out a bit before he gives a glance towards him, red eyes flashing in the lava’s glow. A grunt of acknowledgment is made, prompting Rodan to continue in a now less-tired voice. He wants to make sure his request was clear and no-nonsense in tone, but not demanding.

“I want to learn your language.”

“What?” San asks, turning to look towards him with brows furrowed in confusion. That reaction was kinda weird, certainly not one Rodan was expecting. Had they never gotten asked about something like this before. He doubted it. Maybe there’s a bit of a language barrier going on here; San is prone to that, especially if Rodan speaks too fast. So he speaks slower.

“Can you teach me how to speak like you?” He waves a claw a small circle motion. “You know, like in your native tongue? Is that better?”

“I know what you say,” San points out with a small huff of irritation. “Just want to know if I heard that right. Why do you want to talk like us?”

“Because,” he drawls. “We’re mates now, we oughta be able to share our culture. Plus, y’know, it’d be great to actually understand what you guys are always yelling about instead of staying up late to ask you all the time. Save me some damn sleep.”

“........”

Rodan shifts his weight a bit restlessly as San stared at him with an intense unblinking gaze. He always does that, like he was scrutinizing every inch of him. Made him feel like he was being stared down on by a predator, but he refuses to make those feelings known. Instead, he waves his claw in a circular motion again. “Well?”

“.....” San finally tears his eyes away from him to look towards his brothers before back to him. His words were spoken with genuine curiosity. “Why would you wanna learn if you’re going to die anyway?”

Rodan doesn’t answer that, prompting San to smirk a bit as he continues. “You put work in learning our tongue, only for us to kill you. It’s stupid.”

“.........” He didn’t know why this hurt as much as it did. He knew deep down in his core that Ghidorah had full intentions to kill him by the end of all of this; to expect otherwise would be foolish. But his heart just really tried hard to believe there was a different fate in store for him, refusing to believe their bond to be anything but genuine. Especially since Ichi knew of his feelings and seemed to indulge in them himself. Hell, they chose to mate with him! So knowing that after all they’ve been through, his destiny hasn’t changed...

It only feels worse, seeing that San took such delight in it. There was that familiar glint in those ruby eyes; the same glint whenever San toyed with him. It was when he heard an added snicker from the left head that prompts him to respond in a soft voice.

“I mean, why did you guys bother to learn my tongue? If you’re all going to die one day...”

“Our kind can't die,” San said with haughty confidence in his sing-song voice. “So that doesn’t work.”

“Whatever,” Rodan continued, not sure whether to believe that or not. These things were resilient as hell, but not THAT resilient, surely. But then he remembered seeing them regrow a head and- You know what, best to just drop it altogether. Stay on focus! “You bothered to learn how to talk to us. What’s the point if you’re just going to kill us all anyway?”

San doesn’t respond, tilting his head slightly at the question. Rodan recognized his foothold and immediately took it.

“Do you learn the languages of the other planets that you’ve went to?”

“.... Sometimes,” San answered carefully. “But most times, we don’t stay too long on planets, so I know only few words.”

“And what was the point of learning those words?”

“...... I just thought they sounded funny.”

Blink. That was his only reaction to that for a moment before he continued on with his argument. “Well, my point still stands. Even if I’m going to die soon, I still want to learn to talk to you in a way you can really understand. No more confusion between us in the time we have together. I want to enjoy being with you more than I already do. I want to help when you guys are upset and that’ll be so much easier to do when I can understand what the hell you guys are on about...”

San doesn’t answer for a long time, enough that Rodan was about to speak up again just to keep the conversation from dying. But there was no need, as the left head found his tongue.

“You enjoy being with us?” His brows furrowed again, as if unable to grasp the concept.

“Yeah!” Rodan had to try to keep his voice down. “Of course I do. Why else would I choose you guys as my mate?”

“Your mate?”

“Yeah...” There was the beginnings of a sinking feeling in his chest and he didn’t know why. “You... you guys mated with me... That means a lot to my kind. Does...” He hesitates before daring to push on, voice softer as the sinking feeling in his chest gets worse. “Does that mean nothing to you?” He dreaded asking that, but it needed to be done. He needed to make sure they were both on the same page. But once more, San’s limited vocabulary hinders them.

“What does ‘mate’ mean?”

“And you see? That’s why I want to learn your tongue.” He steps closer to him. “Just like I teach you mine all the time. ‘Mate’ is what we did when Ni hurt me, remember? With my kind, that means we love each other, for the rest of our lives.”

“Love?”

Rodan nods again, continuing to step closer so that his beak brushes against San’s neck, the left head making no move to push him away. Little things like that give him hope and he allows his smile to grow, his golden eyes looking up at the dragon. “Say it with me, I love you.”

San doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watching him with those large intent eyes. When he does speak, he does so slowly to make sure he says it exactly as he heard it. “I love you.”

That’s all he’s ever wanted to hear from Ghidorah, and even if San didn’t mean it, it still brought his heart out of that sink hole in his chest. Maybe someday, he’ll hear those words again, spoken with genuine warmth and love. Too much to wish for? Maybe. But he can hope.

He keeps himself nuzzled against those scales, beak gently nibbling in a groom. San is still and says nothing, just watching him before glancing towards his brothers. The left head twitches their massive wings, the only sign of his inner debate with himself. After a moment, he mutters softly. “I’ll ask my brothers if it’s okay to teach you. Maybe fun.”

Well, at least it’s something and he lets out a breath. “Thank you.”

“What does that mean?”

Ghidorah really doesn't get a lot of nice things said to them, huh?

“When someone does something nice, you say ‘thank you’ to them to show you’re happy for what they’ve done. Or will do.”

“And you say thank to us? You are a funny slave. A funny silly slave,” San chuckles. After a moment, he makes a sound Rodan’s certain he’s heard from them before, although it must be rare as he can’t readily recall where or when he’s heard it. But it sounded beautiful, like a gentle musical trill.

“What does that mean?” he dared to ask, unsure if he was going to get an answer given how San wanted permission from his older siblings. But maybe the left head can give him just one word...?

And it seemed that’s exactly what San was doing as he gives him another amused look before answering. “That’s your name.”

His eyes brighten, having learned that his name sounded so nice in their tongue. Can he make those sounds himself? He didn’t know, but just hearing it from them would be enough for him. “Yeah, that sounds right.” San giggles at this and it emboldens Rodan to ask: “How do I say ‘Ghidorah’?”

Was that pushing his luck? Doesn’t seem like as San answered him without a fuss. It was a shorter sound, sharper, but still with that musical note. He runs it through his mind in a loop, not wanting to forget. His thoughts are only cut off when the left head continues.

“Now say thank to me.” San demands him and he pulls away to give him a look.

“First of all, it’s ‘thankS’ when used in that context. Second of all, that’s not how it works. You don’t demand it; you get it when you get it!” But despite giving this reprimand, his smile returns, wider than ever before his voice softens. “But thanks anyway.”

San smirks, before turning away to keep watching the horizon. Rodan leans against their body, settling beside them and draping his wing over their back to share his warmth with them. San and Ichi always seemed to enjoy when he did this. Yeah, Ni hated it, but getting bitten in the morning is always worth it. He just had to try to keep his wing folded away from the right side as best he can. As he rested his head upon their shoulder, nuzzling against San’s neck, he plays the sound San made to say 'Ghidorah’ in their native tongue. He wants to say it to them come morning, really show to Ichi that he was serious in wanting to learn.

Over and over, he whispers to himself in an attempt to articulate the foreign word, until he drifts off.

“Ghidorah!”

Ichi brings his head up from their morning bask at the unexpected call. It was spoken in their own tongue but with a very heavy, unknown accent to it. It was almost like the sound that woke them from dormancy in the ice, but less mechanical in nature. He turns to look towards the source and there was the bird, sitting in his lava pool with a proud look on his face. The eldest head narrows his eyes slightly, glancing at San who was grinning at the attempt. Ni was less amused, his face scrunched up in a scowl, disgusted to hear their beautiful language spoken by such a lowly creature.

Where on this mudball of a world did the bird learn to say that? Did he really need to ask? The youngest was always chatty with the bird during his night-watch and this was no doubt one of their little shenanigans. Very well, he can play along.

“Yes?” Ichi responds, also in their native tongue. At this, the bird hesitates, flight fingers twitching a bit as if uncertain. Ha, seems the inferior creature was still as clueless as ever. But that didn’t stop the bird from speaking again.

“Ghidorah,” He puffs out his chest plates. “My name is-” Okay, that was spoken in the earth tongue, and-

He spoke another word in their language, with that same heavy accent, making it practically unintelligible. Clearly not as practiced as the other word. This time, Ichi responded in the bird’s native tongue, just to make it clear that the bird needed to try that again. “Excuse me?”

The bird lets out a breath before trying again, the same exact words but slower this time. And with this extra care to pronounce the word correctly, Ghidorah understood and Ichi can’t stop a smirk from growing on his snout. San is giggling now as the middle head nods approvingly at the little fire pest.

“Indeed, that IS your name.” As Rodan gives himself a celebratory pat on the back, Ichi glances at his brothers with amusement, speaking in their native tongue once more. “Always nice when these lesser creatures name themselves ‘Slave’.”

San cracks up laughing.

#ghidorah #king ghidorah #rodan #rodorah #godzilla #king of the monsters #san #kevin

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jcmorrigan · 3 years

Note

Blakeworther headcanons. I don't have a specific theme or anything in mind. Go ham

Go ham, you say?

GO HAM, YOU SAY?

Sorry not sorry but this is about to become mega cringe time. Because I do *have* a specific set of headcanons preloaded but it is not at ALL what you asked for

I love crossovers, and I want to import the Bastard Trio into my current crossover hell fic. So I was kind of playing with their dynamic in my mind, and one of the ways I test out character dynamics is to send them on little imaginary missions to other crossover worlds in my mind. Now, I’m in the midst of watching a playthrough of Skyward Sword, which I have heretofore not experienced. And I’m not exactly finished with it. But for some mental warm-ups, I was thinking, “Okay. SkSw is the other big fandom I’m trying, and it’s as far from the G4 as you can get, so what if you put three sci-fi guys in a high fantasy setting and watched them go? What if they had to take Link’s journey, except their goal is most certainly not to save anything because they’re swaggering murderers? What would happen then?”

This...is that story. But only up through the part where I watched (the first of the Silent Realms). Maybe a part II later if I keep doing this?

-To blend in, our boys have gotten themselves some Loftwings. While Vincent’s and Victor’s look like ordinary giant shoebills...oh. Oh, dear. Albert...how did you manage to turn it into a Dream Eater so fast? Its beak is white, its feathers are black, it has no eyes and people are STARING.

-Albert refuses to discard or fix the Dream Eater Loftwing. It’s going to be his steed for this entire quest. Joy.

-NOBODY played fair when they had to race against Groose. They teamed up to knock him off his bird and it’s a miracle he survived. Especially since he wasn’t supposed to survive that.

-Like I said, I have no idea what their endgame goal is here because they’re certainly not trying to stop Demise. Or are they? Because they befriend Ghirahim right the heck away and it’s entirely possible they’re like “We’re from the future, this guy will shatter you, you deserve better, please leave Demise in the ground and join our team”

-And when I say they befriend Ghirahim right away I mean ESPECIALLY ALBERT

-Victor loves shopping at the bazaar because he can play-flirt with Peatrice and she’ll flirt right back. Meanwhile if the fortune teller attempts to reel in Vincent ONE MORE TIME there will be blood.

-Vincent Edgeworth is forcibly removed from the Skyloft bazaar

-Victor is the only person who remotely likes Fi, probably because she’s quite visibly supposed to be an AI and he is quite visibly part robot.

-They hit the ground and get going!

-Oh no. Kikwis. They hate Kikwis so much.

-The one that’s up in the tree, the three of them debate how to most quickly get down. Vincent: “We don’t bother and just say we did.” Victor: “If we threw a rock at it, it would fall out.” Albert: “I think we should set the whole tree on fire.”

-They get into the first dungeon, and you know that one segment where you have to vine-swing and the motion controls are so unforgiving? Vincent fell off those vines like twelve times and Victor and Albert lost their shit

-They get the beetle and now that thing’s a Dream Eater, too. Albert please stop doing this

-Back at Skyloft, doing sidequests is their least favorite thing. They do not give a SHIT about Gratitude Crystals if they don’t have to do so. The missing girl’s mom comes up to tell her problems and Vincent just goes “This affects me how?”. The brother says his sister went missing and Victor’s just like “We’ll take care of it!” and as soon as he’s out of earshot “Let’s not take care of it.” Cawlin hands them the love letter to deliver to Karane or Phoeni, Albert rips it in half in front of Cawlin, Cawlin starts bawling, Victor just goes “Actually I kinda wanted to do that one and see if we could start romance drama”

-Into Eldin Province and Mogmas are...only slightly less aggravating than Kikwis

-VINCENT ALMOST EXPLODES WHEN HE LEARNS THE KEY TO THE NEXT DUNGEON IS SPLIT IN PIECES AND HE HAS TO DIG IN THE DIRT FOR IT

-So then there’s that one passage in the valley where if you don’t just book it, your clothes will catch on fire. They blaze through it, and Fi determines that they’ve sustained no damage, which is good, because if they’d been exposed a moment longer, then surely one of them would be naked. Victor, hearing this, promptly tosses some personal item of his back into the high-heat area; “Oops. I dropped it. Go get it, Vincent.” Albert: “YES! GO GET IT, VINCENT!”

-It is only sheer willpower and Victor’s physical restraint that keeps Vincent from beating Ledd to a pulp.

-They actually kinda like hanging around the sacred springs, though. They’re tranquil places. A good way to just...not have to deal with all that noise. They can sit by the water quietly for a while, just watching it ripple.

-And back to business! They enter Lanayru, discover that the Time Crystals can revert this desert into a technological paradise and...yeah, it was way, WAY better in the past than it is now. They poke around some of the tech, taking notes for later in case they can reverse-engineer any of it.

-Dream Eater Beetle has been replaced by a brand-new shiny Hook Beetle! Albert, please don’t turn this one into a - GOD DAMMIT ALBERT. HOW ARE YOU EVEN DOING THIS WITH INANIMATE OBJECTS.

-They get in such a fight about how to place the generator switches. Victor is trying his best but he’s SURE they don’t arrange the way the other two are trying to tell him they arrange

-Every time they pass Ghirahim they stop to chat with him about how the demon uprising is going, also aren’t heroines just so freaking annoying? Zelda, Vanora, why are they always getting in the way?

-Victor of course tries to put the verbal moves on Impa. At this point Vincent and Albert know he just does this for fun, he’s faithful to the two of them, but still, they gotta do the obligatory eyeroll and groan

-”Yes, Victor. She’s very pretty. We’re gay, not blind”

-Vincent actually enjoys playing the Goddess Harp, surprisingly. He can just zone into the music.

-The Imprisoned gets out and hoo boy, they’re really not supposed to be DEFEATING evil just yet but Albert wants to cut off some TOES (and this ends up yielding them knowledge about the Isle of Songs so it’s all good)

-Scrapper annoys them all and visibly offends Victor.

-Vincent likes to use the bellows from the Eldin dungeon to blow away anyone who tries to rope him into a sidequest. Albert then goes “I’ve just realized the potential we have!” and tries to blow people off the edge of Skyloft.

-They hate the remlits until they find out that the remlits go feral at night and now they love the remlits but only after dark

-Into the Thunderhead for the Isle of Songs. And YET AGAIN WE CANNOT AGREE ON HOW TO SOLVE THE PUZZLE THAT LETS US INSIDE

-Down to Faron’s realm to get to the Silent Realm. Once they’re in there and have learned about the guardians...

-Vincent: “Now we have to be CAREFUL and QUICK or else the guardians will expel us immediately, maybe even kill us.” Victor: “You might want to tell him that.” Vincent: “Wh - ALBERT NO”

-Albert is investigating a dormant guardian close-up and decides “I want to take one of these home.”

-Vincent: “NO, Albert, we can’t...hmmmm. Actually, we could probably weaponize them...” Victor: “CAN WE NOT?”

-And then cue them risking life and limb not to get what they even came here for but to pick up AS MANY DARK RELICS AS THEY CAN CARRY

And that’s as far as I’ve watched in SkSw so far. Not sure whether or not I’ll keep using it as a Blakeworther ground, but there, have the AU you *never* wanted

#vincent edgeworth #victor blake #albert krueger #SKYWARD SWORD AU #i still wanna do more stuff of them with the wham army #and ghirahim is wham army af

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ducktales-wco-oo · 3 years

Text

"The only condition is that I get to watch." Peter shrugs. "And that you remember that he's mine, otherwise do whatever you want with him. He's good at responses." A hand gripped Louie's headfeather's tighter where he was sitting on his lap, facing Ram.

A small whimper at the pain but otherwise there was no other reaction. This was more familiar than it should be having happened before. But if he tried to say anything, it would just make it worse. It would happen no matter what whether he wanted it or not.

- ✩ { @decanard } ✩

{ ☆ } There’s a reason Peter is his best friend, aside from the obvious... Or maybe, besides the obvious. It depends on how closely one would look into their relationship with both each other and now their boy-toys. What they would consider the more blatant of the similarities. It’s easy enough to tell that they get along. Practically growing up together will do that to a pair of young boys, surviving and exiting adolescence together. One of the few constants in Ram’s life was the Fitzroy family; mainly Peter and Augustus. The latter taught him and Peter what it means to be a man... and now they’re able to teach their boyfriends what it means to be THEIR’S.

Their shared history is simple to deduce. Their similar treatment of their partners, however? Played a little closer to the chest... for their own benefit, of course. But Augustus had been thorough in his life lessons— even if he’s still in the midst of reclaiming his own plaything —and Ram doubts that anyone even knows what goes on behind the scenes of their seemingly-innocent romances. Grip on Jayden’s waist is tight, near-bruising as a large hand FIRMLY keeps him in place on his lap. Other one gingerly runs through his hair, the touch deceptive in its fondness. He’s more than aware of the way Jayden tenses, the tiny duck attempting to keep from trembling as fingers card through his thick bangs, giving them the slightest of tugs every now and then, as if to remind him of who he is with.

Honestly, this conversation is LONG overdue... He’s been teasing the idea with Jayden for a while but he could tell that his boyfriend wasn’t certain whether his threats were empty or not. Apparently not, Ram’s eyes gleaming with amusement at Peter’s terms, a low chuckle slipping free as he jokingly muses, ❝ Ooooooooo... Someone’s kinky~ What? Is it your boy-toy you’re eager to see plowed, or do you just like lookin’ at my dick? ❞

Laughing at his own joke, he shakes his head and casually continues, ❝ But yeah— I hear ya, dude. You got yours and I got mine, but there’s nothing wrong with a bit of sharin’ between buds. An’ as long as you don’t kill him, I don’t give a shit WHAT you do with mine. ❞ Looking over Louie’s form, he hums softly in contemplation, a thoughtful grin spreading across his beak. He’s pretty cute... Not as much as HIS boyfriend, but good enough. Not quite as small, but that’s alright. He’s tiny enough compared to the large waterfowl. Unfortunately, his examination is cut short when Jayden moves on his lap, the tiny duck giving a small tug against the hand in his headfeathers. It’s not much, honestly... Minimal.

Still pisses Ram off though.

Growling, fingers dig into Jayden’s headfeathers and gives them a harsh YANK as a warning, Jayden only struggling once more. Whimpering at the harsh tug, tears prick in Jayden’s eyes as his head is wrenched back, neck twinging with pain and a shrill gasp barely heard above Ram’s aggravated growl, tone deep and dangerous, ❝ Hold the FUCK still. You’re embarrassin’ me, babe. ❞ Bending low to mutter against Jayden’s ear, he continues in a low murmur, ❝ Keep actin’ up an’ see what happens... ❞ Ram’s attention taken away from the discussion for a moment, Jayden debates whether he’s done enough to warrant sitting still for a moment.

He could just stop... Throbbing in his neck and difficulty breathing makes him want to; the air feels thick and suffocating, chest heaving with frantic breaths that mirror the pounding of his heart. Vision blurred, he shuts his eyes and TENSES his entire body as if afraid to so much as move a single breath... Then Jayden gives a frantic yank against Ram’s hold as if attempting to break free, despite knowing that he has no chance of it. But that’s fine. He doesn’t need to get away; he just needs Ram to be angry that he even tried.

The slap is dizzying...

Ears ringing and eyes blearily blinking as he tries to gather his surroundings, Jayden is only faintly aware that he’s lying on the ground after having fallen from Ram’s lap. Spitting some blood out of his mouth, the pain of a splitted-lip numbly washes over him. Familiar taste of iron taints his mouth, stomach churning at it as he shakily tries to lift himself up with his trembling arms. Closing his eyes, he shakes his head as if that will clear it, clear his vision... his hearing... Whimpering as he moves, there’s a small spurt of satisfaction as he hears Ram go—

❝ I oughta fuckin’ throw your sorry ass his way— ❞ Peter. He must mean Peter... It’s an obvious thought, but the dizzy duck has to internally clarify. ❝ —for pulling a stunt like that... Tch. Fuckin’ chicks. Always makin’ a scene. Right, man? ❞ Certain that Ram is addressing Peter now, Jayden tries to take the moment to gather his bearings { ☆ }

#rape tw #(Wow I Hate Them)#ducktales-wco-oo #⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ; ɴᴏᴡ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴘʟᴀʏ ʜᴜʀᴛ ❞ ¦ 「 Ram IC 」#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ꜰɪɢʜᴛ ᴘᴀɪɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴘᴀɪɴ ❞ ◌ ᴛᴇᴇɴ/ᴀᴅᴜʟᴛ ¦ 「 Ram 」#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ; ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴘᴜᴛ ᴜᴘ ᴀ ᴍɪᴅᴅʟᴇ ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴋʏ ❞ ¦ 「 Jayden IC 」#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴛᴀꜱᴛᴇꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀ; ᴄʜᴀᴏᴛɪᴄ ᴀɴɢᴇʀ ❞ ◌ ᴅÉᴊÀ ᴠᴜ ᴀᴜ ¦ 「 Jayden 」#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ʜɪꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʀᴇᴘᴇᴀᴛꜱ ɪᴛꜱᴇʟꜰ ❞ ¦ 「 Peter 」#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ꜱʜᴀʀᴘᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱʜᴀʀᴘɪᴇꜱ ❞ ¦ 「 Louie 」#decanard #⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ ᴋɴᴏᴡꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ꜱᴜʀᴇ ❞ ¦ 「 Answer 」

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bewaretheidesofmarchyall · 4 years

Text

Soulmate Shenanigans Part Three: Return Of The Shenanigans

Let’s do this!

At this point, you probably know the drill (and, if not, parts one and two are here and here!)

Basically I found some prompts for September, and now I’m doing them in October just because

Prompt #3

You have an animal that only you and your soulmate can see.

Warnings: Death mentions, brief mentions of drowning (I pinky swear that I’ll stop drowning Janus for the rest of this challenge), brief mentions of house fires (I pinky swear that I’ll stop setting Patton on fire for the rest of this challenge)

World Building

Soulmates had always been an idea bubbling in the back of humanity’s brains. A sort of “hey, this romance thing is complicated, could we just kinda know?”

It was starting to annoy the fates

Do you expect them to do all the work? I mean, what with the spinning, and the looking ominous, and the lack of dental, their job is a hard one, and you want to make it harder by having them weave two people’s stories together?

One day, a fate heard yet another “please, let me meet my soulmate tomorrow” prayer and went nuts

Fine. Fine! You want soulmates? We’ll make soulmates.

The plan was to create two soulmates, make them fall in love

And then kill them.

Just to remind humans where they stood on a cosmic scale. Just to remind them that every story ends tragically, when you get down to the end.

They reviewed a few couples (Some Romeo and Juliet people had promise), but in the end decided. Feuding families? Check. Opposites attracting? Check. Tragedy? Inevitable.

Characters

Patton: Patton grew up inside the hedges.

Hedges were his family’s specialty, so the house was surrounded by them. He rarely got to leave, but he could get lost in the gardens and talk to his imaginary pet, so all in all things were okay. Sure, maybe it was weird to have a blue jay that only he could see, but he was lonely!

See, Patton’s family liked three things

1. Having heirs (but only in theory)

2. Increasingly elaborate hedge mazes

3. Fighting a blood feud the goddamn lawyers

Patton wasn’t really on that list, but he wasn’t on the list of hated things either, so there was that.

List of Hated Things

1. The goddamn lawyers

2. Anyone who associates with the goddamn lawyers

3. Anyone who is descended from the goddamn lawyers

4. Anyone who gets in the way of the blood feud with the goddamn lawyers

5. Dandelions. They’re not serious gardening.

Janus: Janus was, of course, a child of the goddamn lawyers

The lawyers weren’t a clan of blood like the gardeners, but one of merit. And having kids was seen as a conflict of interest, and therefore frowned upon.

Of course, it’s illegal to murder or criminally neglect children, so he was allowed to stick around and have a childhood vaguely reminiscent of John Mulaney’s “one black coffee”, “over on the bench”, and “getting accused of murdering Princess Diana” skits

Most of his childhood was spent accusing his pet blue jay (that couldn’t be seen by anyone else) of crimes and then debating himself about whether or not the bird was guilty, like a normal kid.

However, when it became clear that someone else was stealing his blue jay, he had to find them and give them a piece of his mind, even if they lived behind formidable hedges

The Plot

Patton (about eight at this point) was wandering around the grounds, talking to Sunny (his name for the bird), like every other day, when the strangest kid he’d ever seen in his life appeared through a small gap in the hedges and informed him that the bird was his and he’d be leaving soon

A bird custody battle ensues

Janus uses a lot of legal terminology, which Patton pretends to understand. The debate ends when Patton’s aunt shows up and threatens to chuck Janus over the garden walls if he doesn’t get out immediately.

Janus runs off, but Patton sees him through the hedges later, and he looks kind of sad about the whole thing, so Patton offers to share custody of Sunny.

Janus perked up at this solution, despite claiming that the bird’s name was really Iago, and a friendship was born.

It was hard for them to chat when both their relatives would love to murder at least one of the kids if they could get away with it, and Patton was separated from him by the hedges, but they managed.

Sunny/Iago was decent at carrying messages, Janus was good at finding secret passages, and Patton had adequate aim when tossing packages over the hedges.

They were best friends for years and years, confidants in their crazy worlds.

At around sixteen, Janus convinced Patton to leave the grounds for an afternoon. The two of them saw the sights (which meant buying/stealing bread) (you can guess who actually bought the bread and who stole it) and had fun

The evening ended with the two of them sitting under a tree, chatting. The dandelions were in that in-between stage where some of them are flowers and some seed-heads, so Patton was able to weave a crown of flowers and make a wish at the same time.

Take a wild flying guess who he wished for (hint: they were currently wearing the flower crown and pretending to not like it, but would secretly never take it off. Ever.).

Patton claimed he’d wished for world peace (which, on further reflection, he felt bad for not thinking of first), and Janus claimed he’d wished for solid gold coins, but they were both lying.

Eventually, Patton had to go home.

Sunny-Iago: Sunny-Iago had gone by many names before. As one of the extra-dimensional lords of fate, they’d been called things like, “THE FUCK IS THAT”, “IT HAS SO MANY EYES”, and “Oh, fuck, that raven’s back again”. It made perfect sense for them to have at least two, despite being in the flesh prison of a blue jay this time.

A damn blue jay.

At least ravens have a little class.

Anyway, their job was to guide two sweethearts together and then drive them into a metaphorical (or literal? It could always be literal) brick wall. This was proving harder than expected, since the most important thing was to not get attached to either of them and well

Sunny-Iago had gotten attached to both of them. It was hard to see kids grow up and be fine killing them off, okay!

But they knew the drill. This had to end in some kind of tragedy.

So, they had a plan. Instead of having them both killed off because of miscommunication, they’d merely never see each other again and pine after what could have been, eventually turning into a bittersweet story they’d tell to....someone younger and more naïve, or something. They were still working it out!

So, they grabbed a quill pen in their beak and wrote a note to Patton’s aunt (it took several tries. Beaks were not meant for holding quill pens).

The note said something along the lines of “You know the goddamn lawyers? Of course you do. Your nephew fell for one, last chance to fix the situation is at 10:00 at the gate”.

Back To The Plot

Patton and Janus got back to the gardener grounds. Neither wanted to leave the other’s company, so they lingered at the gate, chatting and finding excuses to stay.

After a few minutes, it was obvious that Patton had to leave. Before doing so, he quickly kissed Janus on the cheek, just in time to get caught by his aunt, who came close to stabbing the both of them with a garden trowel.

When Janus came back a few days later, wilted dandelions still in his pocket, Patton was gone, sent far away from lawyers and love. All that was left was the bird. A stupid bird that no one else could see.

Time-lapse! Seven years later!

Janus was working on the most important legal case any lawyer had in a solid three years.

A gardener had murdered one of his relatives (he kept forgetting which one, which was a bit of a problem, since half of his job was to look tearful about them) with a wheelbarrow, and he was attempting to get them arrested for it.

If it worked, the gardeners would have consequence for committing murder, which would hopefully tone down the blood feud a little.

Half of the jurors had been rigged by both sides, some paid to vote one way and some paid to vote another. There were, however, six undecided jurors out there.

The Jurors

Logan: Logan is the only person on the jury who knows anything whatsoever about law and what can be done in a courtroom. He actually wants the most just and logical thing to happen.

Weirdo.

Roman: Roman is an actor in a touring production of Much Ado About A Midsummer’s Ham (Cooked As You Like It)

He just wants this trial process to be over so he can get back to rehearsal-wait, nevermind, the guy with the glasses is cute and he’s going to make this court case last as long as possible.

Remus: Remus is here to cause as much legal chaos as possible

He might get arrested for contempt of court.

Virgil: Virgil gives 0 fucks about anything that happens, but knows more about law than Logan, who knows more about law than anyone else in the court.

Remy: Remy heard from people that court cases are full of juicy drama.

Those people are wrong. It’s just a bunch of legal stuff. He’d rather be at Starbucks!

Emile: Emile is psychoanalyzing everyone else on the jurors section. Especially Remus.

Back To The Plot

The case progresses normally

Well, normally for this town anyway, which means that the goddamn lawyers are dying off fast (mostly of poison).

Janus, however, has managed to dodge every assassination attempt. He’s lawyering like Billy Flynn here!

Late in the afternoon, everyone’s a little tired and a lot bored when yet another witness is called. Janus was pulling his hat over his eyes for shade from the sunlight streaming into the court, when he heard the witness’s voice.

After a seven year disappearance, Patton stood in the courtroom.

Remy leaned forward. He saw the look on Janus’s face. At long last, drama had arrived.

After the court got out of session, Janus dashed down the steps of the building to catch up to Patton. He offers to get a coffee with him, but Patton turns him down, insinuating that he only offered to get information on the gardeners. Janus left, dejected.

Over the last seven years, Patton’s was in the far away land where his family started: New Jersey. While in this cursed place, his family attempted to change him from a dandelion to a venus flytrap, and nearly succeeded.

Nearly.

But when, the next day, his aunt poisons Janus’s water glass (gleefully explaining that this poison doesn’t show up on the standard tests and precautions), he just so happens to be clumsy enough to knock it over before Jan drinks it, and ends up volunteering to get coffee to make up for it.

Coffee meet-ups lead to coffee dates lead to rekindling of old romances (all under the utmost secrecy)

Eventually, the court case comes to a head.

The six pre-decided jurors work quickly, but Logan debates, and Roman stalls because he’ll be missing Logan, and Remus is forcibly removed from the courthouse, and Emile forgot to take notes, and Virgil sleeps through most of it, and Remy couldn’t care less about this, only caring about what happens with Janus and Patton.

They make their decision

Since they saw like 47 murder attempts over the course of the trial, it’s not a stretch to assume that the gardeners did kill that guy with a wheelbarrow.

Janus and the rest of the prosecution celebrate, and in the excitement of the moment, he and Patton end up sharing a kiss.

That’s the moment the gardeners went from Lowkey Trying To Murder Him to Highkey Trying To Murder Him

Both of them walk home with their head in the clouds

When your head is in the clouds, it’s easy to get kidnapped and thrown in the harbor to drown, especially if you happen to be a goddamn lawyer who just won a case.

And when your head is in the clouds, and you overhear your relatives talking about how they threw the person you love the most into the harbor to drown, it’s easy to make rash decisions

Like grabbing a torch and running into the middle of a prized hedge maze, and threaten to burn it all if his aunt didn’t tell him where Janus was.

When the answer was “dead, obviously”, Patton took the torch to the shrubbery, and the estate burned.

Problem: Janus crawled to shore and survived.

Secondary problem: Patton’s not trying especially hard to escape the fire.

Janus got to the house, saw it was on fire, and ran into the grounds. He eventually found Patton (who was still alive and in the hedge maze), but....it’s a very intricate hedge maze, and now there’s smoke everywhere, and they can’t find their way out.

At the last second, Sunny-Iago swooped over their heads, pointing to the exit, and they run after them.

They’re almost out of the burning grounds when Sunny-Iago falls to the ground, still, and they find themselves in another place entirely.

The Fates

The Fates had bet on how good old birdie would kill Janus and Patton off

Knife? was the most common bet, followed by Wolves. No one bet on them living in the end.

Except Meghan (alternate name: The Lurking One), and nobody liked Meghan, and nobody liked losing money.

So, they were going to do the job personally.

Back To The Plot

Janus and Patton find themselves in a tomb where every grave is theirs. A tomb where every grave is theirs is essentially the office space of the fates, who enjoy the atmosphere.

The Fates themselves take a multitude of forms: Animal, vegetable, mineral, eldritch, you name it.

And they all bicker amongst themselves about how to best kill off the couple.

Knife? Wolves? Triscuits? How??

Janus tricks them into debating the subject round and round in circles, but they eventually come to their senses.

As a last ditch hope, Patton says that they’ll pick the method of death for them if they give the couple a chance to plead for their lives.

The fates agree, and the Final Court Case begins.

Janus is quite a lawyer, but there’s literally a saying about how hard it is to argue with Fate, so its a nail biter of a case. Patton manages to give a passionate defense and Janus brings up evidence, but it’s still anyone’s game how the jurors will vote.

Steve votes for death

The Great Rot votes for not death

Spatula votes for not death

Karen votes for death

Meghan votes for not death

A Clump Of Petunias votes for death

Broken Taco Shells And Broken Hearts votes for not death

That One Relative At Family Reunions That You Pretend To Know But Don’t votes for death

Microwavable Lasagna votes for not death

The Ghost Of Richard III votes for death

That Sock That Always Disappears From Dryers chooses not to vote. What a jerk.

At this point, it’s tied 5-5. Enter Remy, who just wants to go to the extra-dimensional Starbucks.

He deliberates. He hems. He haws. He draws out the moment unnecessarily long for drama’s sake.

But, at the end of the day, he was always rooting for these humans.

Remy votes for not death.

Conclusion

Patton and Janus get to live. Time is very short for humans, and eventually they would both die, but right then and there, they got to live.

Dandelions eventually took root where the carefully trimmed hedges had once been.

And Roman noticed, after his performance was done, that a certain nerd was in the audience.

And he could also see Roman’s blue jay.

Hope you enjoyed!!

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