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babeyvenus · 2 years

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My Future

Derek Hale x OC

Samantha, Stiles and Scott are always joking about the impossible. Who wouldn't when your best friend's dad is the sheriff of Beacon Hills? All jokes stop when they realize the impossible is indeed possible.

Chapter 1: Wolf

Who came up with summer homework, Sam thought, sitting at Scott's desk. He suddenly came in with a bottle of water, and a bat. "You okay? You look like you're gonna commit arson.", he says, glancing at his door.

Sam rolled her eyes. "Geometry is stupid. Who thought putting shapes and letters together was a good idea?"

She looked at the wooden bat in his hand. "Uh… why do you have your mom's bat?"

He scoffed. "How do you know it's not mine?" She gave him a knowing look. "Because in the years we've known each other, you've never once did baseball."

He rolled his eyes, looking at his door. "I heard a noise outside."

"The hell?" Sam stood up and followed him outside. They looked around until they walked up to the front of his porch and jumped as Stiles came out of nowhere hanging upside down. Sam and Scott yells in fright as he holds up the bat, ready to swing at Stiles, frightening the boy as well.

Once they realize who it was they let out a simultaneous sigh of relief. "What the hell are you doing!?", Scott fussed.

"Why do you have a bat?!", Stiles yells. "Why are you upside down!? How'd you get up there!?", Sam yelled.

"I thought you were an attacker!", Scott said, exasperated and lowered the bat. "Why are you here, Stiles?", Scott asked.

Stiles smiles. "Was I interrupting?" Sam frowned at his insinuation and held out her hand towards Scott. "Gimmie the bat."

Stiles rushed his answer. "Because my dad found the other half of the body we found last night!"

His friends looked at him in shock.

"The dead body?", Scott asked as Stiles jumped down on the porch. "No, a body of water. Yes, a dead body, dumbass.", Stiles said.

"And why would we want to go find the other half?", Sam asked. Stiles looks at her in disbelief. "Because it's only one half of the body", Stiles says.

She rolled her eyes.

"What do you think Scott?", she asked Scott. Scott looked at Stiles and nodded.

"Fine. Let's go.", he said and they all went to Stiles' jeep and piled in. Stiles drove to the woods and stopped near the woods. Sam looked at the dark trees. Feeling regretful, she mutters. "Why did I agree to come along?"

Scott chuckles as they exit the jeep. "Stiles, I don't think there's a body in the woods.", Scott said and Sam nodded, agreeing.

"You're just saying that because you're scared.", Stiles accused as they came up to a burned and broken down house.

"Shit!", Stiles says as they hear sirens "Hide!"

Scott ran into the woods. Sam hid behind a tree and looked behind her to see nothing. Scott was nowhere in sight.

He had already taken off??

"Stiles.", Sam heard Mr. Stillinski say and she lowered behind the tree's trunk.

"What are you doing here?", Stiles' father said.

"Uh n-no reason.", Stiles stutters. They talk as Sam crawls into the darkness.

"Samantha!?" She heard Scott whisper-yell. "Scott!!", she replied, but didn't get anything back.

She froze as she saw flashlights in the woods.

"Guys over here! I found her!", Stiles's dad said and she heard footsteps running towards her. "What are you doing in the woods, Samantha?", Stiles' dad asked and Sam gave him an innocent smile.

"Would you believe me if I said I was lost?", she asked. He raised an eyebrow, indicating a no.

She quickly pointed at Stiles. "It was his fault, then.", she says, having Stiles gape at her. "Nice. Real nice.", Stiles says.

Mr. Stillinski sighed, rolling his eyes. "Okay, you two. You're going home. Now.", he says, bringing Sam and Stiles along and eventually dropping her off at home.

Luckily her mom wasn't up, but that didn't mean she wouldn't know in the morning.

In the morning, she got a note on the fridge from her mother, telling her she was gonna talk to Sam later. She sighed and left for school.

She hurriedly caught up to Stiles and Scott. "Dude, what the hell? Where were you!?", Sam asked Scott. He handed her a packet of her summer homework. "Here.", he says, before adjusting his backpack.

"Are you okay?", Sam asked, taking it. He looked around cautiously before telling his friends that he got bit by a wolf. "Huh?", Sam looked at him in confusion. "Dude, there's no wolves in California.", Stiles said.

"All right, well, if you don't believe me about the wolf then you're most definitely not going to believe me when I tell you I found the body.", Scott said. Stiles gave Scott a wide shocked smile.

"Are you kidding?", Stiles asked, excitedly.

"Yeah, I found the body. I'm going to have nightmares for a month.", Scott scoffed.

"Oh, god," Stiles laughed. "That's freaking awesome. I mean this is seriously going to be the best thing that ever happened to this town since…"

A red haired, green eyed girl walked up to them and Stiles followed her with his eyes. "the birth of Lydia Martin. Hey, Lydia, you look like," The girl walked past Stiles ignoring him. "You're going to ignore me."

Scott and Sam laughed. Stiles turned back to them. "You two are the cause of this."

Sam looked at him with a wide smile, "how?"

"Dragging me down in your nerd depths." He explained.

"Okay.", Scott and Sam say, dismissively.

"I'm a nerd by association.", Stiles said. The bell rang as they headed inside. "I'm scarlet nerded by you."

In the middle of the day, the final bell rang and Stiles and Sam met up with Scott at his locker.

"Is she always this popular?", Sam asked, looking down the hall to see a black hair girl talking to Lydia.

"Yes, because she's hot.", Stiles said. "Okay, Stiles.", Sam says, rolling her eyes.

She saw a short, thick brown hair boy stepped up to Lydia's side and kissed her on the lips. Jackson Whittemore. Captain of the lacrosse team.

"A party?", Scott suddenly muttered. Stiles and Sam looked at him. "Hm? What party?", Sam asked. Scott looked at his friends in confusion. "You didn't hear? She's having a party."

Stiles pouts. "Of course, I'm not invited."

Sam chuckled. "I think she's already taken, Stiles." Stiles huffed and groaned as they walked away.

"If you two play, then I'll have no one to talk to on the bench.", Stiles said as they jogged to the lacrosse field in their uniforms.

"You'll have Scott.", Sam says.

"He's going to be playing too.", Stiles argues. "Are you really going to do that to your best friend?"

"Who?", Sam asked, playfully. Stiles frowned.

"You're harsh." Stiles says. "I can't sit out again.", Scott said as they approached their bench. "My whole life is sitting out on the sidelines. This season, I make the first line."

"Uh, no, this year, I make first line.", Sam says. "Yeah, well, we'll see about that." Scott smiled at her.

"McCall!", Coach called to Scott.

"Yeah, Coach?"

"You're on goal!"

"I've never played."

"I know. Scoring some shots will give the boys some confidence boost. First day back thing. Wilson!"

"Yes, Coach?", Sam says, bored. "Don't think I'm going to make the boys go easy on you.", Coach responded.

"Wouldn't have it any other way.", Sam says, sarcastically.

"What about me?", Scott asks.

"Try not to take any in the face.", Coach said, giving Scott a soft smack on the cheek. Scott sighed and pulled on his helmet and headed over to the goal. Sam pulled on her helmet and grabbed her lacrosse stick, running to the middle of the field where the line was.

She peered to the right of the line and looked at Scott who was catching every ball that the boys threw at him.

When it came her turn, Coach tossed her the ball and Sam managed to catch it in the net of her stick, quickly running at Scott at full speed. She heard Stiles cheer from the bench. He was such a sweet sport.

She made it past Scott, and scored a shot. She jogged over to the bench and took off her helmet as she sat down next to Stiles. They gave each other high fives before they looked at the line and saw Jackson was next.

"Oh, no.", Stiles and Sam said in unison. They watched as Jackson caught the ball from Coach and ran at Scott. He jumped in the air and threw the ball at Scott with full strength.

Both teens gaped in shock as the ball seemed to magically launch into Scott's lacrosse stick net.

Stiles jumped up and cheered with the other people on the bleachers. Sam cheered and looked at Coach's face as he was staring at Scott in bewilderment.

Scott's friends ran over to him, cheering him on before sitting aside.

"And when Jackson threw that ball, I felt like I had all the time in the world to catch it.", Scott said. "And that's not the only weird thing."

"I can hear stuff I shouldn't be able to hear.", Scott said. "Smell things."

"Smell things?", Stiles cut him off. "Like what?"

"Like that Peppermint gum in your pocket.", Scott said.

"I don't have any gum in my pocket." Stiles said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of gum. He popped it into his mouth. "It's spearmint."

"Anyways, all this started with the bite?", Sam asked Scott.

He nodded. "What if it's like an infection, my body's flooding with adrenaline before I go into shock or something?"

"You know what?", Stiles said.

"What?", Scott and Sam asked in unison.

"I actually heard of this kind of infection."

"Really?", Scott and Sam asked intrigued, stopping to look at Stiles.

"I think it's called Lycanthropy.", he says.

Sam gave him an unimpressed look and rolled her eyes as she began to walk again with Stiles and Scott behind her.

"Is that bad?", Scott asked. "Yeah, but it only happens once a month.", Stiles said. "On the night of the full moon. Arrr-ooooo."

Sam smacked his arm. "Shut up, you weirdo. This is serious."

"There could be something seriously wrong with me.", Scott said.

"I know! You are a werewolf!", Stiles said as he mimicked a growl. Sam crossed her arms.

"Ok, obviously, I'm kidding. But if you see me in the shop class trying to melt any silver I find, it's because Friday's the full moon. Oh and so is that party. Hey, Sam, do you want to come to the party with me?", Stiles asked as they walked through the woods.

Sam looked at him, unamused. "You're kidding, right?", she says as they continued through the woods.

"I mean, we'll just go as friends.", he says, grinning. Sam sighed. "Fine, whatever, I have nothing else to do."

"Great, I'll pick you up at eight.", he says as Scott paused to look for his inhaler.

"No, I could have sworn this was it.", Scott muttered pointing to the ground. "I swear this was it." Scott said.

"I saw the body, the deer came running and I dropped my inhaler." Scott kicked up a few leaves to see if his inhaler was around.

"Maybe the killer moved the body.", Stiles said.

"If he did, I hope he left my inhaler. Those things are like eighty bucks.", Scott said.

Sam chuckled as she looked around the tall trees. She heard Stiles gasp behind her and felt him grab her.

She looked at him in confusion, slapping his hand. "What!?", she hissed before she turned around and saw a tall guy behind them, frowning at the teens.

He had thick black hair and wore a black leather jacket, his hands stuffed inside the pockets. He glared at them with his green-brown eyes.

"What are you doing here, huh? This is private property.", he growled. "Sorry, man, we didn't know.", Sam said, brushing Stiles off of her. "We were just looking for something."

"Forget it," Scott said. "Come on, let's go."

The man pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it to Scott. Scott caught it, effortlessly and opened up his hand to reveal his inhaler.

Sam stared at the guy in both wonder and caution. Why was he here in the middle of the woods as well….?

The man gave a huff and disappeared into the woods. "Ok, come on, Sam, we're going to be late for work.", Scott said, pulling her away.

"Dude, that was Derek Hale.", Stiles said.

"That's Derek Hale?", Sam asked with widened eyes.

"Yeah," Stiles answered.

"Who's he?" Scott said.

"I wonder what he's doing back.", Scott muttered.

#derek hale #derek hale imagine #derek hale x oc #derek hale x reader #teen wolf #teen wolf derek hale #stiles stilinski #scott mccall #my oc #derek hale x plus size reader #Derek Hale x black reader

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makuta-tobi · 8 months

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Destinytober 2023 Day 1: First Revival

No promises that I'll get one of these done every day, but hey, a man can see what happens!

The three Ghosts clustered together as they swept the area. Each one was bumped and battered, shells singed, pieces missing, or replaced with the rusted metal of the decrepit vehicles that were so common in this area. Despite their poor shape, they persisted. They could all feel it, they were close; like a beacon lighting their way, there was an inexplicable feeling of being closer to their goal than ever.

“What do you think mine will be like?” asked the rear-most Ghost for the thirteenth time today.

“Here we go,” said the one just ahead of him, rolling his core in his best approximation of the human gesture indicating annoyance.

“I'm just saying, it would be nice to explore somewhere without getting my plates knocked off,” the first one said, waving a chipped shell wing. “Maybe they'll be able to keep me looking more pristine.”

“Or,” the lead Ghost chirped, “they could let you get sheared down naked, and then just make you something better than what you're capable of.” Spinning around, the lead Ghost bobbed in the air, gesturing to the shredded metal that trailed behind the first speaker, another piece he had replaced haphazardly.

“Look, whoever I get, I just want them to actually make a difference,” said the middle Ghost. When both of his companions tilted their shells, urging him to elaborate, he sighed. “S'just that we've been hanging around for how long and the only thing that's changed is the City got bigger. Whole system's still junked up, crabs and bugs crawling out of every hole on every celestial body, leather turtles still building on any scrap of land they can crater enough to guarantee there's nothing left alive to oppose them. I want to see some real change, and maybe mine will actually accomplish something.”

“It's a nice sentiment,” said the lead Ghost, sweeping his vision across a tangle of long-dead plants. “I'd say, if anything, I just want someone who cares.”

“Cares?” asked the second Ghost.

“Yeah, I've seen a buncha guys who, well they pretty much feel the same way you do,” the lead cast a glance back at his partner, “like nothing is changing, getting better. So they kinda give up. Start going on their own.”

“Like those Shadows guys?” the tail Ghost asked.

“Naw, not going full dark side, but just... forging off on their own. Feeling like there's no point in living that immortal fighter life and trying to set it down.”

“Knew a guy like that,” the trailing Ghost acknowledged, “was hanging out in lots of places staying lowkey. Didn't seem like the eternal warrior lifestyle was right for him, I think he had a restaurant at one point? Heard it got blown up a while back, though. Hope he's alright.”

The three of them went silent as a deep, rumbling engine sound attracted their attention upwards. A Fallen Skiff cut through the air, a single scout perched on one of the struts underneath, a set of binoculars held up to its masked face with one of its upper arms. The three Ghosts dove down into the wreckage of a truck and huddled near the gear shift to wait out the passing ship. The House of Devils seemingly didn't have a way to kill Ghosts, at least not yet, but the rumours persisted that they would capture up any stray Ghosts they found, stripping them down to the barest of parts, and possibly even integrating them into larger machinery, like a Servitor. The three companions didn't necessarily believe the hype, but they all agreed they didn't want to take the chance.

Once the ship had passed, and they were certain they weren't being watched, the three quietly floated up out of the rusted vehicle and shared a look between them. For now, it would be better to travel in silence. Fallen had notoriously impressive hearing, and the Ghosts' discussion would certainly draw attention. And so they moved, searching for the right signature, the right feel. Occasionally they would approach the singed skeletal remains of a person and run the light from their single eye over it, but it never quite fit. Each body a piece in a broader puzzle, with a distinct image that they couldn't place.

As the day went on, they began chancing spreading out a little further from each other, inspecting a collapsed roadway, or peering into what could very well have once been a shed, but they always ended up returning to each other. The sun had begun to set, and they were all tired. Not in the way that a human might call it, more like they just felt like it was time to stop, because it was getting exhausting, annoying? This search. During one of the moments they had split from each other, going so far as to be outside of a simple sightline, there was a noise. All three turned from their position to see what it was, none of them close enough to spot the others, when a patrol of Fallen climbed out of a hatch in the ground, half buried in mud. They immediately split off, trying to seek shelter.

The Ghost that had taken up the rear of their expedition dropped below the edge of a blast crater, sidling up to some junk that had fallen down into the hole once upon a time. The gruffer Ghost used as much momentum as possible and punched a hole in the glass of a truck cab that still had closed up windows.

The lead retreated into an opening in the wall of the Cosmodrome. Normally teeming with Fallen, he didn't see much choice. He weaved his way past long dead power cables and pipes that might have once carried waste water. His small shell was more petite than the Shanks, and he was able to maneuver better than they ever could. His journey seemed to take him deeper into the wall than he intended, but as he progressed, he felt a warmth that was so indescribable, he had to pursue it. He came to a dead end, with only a small hole opening into a little room on the other side. His shell would never fit through it, but the core of his being...

Shaking off the old metal and junk, the Ghost pushed his way, with some difficulty, through the small opening. He shone his light around the room. A crate full of some composite materials was laying cracked open, and he immediately went to work fitting some of the pieces to his core. Once he didn't feel as exposed, he took a look around. On one wall, there was an open storage locker. An ancient rifle hung from a hook inside, painfully old, yet looking almost well oiled. A few bullet shell casings lay on the floor, and the wall that would likely have originally held a door had completely collapsed. It looked as though the Fallen had never attempted to reach this room. Then his attention was drawn to something.

Less than three feet from the open locker, a beacon. A flame, burning so bright he could barely stand it. Here, buried in this locker room, was his hope.

A burst of bright Light erupted from the Ghost, and he felt his strength leaving him for a moment. Then it was over in an instant, and he shook off the feeling, turning his attention to the floor below.

A series of rapid clicking sounds filled the room, and the unmistakable sound of fans whirring loudly to life, before the sound softened to an almost imperceptible hum. Servos shifted, motors whirred. Fingers stirred on the ground.

“It's... you,” the Ghost said, almost more to himself than to the one in front of him. Dark purple lights illuminated across the body's onyx surface. The Exomind braced its palms on the ground and pushed up, rising to its knees and looking around.

“What... where is...?” the Exo's deep voice helped place it as male (the Ghost was not very well acquainted with Exos, and had no frame of reference to gender them). He blinked his optics a few times, trying to adjust to the darkness, but the only thing he could see was what the Ghost was illuminating.

“I'm sorry to wake you like this, honestly I had a big speech planned,” the Ghost said, flitting around the room and gathering materials in the center, “but honestly I'm not sure how much time we have until we're discovered.”

The Exo wasn't paying attention, just staring at his hands and squinting.

“What do you know?” the Ghost asked, using his limited transmat ability to drape the Exo in a coat, some rags, and a few pieces of the composite he had used to make a new shell.

“My name... it's engraved in my mind, like I can see it clearly. Tobi, and there's a ticker, 17?”

“From what I understand, that's your reset designation. We can talk about it later, Tobi-17, is there anything else you know? About who you are, or what you can do?” Ghosts knew little to nothing about what would happen when they found their one. It was whispered that sometimes a newly Risen person would immediately have access to the breadth of human knowledge, to understand everything that was happening to them, missing only the memories of their old lives. But that was mostly conjecture. The Exo stared at his hands, and down at the makeshift clothes he now wore. Then his optics traveled up to the locker, which the Ghost had turned to a few times, shining his light on it whenever he did. In the blink of an eye, the Exo had jumped to his feet, crossed the extra space between himself and the wall, and was now holding the rifle. Checking the sights and clearing the chamber.

“I can shoot,” his voice held more emotion than it first did. Perhaps his memories were already becoming clearer of who he was. Maybe it was just ingrained in his Exomind settings. Either way, he seemed ready to move. The Ghost nodded and gestured towards a hand grenade settled in the bottom of the locker as well.

“We don't have time to train you on what you should be able to do. Use that to clear the way through the door, and let's get out of here.”

The Exo took the grenade and pocketed it, pulling the locker away from the wall to make a barricade, then primed the explosive and rolled it into the rubble and bracing back against the lockers. The ancient grenade exploded like it had been built yesterday, and enough of an opening was cleared for the two of them to leave. Ducking under, the Exo began to run.

“No time to explain, but those things on your right? Shoot!” the Ghost shouted as a group of Dregs came rushing around the corner to see what had just shaken the wall. The Exo raised his rifle and fired. The aliens dropped dead, and the two of them continued on as quickly as they could.

Oh boy, the Ghost thought to himself as they ran, I can't wait to show off what I found to the others!

#destinytober #destinytober23 #destiny 2 #fanfic #destiny fanfic #tobi writes

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strqyr · 2 years

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Wait wait wait.. in relation to your post about Raven and when she became the spring maiden and if she had her mask going back to strq/beacon days? I just had a thought but.. what if one of the reasons Raven left was because of the spring maiden thing? Maybe she and the Oz circle were training the maiden (maybe Raven was mentoring her? Like Qrow mentored Ruby and Tai mentored Yang.. that just leaves Summer to be mentoring someone, maybe she joins Raven? Or maybe not both possibilities are interesting for her character) but then something happened (not sure what exactly, the ideas range from grim attack from Salem to a training mission gone wrong.. there's also the crack idea that the inner circle decided maybe spring was too weak but that just seems not possible at all given what we know of the characters) and Raven became spring and no one else knew about it and that was sort of the catalyst for her leaving?

Also when I was typing out that it could have been a training mission gone wrong I couldn't help but remember.. Hazel's sister died in a training mission (this is pure speculation and crack theory but.. what if she was the spring maiden? It probably isn't true but it's interesting to think about)

Ahh I'm sorry for rambling so much👉🏼👈🏼 I just got the idea and wanted to see what you think of it

okay this is my jam and i know majority of the fandom is fully behind the idea that there was an unknown spring maiden who ran and then found the tribe and i complete understand why because that's what we've been TOLD

but! i believe there's still a good chance that it was raven all along. it helps when all this information is TOLD to us in the same volume that's very big on "don't just blindly believe what you've been TOLD, ask questions and find out information so you can confirm it yourself" and since we haven't SEEN yet what exactly happened, i'm keeping that asterisk there for the time being.

[also, because sources are important and i couldn't find them for the initial post: rtx sydney 2018 (27min) and rtx 2018 (53:30min). both are questions regarding when exactly raven became the spring maiden (the latter relates to her mask more) and both get a spoiler treatment.]

back to the topic at hand: i would not be surprised if being the spring maiden did play a part in her leaving, especially since it looks like she went into hiding the moment she returned to the tribe, keeping it on the move as to make it harder to find.

qrow also says that after returning to the tribe, raven gathered quite a following, and then he assumes that the spring maiden's arrival would have only made it easier, but it doesn't sound like there was another "spike" in terms of followers that would indicate when that happened. with other similarities shared between raven and the spring maiden (running away and abandoning everyone), it's a little sus.

and i love that you brought up gretchen because yes!! raven claims to have trained the spring maiden, and according to ozpin, gretchen died on a training mission, but exact details are not known. i'm not sure how their ages would work out, since i get the feeling that hazel is around the same age as strq, so they might be a bit too close to age for raven to train gretchen—unless strq were two years older and were told about everything by ozpin on their 3rd or 4th year already. i'm not too worried about the previous spring maiden being called 'a child' considering most of the main cast are 19 currently and are being referred to as 'children'... and hey, hazel called gretchen "just a child" so that kind of works out, too, if she used to be the spring maiden.

one other potentially interesting bit here is that raven admits she was sent to beacon to learn how to kill, so maybe that's connected? like, raven is sent to learn how to kill huntsmen -> raven claims to have trained the spring maiden -> gretchen dies during a training mission, and during a commentary, apparently the writers said that ozpin is still hiding something re: gretchen from oscar.

maybe raven was just bullshitting her way through that conversation and applying her own experiences so she didn't actually train the spring maiden (i.e. little bit of truth mixed into a lie), but she did kill gretchen (who was the spring maiden) during a training mission, and that's why ozpin was being secretive about it?

also, hazel and gretchen are twins, as are raven and qrow. qrow was super committed to ozpin's cause and was the most pro-ozpin of his followers, hazel was super committed to hating ozpin. they both seemed to have a bit of a blind spot for their sisters or like, this very clear image of them in their head that they weren't super willing to budge from? so it would track if gretchen was the spring maiden before raven. parallels, ya know?

question is, though, would it make sense at this moment to reveal more about gretchen and her fate, now that hazel is dead? would it matter to anyone else, at this point?

assuming that ozpin did not tell everything to oscar, and that there is more to gretchen and what happened to her, i would say yes, it matters, and only because of what hazel told oscar right before his death:

"no more gretchens, boy."

how can oscar—or anyone for that matter—make sure of that if he doesn't even know what exactly happened to gretchen? they're a bit past of training missions, and there's already bunch of 'children' involved and ready to get involved in this war, so it would make sense if "no more gretchens" is about something a bit more specific.

okay i'm done rambling now cos i'm not even sure if any of this makes sense anymore or if i'm just jumping from one end to another. i guess this is just a very long way of saying "yes, raven totally could have been the spring maiden already before leaving and it played a part in her departure, and maybe gretchen was involved somewhere there as well."

#rwby #rwby speculation #raven branwen #gretchen rainart #anon #ask.strqyr

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schnees-and-schnugs · 2 years

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The worst thing about this whole "blaming/judging" Whitley for everything is that I don't mind the show being as mean as they want to to the character, as long the show acknowledges that the narratives been unfair to him at any point lol

That's one thing I can hope for with the possible Winter and Whitley rift in the Vacuo arc. If they wanna have moments of Winter laying onto Whitley and little of the energy back from his end, can they at least have something in the narrative to indicate that it's possible that Winter can maybe sort of not be right for it?

I just want it to be fair.

I don't mind Whitley being a little shit. I don't mind him being toxic. In fact I love it when he's toxic, I love it when he clearly has issues with maintaining relationships in his life due to trauma. Because that's interesting! It was fascinating to me when willow told Weiss why Whitley hated her. And you know what was fascinating? Because it's a great inversion of what a lot of the fandom originally thought.

I mean, I was always sympathetic to Whitley, but many considered him just a little spoiled brat, a "mini Jacques" (although I despise that term because in what world is it okay to refer to a child abuse victim as a miniature version of their manipulative groomer abuser. Does that mean I can refer to winter as a mini-ironwood now? Or is that not okay suddenly? Hmmm? 🤨)

But now were faced with the proposition that not only was Whitley not just a little selfish prick and was lashing out probably due to feelings of being trapped alone with his abusers for the foreseeable future, Weiss was also in the wrong here because she was clearly incredibly self- centered when it came to her little brother.

People often forget that if beacon hadn't fell, Weiss wouldn't have been in vale for *four years*. That's what Whitley faced, four years alone of being trapped with his two abusers, the sole person around for Jacques to take out his ire on and for willow to ignore while drinking herself to death. And Weiss! Didn't! Care!

And that's great. Because guess what? We know Weiss is a good person but your hero having flaws and being in the wrong makes for great character development. It would literally be Weiss coming full circle, acknowledging the girl she was when she first left for beacon and how she's changed for the better. Nobody would have watched Weiss reaching out to Whitley, swallowing her pride a bit in the process (because I am aware Whitley is also in the wrong too) and went 'oh wow I really liked Weiss before but I gotta say I really hate her character now after she took on the role of the bigger person and reached out to her 14 year old little brother to make amends as the culmination of the emotional maturity she gained over the course of eight volumes :/'.

Because yes RWBY fndm, your heroes being considerate, humble, modest, not prideful, kind, and most of all merciful and understanding are good qualities for a hopepunk protagonist? Especially to kids younger than them? Sticking a weapon in an abandoned and scared 14 year olds face and then ignoring them during a life or death situation just to hug them suddenly in a very lovebomb-ey way when they do something for you is kind of the opposite of the "trust love" vibes that the writers desperately wanted me to get from the atlas arc.

(tangent: And it just seems to me like the writers are just incredibly insecure. They're afraid to make their main characters look bad in any sort of way- so they can never be wrong. They can never swallow their pride or take the initiative to make amends. It always has to be someone elses fault. It has to be ozpin who apologizes to them despite the fact that team RWBY were in the exact same situation as him and took the same route. Team RWBY keeps atlas grounded where it is and that allows Salem to make landfall and attack the kingdom, but ironwood is evil and bad for at least trying to keep the Grimm at bay while team RWBY whine and drink tea in a mansion- and everything gets handed to team RWBY in the eleventh hour to give them a win.)

And given that winter is the perfect completely blameless demographic in RWBY (pretty, white, big tits, abuse victim, female, also did I mention big tits?) I'd be very very surprised if anything is fair between her and whitley. They would definitely blame Whitley for being a brainwashed 9 year old or whatever when he rejected winter. They would definitely put it on Whitley to prove to winter that he's not literally evil incarnate. They definitely wouldn't even have winter acknowledge that she hurt Whitley in any meaningful capacity. Winter could lay onto him and the writers would bend over backwards to justify why exactly that is okay and why Whitley 100% deserved it and infact he should apologize to her for just existing in her presence. Honestly, I wouldn't even be surprised if they do a comedic haha super funny callback to Weiss sticking her weapon in whitley's face except it's winter and incredibly girlboss guys!!!! It's just a hostile 20 something adult woman threating a defenseless minor with a weapon, you're telling me that you don't find that absolutely hilarious? Fucking rwde scum. /s

Anyways, I don't expect it to be fair and I completely expect that whatever MKEK writes will leave a very bad taste in my mouth because that's what they always do. And if I'm wrong feel free to put me on blast and go on anon to tell me to kill myself or whatever.

#ask #babbling

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misterradio · 2 years

Text

😧

#original nonsense #subn liveblog #THERE IS A BUILDING DOWN HERE?#im so close to my maximum depth ahhhh i also really do not want to perish down here #i have left no beacons indicating how to get back here at all

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mrsstruggle · 2 years

Text

The Lost Child - Chapter 13 // Teen Wolf x Marvel AU

Summary: Y/N Stark was taken from her family when she was three years old. It's fifteen years later and her family believes she is dead. Then how is she living in Beacon Hills?

Warnings: Language, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Kidnapping, Possible Grammar Mistakes (please let me know if there is anything else)

Pairings: Derek Hale x Reader, Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes, Bruce Banner x Natasha Romanoff, Vision x Wanda Maximoff, & More To Come!

Previous Pairings: Tony Stark x Pepper Potts, Scott McCall x Allison Argent

Words: 1.9k

Note: I am posting every 2-3 days! At least I am trying to! My sister and I are trying to start a little jewelry business so my days have been a bit hectic.

Additional Note: While this is a Teen Wolf x Marvel AU, not everything is true to the shows/movies/comics. I had to change things for the story. This also loosely follows Teen Wolf Season 4.

One Last Note: Y/N was adopted by Tony Stark and Pepper Potts. I did this so that more people can see themselves in this story.

***I do not own Teen Wolf or Marvel or any related characters. This is a work of fanfiction and is meant for entertainment only.***

Masterlist

The Lost Child Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

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“Y/N’s alive?” Sam wants to make sure he heard Bucky right.

The Avengers are sitting around the living room going through files as Bucky explains to Sam what is going on. Nick and Maria took the jet back to the compound to grab everyone’s gear and send a team to the old base where they found the files. Stiles, Derek, Scott, and Lydia left for Lydia’s lake house a while ago to meet up with the rest of their pack.

“We think so,” Bruce states.

“We know so,” Steve corrects him.

“You heard what the girl said. She knows when someone is dead and all the passwords were names of dead people.”

Steve gives Bruce a harsh look, “She also said she can sense when someone is about to die. That means they aren’t dead yet. Also, we just met her and we’re supposed to believe she has some connection to dead people.”

“We also didn’t believe in werewolves and yet here we are,” Nat mumbles under her breath.

“It was werewolves who took her from Hydra.” Sam informs everyone, thinking about the videos he just watched, “At least, I think it was werewolves. They looked like Y/N with glowing eyes and claws and shit. They killed everyone but they took Y/N. Why?”

“Werewolves took her?” Bucky questions.

“Yeah.”

“We should look up these people who claim they're Y/N’s friends.” Bucky states, still suspicious of Derek, “How do we know that they aren’t the ones who kidnapped her and have brainwashed her into forgetting us? How does she not remember us?”

“She was three when she was taken,” Bruce points out, “Do you remember anything from when you were three?”

“We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about Y/N,” Bucky bites back defensively.

“Does Pepper know?” Sam asks Tony.

“I’m not telling her anything until I have to,” Tony grumbles, reading through one of the files on Y/N.

“When is that?” Wanda questions.

“Whenever I feel like it.” Tony sighs, running his fingers through his hair in a stressed manner, “She’s the one who gave up on Y/N. She’s the one who so easily replaced her. She doesn’t deserve to know anything.”

“She’s still her daughter,” Bruce points out.

“Is she?”

“When are we going to tell the others?” Sam asks, thinking about Vision, Clint, and their other friends.

“We’ll tell them once we get her and Peter back and can 100% prove that she’s my daughter,” Tony states.

They continue to look through the files in silence except for the howls from the house across the lake.

“None of these files have any indication of where they could have her and Peter now.” Steve sighs, throwing the file in his hands onto the coffee table, “All they talk about is the multiple experiments they performed on her. On a fucking three-year-old.”

“Language,” Natasha mumbles under her breath.

“We aren’t going anywhere until we find something,” Tony states.

“Why did it take them fourteen years to come and find her?” Wanda questions, not understanding why Hydra would come and get her now, “What changed?”

“Maybe they were too busy with other things,” Sam suggests.

“We’ve raided multiple Hydra bases and none of them ever had any indication of Y/N or Shadow Wolf. They wouldn’t do that unless there’s a reason.” Steve doesn’t understand how there seems to be no trail leading them to Y/N. Even before when she was originally taken, they were never able to track her down, “According to the files, they took her when she was young because they thought it would be easier to brainwash her and more difficult to break her free. She's an adult now. She's not the same kid they took before.”

“Maybe her friends are having better luck than we’re having,” Natasha mumbles in frustration.

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“Liam, just try to control it,” Scott tries to calmly tell Liam, watching him struggle against the chains holding him against a wall in the basement.

“I’m trying,” Liam growls out. This wasn’t his first full moon but he still doesn’t have full control.

“Scott, I can watch him,” Malia tells Scott, aware that he wants to help Stiles search for Y/N.

Scott thinks for a moment, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. If he breaks free, I’ll make sure to kill him before he kills me.” Malia states nonchalantly.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t kill me,” Liam continues to struggle for control.

“Then don’t try to kill me,” Malia shrugs her shoulders.

“Malia, if he breaks from the chains, just yell for us. Don’t kill him.” Scotts tells her, hoping leaving them alone will be okay, “Liam, find something to anchor you or be your own anchor.”

Scott runs upstairs toward the rest of the pack. As he enters the living room, he can see Stiles hunched over the coffee table on his laptop he had Kira bring him. Mason is sat next to him reading through some of the Hydra files they were able to convince the Avengers to give them. Derek and Peter are on the couch going through the books they found on Hydra.

“Where’s Kira and Lydia?” Scott asks.

“They’re upstairs in the soundproof room. Lydia’s hoping to tap into whatever it is she does and see if she can find out anything about Y/N.” Mason informs him.

“What have we got?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Stiles sighs in frustration.

“Maybe we should just accept that she’s gone,” Peter shrugs his shoulders.

“Don’t even try and act like you don’t care.” Stiles scoffs at Peter’s fake unconcerned persona, “You were the first person here and you’ve read more of those books and files than both Derek and Mason combined. I’m sure if I asked one of the wolves in the room, they could hear how fast your heart is beating because you're scared.”

“I just happen to live closer than everyone else, I’m a fast reader, and I have a bad heart.”

“You live the furthest away,” Stiles points out.

“I happened to be out getting food.”

“What food? You didn’t bring any with you.”

“I didn’t have time to get any because you called me and told me I had to be here,” Peter grumbles.

“I told you my sister’s missing and that we’re meeting at Lydia’s cabin. I never said you had to be here.” Stiles points out.

“Can you two stop talking?” Derek groans, tired of listening to them argue. They are distracting him from the book he’s reading.

“He started it,” Peter mumbles under his breath.

“Okay, so these Hydra people took Y/N. They originally took her about fifteen years ago and now they’ve come back to get her.” Scott is trying to think of any logical reason for why they would take her in the first place or why they would take so long to come back and get her, “None of this makes any sense. Did they get her now because they saw her name on the Deadpool? Did they come and get her now because they were waiting on something or waiting for the right time?”

“So, she really is Y/N Stark?” Mason asks.

“Until I see a DNA test proving she’s Y/N Stark, I don’t believe a word they have to say.” Derek states.

“She’s not actually blood-related to Tony so how are they going to DNA test her?”

“Supposedly, they have some of her DNA from when she was a child to compare her to,” Stiles mumbles.

“You okay?” Scott asks Stiles.

“Why wouldn’t I be? My sister has been taken by some psycho terrorist group and the Avengers have come to take her away from me. I bet they have her packed up in a day and shipped back to live with them. I bet they don’t even care about the fact that her life is here, her family is here, and her friends are here. Everything she knows is here.” Stiles rants.

“They aren’t going to take her away.” Scott attempts to comfort the distraught Stiles.

“How do you know that?! You saw how they reacted when we were talking about her! How they reacted when they found out she’s alive! They thought she was dead! Why wouldn’t they take her away?!” Stiles scoffs in anger.

“They know she has a life here. You told them you’re her brother. They know Derek’s her boyfriend. They even know where she works. They won’t just take her away from all of that.” Scott tries to reason with him.

“What am I going to tell my dad? How am I supposed to tell him that there are people here who are Y/N’s original family?” Stiles looks down at the ground sadly.

“I mean, they aren’t technically her original family,” Mason points out.

Stiles gives him an annoyed look, “Stay out of this.”

“I should probably call my mom and tell her that Y/N won’t be at work tomorrow,” Scott sighs, pulling out his phone.

“Don’t tell her why. I don’t want her telling my dad anything.” Stiles states.

“She won’t tell him anything.”

“I also want to be the one to tell her what’s going on. I mean after our mom died your mom kinda became our mom, especially for Y/N. Our dad did his best but didn’t know how to handle things when Y/N started becoming a woman. Your mom was always there for her. She shouldn’t find out about everything over a phone call.” Stiles explains.

“I think I found something.” Mason states, reading back through the paragraph he just read, “You said Lydia heard her name in the fire but she thinks that she might’ve heard it earlier at Derek’s apartment, right? She didn’t know it was Y/N’s name because it sounded like it was underwater, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Scott answers him.

“I think they have her at Crater Lake.”

“Where?” Stiles asks with a confused look on his face.

“Crater Lake National Park. It’s in Oregon. My family and I went there once on vacation.” Mason informs them.

“I’m still not following.”

“Crater Lake is the deepest lake in America. It was formed after a massive volcano eruption which also led to the collapse of the volcano. Lydia heard her name underwater, it’s a massive lake. She heard her name in the fire, it's summer which means it's fire season there. Hydra even used to have ties to Portland.” Mason explains.

“I still don’t understand how this means they’re holding Y/N there.” Stiles states.

“In these files, they keep mentioning how they are waiting on a wizard or that the wizard isn’t ready yet. I don’t think they’re talking about an actual person. They’re talking about Wizard Island.”

“Again, not helpful.” Stiles is getting annoyed that Mason won’t just get to the point.

“Wizard Island is the biggest island within Crater Lake. It’s even nicknamed the Witches Cauldron which is also mentioned several times.” Mason explains.

“Are you sure about this? We don’t want to go somewhere and she’s not even there.” Scott states.

“At least it’s something. We can go tell the Avengers and we can jet over there and at least see if she’s there. I’ve got a gut feeling about this and it’s telling me that I’m right.” Mason tells him.

Derek angrily stands up off the couch and starts to walk towards the front door, “Grab your stuff. Let’s go get my girl back.”

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@vicmc624 @mrspetxrs @freyathehuntress @fheresm @stefans-wife @taketimeandappreciate @youralphawolf72 @ornella0910 @shedsblood @ts1mp0ne @beautifulgrungekid @danielle-leah1997 @itmejado @ivettt @james-bucky-barnes-bitch @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @ladyjenjay @darkenwolfie @lokiandbuckywife @xx-narcissa @elite4cekalyma @thecrazytealady @misshale21 @cevans-winchester @fayhay14 @wtfcas @spencerreidsbookclub @hinata7346 @randomhoex @mirakeul @llamaproblem @emily-roberts @me-unintentionally @inyourmomsworld @depressedsleepysloth

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real-jane · 2 years

Text

lucky dog

[sirius black x hermione granger]

Summary: Thanks to a new marriage initiative for the betterment of wizard-kind, Sirius Black finds himself wed to the woman of his dreams. He has no idea that she's been dreaming of him, too. // Rating: E // Warnings: None. Hermione is in her 30's, everyone is enthusiastically consenting. // A/N: written for Taste of Smut Fest 2020 (moved here as I get all my fics up on tumblr).

He was one lucky dog.

Sirius turned the key and swung open the mahogany door for his wife.

"This is lovely," she offered. "Better than I expected." He placed his hand at the small of her back and encouraged her forward, so he could shut the front door. His fingertips tingled as they brushed against the white silk.

He was a husband... to this glorious creature of wit and wisdom in the body and beauty of Persephone, herself. It was an impossible blessing that, of all the unmarried witches in England, the Ministry would choose her for him. He felt unworthy. The only explanation was dumb luck.

He scratched his jaw. He could think of worse things than having his life revolve around her.

The war had unraveled the hardness he developed over twelve years in Azkaban and left him feeling as though his one purpose was to protect his god son. Harry didn't need him anymore, so Sirius was bereft of direction. That he had been deemed suitable for this new course of action was in a way a compliment to his reputation as a reformed wizard, but had given him many sleepless nights. How could he ever have thought he was fit to father a child, let alone embark on a marriage arrangement of the Ministry's creation?

Lonely and drunk on firewhiskey, he had owled in his volunteer statement hours before the deadline. I can be of use! There was still some fight left in me--old dogs, new tricks, what. He hoped he never saw his statement again.

The witches and wizards coupled under the new Preservation of Wizarding Kind Act were volunteers, so all were cognizant of what their arrangements indicated, which meant Hermione knew. He had watched her sign the contract.

Hermione.

Hermione had become a beacon to him since the war; it was Hermione who found him a position with the Department of Histories, a post he had never dreamed of holding until she vouched for his 'voracity of mind.' It was Hermione who came to his office every afternoon for tea and company.

Hermione who brought him a sandwich from the caf if he forgot to eat.

Hermione who gave him a bottle of his favorite scotch on his birthday.

Hermione. Hermione.

"Hey." She nudged his elbow, shaking him out of his reverie. She smiled as he blinked down at her. "Are you all right?"

He patted her hand and grinned. "Aren't I always?"

She squeezed. At work, in public, when they were alone... she was always taking his arm or his hand to get his attention. How many times had he taken hers because she had first extended it? She was touchy-feely, he told himself. Now she wore a ring on her finger which matched his, and he found himself wondering how it happened.

Logically, he knew. He volunteered for the initiative, they were paired, they signed a contract, they were linked. How had he been so lucky to get her?

"I know it's late, but I want to unpack a bit," she said. "I crossed my fingers that there would be bookshelves..." Hermione trailed off. The furnishings were modest, at least in the living room--a sofa, two wing-back chairs, small side-tables. Everything screamed 'french country' quaintness.

He chuckled. "Go look around."

Her eyes glinted with an unspoken emotion. "Alright. Would you put the kettle on?"

"If there is one to be had," he agreed.

"Thank you!" She toed off her white kitten heels beside the door. Her bag dangled from her elbow as she pranced down the hall.

He let out a long breath and scratched at his trim beard.

He shucked off his coat; Harry had tried to talk him into a new set of dress robes for the ceremony, but Sirius didn't see why it mattered. For one thing, it was a civil function performed in a registration office by a judge. What was the point? Besides, Hermione liked this coat. She had helped him decide on the burgundy, had protested when he said he was too old for such a color, and frequently complimented him on it when he wore it to the Ministry. So what if the edges were frayed? He draped the coat over the back of the chair and went off in search of the kitchen.

The cottage was modest, but the fact that it wasn't Grimmauld Place made it comfortable. He had been loath to bring her to the Black family home--it would be akin to dragging her to the underworld, where the paintings muttered about her, and the house elf actively called her that nickname. Even if she had spent brief time there during the war, it wouldn't do. They had agreed her tiny studio flat was too small; the Ministry was providing accommodations for pairs who needed them. Neither Hermione nor Sirius was above such an offer. Which is how they ended up here--a small cottage in Kent, with window boxes and a minuscule garden.

The kitchen was indeed equipped with a tea kettle, and every other amenity one might need. Sirius cuffed his sleeves to the elbows and braced against the counter as he waited for the water to boil.

It loomed over him, the third clause of the contract:

'The marriage will be sealed by consummation within twenty-four hours of the ceremony. If the first anniversary of the agreement has come and passed and no child has been conceived, the pair may elect to be re-assigned. If the pairing has proved to be in any way harmful to either party, the contract may be annulled after review. Etcetera.'

Gods. He looked down at his hands.

Rough. Callused. It should be a crime to put these hands on such a soft body. He groaned and ran a hand through his hair, but a lock fell over his face again. He set his jaw and stared daggers into the rug.

"Sirius?" He jumped. Hermione stood before him, having turned off the whistling kettle. She was no longer in her white silk robes, nor wearing the small fascinator with attached netting; instead, she wore a cotton sleeveless top and black stretch pants, and her hair fell down her back in loose waves. He cursed inwardly. She was adorable, and the lycra hugged her legs more intimately than any garment he had ever seen her in. She smiled and shook her head.

"Don't fall asleep on me now."

He cleared his throat, willing his body to remain neutral with her standing so close to him. "I'm knackered. Did you find a bookshelf?"

"Alas, I did not." She discovered a jar of tea bags above the sink labeled 'chamomile' and two cups, not bothering to ask if he wanted any. She never asked, she always brought him his own share of whatever she had.

"I'll build them for you," he said.

Her face lit up. "Are you handy?"

"My dear, I think I am capable of building shelves," he laughed. "I'll be less useful if you want an armoire, on the other hand."

"We have one." She lifted herself onto the counter and leaned her head back against the cabinets.

"Do we?"

"Mmm. It's not quite my style, but I suppose the Ministry did the best they could."

Sirius loosened his necktie--he was being choked. Hermione beckoned for him to come closer. As soon as he was within arm's reach, she plucked his tie free. She slipped it under her curtain of hair and tied it back off her shoulders. Sirius rubbed his throat.

"Is it all to your liking?"

Her head tilted as she studied him from her perch. He hated when she did that, because it always meant she was about to say something which made him feel silly for worrying about it. She had an annoying sense for these things.

"May I see your arm?" she asked.

His eyebrows reached for his hairline and he coughed. "Which... which one do you want to inspect?"

She pointed to his right, and held out her hand. He took it. She ran her pointer finger over the marks peeking out from under his sleeve. "I've never seen this one," she said. The one in question was the rune on his forearm, surrounded by script. "What does it mean?" Her thumb brushed the star-like tattoo.

He vibrated at her touch. She seemed not to notice. "It's a Norse rune meaning 'Hagall.' Cold, more or less."

"And the writing?"

"It's Old Norse. A protection spell."

"Against?"

"Dementors."

Her eyes flicked up to him sharply, and she let out a small breath. "You did this in Azkaban?" She looked pained to ask but somehow it didn't bother him that she would. When Hermione asked, it was because she felt like it was important.

"Couldn't cast a patronus charm."

"Are they all spells?"

"Most."

"Show me?"

His mouth went slack. "You want to see them?"

She nodded. He peered at her intently for a moment. If only she knew what she did to him. He prayed to whatever gods he could think of that his body would not betray him if she insisted on prodding his skin. Especially to see his ill-fated attempts at protecting himself, the way he had frantically carved himself to stay sharp. He did not want her to see it. She would have to eventually.

Then, she smiled. She raised an eyebrow.

Sirius went to work on his vest and unbuttoned his shirt. He let them hang open, so she could see how he was marked. Hermione scooted to the edge of the counter. She poked the runes at his neck in silent questioning.

"Dreamless sleep spell."

"Did it work?"

"Too well." He tensed as she passed over a scar and under his collarbone, where she paused over one of his largest tattoos. "Nyd. Need."

He grasped her hand and pressed it to the rune below his sternum. "This one got me out of there."

Her tongue darted out, and she licked her lips. "Looks like an alchemy symbol."

He rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. "Amalgamation."

"Animagus," she translated and he nodded. With her free hand, Hermione combed his hair back.

"It's too long. I need a haircut."

"Not so." Her eyes searched his. "Hey... You're not yourself. What's wrong?"

He looked away. She saw too much, too clearly, always had--she was clever long before he spent significant time with her. Now, at thirty-one, she was a blinding force. Beautiful, but what did it matter when she was gentle and kind and passionate? He had loved only once before, so he knew what he felt for her wasn't love. By gods, it would be easy to do so, if he let it happen. She cupped his cheeks.

"Look at me," she urged. He did. "What are you thinking about?"

"I hardly know."

"I'm sorry. This is a lot to contend with in one day. I don't want to needle you."

His face softened. "Never?"

"Not today at least." She smoothed his shirt. "We can act as though we are fond of one another, can't we?"

Sirius pulled her hair over her shoulder. He sighed. "I am fond of you." He tucked a finger under her chin.

She swallowed. "Are you?"

"Helplessly." Sirius moved closer, standing between her knees.

She grazed the down-turned corner of his mouth. "You're sad."

"I'm not--"

"You look it."

He shook his head. "Take care with how closely you scrutinize, Hermione. You might not like what you see."

Hermione was right. He was not himself. They were always laughing at one another for this or that, always teasing. It was an easy affability, a generosity of spirit which leant itself so well to a true friendship. She always teased him that he learned his manners as a dog, and Merlin did he wish he could live in his animagus form and follow her around like a lost puppy, rather than subject himself to her knowing gaze at this moment. This felt dire in a way which sapped all the humor from him.

She said nothing and pressed her lips to his cheek. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tight. They had hugged a million times before. How often had smelled her jasmine soap, knowing the welling in his chest was a foolish fantasy? For all the turmoil in his heart, he couldn't help but feel... relieved.

After the awkwardness of this first night together... what would they be to each other?

The thought of affection between them--true sentiment, not forced by their coerced marriage--made him hope like he didn't allow himself to hope since they first received their letters. He couldn't put words to it, but the truth of it would come out the more they put effort into it. For now, it was an unspoken part of their formal agreement.

Was marriage going to make him stoic? He scoffed at the thought.

Hermione sat back. "Kiss me?"

He blinked.

Her fingers settled on the veins in his neck, which were pronounced as he clenched his teeth. "Just... I feel your heart racing and I think we both know what we must do. Surely it would be easier--"

His thumb traced over her bottom lip and stopped her train of thought. "If that's what you wish." His voice was low. Sirius weighed the cost of giving in to such a request, to his delicate resolve. Her gaze flicked to his mouth. His resolve broke.

He should have known she wouldn't kiss like some teenager, but when she dipped her head, it became obvious. Her lips asked to touch, gently. He gave her the opportunity to pull back after a peck. She didn't; Hermione's hand crept into his hair, and he wound his arms around her waist. He moaned when her tongue flickered against his lips.

Kissing her awakened something in him. A quiet thing. Small, but heated. It went straight to his cock, too.

She tasted like honey and flowers; her mouth was warm, her lips pliant. He cradled her head in his hands. She pulled back but her eyelids were heavy, betraying the true effect of the intimacy--lips swollen, hair mussed. He smiled at the sight of her undone.

"Was that alright?"

Hermione nodded once and glanced at his mouth again. "So, that answers one question." She angled forward again to kiss him. He laughed against her mouth.

"What?"

"...compatibility," she said. Her cheeks flushed. Pieces of hair had fallen down.

"I like your hair free," he murmured. He pulled his necktie from her hair and eased a newly-fallen lock behind her ear.

"Do you?"

He gave her a dark look. He ghosted his fingers down her arms and back up again, leaving behind a trail of goose flesh. "I do."

"Sirius... you know what we must do..."

"Yes." He had been dwelling on it for the last month, caught between desire and dread. First, fear he would be paired with someone who found him repellent, and then pray that this woman wouldn't.

"Are you... amenable to the terms?"

"Which?"

"That it must happen... tonight..."

Sirius' hands settled on her knees. No. No, he wasn't. "Yes."

"I... I don't want you to feel obligated to do anything, or feel any certain way. But I'm glad it's you they chose for me." Her hands curled in his shirt. She refused to let him go. He brushed her chin.

"Go on."

Hermione lifted her hand. "Can I touch you?" she asked, as if she hadn't done so with her lips, as if she hadn't let him touch her, too. He nodded. Her fingers memorized his chin. "I've always... felt things. About you. Independent of our history, I... I was thankful that it was you, but I'm afraid you'll think me too eager to make something work which is in essence an arranged marriage, so I want you to know that I--"

His lips captured hers--to breathe with her, to feel her. His ribs felt ready to crack open. When she panted, Sirius pulled away. He felt the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

"I adore you," he confessed. "Trust me--that it is you is enough."

"Sirius..."

"You could've had so much better." He locked his hands behind her back.

Hermione shook her head and pulled his hands from her waist. She slid into the void between them. Her hands fell to his chest.

"Enough of that."

The hallway revealed the rest of the house, but he didn't see any of it. Her hand pulled him along, past open doors, to the end of the hall. It was dimly lit and small, but the bedroom had a bed large enough for two and an armoire. The bed had been dressed; a conspiratorial smile told him she had done it. She gestured for him to sit. She held out her hand.

"Wand?"

He unholstered his wand from the calf-strap and handed it over. Hermione set it on top of the armoire. She turned back to him. Merlin, she was so beautiful--the yellow light from a lap beside the bed made her skin glow.

"Why did you volunteer?" he asked.

She smiled. "Why did you?"

Sirius looked at the ground. "Why not? I was lonely. It was a chance to do something for wizard-kind. Be useful. You?"

"I wanted a family," she said. "I am repugnant to men by virtue of my notoriety, and I want to be a mother. It seemed logical."

"You are not repugnant." Hermione stood out of his reach but his fingers itched to hold her. Sirius carded a hand through his hair. "I am not a young man, Hermione. I... whatever attraction I might have had for you was sapped from me in Azkaban, I'm sure. I look so much older than I feel, and it is... improper to want you as much as I do. But I do, and I have."

Her face softened into a pitying look. "How long?" She spoke lowly but her voice was even and kind.

"Since you got me the job in Histories, I think."

"Hang on," she said, holding up a hand to silence him. "You did that. I got you in the door, but you earned that position, Sirius."

She closed the gap between them, and he looked up at her, angel that she was. She smoothed the worry lines between his eyebrows. "You are handsome."

"You're humouring me."

"Gods--you're obtuse."

Hermione knelt and pointed to his boots. He nodded. She drew the laces out of the grommets on his left first, and then the right. She eased the dragon-hide boots from his feet. He sent up silent thanks that he was diligent about scourgifying them, so they didn't stink. She would laugh if he told her, but this wasn't the time to amuse her. Not when her head was so near his crotch, and she was trying to prove her point. She nodded to his belt buckle and her hands floated centimeters from it, waiting for his permission. He gave it with a curt bow of his head. She worked the leather from the metal. The belt was liberated from the loops with a yank, which also scooted him to the edge of the bed. Closer still to her touches. He was hard as a rock and moved to adjust himself, but Hermione grabbed his wrist.

"Not your job," she said simply. He couldn't help but smirk at her boldness, but the smile fled from his face as she released the button and zip. He tilted forward reflexively and she paused. "Yes?"

"If... if I prove unsatisfactory in some way, I will make it up to you in another." He watched her eyelids flutter as she processed what he might mean by that. What he meant was: he was ready to explode the moment she touched him, and he would worship whatever part of her body she wanted all night if she needed it, as many times as was necessary. He wasn't sure how ready he could be for her if he came before she could be satisfied, but his mouth and hands would do their due diligence.

She was undeterred. Hermione nipped at his lips, and he once again tasted the faint flowery sweetness of chamomile on her breath. He huffed a ragged breath as her little hand palmed him through the tweed. Independent of his will, his cock twitched. She smiled against his mouth. His trousers proved little defense against the invasion of her determination. She tugged at the trousers, and he hastily laid back to oblige her; he eased the fabric over his hips and kicked them off his feet. His desire was evident, tented in his briefs. Hermione traced a finger up his thigh in the same pattern as the tattoo printed there, and straddled his leg.

"Have you ever felt a woman so wet, you can tell through her clothing?" She moved one of his hands to her center, to feel her. She had soaked through her skin-tight leggings. He growled and kissed her hard. Hermione ground herself against his thigh as his tongue invaded her mouth. "How could you think--gods," she keened, "that you're not attractive?"

Sirius massaged her clit. "Taking my trousers off did this to you?" His voice came out gruff.

"Kissing you did," she whispered. "The trousers were for your benefit." Her hands crept beneath his shirt and slid it off his shoulders. The fabric rustled to the floor.

Hermione crossed her arms over her torso and removed her top in one swift movement, granting him a front row view of her breasts rising with each labored breath. She slipped off his thigh and undid the holster around his calf. Then, she knelt between his legs. "Can I put my mouth on you?"

He coughed. "Uhm. Yes."

She pushed on his chest, and he leaned back on his elbows. Hermione smiled at him innocently and held his gaze as she freed him from his briefs. He didn't see what she did next because his eyes rolled back in his head. Her lips touched the head softly. His elbows betrayed him and Sirius fell back.

Her mouth was like velvet--she took him half-way, tongue laving at the vein oh the underside of his shaft. Warm, soft, sucking in one moment and then teasing with drags of silky lips along the sensitive skin. As soon as her hand found the base, he wasn't long for such languorous torture. He couldn't warn her, words would not come out of his mouth. It felt like hours and seconds--but he bit his lip as he released, and she hummed her delight as he came down from his high. He finally managed to open his eyes; she used her top to wipe her chin and then clean him off. Sirius sat bolt upright as she patted him with the soft fabric, and she silently laughed.

"Sensitive?" she teased. He hauled her up by her elbows, kissing her desperately. He could taste himself on her lips. Those perfect, sensual lips which he was liable to bruise if he continued to kiss her like that. She melted against his chest.

"I believe you, n-now," he stammered as she broke the kiss to breathe. Her face filled with a grin.

"If you think I was wet before..."

Sirius laid her over his knee. She squeaked in surprise. Sure enough, he could make out a growing dark spot below her arse cheeks, and he stroked it. "My gods," he said. "You're going to kill me." He massaged the spot between her legs, feeling the faint outline of her folds through the stretchy material. She wiggled under his ministrations, and he got a wicked idea.

He grasped the waistband of her leggings and rucked it over her arse, exposing her skin to the air. She was not wearing knickers, a fact which had him half-hard again. She arched her back in search of his touch. Sirius groaned. He couldn't decide how he wanted to stroke her bare skin for the first time, her center that is.

"Sirius," she warned. He chuckled. "Are you going to just sit there and ogle me?"

"Ogle?" He ghosted his hand down her left buttock and the muscle flexed. "I was contemplating how good you smell."

"Damned dog," she growled, slapping his leg. He barked with laughter and let his finger dip between her legs. Her hips lifted immediately and she wheezed. "Please."

"What do you want?"

"Inside."

"Don't you like being teased?" He wanted to prolong her pleasure as long as possible, but his cock was already straining against her stomach with her writhing. He gave in to her desperate whimpers and slipped one finger inside her heat. If her mouth was velvet, her pussy was silk satin; it didn't take much for him to work a second inside. He bent his head to her shoulder and kissed it. He moved his hand out ever so slightly and back in, thrusting his fingers towards the spongy softness. Hermione's head fell forward.

"Oh my gods--you have been teasing me all day! Pretending... mmmph... that you don't see me trying."

"Does this seem like I'm teasing, darling?" Sirius added a third and she bucked. She gasped again, working herself on his fingers as his hand stilled to torture her.

He removed his hand from her, and she went limp over his leg, gasping for breath. Her knees shook. She shoved off him and divested herself of the leggings, glaring at him. She nodded for him to scoot backwards on the bed, and he did. Hermione crawled up the covers and threw her knee over his straining cock. Her hand reached between them, and she sheathed herself over him without preamble.

"So good," she sobbed as he surged to meet her. He rolled them and pinned her to the bed, so deeply inside her that she hooked her legs over his shoulders for purchase. He moved slowly, giving her the whole of the sensation of their joining. Hermione's teeth scraped against his bottom lip. "You can be rougher."

Sirius snapped his hips, eliciting a gasp from her lips which demanded another. "What else do you like?"

"What you did... with my leggings..." She canted her hips. "So hot. Take charge. I'm not fragile."

"Noted."

"I like to be surprised. Everywhere. Nothing is off limits--just ask!"

"Do you always talk this much?" He thumbed her clit and felt her flutter around him.

"You know me," she shrugged, smiling even as pleasure took her over.

"Yes, I do." He pulled out of her enough to flip her to her stomach and yanked her backwards. Her hair dragged over the bed sheets and obscured her face, but he gleaned her response as he pushed into her again. She curled her fingers into the sheets above her head.

The first sign of her oncoming orgasm was the way her insides squeezed him. He drummed his fingers down her back to the nape of her neck as he thrust into her. Hermione's thighs vibrated as her orgasm took over. He reached beneath her to find her clit again, and she made an involuntary yelp of over-sensitivity. Still, she kept moving, enticing him to his own end.

"Come, now," she breathed. "Sirius--please!"

He doubled down on his ministrations but when her fingers found his sac, his cock shuddered and his release shot through him like an electric shock. He collapsed over her, stopped from crushing her only by pressing his forehead between her shoulder blades. Her skin smelled of jasmine and sweat, and he thought he had never smelled something so satisfying. He kissed her shoulder and she shivered.

"Good girl," he muttered. "Oh gods. I'll never walk again." She shook with laughter in response, and he couldn't help but smile, too.

"Sirius..." she turned her head and his lips found her cheek and her temple and her neck. She rolled on her side, forcing him to pull out of her. The feeling of him leaving the sanctuary of her body had them both groaning. He slumped beside her, facing her. Her cheeks were flushed. Little tendrils stuck to her temples with sweat. Her lips were deep pink and wetted by her tongue. She looked like Titania in her bower. She reached for his face and cupped it.

"Do you regret volunteering?" she asked.

His chest welled with an unbidden sensation. "No."

"Then what's been bothering you?"

Sirius took her hand from his face and held it tightly against his chest. "You know... what we've had these last few years has felt so dear to me."

"Me, too."

"I have been alone a long time. This is... being married. Under these circumstances. The fact that it's you. It's overwhelming."

Hermione propped her head up on her hand. "Did you think I wasn't nervous?" She smiled sweetly as he squeezed their clasped hands. "There are so many things about this arrangement which aren't normal. At least we like each other."

Sirius thumbed the finger which bore the ring that united them. "If it weren't for the idiotic initiative... I'd still be wondering what your skin felt like."

"You don't know it wouldn't have happened."

He narrowed his eyes. "Don't I?"

"Why do you honestly think I lurk around your office?"

"...because you pity an old man?"

She laughed. "You're not old."

"Older than you by... a fair amount."

"Yes, but witches mature faster than wizards," she said, eyes glinting with amusement. "I've been trying to hint to you for a while, you numpty!"

"...if you have, it's lost on me."

"Are you kidding? I touch you all the time, I bring you tea, I wear low-cut tops--"

"You are too subtle!"

"You should get your eyes checked, old man--"

He straddled her and pinned her with a gruff harrumph. She snickered as he laid his head on her sternum. Her fingers found their way into his hair... the sensation of her finger tips running over his scalp. Mesmerizing. Little prickly tingles ran down his spine.

His eyes snapped open, and he blew a harsh breath across her breast. She hummed in curiosity.

"I might be a terrible father," he blurted.

Hermione tugged on his hair playfully. "It is probably going to take more than one shag to get pregnant, so... let's not worry about being good parents yet. Let's enjoy each other naked. Nevermind why."

He nosed her nipple. "I can't talk you out of this."

"Not after what you did to my body." She rubbed his neck. "Or, you know, the contract."

Sirius propped himself up on his elbow. "Small details." She laughed. "Share a bath with me?"

"If you don't mind my soap."

"I'm sure I smell like you already." Sirius kissed her and she wrinkled her nose at him. He turned over and swung his legs over the side of the bed, rolling his neck. Well. His body certainly remembered how to do that just fine... the recovery might take longer than he remembered, with the way his knees were shaking. Hermione skipped ahead of him, pausing at the door to cast him one last look.

"Coming?"

He shook his head in disbelief. Her head fell back as she laughed--fully-bellied and unashamed.

***

Thanks for reading! :)

My masterlist

#sirius black x hermione granger #sirius x hermione #sirimione #sirimione fic

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hrwinter · 3 years

Note

Lena placing a pair of glasses on a pillow and making out with it pretending it’s Kara

Lena’s not always this drunk. Well. Lena hasn’t historically imbibed this much after the age of 26, but her mother’s been arrested and her best friend is a liar, so what else is there to do other than look for an answer at the bottom of a very large bottle of scotch.

She’s been to three upscale bars and restaurants with Andrea, both of them reverting to their messy boarding school days almost instantaneously after the third glass, giggling in the corner and overtly hitting on men and women by sending them pretentious $24 cocktails.

But there’s still a dark streak in all the buffoonery. Lena can’t stop searching for blue eyes on the face of every blonde or broad shoulders under the lapels of every Armani jacket. She hates herself for it. And she hates Kara Danvers. Or Kara Zor-El, whatever the fuck.

Lena is pissed.

She takes another moody sip of scotch while some stock broker continues to shoot his shot (why do they all talk the same? why do they all feel the need to explain how money works to her, a billionaire?) and Andrea’s laughing and laughing at a woman far too loudly, her finger tips sloshing the edge of a martini she absolutely doesn’t need. While the man goes on about blue chip stocks, earnings per share, dividends (kill her), Lena’s eyeing the restroom.

No one would miss her if she ducked out. She could have a car here in minutes. Hell, Andrea would probably appreciate the attention of both parties at the same time. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d finagled a twosome into a threesome.

But that means going home. It means gazing at the dark sky from the cold enclave of her penthouse balcony. It means seeing the downturned photo frame, glass smashed, but still not thrown away.

God damn Kara. She stays.

She doesn’t go home with the man, and Andrea doesn’t go home with the woman. They don’t all go home together. But she and Andrea do go to another bar, and after that, an after hours bar. Then, by some misfortune of a higher power, they end up at a bratwurst stand at 4 AM with a horde of college kids. College children.

“Someone threw up just there,” Lena points at the pavement.

“Oh, don’t be such a snob!” Andrea shrieks into the night, grasping at Lena’s elbow and toying with a necklace Lena knows to cost more than a tricked out Vespa. Lena may be glassy-eyed, there may even be two of Andrea, but she can still spot irony.

“I’m starving. And I haven’t had one of these in yeaaarrrsss,” Andrea elongates as they move up a few paces in line. “Remember when we’d sneak into town and grift old men for drinks? That hot dog stand just outside of Hawthorne’s? I’ve been desperate for one.”

Lena wants to complain more, but it does smell good. And by the time they have bratwursts fisted in hand and are leaning against a nearby brick wall with the rest of the infants, Lena’s not feeling all that bad. It might be the best thing she’s ever tasted in her life. God, this might be the best she’s ever felt in her life. Numb, blitzed out of her mind, somewhere closer to nineteen sheets to the wind than three, she’s no longer a Luthor, no longer a simpering fool to a Super’s lies, not a CEO or a disappointment or even a person. She’s just a presence existing on this curb, eating a bratwurst.

“I’m having an out of body experience,” she tells Andrea with half her mouth full and still swallowing.

“That good, huh?” Andrea has mustard on her chin.

“I want another.”

Lena glances up, and her visions tunnels. Her existence is whittled down even further, to its basest instinct. She’s become the singular pursuit of a thousand more calories, of another bratwurst. Lena surges into the street, the stand a beacon of light in the darkness.

But several things happen at once. There’s a screech of tires, the smash of metal, what feels like getting hit with a brick wall and then being shot out of a circus canon.

Lena finds herself throwing up on the pavement on the other side of the road, and Kara fucking Danvers yelling at a motorist. The guy has gotten out of his car, hood dented and engine smoking.

“You smashed my car!”

“You almost hit a woman! You could’ve killed her!”

“She just bolted into the street, that’s not my fault!”

“PEDESTRIANS HAVE THE RIGHT OF WAY!” Kara shouts back.

“Hey!” Lena slurs, having regained her dignity by wiping her mouth clean of vomit. It’s called class.

Both the guy and Kara turn to look at her, but her eyes are trained on Kara.

“I don’t need your help,” she tells her with a point of her finger.

This feels very witty. The pinnacle of sass. So what if she’s lost a heel at some point and may have missed a bit of vomit in her hair. She’s the one in control.

The guy’s eyes narrow.

“Are you blind or something? Didn’t your mom teach you to look both ways before you walk into the street?”

At the mention of Lena’s mother, her eyes narrow, she sways dangerously.

“You’re fired.”

“What?” the guy rolls his eyes. “I don’t have time for this.” He whips out his cell phone. “You’ve got insurance right?”

“Um, yeah,” Kara hands him a card, but she’s quick to come to Lena’s side, to place a steadying hand on her shoulder. Lena tries to wiggle away from it like a petulant child.

“Stop it!”

Kara ignores her.

“Lena, I didn’t want to say it around him,” Kara cups a blocking hand over her mouth and points at the guy so he can’t see.

It’s so adorable and infuriating.

She stage whispers, “But you were jaywalking! And you could’ve been hit by a car. What’re you even doing out here?”

Lena rolls her eyes so hard, she might’ve just incurred permanent damage.

“I’m an adult, Supergirl, and I don’t need an escort--”

Lena’s very mature tirade is interrupted by Andrea crossing the street, mouth still wide open and staring. The look she’s giving Kara is distinctly not platonic, and the look she’s giving Lena is one of deepest intrigue. Her eyes scan the pair of them, their body language, the way Kara’s hand is still on Lena’s shoulder (hadn’t she shaken that off?), and smirks.

“Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

Lena could kill her.

“Be quiet, Drea!”

Andrea dissolves into snorts, and Kara glances between the two of them, a look of recognition passing over her face. Now Lena wants to hurl herself into traffic for real.

Kara opens her mouth to speak, but Lena waves a hand in front of her nose.

“Just--everyone shut up and take me home.”

And the route Lena wants to be taken home is clear when she swats at Kara’s (firm) bicep (to push her away, of course), and that swat accidentally turns into a posessive squeeze.

“Oh, can I come, too?” Andrea purrs, and Kara’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“No!” Lena barks at her.

“Fine, fine! Call me tomorrow!” Andrea waves, and like some sort of rich superpower, she’s already getting into the back of a sleek black car.

“Okay, Lena,” Kara hushes against her head. It’s too soft and caring, and Lena wants to push her away. But she doesn’t. (Mainly because standing is feeling like quite a complex task, and she doesn’t have the balance for it.)

“This’ll only take a second.”

Then, Lena’s wrapped in a warm and solid embrace. It’s nice... before everything blurs, and she has the distinct desire to vomit again.

She never wants another bratwurst.

In the very next moment, she’s being gingerly placed on her balcony, and Lena’s surging out of Kara’s grasp and pressing her face against the cold glass of her balcony sliding door. It feels amazing, calming her stomach down by degrees.

“What’re you doing?”

“Oh,” Lena says. Maybe she’d been doing that for a bit too long.

She runs her hands over the glass in an attempt to open the door, heavily petting various keypads and biometric scanners. Nothing happens. She scratches at the glass like a raccoon desperate to be inside.

“Um, isn’t it over there?” Kara indicates a different keypad to the left.

“I don’t need your help!” Lena shouts before following her instructions exactly. The door opens. She grumbles inside.

Unaware and uncaring, Lena starts undressing in her living room the very moment she’s crossed the threshhold, discarding her shirt, her skirt this way and that. There’s a gasp behind her and another suspicious super speeding sound, but she ignores Kara. She paces into her bedroom to strip off her bra and grab an oversized shirt. After, she spread eagles on her bed.

“I, um, brought you a glass of water.”

Lena cracks an eye open, takes in the sight of Kara standing at her bedside, nervous and uncertain, glass of water extended between them like some sort of peace offering.

She groans loudly and sits up to snatch it from her, water sloshing onto her bare legs. She doesn’t register it, draining it dry, glaring at Kara over the edge of the glass the entire time.

The Super pulls at her fingers.

“What’re you doing here?” Lena rasps, rolling the empty glass onto her exquisite and overpriced comforter.

“You were in trouble, Lena.”

“You don’t care about me.”

“Yes, I do.”

Lena scoffs, completely undignified, a sound appropriate for an elementary school playground. She does it again because it feels good. Kara’s eyebrows pinch.

Lena swivels at the waist and plucks her reading glasses off her bedside table. She places them over one of her giant, California King-sized pillows.

“Oh, Kara, there you are!” she says, squeezing it’s sides together like she’s cupping its cheeks. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you in a pair of glasses!”

Kara’s brows furrow deeper, not amused.

“How did I not see that the kindness, the sincerity, the insistence that I was not just another Luthor was a total act!” she continues to talk to it.

“It wasn’t an act--”

Lena brings the pillow close in her arms.

“Stopping by to bring me lunch, complimentary puff pieces, spin class, game nights. You’re so sweeeeeet,” she elongates, squeezing the pillow tight. “And beautiful. You know what you deserve? A kiss.”

Surely, this bit has spiraled out of Lena’s control. This entire night has. And were she sober enough to realize it, she’d catch herself before this next part. But she’s not and she’s wasted. And this pillow is the Kara she used to know, the Kara Lena used to pine for unconditionally, fantasizing what it might be like to just, lean over and...

She loses her balance as she places a wet one just under the glasses of her pillowcase and falls over on top of it. Incidentally, it’s the perfect size for snuggling, just like Kara herself, and her eyes flutter closed, warm and content.

“I’ll--I’ll go,” she hears a voice say.

“Kara?” Lena mumbles, face down in her pillow and not long for this world.

“Yeah?”

“I lo--I mean, I hate you.”

Kara sighs.

“I love you too, Lena.”

#supercorp #hr's askhole #tumblr prompt #ficlet #god i was like #thisll be short #1800 words later #pillowcorp endgame

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slashbitch2 · 3 years

Text

Lying To Her Love

i noticed there were no fics for lorraine and felt i had to remedy that

also no hate to ed he's a dilf

Lorraine wasn't really sure what prompted her to stray from the group. Conjecture would be the only way to describe it: a sudden desire to distance herself from Ed, to explore the house alone. A new feeling had also arisen deep inside, in her chest if she had to place it, similar to a compass. Like there was an internal needle pointing in the direction she was supposed to go, and she chose to trust this instinct. Though thus far her inference skills had brought about nothing but terrifying situations.

And unfortunately, it seemed this time would be no different...

The needle slowly spun round to point out a set of stairs leading down toward the basement. A layer of dust had settled upon each step, indicating that no one had ventured down so far, which only served to intrigue her further. How, in a paranormal investigation, had no one thought to check the basement? As she drew closer, Lorraine realised there was a very faint set of footsteps. They were too imperceptible to have been made recently, yet the house had supposedly been uninhabited since the disturbances began over a week ago.

Had it not been for the very insistent compass directing her down, the footsteps would've been convincing enough. Careful not to unsettle the evidence, she began to descend down the staircase, one hand tracing along the brick wall as if to ground herself in reality. With each step she could feel a weight bearing down on her chest, a dizzy wave rushing over her. At one point the sensation grew so overwhelming that she had to pause and close her eyes. Whilst stood still, the strange pressure that had been building up in her ears reached its peak. Without opening her eyes, Lorraine knew she'd crossed over to one of her prescience visions.

However, when she eventually did open them, it was to find everything exactly as she'd left it. There were no indications that anything had changed, except for the familiar feeling that she was watching through someone else's eyes. Or rather, watching what someone else wanted her to. She'd been brought here for a reason, and by god she was going to get to the bottom of this. Reinvigorated by a new determination, she practically skipped past the last few steps and onto the cold basement floor.

Here Lorraine found the first confirmation that she was no longer in reality: natural light flooding in from no visible source. It was a welcomed change from the gloom of late evening she'd left behind, but only made her more weary of whatever she was about to encounter since it was clearly trying to lure her into a false sense of security. Nonetheless, she cautiously ambled further into the open space. In fact, it was eerie how empty the room was. Usually she'd be climbing over piles of abandoned objects, trying to give equal attention to each one which often invoked fabrications of the mind. However, here there was nothing for her brain to work with, save for the occasional movement out the corner of her eye that she knew was nothing more than fiction to fill the void and warrant her apprehension.

By the time she'd reached the opposite end of the room, nothing yet had occurred to explain why she'd been dragged into this particular vision. And then, an abrupt, horrifying possibility dawned on her. What if she was stuck here? It had never happened before, but then again, in most cases 'the cause' would've revealed itself by now.

Although, with this realisation came another equally strange one. Lorraine could feel no fear, no panic, no negative emotions. All she was aware of was complete relaxation. Even her most horrific memories and upsetting images couldn't create any response. They were nothing but distant stories told by a different version of her. The positive aura filling the room started to shift into something else, into an almost crippling pleasure. It was both intense and insufficient. She found herself clutching at her stomach, as if she'd suddenly been made aware of an incapacitating emptiness. She longed for company, yet the idea of returning to reality appeared an incredibly unappealing one. Instead, Lorraine wanted to fall further into this dreamlike pleasure.

But that was what it wanted.

With great difficulty, and an exclamation of discomfort, Lorraine turned on her heels to begin her escape. Though she halted upon catching sight of a figure stood before her. She compelled herself to push past the profound ache lingering in her gut, standing up straight to face this mysterious being. Here she came across the second confirmation that this wasn't reality, not that she needed it anymore. You were indescribably beautiful, radiating a sort of divine light like an alluring beacon of possibility.

Most spectres or demons Lorraine met were the opposite. They enveloped the light around them, constructed a dark gap in which there was nothing but pain and regret. They represented everything that couldn't be. A screaming phantom that reminded her to appreciate life.

But you-

You represented all that could've been without any guilt or anguish. You emanated both warm nostalgia and burning desire, the effects of which were palpable for anyone who could tune into the energy, and Lorraine was being strongly subjected to it. Though first and foremost, she had a job to do.

She swallowed, refocused her attention to the task at hand. "Why-" Another wave of dizzying desire washed over her. She tried again. "Why are you-" The world around her was spinning. She blinked rapidly to try stave off vertigo, but stumbled anyway.

A cool reprieve from the searing pleasure caught hold of her. Using the embrace for support she stabilized herself only to come face to face with you.

Despite your overpowering influence on her, you appeared surprisingly human up close. Normal enough to blend in with reality, but sufficiently attractive to be memorable. Still there was something irresistible to your appearance that encouraged Lorraine to sink further into your hold, to move her hands to wrap around the back of your neck. She hadn't felt so loved since early on in her relationship with Ed...

Ed.

She shouldn't be doing this. Her marriage commitment ought to have her fighting against you- but that was practically inconceivable. Besides, how could something morally wrong feel so right? No, this wasn't infidelity. She wasn't exactly sure what it was, but not that. She would never cheat on Ed.

The temptation was intoxicating. Lorraine's hands started to trace patterns along any available skin, savouring the unfamiliar yet exhilarating sensation. You weren't a living breathing person so there was something different about the way you felt that she was eager to investigate. In response to her caress, you brought one hand up to cup her cheek, maintaining intimidating yet intimate eye contact. The touch emitted pure pleasure and Lorraine gasped as she leant into the contact. Time seemed to slow as neither moved, opting to stare at the other in silence instead.

She was vaguely aware that time moved differently in her visions. That the longer she spent in one, the more time had passed upon return. Though currently it was the least of her worries. All she could focus on right now was you and the close proximity that appeared to be narrowing still. Your gaze had dropped to the lower half of her face. Lorraine did the same, her eyes fixating on your lips. However, before you closed the gap she raised a hand, motivated by a new desire. She was shaking slightly, but ignored it to gently brush a finger along your lips. She wanted a taste of the upcoming kiss, and was pleasantly unsurprised. As expected, the touch only reasserted her conviction.

She'd never wanted anything- anyone- as much as she did now.

Suddenly your mouth was upon hers, bringing cooling bliss with it. Lorraine moaned. She felt again a rush of possibilities, the surging tide of everything that could be. The muted uncertainty at the back of her mind blurred into nothingness as she clung onto you. Your mouth was the only solid thing in a swaying world, and she planned on indulging herself in the addictiveness of it. She parted her lips, provoking insatiable tremors along her nerves and another rush of giddiness. She felt young, as if she were experiencing intimacy for the first time again.

Your hands were everywhere, carrying an influx pleasure. She'd never felt anything quite like it. Time became irrelevant, everything except you was meaningless. She was lost to an eternity of bliss, in a realm of endless fulfilment. It was incomprehensible, otherworldly.

And then it was over.

She hadn't noticed she was lightly crying, or trembling so much. Or that she was on the ground. You'd simply disappeared and she'd collapsed. But someone was holding her now, someone else.

"Lorraine!" Ed was crouching before her, gently shaking her out of the dreamlike state and back to consciousness. She'd never loathed him so much for saving her.

"What happened?" He asked, lowering to meet her eyes. "Are you okay?"

She scoffed, her mind trying to comprehend all that'd just happened. She was left reeling from the sudden weight of Ed's touch and separated from him. "I'm fine." Her voice barely breached a whisper.

"Did you see anything?"

Lorraine finally met his eyes, but she couldn't tell him.

"No." She answered. "There's nothing here." She lied.

#lorraine warren x reader #vera farmiga x reader #lorraine warren

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velvetcloxds · 3 years

Text

BREATHE| D.H.

Pairing: Derek x fem! Reader

Word count:2642

Warning: mentions of abusive family member, mentions of abuse, mentions of dead body

Summary: Scott, Stiles and Isaac create a situation where Derek and the reader are forced to talk about the very obvious feelings that they have for each other.

“I don’t know,” I say softly, looking out into the hallway to check for my aunt before softly closing the door behind me, “She’s barely over the fact that I got a B on my midterm paper,” I tell him, moving my books out of the way to sit down on my bed.

“Was it bad?” Isaac asks after a second and I sigh, tracing my fingers under my eye where there should be a completely healed bruise by now.

“It’s been worse,” I answer quickly and he sighs on his end, knowing by now that I wouldn’t tell him if it actually were bad, “I’m fine Isaac, besides it would be much worse without the whole werewolf thing,,” I add, looking up when the front door shuts.

“Was that her?” Isaac asks, the tone of his voice tense. I sigh, jumping up from the bed, pulling the curtain open slightly to see her driving out of the driveway. I smile softly.

“Looks like I’ve got the house to myself for a few hours,” I tell him and hold the phone between my shoulder and my ear as I bend forward to pull my boots on.

“So, does that mean you’ll help us out tonight?” Isaac asks not missing a beat, I smile again as I stand up to grab my jacket.

“Yes, and it also means that the whole lot of you can climb down from the roof and meet me at the front door like normal people,” I say, hearing Isaac’s little laugh in the background as I end the call, the sounds of multiple footsteps on the roof following me as I make my way to the door.

“Why don’t I get to be on the roof?” I hear Stiles ask as I open the door, pulling my jacket on at the same time.

“You know why,” Derek tells him with a cold look causing Stiles roll his eyes.

“You fall down one time and you’re labelled a fall risk,” Stiles notes waving a hand around as his other hand pulls at his plaid shirt.

“It was not one time,” Derek replies very quickly becoming annoyed, “It was three times, and it was but minutes apart,” He adds and lifts a warning brow when Stiles moves to pretest.

“Good evening boys,” I interject before the little spat could continue. Isaac and Scott look over to me with small smiles and apologetic eyes as Derek and Stiles continue to stare each other down, “Derek,” I note formally, making him give Stiles one more warning gaze before locking eyes with me.

“Y/n,” He replies in the same tone after a moment, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket without breaking eye contact for even a second, “You look good,” He says simply, looking me over quickly before meeting my eyes again.

“So do you,” I say and he nods slowly, eyes raking over my face quickly before turning to Scott who is probably waiting for a moment to explain the plan. I smile to myself as I reach behind me to close the door.

“Stiles was listening to his dad’s police radio and there seems to be another body somewhere in the woods,” Scott explains and I furrow my brows at the very vague explanation.

“Is it a werewolf body? The body of someone who was murdered by a werewolf? A hunter? The body of another human sacrifice victim?” I ask, looking between all of them, their blank expressions making it clear that they don’t have an answer to my question.

“Does it matter?” Scott offers carefully and I scoff softly before nodding.

“Yes, it matters, if we’re trying to protect Beacon Hills from supernatural killers and therefore have to find this here dead person in order to that, then I’m with you. But if we’re just going on a little scavenger hunt that’s actually someone else’s job, then I’d like to inform you all that it’s very cold out here and I’m going back inside,” I say, pulling my jacket tighter against my body to emphasize my point.

“She’s right,” Derek notes and I nod at him, “You three said that this was serious and that time was of the essence and so far, it’s been a waste of my time.”

“Time you would’ve spent doing what, Derek? Brooding?” Stiles questions with a mocking smile, shifting back when Derek pulls a hand out of his pocket.

“Look it is serious, we’re not trying to waste anyone’s time,” Scott tells us and rolls his eyes when Stiles moves in behind him, keeping a hand on his shoulder as he looks over at Derek, “We think it’s one of the missing people that’s been killed by whoever’s going around sacrificing people.” He explains and hits Stiles’ hand away from his shoulder.

“Fine,” I say and step forward to walk past them and down the stairs, “We’ll separate into two groups; one group takes the right side and the other takes the left. Who wants to come with me?” I ask looking up at the four of them.

“Derek,” Isaac says very quickly and Derek looks at him with a questioning stare, “It’s either you go with Y/n or you go with Scott and Stiles,” He elaborates and then shrugs as he looks down, Scott and Stiles doing the same when I look over at them, there is definitely something going on here.

“Or Isaac and Derek could go together,” I offer, mainly just to see their reactions.

“No.” Scott says looking a little alarmed as he looks at me. “You’re not exactly Stiles’ biggest fan either. You’d murder him before we even left the yard,” He explains, stuttering in between sentences and I nod slowly, hiding a smile as the boys attempt to hide their frantic glares.

“Okay then, I guess it’s just the two of us,” I tell Derek who looks a little lost for a second as he stares down at me before he nods quickly and makes his way to my side, making sure to give the remaining boys an unplaced glare as he does.

“We’ll meet back here in half an hour, whether we find the body or not,” Derek says beginning to turn before stopping and pointing at Scott and Isaac. “Don’t let Stiles out of your sight,” He says sternly to which the boys nod, “And you, don’t be an idiot,” He adds, pointing at Stiles who is very clearly unhappy with the order. Stiles scoffs.

“I didn’t want you in my group in the first place,” He says and extends the notion towards me when he notices the smile on my lips that I was sure I’d hidden well, “Screw you, Y/n,” He adds as Scott and Isaac pull him from the steps and carefully push him towards the right direction.

“I hate the woods,” I announce softly as we still at the edge of the reserve, looking out onto endless rows of trees, “It gives me the creeps,” I add, tilting my head to get a glance of Derek’s reaction, feeling slightly less annoyed when the softest hint of a smile graces his lips.

“We’ll be out before you know it,” He tells me, not quite meeting my gaze, “You can stay close to me if it helps,” He announces with a quick glance before zipping up his jacket and starting to head off the trail. I take a second to myself, considering the idea of going into this stupid little forest following Derek of all people in there alone and let out a soft sigh.

“Wait up!” I shout, almost jogging to catch up with him despite his offer to keep close to me.

We continue like this for a while, staying close as we look around, sniffing the air for anything that could indicate that there’s a body around here, the only sound being that of our shoes crushing leaves and fallen branches as we walk.

“What?” Derek asks, stopping suddenly after I let out another tired sigh. I frown as I look up at him, “Why do you keep doing that?” He asks and points towards the zip of my jacket which I’ve been moving up and down for the last five minutes. I shrug. “And the sighing, what’s with the sighing?“ He adds in a rush, eyes large as he lets out a loud sigh of his own. I smile up at him.

“I’m bored,” I admit and he folds his arms over his chest, “And don’t even get me started on the silent searching which is driving me mad by the way. Like honestly, Derek, why won’t you talk to me?” I ask, dropping my hands from my jacket to stuff them into my pockets. He looks me over carefully before looking away.

“I don’t know,” He says after a moment and I scoff softly.

“Would you prefer it if I talked, because I have so much to say,” I tell him, taking a step to the side to catch his gaze.

“We need to find this body, Y/n,” He tells me, voice soft and distant. I shake my head, reaching a hand out to stop him from walking away.

“There’s no body, Derek. Well, I don’t think at least,” I say and he frowns, “You really didn’t notice how weird the guys were acting at the house?”

“They’re always weird.”

“Yes, but this was different. They planned this, all of this, somehow. I think they just wanted us to end up alone somewhere where we’re forced to really talk,” I explain and steady myself when my unneeded arm gesture causes me to lose balance.

“Talk about what?” He asks me and I furrow my brows in confusion.

“Don’t do that, you know about what. About you and me. About us,” I say and then shake my head when his eyes largen as a result of my words, “Don’t freak out on me, okay. Just listen,” I say carefully dropping my hand from his arm where it’s been holding him in place.

“Fine. I won’t freak out.”

“You like me,” I deadpan, mind already filling with about a thousand different ways I could’ve approached this, “I mean I think you do and that’s good because boy do I like you too. You’re just not so good with the words and the expression of the feelings and so truth be told I could be completely wrong, but I also don’t think I am. So, to be quite frank I was just curious as to when you were planning on asking me out?” I end, breathless for no reason as I carefully take in the way his expression softens, eyes raking over my face slowly, “I mean you do like me, right?” I ask, my own face softening from slight excitement to unsettled uncertainty as he remains quiet, looking between me and the trees behind me, “You don’t.” I say and let out a soft sigh, realizing how completely silly I must look making this big scene when he very clearly doesn’t feel the same at all.

“Y/n, wait…” He says quickly stupidly attempting to stop me from walking away from him even though I’m already out of reach, “Where are you going?” He asks, deciding to follow me instead.

“I don’t know,” I tell him, fighting the urge to either cry or kick his pretty little ass, “What do you care anyway?” I muse bitterly as I hear him getting closer to me.

“Will you stop?” He asks me annoyed and I feel his hands surrounding my waist to pull me to a stop in front of him, “Will you just give me a bloody minute?” He adds, breath against my neck as he holds me against his body, “If I let go, will you promise not to walk away?” He asks carefully and I nod, his hands moving back and away slowly before I turn around to face him, the seriousness in his eyes catching me by surprise, “I don’t know how to talk to you,” He starts and lets out a long sigh, “It’s like every word I know just completely disappears from my mind the second I see you. The second you smile. The second you say my stupid name. I can’t talk to you,” He explains and my lips almost immediately pull into a smile as response.

“Derek-“

“No. Just let me get this out,” He says, smiling as well as he moves his hands to my waist once again. “I think you’re amazing. You’re good and kind and you barely know anyone of us, but you’d still risk your life to help us out and you’re beautiful, which I should’ve said first, but you are. And you’re so closed off from everyone, but I can still tell exactly what you’re feeling by just looking at you, which is ridiculously unfair because as soon as I convince myself I feel one way for you it changes completely and suddenly I can’t do a bloody thing without thinking about you,” He shakes his head slightly as I let out a soft laugh, lifting my hands to his chest, “Yes, I like you. I like you so much that I feel like I can’t breathe,” He ends and I’m sure my cheeks have turned about every shade of red in but a matter of seconds.

“Breathe, Derek,” I say softly, leaning closer as my fingers move over his chest slowly.

“You’re not being fair,” He says and I can hear his heartbeat rising in pace.

“What are you going to do about it?” I ask carefully, looking up at him through my lashes, biting at my lip to draw his attention there. He smiles, a tint of rose barely touching at his cheeks before disappearing and I’d call him out on it, but the sudden strength of his hands pulling me tighter against his body has me somewhat preoccupied. He leans in as well, nose touching mine.

“This might be a start,” He whispers before catching my lips with his, kissing me slowly yet urgently as I move my hands to his neck, pulling myself even closer as the taste of mint meets my tongue.

Whistles and applause are what pulls us apart, Derek smiling against my lips before he moves away from me, loosely keeping a hand around my waist as we turn to see the boys coming up from behind us.

“I knew this would work,” Stiles announces as the three of them still in front of us. “This is why you need to let me make all of the plans, Scott, because clearly they always work,” He adds excitedly, waving his hands in the air between us. Isaac and Scott simply smiling as they look from him to us.

“I’m happy for you two,” Isaac says with an almost brotherly smile.

“Do you think they’ll have a June wedding?” Stiles asks in thought, smiling as another thought comes to mind, “Do you think we’ll have to ask her for him?” He adds and Scott nudges him when Derek growls lowly.

“We should get you home, your aunt could get home soon,” Scott tells me and we all nod in union before the tree of them turn to walk away in the direction of my house. I try to do the same, smiling when Derek pulls me back softly.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow night,” He states simply and I look up at him confused. He laughs before placing another soft kiss on my lips, “Out date.” He clarifies and smiles happily when I realize what he’s talking about, “I’ll pick you up tomorrow night,” He says again and I nod.

“I’ll bring the dictionary,” I muse, laughing softly as he rolls his eyes, pulling me with him as we follow the boys home.

Hi there, more of my work can be found on Wattpad under @mjoubertt. Mxx.

Masterlist

#derek hale imagine #derek hale one shot #derekhale x reader #derek x reader #derek hale imagines #derek hale #teenwolf x reader #teen wolf #fluff

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warcraft-lore-archives · 3 years

Text

The Folk & Fairy Tales of Azeroth Lore Facts

Editor’s Note: “Some of the tales you’ll encounter here may be rooted in canon, or they may be another traveler just telling a tall tale.”

Eyes of the Earth Mother

Though the Earth Mother heard the whispers of the Old Gods, she could not be swayed by them (13).

Pregnant, the Earth Mother sought a place away from the Old Gods’ corruptive influence to give birth to her children. Unable to find such a place, however, she decided to shape the world and, in doing so, create her own safe haven (14).

All of Azeroth’s lands, waters, and even the elements themselves came forth at this moment. They were suffused with enough of the Earth Mother’s essence so soon after their inception that they kept the Old Gods’ powers at bay (14).

The Earth Mother gave birth to twins: first An’she, a beacon of life and warmth, then came Mu’sha, who was to bring rest, tranquility, and healing. The elements called them the “sun” and the “moon” (15).

Eventually, both An’she and Mu’sha developed connections with the elements. An’she found himself able to wield the light and warmth of fire while Mu’sha maintained some control over the tides and winds (15-16).

The twins even went so far as to use the elements to create weapons to spar with. Mu’sha opted for a bow and arrow, whereas An’she’s weapon of choice was a set of blades (16).

To keep her children safe from the Old Gods’ ever-present influence while she slept, the Earth Mother took both An’she and Mu’sha up into her eyes. Their power was so great that she had to keep one eye open at all times (16).

This, however, meant that Azeroth no longer received An’she’s warmth or Mu’sha’s guidance of the wind while the Earth Mother rested. Cold slowly spread across the land and blizzards raged until she finally woke again (18).

The Earth Mother’s cycle between periods of sleep and awakening would come to form the basis of the seasons as we know them, with her time of work the summer and her time of rest the winter (18).

As the twins grew in power, they developed the ability to bring on the change of seasons at will, though they took care to do it slowly and give the world time to adjust. As the Earth Mother rested, An’she and Mu’sha continued to tend to Azeroth from behind her eyes (19).

After waking at one point, the Earth Mother found that there was new life walking the earth. Plucking wheat from the plains to sprinkle over them, the Earth Mother called them “Shu’halo,” - the tauren (19).

Just as the Earth Mother taught her children, both An’she and Mu’sha taught the Shu’halo in the ways of the elements and caring for the land (20).

When the Earth Mother next slept, however, the Old Gods extended their influence to the tauren, causing them to grow violent and turn on their own kind (20).

Saddened to see the tauren fall to such corruption, the Earth Mother shed a single tear. She realized that the land was no longer able to hold the Old Gods’ power at bay, meaning anything it touched could be corrupted (21).

Knowing that she was not safe for her children anymore because of her own connection to the land, the Earth Mother removed An’she and Mu’sha from her eyes and laid down in despair (21-22).

The single tear that the Earth Mother had shed became a blue baby, later named “Lo’sho,” or the Blue Child (22, 24).

Seeking to put an end to the Old Gods after what they had done to the tauren and the despair they instilled in their mother, An’she and Mu’sha fought against some of the eldritch beings’ manifestations. During the battle, An’she was wounded grievously. Though Mu’sha sought to heal him with wind and water, he continued to bleed (24).

The Earth Mother, stirred by her distant children’s dismay, eventually found her way to them. She urged them to take Lo’sho and go to the heavens so they could protect Azeroth from above, while the Earth Mother chose to root herself in the earth and prevent the Old Gods from ever claiming her children (26-27).

Mu’sha, the moon, continues to follow An’she closely across the sky so she can keep tending to his wounds (26).

One Small Tuskarr

The tuskarr etch their clan and family symbols into their tusks. Though this is customary, some do engrave other symbols - such as marks indicating deeds of great distinction - into their tusks as well (32, 36).

The catch master, who weighs the tuskarr’s catches, has a counting staff adorned with cords in the colors of each of the clan’s active fishermen. In accordance with how big a tuskarr’s haul of fish is, the catch master ties a single knot or more into their respective cord. These knots can be traded for tools, weapons, and coins, among other things (32-33).

A single knot is customary for those who meet basic requirements, while additional knots are allotted to those who catch more (33).

One can also earn knots from other tasks, such as fine embroidery, though they do so at a much slower rate than those who fish (38).

Food is shared equally among the tuskarr (33).

The tuskarr perform nomadic journeys that take them to various kalu’ak towns. While the fishers take their own boats, most of the mothers, adolescents, and children trek across the ice (34).

Fishing practices are passed down from parent to child. Though it is unclear if that is “law,” some of the tuskarr refuse to teach others to fish if they are not their own blood, going so far as to withhold information about the currents and places fish gather (36).

Tuskarr sometimes dye their moustaches (36).

It never gets fully dark in Northrend (38).

Oacha’noa is the tuskarr’s deity of both the sea and wisdom. Her symbol is that of a kraken (39).

The spearhead on most tuskarr weapons is made of sharpened bone (42).

A type of manta ray known as the stargazer can be found in Northrend’s waters (44).

The tuskarr can survive in water so cold it would kill other races native to Azeroth in mere minutes (45).

The tuskarr typically fly kites for fun, though they have been known to use them to send signals to others at great distances (48).

Lay Down My Bones

According to Vulpera beliefs, the first of their kind was born from the magic of the desert. Though they are a nomadic people, an old tale about an artifact called the Wailing Bone claims the desert calls their bodies back to where they began when they die. To ensure they find their way back, the vulpera follow the Wailing Bone (55-56).

Once one of their own has passed, it is customary for the next of kin to carry the bone at the head of the caravan while the vulpera wander in search of the proper place to bury them. The journey may take anywhere from days to weeks, but when the Wailing Bone begins to cry, the vulpera know they have found their loved one’s final resting place (56, 61).

A poem is carved into the Wailing Bone: “Wander, roam; bring me home, / Down paths at my behest; / Among the stones, lay down my bones, / So I, at last, may rest”. Few can read the script it is written in, but most all vulpera can recite it from heart (54).

Two vulpera, frustrated at their inability to find their elder’s final resting place, neglected their duty and left his corpse in a river in the hopes that it would bring him there for them. Refusing to obey the Wailing Bone caused it to crack. From that night on, the vulpera of the caravan found themselves cursed for failing to heed the Wailing Bone (62, 65).

Cracking under the pressure of the curse, the two negligent vulpera ultimately died gruesome deaths at each other’s hands. One of their bones was made into the next Wailing Bone (65).

A caravan always needs a Wailing Bone (65).

The Uninvited Guest

One goblin adage goes like so: “Every great goblin invention was born from necessity, bubble gum, or an accident” (69).

The goblins have a nursery rhyme: “In the dark of night and bright of day, / Keep in your hand a tossaway. / Guard your fortune, mind your greed, / Or else the Uninvited Guest will feed” (70).

The Uninvited Guest is a goblin boogeyman of sorts who is attracted by greed so egregious it offends even the dead. It is incorporeal, invisible, and has the ability to move through walls (76).

The Uninvited Guest feeds off of greed, but it can never be satisfied. It will latch onto its host like an invisible parasite to feed, inciting strange charitable behavior in them until they have given away all of their earthly possessions (76-79).

A “tossaway” is a shiny gold-painted coin stamped with the face of the very first trade prince. These fake coins get their name from the way goblins quite literally toss them away in a symbolically superstitious act to protect themselves and their fortunes from the Uninvited Guest (70, 74).

Tossaways were invented by Slixi Boompowder, the wife of one of the former trade princes of the Steamwheedle Cartel, after her own run-in with the Uninvited Guest. She only escaped from it because she distracted it with actual gold galleons, which inspired her to create the tossaways (83).

Legend has it that the Uninvited Guest still roams Azeroth to this day, looking to feed off of hapless greedy goblins (84).

Klaxz Boompowder was one of the former trade princes of the Steamwheedle Cartel. His rival was Rikter Hogsnozzle, the trade prince of the Bilgewater Cartel (70-71).

Tradition dictates that goblins are buried with their most valuable possessions so they can enjoy them at the Everlasting Party, the goblin afterlife. They are then given burial gifts by other goblins from their own riches, though most goblins are too greedy to truly part with anything important (73).

Once the coffin is sealed, goblins dance on top of it to usher the deceased on to the Everlasting Party (75).

Prominent goblins typically serve as pallbearers while goblins contractually obligated to serve as pack mules carry the rear (75).

The goblins used to employ golden galleons as their form of currency, but it fell out of fashion. Nowadays, they are incredibly rare and expensive (74-75).

Trolls have a tale about an invisible evil that sucks the souls from living beings and leaves them mad. It can only be seen in the light of a full moon (80).

Sister is Another Word For Always

Vereesa felt Sylvanas’ death at the hands of Arthas the moment it happened (89-90).

Sylvanas’ eyes were gray as a high elf (91).

In the midst of her sorrow at her sister’s death, Vereesa sought many escapes. At first she tried to sleep, but when rest and forgetfulness would not come, she embarked on a journey across deserts and forests with little in the way of proper food or nourishment except that which she found (90, 93).

It is very possible Vereesa perished at some point on this journey, for she came across a spirit healer, though she was told it was not yet her time. The spirit healer offered Vereesa a deal: if she could bring her the willing soul of Sylvanas without ever touching her, the spirit healer would restore her to life (96-97).

When Sylvanas first died at the hands of Arthas, it seems as though the Arbiter sent her to Ardenweald (98-99).

After she struggles to locate her sister in Ardenweald, Vereesa is inadvertently pulled into the Maw. There, she still has difficulty finding her, and is told by the Jailer that Sylvanas is not there - at least, not yet. He then urges her to leave, telling her she does not belong there (99, 102-103).

Eventually, Vereesa spots a silver glimmer she knows to be Sylvanas, though it is only a fragment of her soul (103-104).

Before she can escape with the soul of her sister, the Jailer stops Vereesa and inadvertently tricks her into touching Sylvanas, rendering her deal with the spirit healer null and void (106).

At the end of this journey, Vereesa awakes at the foot of a statue, her memory of the experience hazy (109).

The Paladin’s Beast

Uther is originally from Stratholme (117).

Introduced as a fable beloved by the princelings and princesses of Lordaeron, the Paladin’s Beast is a tale that follows a young Uther as he finds himself in a mysterious and unfamiliar land. Determined to prove himself and bring back a prize to his fellow paladins, Uther joins a tournament put on by a foreign kingdom despite the protests of its princess. Though he is a strong warrior, she insists the beast of the tournament kills every knight who challenges it. Still, Uther refuses to back down, confident that his faith in the Light will give him the strength he needs to prevail. However, the princess’ words hold true, as every knight who goes to fight the beast before him perishes. When it is his turn, Uther decides to stay his hammer rather than fight, remembering the princess’ words. The beast withdraws, defeated by his act of compassion. It is revealed afterward as Uther goes for his prize that the princess actually was the beast all along, cursed to fight in the tournament for disobeying her father and breaking the royal lineage. She casts a spell on Uther, making it so that when he returns to Lordaeron, he will not remember anything of who she was or his experience there until the day he finds himself in a fiery field. Though the fable ends there, it is said that Uther dreamt of the silver kingdom and its princess for many years to come. It was not until his final moments, trying to fell a beast with weapons rather than compassion, that he would fully remember the princess and her story (111-127).

For Lies and Liberty

Most undead do not get all of their memories back immediately once they are raised (or given free will). It takes time and encouragement (133-134).

On the long-standing issue of whether or not undead have ichor or blood running through their veins, it appears one Jeremiah Pall still has blood in his body, though it has stopped moving on account of his still heart (134).

The story of the “Fearless Flyer” - a man known as Captain Whitney - is famous among some of the Alliance forces. According to the man himself, Whitney and his outfit had been fighting orcs for months to no avail when he hatched a bold plan to launch himself by catapult into their camp and take them by surprise, hence the nickname the “Fearless Flyer”. This story, unfortunately, turned out to be nothing but hyperbole. As it stands, a drunk Whitney accidentally got tangled up in nets, fell in the catapult, and was unceremoniously flung into the orcish camp. Believing themselves to be under attack, the orcs retaliated and killed most of the unsuspecting humans while Captain Whitney hid (136, 142).

Stones, Moss, and Tears

Though female elves traditionally mark their faces after they have achieved a rite of passage, they can continue to add embellishments to commemorate any further deeds (155).

At least one kaldorei lorekeeper was charged with knowing the name of every Sentinel and recording details of their more noteworthy battles (156).

The Bloomblade druids were one of the oldest, unbroken lines of night elf druids (158).

A species of insect known as glowmoths migrate through Mount Hyjal every autumn (164).

The Embrace

The White Lady and the Sun were charged with keeping watch over Azeroth as it dreamed (171, 176).

Though she loved the people of Azeroth dearly, the White Lady found herself growing lonely and in want of a family (173).

The moon cycles are thought to be the White Lady turning away and hiding her face in her sorrow, though she would always look back upon Azeroth to watch over it (174).

It is said that the White Lady loved Azeroth and its denizens so much that a child - the Blue Child - was born of that love (174-175).

The Blue Child, ever curious, began asking the White Lady questions about the mortals that weighed on her heart, as she could not answer (176).

One night the White Lady woke up to find the Blue Child gone. Unable to find her, she swore off her charge until the Blue Child was returned to her (177-178).

Without her guidance, the planet sped up and the tides ceased. The White Lady was only convinced to return to her duty after the Sun urged her, telling her the Blue Child might return if she had the moonlight to guide her (178).

The White Lady began to glow even more brightly over time in the hopes that her child would see, her light quickly growing to rival that of the Sun’s. This, too, caused problems, for crops burned and navigators could not see the stars to travel by (179).

Upon seeing the terrible effect this was having on Azeroth’s denizens, the White Lady dimmed her light and retreated (181).

The Blue Child ultimately returned from her long travels to her mother. They embraced in the sky, creating a beautiful eclipse (182).

Ever curious, the Blue Child was bound to grow restless again and leave for the stars, but the White Lady knew she would always return (183).

When the moon turns red, it is a sign of her anger (177).

Why the Mermaids Left Boralus

Back when Kul Tiras was still a Gilnean colony, Boralus had hardly any walls or structures protecting it from the wind or sea. More often than not, when the Great Sea churned at the city’s edge, it took houses, ships, and even men down into its depths. So many would drown in these incidents that those remaining covered them with weighted nets, causing them to sink to the seafloor (187-188, 190).

Many of the roads out of Boralus flooded during great storms, making it deadly to try to leave the city on foot or by ship (198).

The Kul Tirans declined to build a seawall for fear that it would have done nothing and also because repairing it after a storm would have been just as dangerous as the storms themselves (188).

Most of Boralus’ early inhabitants were seamen of some sort, whether fishers, sea priests, sailors, or pearl-divers (188).

During storms, the tidesages would act as a makeshift seawall and use their power to cut the waves before they made it deeper into the harbor (199).

Mermaids appeared quite openly near Boralus in its early days. Though they lived much deeper than most could naturally dive, they liked to sit on the rocks and watch ships go by, among other things. Most lived in temples beneath the sea that belonged to Kul Tiras’ former inhabitants (189, 191).

According to superstition, sighting a mermaid was bad luck and presaged many inauspicious things including a doomed voyage, a brutal winter, and poor fishing. They were also seen as the harbingers of storms (189-190).

Tidesages were (and still are) always the first and last to disembark from a ship. As a result, they usually went down with their ships (191).

The tidesages’ unrivaled dedication, combined with the frequency of drownings and shipwrecks, often meant they died young (191).

Mermaids are spawned from eggs and leave no corpses when they die (191, 203).

The mermaids had very little understanding of the Kul Tirans’ mistrust towards them (191).

Mermaids have some power over the rocks and water - granted to them by the Tidemother from birth -, but they use it sparingly because it is finite. Once a mermaid runs out of magic, they die. As a result, mermaids can live up to five hundred years (192).

Mermaids consider sirens lazy and murlocs deplorable (192).

According to legend, the bubble seaweed in Boralus Harbor is actually discarded pearls. A mermaid by the name of Halia fell in love with a tidesage and kept secretly gifting them to her as a token of her affection. The tidesage, Ery, was far too pragmatic for such a gift and dumped the pearls back in the water every time (195).

The mermaids believe that the Tidemother will give tails to those who slit their feet from toes to heels and walk into the harbor at dawn (197).

According to legend, Boralus’ great stone seawall was formed through the combined efforts of dozens of mermaids and one lone tidesage. A virulent tempest had come upon Boralus one day, taking men and ships alike with it. Though the city’s tidesages gathered to push back the waves, all but one were lost to the storm over the course of five long days. The last remaining tidesage, Ery, persisted despite her exhaustion while the mermaid Halia, too afraid to watch her lover perish, began using her own magic to craft a seawall. Though the storm repeatedly broke it down, her fellow mermaids joined her, ultimately expending their magic and sacrificing themselves to raise a wall so grand it towered over even the mightiest of ships and waves. Ery herself nearly died after this, though Halia saved her by invoking the Tidemother. She cut Ery’s feet from toes to heels and dragged her into the harbor, performing the ritual necessary for her transformation into a mermaid (198-203).

All but one of the mermaids - Ery notwithstanding - perished to save Boralus, which is why none are seen there today (204-205).

As a result, the sailors of Boralus now see mermaids as a symbol of the highest honor, good luck, and sacrifice (205).

During calm sunsets when the red of the sky is reflected in the harbor, sailors refer to it as “Ery’s blood,” after the tidesage who fought the storm so valiantly. Ery’s blood is a sign of good weather to come (205).

The Courageous Kobold and the Wickless Candle

Kobolds tell a sleep-time story (209).

Kobold families live together in caves. They have their own nests, but congregate in common areas for stories, among other things (210).

Some time ago, the Whiskersnoot kobold tunnels crumbled, submerging the Whiskersnoots in total darkness. They lived like that for generations, having decided it was no longer safe to dig higher after the cave-in. This spawned a saying: “Never pick above your snout, else the darkness snuff you out!” (210-211).

Granny Whiskersnoot, however, dug just a little bit upward every day until one day she broke through to a light above. She intended to lead the other kobolds to it, but could never find her way back through the tunnels again. It wasn’t until her granddaughter persisted in finding it that they made their way back above ground (211, 222).

The kobolds think of the sun as a “Wickless Candle” (211).

Visage Day

On a dragon’s Visage Day, they choose what mortal form they will take. This is significant, as it shows the Aspects trust them to adopt the guise of one of the mortal races and walk among them. It is the dragons’ hope that through choosing a form to embody and relate to mortals, the more mortals can understand dragons in turn (228, 234).

Onyxia, on the other hand, maintains dragons choose visages that allow them to control the mortals (241).

In accordance with tradition, the Visage Day ceremony occurs on the uppermost level of Wyrmrest Temple. Each of the Aspects are usually present for members of their own dragonflight, though Alexstrasza herself has been known to officiate on occasion. It is also customary for each flight to send emissaries (243).

During the ceremony, all attendant dragons take their own mortal forms in honor of the dragon whose Visage Day it is (245).

Before they publicly choose their form, the dragon in question traditionally makes a proclamation (245).

The Visage Day ceremony can be delayed (244).

Nozdormu has helped many bronze dragons prepare for their own Visage Day (230).

When Nozdormu sits in the sands at the heart of the Bronze Dragonshine, intricate patterns form around him (233).

Both Kalecgos and Chromie performed a short incantation to assume their mortal forms, though Nozdormu did not appear to need to (234, 236, 246).

Kalecgos says that he chose a half-elf form - which he calls a “blend of mortal worlds” - in order to symbolize his own attempt to blend together the dragon and human worlds (237).

Onyxia, on the other hand, opted to take the form of a beautiful human woman to better manipulate mortals (241).

The dragons often go by nicknames in their mortal forms because they find their full names sound too formal to humans (238).

The drakonid were fashioned by the dragons to be helpful and loyal (238).

The black dragonflight practices how best to inflict pain (239).

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flowerflamestars · 3 years

Note

i remember that you once said something about privateer nesta could you elaborate? please? *shrek cat eyes*

WHO TOLD YOU I AM COMPLETELY VULNERABLE TO THE CAT EYES??

okay, so admittedly I don't remember the context in which I said this?? But I still SUPER super love the idea

and it matches with what we'll call the Dream ACOTAR Extended Universe Plot, almost canon.

We begin with the final battle against Hybern. Tamlin dies, closing the loop of his tragic, misspent life. Amren stays dead, a magical being on to the next adventure.

Rhysand stays dead.

He functionally (magically) threw himself on a bomb, and took the whole blast. He's not the Cauldron- and no one man could repair what it once was, but he could contain the fatal, drastic implosion of an object that was meant to endure forever, fractured into more and more peices.

Why is this important?

Because it leaves a world where Feyre Archeron- twenty-ish, romantic hero, prop, prisoner- becomes High Lady in her own, true right.

(I don't think she's necessarily good at this job, because why would she be? It's not even her fault- Feyre has no idea about how faery politics work, no real tangible knowledge of her own inherited kingdom.)

But both the men who stole her and defined her and loved her and hurt her are dead.

And it not only sets her on a journey to become, on her own, an actual character in her own life, but it galvanizes the Archeron sisters.

Feyre's basically fucking comatose after the battle. Elain has been a mess this entire time, but after that last fight with Grayson, walking into the war and stabbing a king in the throat- she is as vital and herself as Nesta has seen her in years.

Nesta just watched her father die and felt nothing- and she hates herself for it. She and Elain had taken the head of the man who stole everything from them- and she doesn't have a single regret.

Feyre screamed until she could no longer- there's so much magic seething out her it hurts to look at-

There's a dark well inside herself that could rise. But why should Nesta let it? So what, if she doesn't mourn her father? He'd never cared about her and Elain- not when they were young, too busy and important to even speak to his own children. Not when they lost everything, and he'd tried one last time to sell them both into marriages to recoup the family loss. Not after, in the starving cold, no matter what she'd tried to force him into action.

Nesta had been mourning all along a human girls human life- what is an absent, neglectful, shitty in the most ordinary of ways human parent if not a part of that lost future?

Their sister owns a fucking country- their sister is, at this minute so hemmed in by her followers no one can see her, much less comfort her- there's a war camp falling apart around them- there's Nesta, Elain, and Azriel, unhurt, upright, alive.

(she does not let herself think that an hour before she'd been ready to die and thought it right, the ending the meant to be conclusion of her story. she does not think about how she'd wished Cassian healed beneath her hands and that he had healed, that she'd wept to learn she could do more than destroy.

that she'd still been weeping, her mouth bright with his blood, when he'd pulled away, dragged himself to Morrigan's waiting arms)

Nesta Archeron is alive. Her sisters are alive. They're free, and she'll be fucking damned if this all falls apart before Feyre can heal.

Nesta turns to Azriel and asks if he can take control of the legions.

She has no time for his blank, angry eyes- she knows he's hurt, he's mourning, he's lost- but she needs him. Cassian's...down. Rhys is dead. Feyre and Morrigan are not coming out of that tent.

And he just listens. Thoughtfully. Asks what Nesta intends to do.

And Nesta looks at Elain- soft, kind, gentle Elain who'd never once wavered now when life was on the line. Who hadn't cried a tear for their father, or for the man who'd kidnapped and then married their baby sister.

The danger wasn't over- and neither had the steel faded from Elain's spine.

Nesta tells Azriel she's going to find Keir.

Nesta isn't blind- she's walked the Hewn City, spoken to the eldest darkness. She was also at the joke of a Summit- Autumn wants new territory, Keir wants to rule Night. And here Night is, weakened, a lamb to slaughter.

Nesta's not going to lose again- she's not going to give these ancient, cruel lords another chance.

Elain grabbed her hand and squeezed- the one person, always, who Nesta never need explain herself to.

Aren't the High Fae technically Morrigan's Elain asked, a bare whisper as they walked through the camp.

It went without saying yes, but Nesta had never seen any indication they respected her enough to listen to her. She made a face, and Elain made one right back, rueful. She had eyes too, after all.

They're not going to listen to us in these clothes, Elain also told her.

She was right, of course. They were High Fae, and that mattered to those vile pricks, but they'd been outfitted for flight. She would do almost anything, actually, to be free of leather pants.

Which Elain, a gleam in her eye that Nesta was learning meant magic, dreamy and happy- led her precisely to a gold topped tent, stepped inside, bowed, and asked without a trace of hesitation if Helion Spellcleaver, Lord of Day, would perhaps do them the favor of loaning them some garments.

Solid gold eyes gleaming against blood and smoke tinged dark skin, beautiful, glorious Helion, smiled.

Day-white against Night- but also, Nesta knew, taking care with her crown of a braid, the splatter of blood left on her throat, her mouth, her cheeks like fine paint- white was the color of death.

Elain covered herself completely- shawl wrapped over her hair, tucked around her neck, breathing easier now, in human modesty- but hung from a golden belt that Helion, with the clear air of someone who knew something about seers, had found, metal hammered with stars and flames, was Truthteller, the long blade without a sheathe, black metal swallowing up light.

Keir was easy to find, and in fine form, surrounded by Darkbringers, who looped back behind the sisters the second they were close.

Nesta was not afraid- she'd thrown power into the sky and it had hurt. Not in depth, but because she was still holding on- it wanted out-it wanted to devour-

Elain dipped a flagrantly rude, swallow bob of a curtsey. Nesta didn't even bother- just let Keir hail them, royal family that they were. He liked the sound of his own voice, but he was also clever- they'd come here of their own volition and now they were trapped.

She could smell the reinforcements, the utter Autumn reek.

Nesta interrupted, and asked Keir to come and swear fealty to her sister.

It was never going to get the right answer, but it had to be said. It had to be heard.

She'd been right- they'd been right- Keir enjoyed the cruelty of getting close to Nesta, denying straight to her Archeron face that no, Rhysand's bloodline was ended. It was time, it was right, for the House of Truth to once more hold their throne.

He spoke his treason aloud, looming over Nesta- close enough to touch.

So Nesta did.

She'd willed Cassian alive and whole. It was so, so much easier to remember fire, death, drowning, to push and want the revolting man's destruction.

And when he fell, silvered fire that had filled his lungs spilling from his throat, Nesta did not flinch. She looked to the next lieutenant, a frankly indistinguishable golden haired pale-eyed blandly handsome man in black armor, and asked, if he, as the new commander of the Darkbringers, would like to give a different answer.

He did.

Azriel met them halfway back to Feyre, grim mouth flickering for a second at the sight of Elain, before looking, stone-faced, at Nesta beside her, leading a crowd of the highest ranked Night Court faeries she could find.

Keir? He asked.

Dead, Elain answered, and that was that.

The Shadowsinger fell in step with the Seer, a threatening shadow to two pale beacons.

It was Azriel who actually went inside the tent. Who said what needed to said, what made Morrigan splutter loudly enough to be heard outside, before she burst out the tent in a whorl of hair, before blanching.

Nesta had just enough control not to roll her eyes. They come to swear fealty.

And Morrigan, chewing her lip with all the dignity of a child- Elain and Nesta had been trained out of such gestures at eight, what did she think was happening here? - shook her head. She's not well, it can wait.

No, Azriel said, from behind her, it can't.

He was supporting what looked like the entirety of Feyre's weight. Dead-white, blue eyes a blaze, Feyre looked blearily out at all of them like she recognized no one.

Elain, treasure that she was, came forward to take her sister's other hand, whispering both condolence and explanation.

And so the High Houses of Night knelt in battlefield mud, and swore eternal loyalty to the youngest Archeron.

It was only after they were gone that Nesta hugged her sister- hard enough Feyre protested, a fresh batch of tears soaking Nesta's shoulder even before Elain joined them.

It's Azriel, voice a little less like a phantom, who tells Feyre they're handling things. That if she wants to rest more, that's fine.

She was so clearly shattered- Nesta half wondered how much of that Azriel can literally feel/hear with his shadow...things.

Feyre protests that there's things to do- Feyre makes it halfway through a sentence about plans before she says Rhysand's name like he's still alive and collapses in on herself like a wave crashing.

Nesta and Elain tuck Feyre back into the blanket pile. Nesta manages to kiss her forehead before Morrigan is there, hugging Feyre putting herself bodily between the sisters.

They leave, and outside, Azriel is waiting.

To hand Nesta a gaudy, enormous platinum ring. The seal of the Night Court- Nesta recognizes it from shipping manifests, but she'd never actually seen it as an adult. Here, as a faery.

Her thoughts on Azriel's powers hold true, as he answers the dismay: Rhys only used it when he had to. It had passed between the whole Court of Dreams hands, there had not been a vizier, a lord of stars, since the time of Rhysand's father.

Nesta puts on the hideous ring, barely flinching at the brush of magic, it resizing to her hand.

Elain grasps her other, squeezing, and asks Azriel who is next.

They work ceaselessly, pausing only to sleep. Azriel, Nesta is quite sure, isn't sleeping at all- until she goes looking for him with a question and finds him finally, finally out cold, face tucked in Lucien Vanserra's neck.

In silence and gestures, they come to something of an agreement- and when the Night Court comes to the table to talk peace, it's with Lucien. Jurian, who Nesta immediately liked.

By the time they return to the North, there is not a Lord one who does not know the names and nightmarish qualities of all three Archeron sisters.

Feyre mourns, and learns to govern slow. Cassian goes back to Illyria and does not return for a long, long time. Morrigan becomes Feyre's second- Nesta laughs, not altogether kind, when Lucien tells her this. No one has been able to answer her as to why, if Morrigan is so powerful, why did she not fight? what does she actually do?

What answers to her questions she does find are appalling. Why does Winter block our every turn? oh, Rhysand killed more than a dozen children. Why is Summer refusing our trade? Well, Rhysand stole their ancestral pride. Why is the Hewn City so wrathful at even the slightest form of intervention? Because Rhysand had left Keir to rule alone.

Nesta doesn't want to rule the fucking court. She thinks she could leave all of these politicians to rot- but she won't let Feyre misstep her way to death, shouldering a burden of her dead mate.

There's nothing they can give Winter but apology and so that's what Nesta does. On her knees, in a gilded palace of ice, stars caught in her hair and the seal on her. Kallias, bright and young, seems to know something about inherited problems- he does not ever forget, but he forgives, at least, the Archerons.

Summer is more complicated- but Nesta does what she can. Gives them every melted, ruined piece of the Book. Offers reparations for the next millennia. Ends up paying for what she is appalled and embarrassed to learn is a two hundred year old debt for a building the head of the Night Court's armed forces- Cassian, fucking Cassian the ghost haunting Nesta- had destroyed. During a brawl. At a solstice party.

She deals only with Cressieda, and they come to understand each other very well.

Nesta was not raised for politics and bullshit- her mother wanted her to marry a crown, but Nesta wanted the family empire. Trade. The Archeron legacy, denied to a girl. She likes Summer more than any place in Prythian, and she doesn't hide that. She relearns old lessons of tide and routes in secret, before Cressieda reveals that of course, she knows who the Archerons were.

It goes well, until Morrigan finds out what she's been doing, and tells Feyre.

The youngest Archeron had been doing better. Morrigan has been right by her side, through everything. Cassian is in Illyria, and Feyre understands why, writing him letters. She writes letters to Rhys too, if only to have a way to direct the words.

Azriel, spectral and busy she sees the least of, but Feyre never doubts his presence, keeping her safe. Elain comes, drags her out into sunlight, brings Lucien and it makes Feyre happy to see them together. Nesta comes too, with them both and alone, with papers from Feyre to sign, with affection sharp-edged but true.

Feyre knows she owes them all more than can be said- she's not stupid, she knows they're keeping Night together. That slowly those responsibilities will fall to her, when she's ready.

She does not think about how much of those responsibilities is cleaning up the tangled mess of betrayal Rhysand left behind. In her head, there is only Rhys- beloved and shadowed, kind and tortured.

Until Morrigan tells her that it's been acknowledged, in public, by Night, that Rhysand was a thief, and a murder of children.

Feyre loses her shit.

Rhysand had done what he had to. Who was Nesta, to say such things? She'd always hated Rhys. Rhys had always hated her, maybe he was right- the children. Rhys had mourned them in screaming nightmares, but he hadn't hurt them-

(Feyre does not stop to think it strange, that Rhys could have nightmares of memories not his own. That he might have fractured just a bit, under Amarantha. That the Red Lady had no daemati- that was why she'd kept Rhys all along.)

The fight is as ugly as can be imagined. And what proceeds is of course, worse. Feyre says terrible things she will ultimately regret and apologize for, but what becomes clear is that Morrigan thinks that Nesta means to hold power forever.

That she's taken advantage.

And Cassian, called home by rage, believes her.

That is, more than her ungrateful sister, more than the ongoing weight of cleaning up after a man she despised for good reason, the end of Nesta Archeron's Night Court career.

She'd thought she loved him- she'd been willing to die with him- but they'd lived. This was the life, the next life, and what did he think of her? That Nesta was a power hungry snob. That she was paying too much heed to politics.

That Nesta belonged quietly at home. That she should have learned to fight somewhere along that way- a point so convoluted it made Lucien laugh- that she hadn't learned anything that mattered.

That she had no right to kill Keir, because it had hurt Morrigan.

Had he ever, Nesta would wonder later, even liked her? Enjoyed anything about her but for that magical tether, telling him he was blessed with something special?

Nesta was something special, and she knew it.

And so she returned the ring to Azriel, packed up her possessions, and left.

First to Day, where Elain had bought a house. Fury and tears both met the explanation of what happened- fury and tears that turned to getting inadvisably drunk in sunlight, when Lucien and Azriel snuck away to join them.

For the first time in Nesta's adult life, she had no obligations. Magic, money, freedom- the whole world was out there.

She stopped wearing black. Learned pants where actually lovely, when they fit correctly and weren't made of leather. Learned Azriel could laugh, and Lucien was as clever as she'd always thought.

She read books, she ate fruit, she took Helion up on several of his more lascivious offers.

She thought of Cassian, and it ached, but not enough to go backward.

Elain's house was by the sea, right on the water. The scent of salt reminded Nesta of Summer- but also of her oldest, most secret dreams. The warehouses of goods, like mysteries to solve. The account books she stole, learning by candlelight the trade in her blood.

Ten years after the war, Nesta bought a ship.

She set out to be a merchant, use what she knew, but what happened was this: Nesta Archeron did not care anymore for rules. And so when she came upon Hybernian remnants-for they were an island kingdom, even more one with the water than Prythian- pillaging a Summer town, she destroyed them.

She stole their treasure, gave much of it back to the people.

Found, unexpected, that she had much more of a taste for marauding than she would have expected. There was still trade of course- proft made and shared- but Summer needed someone willing to do some destroying out on the sea.

Twelve years after the war, Nesta Archeron became a privateer under the Summer flag, pearls in her hair and a true smile on her lips.

Things grew, as all things do. Feyre wrestled herself the reins of government, stymied by the councils Nesta and Azriel set up as much as she often was by Azriel himself out of truly petulant action. Morrigan remained second, golden blades bright as her gowns within reach. Cassian became a sort of seneschal, reigning over Illyria in Feyre's name cold and alone as the wind through the mountains.

(Feyre thought he might never get over the war, but Azriel knew the truth.)

Elain took herself wherever the future led, a sort of mediator and councilor, walking in all Courts- but always back to home, that isolated green, green cove, where Nesta would land.

When war came again, there was no great Lordly alliance, no cut-throat summit. There was a fleet of ships whose sails where edged in purple, whose announcement across the water was silver fire, whose accompaniment were monsters of old.

Violence did not touch Prythians human shore, because Nesta Archeron did not let it.

She was death on the tide, and she remembered what shores had borne her.

She had a home in Summer, a place in Day, her family across the continent- she had her ships, full of faeries from every walk of life, who wanted as she did the freedom as much as the profit, the endless, endless blue, where sea meets sky.

It was eternity, and the Archeron sisters, free, had made it their own.

#i'm sorry this is literally a novel #but!!!#this is my dream plot actually #all about legacy and complicated feelings #the total failure of cassian as a partner #of rhys as a ruler #of feyre as a sister!!#there's so much love in the end but its not easy love #and they do have to fight for it #Nesta Archeron has always been exactly who she is and that shouldn't have to change #Elain has never GOTTEN to be who she is and that should change #Feyre standing alone is all i want yall #a true overturning of the patriarchy actually #yes this a luzreil universe #Elain...mhmm.... definitely just has a string a very romantic love affairs #marriage as a prospect caused her so much pain #she's done #I feel like Mor comes off almost too badly in this #but like #she would??#she's SO possessive of her people #and totally weird about Feyre's sister's from the start #Nesta having power?#Nesta having Azriel's backing?#NESTA BEING CASSIAN'S MATE?#its never going to go well

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littlemisssquiggles · 3 years

Text

Ruby Alone

As you all have seen, since prior to the last episode, I’ve been sharing my thoughts and ideas on the theory of V8 concluding with the “death” of RWBY after they fall “off Remnant and into a mysterious Other World”, as alluded to by Oscar.

While I’m still inclined to believe that theory may become possible given what transpired in this recent episode, in reviewing the RWBY V8 Opening, I noticed something interesting about the visuals again which caught my attention.

During the opening, RWBY falling was hinted much earlier in the theme during these shots right here. It’s these two shots of RWBY’s signature weapons falling through negative space which is later followed up by the opening ending with the weapons landing together on the ground.

However, here’s the bit that I think is noteworthy that I didn’t take into account before. Although the weapons of all four main girls were shown falling together through space and landing on the ground, not only is Crescent Rose the last one to hit the ground but it is also the ONLY one shown in the final shot of the opening.

It is also worth noting that the weapons fall in this particular order---first Ember Celica, then Gambal Shroud, then Myrtenaster and final Crescent Rose which ironically spells RWBY backwards.

And going back to my theory about RWBY falling in order....with Yang falling first then this is all starting to make more sense.

Going back to my point---Crescent Rose---Ruby’s weapon is the only weapon that landed on the ground but didn’t fade to darkness like the others. Instead, Crescent Rose is the only one remaining in the snow on what appears to be Remannt. Keeping that in mind, it’s making me start to ponder an alternative to my V8 finale theory.

What if…I’m actually mistaken about the whole RWBY team falling prey to the Other World ?

What if…as an alternative prediction, V8 will end with Ruby as the last man standing and the sole surviving member of her team after the rest “die” to the void?

Thus; V9 becomes Ruby’s story as she deals with the depression of losing her whole team; all obviously culminating with her eventually reuniting with them in the Other World. But before that, it’s mostly just about Ruby. Not RWBY. But just Ruby since RWBY started with just Ruby on her own in Remnant, trying to become a huntress. She only ends up going to Beacon and meeting and forming her own team due to Ozpin’s influence.

So imagine if...after everything she’s been through these last eight seasons, things just go back to how they were before. Ruby is on her own again. No team to lead. No big sister to guide and protect her (although ALPNE is there of course). No “BFFs” or “future-sister-in-law” on the same team to fuel her spark of hope. She no longer has her main friends by her side.

Ruby will be on her own for the first time in a long time and it becomes just her story for the most part of V9 as she does her best to figure out things all while the rest of the cast who survived the fall---Penny, ALPNE and their allies in Vauco and eventually Vale---try to provide her with the emotional support that she needs in place of the one she lost.

For the first time, the story is not about Ruby having to be the spark of hope to support others but…her friends, at least the ones she still have, coming together to support her for once in a time when she can truly need it.

Like I said. It would be the story of Ruby. Not RWBY. Just Ruby. If you get what I mean.

...And now for a squiggly rant...about Ruby:

One general complaint that I’ve heard from the FNDM about Ruby including Little Red Ruby fans like myself is that Ruby has more or less received the shortest end of the stick in terms of development over the past couple of seasons since V4…despite the fact that she is our central main character who is the leader of our core team with her name literally being in the title. Not to mention that Ruby is also the face of the RWBY franchise. When RT isn’t promoting the whole RWBY team together, it’s mainly Ruby to represent RWBY since of all the girls, she is the main one as the main protagonist of RWBY. At least…she’s supposed to be?

To be blunter, I’m just going to call out the fat Heffalump in the room---Ruby Rose, despite being the leader of RWBY---despite being our title character and face of the franchise---the one characters in the show always turn to since she’s THAT important---despite all of that, Ruby has NOT felt like the actual main protagonist of RWBY for several seasons. Since V4 as some fans like to point out.

And after closely observing her story over the last few volumes, I can’t help but agree with these critiques and comments of Ruby’s treatment when it comes to her own writing. Even when the CRWBY showrunners DO attempt to do stuff with her---it all falls...flat especially when you compare Ruby to other characters like Jaune Arc, for example, whose stories and overall development were handled much better. At least in my opinion.

Don’t believe me? Take for example, Ruby’s whole so-called “arc” as a Silver Eyed Warrior. First it was introduced as a new idea for Ruby during the FINALE of V3, then it got abandoned for two whole seasons between V4-V5. Then it got reintroduced back in V6 but was then rushed and dropped yet again for V7 only to be brought up again briefly during V8…kind of?

It’s really telling when you realize that Ruby gained control of her silver eyes despite never truly receiving any actual training from Maria in how to control her powers. Not only that but the showrunners really did Maria Calavera dirty. She was supposed to be the wise old mentor who was a badass in her prime meant to pass down her wisdom to her young eager apprentice who knew nothing of her own unique abilities including its mysterious origins.

Instead Maria didn’t know at all about where her powers originated from until she conveniently met our heroes after the Argus Ltd crash and just happened to be present when they asked Jinn about Oz’s secrets. Instead of being a mentor to Ruby which she was initially propped up to be, Maria ended up being relegated to the Granny Uber Driver of the hero team---no longer the wise experienced ex-huntress whose supposed to be teaching our title character but just a form of transportation who provides the occasional comic relief and support for Pietro Polendina, who she was put to work with…instead of Ruby…her alleged apprentice?

Shoot---despite being a Silver Eyed Warrior, Ruby was never even a person of interest for this volume. Despite the main big bad being in Atlas and despite targeting her in the past, Salem…never goes after Ruby again while she’s in Atlas??? Ruby never even meets Salem? Despite…Salem targeting Ruby back in V4? Despite Salem’s history with capturing Silver Eyes? Despite Salem’s connection to Ruby through her mother???

Ruby is never actively a part of the Salem subplot on Monstra…even though… certain developments left over from previous seasons indicated that she should’ve been?

Instead…we got to watch Yang accost Salem for Summer Rose’s death after SHE is the one to be on the rescue party to save Oscar from Monstro. Even though…Yang has neither been a person of interest to Salem before NOR has the Xiao Long girl been shown to be a close affiliate of Oscar in the past prior to V8 NOR has the Xiao Long girl actually addressed Summer Rose as her mother since V2???

Up until V8, Ruby has always been the character of focus with all things Summer Rose and Salem and yet…we NEVER saw her meet Salem in the flesh period for this season…at all…???

Instead; Ruby spends MOST of this season cooped up at Schnee Manor, completely absent from and even oblivious to some of the more dire PLOT stuff that was happening outside of Schnee Manor (such as YJR going into Monstra to save Oscar before the Aces Ops blew up the whale).

Despite her connection to Oscar who became Salem’s prisoner. Despite her connection to Salem through her mother. Despite being a Silver Eye and a former target of Salem. Despite the Hound and what it turned out to be. Despite the showrunners literally teasing Ruby meeting Salem face to face back in V7---WE NEVER GET TO SEE RUBY MEET SALEM IN THE FLESH AT ALL DURING V8 WHILE SALEM IS IN ATLAS???

Salem targets Oscar which makes perfect sense given his connection to Ozma as his current incarnate. But Salem doesn’t target Ruby? DESPITE HER BEING A TARGET OF HERS IN THE PAST? DESPITE HER BEING A SILVER EYED WARRIOR? DESPITE WHAT THE HOUND REVEALED?

Why didn’t Salem send the Hound after Ruby? That would’ve made more sense, again knowing what the Hound actually was? Instead the Hound was sent after Penny which, in my opinion, felt mighty redundant since Salem already had Watts and Cinder Fall dealing with Penny.

THEY EVEN TEASED THE HOUND TARGETING RUBY BUT IT WAS ALL A FLUKE. RUBY IS COMPLETELY OMITTED FROM THE SALEM SUBPLOT EVEN THOUGH SHE IS THE TITLE CHARACTER AND THE ONLY ONE ON TEAM RWBY WITH A LEGIT CONNECTION TO SALEM AND HAS BEEN A TARGET OF HERS SINCE V4???

I DON’T GET IT!

…BUT… with my mini rant aside, those are just a few of the inconsistencies that I’ve noticed in the writing of RWBY in respect to Ruby Rose.

Overall; the point I’m trying to make here is this: for the sake of sounding like a Negative Nancy, I ask this honest question to the CRWBY Writers. How? How can you fumble this much with your own title character? I’m not saying this to come off disrespectful. I’m saying this as someone who has followed the story of RWBY since the get-go and has closely observed the treatment of its characters; particularly the main ones and particularly the ones that I personally love and Ruby is one of them.

Despite being our main girl, Ruby’s writing hasn’t been the squeakiest, admittedly. As a matter of fact, it’s been quite messy since V4 due to the amount of times the showrunners have introduced ideas for her only to abandon them later on thus creating those problems with consistency I mentioned earlier.

Overall, it’s difficult for me to even say that Ruby is the lead character of RWBY since often times; she doesn’t FEEL like the main protagonist despite the show claiming how important she is meant to be. And this sentiment is due in part to how messy her story is handled compared to other characters of lesser importance.

And it’s a sad thing for me to say as both a viewer and fan of Ruby’s character since Ruby is THE lead main character of RWBY. She’s like the Tony Stark of the RWBY-verse. She’s the one who started it all yet her story is one of the messiest I’ve seen in terms of direction and treatment. At least by my observations since this is just my opinion on the subject matter.

It’s one thing to blunder a bit on your side or even your supporting characters. But to slip up on your lead characters, especially your MAIN one who is the FACE of the show, c’mon CRWBY Writers.

And the events of V8 didn’t help change my opinion. After taking away all the bloat this season had for all the stuff they tried to shove into this one season, I realized that V8 didn’t really do much for Ruby. At least, not as much as I anticipated.

I was hoping that Ruby would’ve been a more focal character for V8 since V7 teased some stuff for her in respect to Salem. Instead, I watched a season where Ruby felt more like a supporting character for Penny Polendina since, in my opinion, Penny received much more focus and better development for V8 while Ruby, our LEAD took backstage to her story.

Because while Ruby was stuck playing supporting character, she was actively left out of subplots that she should’ve been a major part of. Not just because she’s the “protagonist” but because of elements to her story that were developed seasons prior but seemed to have gotten dropped for V8?

Ruby’s treatment for V8, to me, is an example of a “build-up with no payoff”. All that stuff between her and Salem and her mother felt like it ultimately didn’t matter in the end because Ruby didn’t even meet Salem.

Yang, to me, had the development with Salem that Ruby should’ve received.

Shoot---Ruby wasn’t even a thought on Salem’s mind…despite the events V4 and V7???

I just don’t understand.

But like always, this is just how I feel about it. I’m disappointed with how Ruby was done for this season. While I liked the moment she shared with Blake in V8CH8 and Yang in V8CH11...that’s pretty much the ONLY thing I liked about Ruby’s story for this season.

Outside of that, it felt to me like the showrunners didn’t do much with her for V8. In a season of so much happening, the stuff that happened with Ruby on her side of the story didn’t honestly stand out to me compared to what I saw the showrunners do for other characters who aren’t the lead this season.

It’s not like I’m trying to say she didn’t receive any development at all for V8. It’s more like most of what was done with Ruby didn’t quite stand out to me so it ends up feeling like not much was done for her.

To me, Ruby falls into the same category as Nora Valkyrie for this season. Despite the PLOT preaching about them getting big developments, if you rock back and actually analyse the narrative, you’d actually see that not much was done for them despite the PLOT “talking the talk but not walking the walk” y’know what I mean?

And going back to Ruby, that’s disappointing since I wanted more for Ruby. I EXPECTED MORE for Ruby as our title lead but it didn’t happened. Instead it felt like some of the major developments that she should’ve received for this season went to other characters while she in turn took a backseat.

Things didn’t really start kicking up for Rubes until halfway through the season when the 100th episode aired and the Hound appeared. And even then the excitement of that reveal was short-lived since...Ruby was NOT the real target of the Hound. PENNY WAS. The Hound wasn’t sent to antagonize RUBY. It was sent for Penny which to me sort of undermines the reveal.

Some Ruby fans have been wishing for the show to feel more about just Ruby again for quite some time now and it is for this reason why I’m starting to dig this alternative theory of mine with Ruby surviving “The Fall of the Central Zone” alone with the rest of her team lost to the Other World.

While the concept of RWBY being trapped together in another world is still on the table of possibilities, I still wish to toss out this other one too.

I like the idea of a more Ruby-centric season where for the second time in the narrative, she’s separated from her core teammates only this time…it’s in “death” or rather “nonexistence” or “nothingness” since from Ruby’s perspective with her limited knowledge of magic (despite what she does know from Oz and Jinn) and the workings of the world that Ambrosius created, she doesn’t know what truly happened to her team.

The only thing she knows is that she watched her whole team dissipate into nothing before her very eyes and that is the last memory she has of them that haunts her for some time.

Imagine if…V9 will be about Ruby dealing with such a huge loss which could potentially touch more upon how she internalizes death in general tying back into probably flashbacks of her time with her mother before she learnt of her death at a young age.

While I understand we’ve had a storyline with Ruby being separated from her main team before back during V4-V5, however a plot line like this would be different this rounds since unlike before, Ruby at least knew that her team mates were alive. Far away. Separated by distance. But still alive and still a part of Remnant with the hope that she would be reunited with them again.

However this won’t be the case this second time. It would truly be Ruby alone since her team would be gone and no one could provide her with the solace of seeing them again---not even the friends she does still have (although that doesn’t stop some of them from trying to be there for the little red rose who has now lost more than her heart could handle)

I know the off-chance of this theory actually coming to fruition might be scarce. But like many ideas I’ve shared, it’s still worth tossing out since you guys know how this squiggle meister likes to roll.

~ LittleMissSquiggles (2021)

#rwby #ruby rose #rwby volume 8 theories #rwby volume 8 spoilers #rwby theories #rwby volume 9 theories

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kalee60 · 3 years

Note

Wondering if you have any thoughts about beefy bucky? And maybe any thoughts about any thoughts that Steve might have about beefy bucky? For a cheeky anon 👉👈

Hoo boy Cheeky Nonnie... Do I have some thots about this??

*ahem - clears throat as it's a little thick for some reason... err - yes, yes I do... Many in fact...

Just to clarify - you mean...

Or even...

I thought so...

Oh - Cheeky anon - you are speaking my language! So I had set out to tell you my thoughts about Beefy Bucky...but Steve came screaming into the room, panting and excited, a light shining in his eyes and suddenly it was all about him... maybe one day I’ll get my say...

This got away from me slightly - hope you enjoy Nonnie! 😘

~*~*~*~*~

Steve tried to not stare, tried to be respectful like his ma taught him, tried to be the responsible adult, hero that he was. He was the paragon for truth, the beacon of all that was good, but all that ran through his head as he looked at his best friend, his semi-recently unbrainwashed best friend, was Bucky’s large frame manhandling him to the bed and doing unspeakable acts on Steve’s body.

He was past caring what these acts might be, he’d be open to anything, try anything - not having had much experience due to time or inclination. But as he sat in the mission brief and watched Bucky playing with a pencil, unintentionally snapping it between his chunky fingers, looking around sheepishly in case someone told him off for breaking SHIELD property - Steve thought about those meaty fingers wrapped around a specific part of his anatomy. A part he knew couldn’t snap off (he’d tried when jerking off - not intentionally, but sometimes he twitched hard in the heat of the moment - and he had super strength after all).

From Steve’s vantage point, a few yards behind Bucky’s immensely broad shoulders, he found his breaths coming in quicker, wondering how it would feel to be picked up and slammed into a hard surface by Bucky, to have all that unrestrained strength pushing him - up against his body. Steve shivered, knowing that, yes, Tony and Thor and the others with the use of their powers or suits could pin Steve for a few seconds - but Bucky - he’d had a similar serum as Steve and it gave him thoughts.

Would Bucky be at the same level of strength and power, were they evenly matched in every way? And if Steve begged on his knees staring up at Bucky - would Bucky relent and finally give him all he’d been dreaming about since he was sixteen?

Steve didn’t know. But he fantasised about it a lot.

Bucky had always been bigger than Steve, had always towered over him when they were kids, and Steve fit under the crook of Bucky’s arm, snug and nice, knowing that even before the serum, Bucky could have had his way and Steve would let him - even as feisty and independent as he was. But oh god, given half the chance, in a million different ways Steve would have let him.

But then the war happened, Steve had the serum and everything changed - he lost Bucky, had lost his better half, his true north, and that was when Steve lost hope. Until the Winter Soldier appeared - no, when Bucky appeared. Hope welled eternal in Steve for the first time in years, and to now have Bucky before him, it was a dream come true and he was scared to do anything to break the bubble that was surrounding them in case he scared Bucky off again.

So through hungry eyes, Steve watched Bucky closely, helped Bucky with the holes in his memory as best he could, ignored the lack of compassion that sometimes came through, and tried his best not to ogle Bucky’s new physique.

It was hard.

Extremely hard.

Because Bucky was built, he was wide, he was thick and it made Steve jittery inside.

He was unable to hide the most basic of reactions when they sparred, growing stiff the moment Bucky threw Steve over his shoulder like he weighed nothing to land on the mat roughly before straddling him, hand gently around his throat and a smirk on his face. And Steve had to scramble to the toilets for a moment alone - each and every time. Images of Bucky’s muscular thighs either side of his stomach fodder for a slew of fantasies and he only ever felt a little guilty when he came, hand shaking around his dick and Bucky’s name on his lips.

But it was undeniable that Bucky had changed - his quick smiles gone, humour buried away with only a glimpse here and there, but Steve knew Bucky, his Bucky was lurking somewhere in the depths, and Steve was slowly teasing him to the surface. So it would be completely unfair to foist his desires on his friend - a friend who'd never indicated that he liked Steve on a romantic level.

So Steve sat behind Bucky in the briefing, letting his mind wander, allowing his gaze to rake over the back of the too tight dark blue henley, Bucky’s shoulders taking up more space on the chair than Steve’s did - and he watched.

Steve’s eyes traced the lines of Bucky’s wide stance as he moved in the chair, watching the toned muscles shift under the shirt and he couldn’t help lick his lips, only to look up and find Bucky stalled, stopped in his tracks staring over his shoulder at Steve with something deeply shadowed in his eyes. And Steve had been caught, caught staring like a man dying of thirst and Bucky the only person in the world that had a trickle of water left.

Standing up hastily, Steve fled - heading towards his room on the thirtieth floor, not knowing if the briefing was over or not, not really caring - he’d walked out of them before - it was only a safety meeting about new protocols that Steve himself had helped to create, but he couldn’t sit behind Bucky and stare at his bulk any longer. Bucky might have already realised where Steve’s thought’s had been, and he needed a moment to agonise over it.

He’d only just made it to his hallway, sprinting up the stairs as it was quicker than the elevator, when a huge solid hand grasped his arm, yanking to slam Steve up against the wall and suddenly two very intense blue/grey eyes were staring at him, pinched at the corners, questioning. Steve was no longer concerned about being called out - he was too busy sweating heavily at the sheer muscle Bucky was showcasing by pinning him to the wall, and he flexed, trying to move, but Bucky - oh fuck - Bucky had him. Steve would have to exert a lot of energy to break the hold, and his knees buckled.

Bucky grasped him, holding him upright as he sagged, “hey pal - you okay? What in the hell is going on?”

Steve managed to get his knees to lock long enough to hold his weight, and Bucky wide-eyed and concerned held him trapped. Held him aloft in his strong arms, his flesh one just as huge and muscular as his metal one.

“Yeah I’m alright,” Steve ground out. And he was, mostly - except for the tenting in his cargo pants, something that if Bucky stepped in less than an inch would feel pressed against him in all it’s post-serum glory. And Steve shouldn’t have thought that - what had it done to Bucky if the rest of him had grown so thick.

Bucky exhaled slowly, then looked up at the roof and Steve watched the sinews dance under the skin of Bucky’s neck, the wide hefty expanse of muscle that had to be at least twice the size as before. Steve wanted to lean forward, nip at the jutting Adam's apple, lick it, suckle it and have Bucky tense the muscles so that Steve could trace the hardness under his stiff tongue.

Words escaped him before Steve knew what was happening. “You’re so big.”

Immediately his face flamed because the words didn’t come out like a question, or a matter of fact statement - it was breathy, whispered with reverence, with a tone that couldn’t be disguised - Steve sounded horny for Bucky, and shame welled up.

Shutting his eyes, Steve shook his head, trying to get up the strength to break free of the large hands holding him, but Steve was learning he was a masochist under Bucky's control, Steve wanted it, no matter how he got it - all of that power and force bundled into the man he’d been in love with all of his life, it was too much.

“Open your eyes, Stevie.”

He was powerless not to, not when Bucky called him that.

Bucky’s long hair had fallen over one side of his face, and he peered at Steve, a small frown between his eyes as he worked something out in his head, Steve having seen that puzzled expression many times, usually directed at the coffee machine or at Sam, until suddenly like the dawning of a new day - his face went slack.

He’d realised something, something big. And Bucky stepped forward, closer, the entire length of his body now against Steve, and although Steve was still a little taller than him, he felt as small as his teenage self while Bucky held him aloft using just his body, and it was only then that Steve realised what Bucky was pressed against and… oh…

What was now pressed against Steve in return.

“Buck…” he said brokenly.

“How long?”

“Errr…”

“How long, Steve?” The demand came with a tightening of hands on his biceps and Steve groaned at the pinch, the pressure, and Bucky threw his massive flesh arm across Steve’s collar bone instead, restraining him, and Steve just about came on the spot. It was too much, the sheer strength, the sheer size of Bucky was making him quake like a teenager with too many uncontrollable hormones.

“For as long as I can remember.”

“Jesus,” Bucky swore and let go, Steve slumping against the wall, and Bucky took one step away, Steve had ruined it - ruined everything.

“Well, are you coming or not?”

Steve looked up at the order in Bucky’s voice.

“Where?” he croaked.

“Your room, it’s closer - I’m going to nail you to your bed and make you scream Stevie Rogers - I have one vivid memory of before the war, and I know it was just a fantasy. And right now... right now I want to make it a reality.”

Bucky strode away, intent in each step and Steve watched the sway of his thick hips, the delectable peach-like ass he wanted to sink his hands and teeth into, and Steve stuck to the spot, couldn’t believe what was about to happen.

“I’m not going to ask twice.”

Steve jumped to attention, and had never ran so fast in his life.

#stucky #mywriting #this ask was not intending to go down this path... 🤷 so sorry???#cheeky anon - this was a BRILLIANT ask and thanks for being patient until i had time to put a little something together for you!#steve x bucky #Steve is pining #Steve has thots #beefy bucky

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dragynkeep · 2 years

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Hey, these designs are much much older and tbh I would change a lot about them (mostly Ruby’s) but I am curious to see how you feel bout em! Here’s my initial redesign of Team RWBY using an old tool Kisekae! https://twitter.com/listradboy/status/1514652994893144074?s=21&t=GY0pySVnPFl4kGYmP8Y-5Q

Because of the thing used and how limiting it can be, I am gonna be pretty understanding with it so dw dw.

Overall, these are some cute attempts for the RWBY girls older outfits. Even with the limitations put on your ability, these are good attempts to come out of it, and there’s quite a few bits I like about it.

Starting with Ruby, I like the overall casual look for her, even if I think it strays a bit too much from her established aesthetic with the sports jacket replacing her dress and corset. I like the two tones sleeves contrasting Ruby’s arms from her chest, while letting the red actually take the foreground there, it keeps her colour consistent, while stopping her from looking like a red blob. Though without the cape, I wouldn’t be able to say how it’s look with the added red behind her.

I would’ve kept it closed instead of left open, just to better fit with Ruby’s character since she doesn’t bare that much skin, but it’s still cute. The silver contrasts a lot with the red and black, and helps with her tanned skin making this cool colour pop a lot more, like her silver eyes. Her red boots are cute. Black boots work better imo, but these are still cute.

Though I love the cross necklace she’s wearing. It’s a nice homage to Qrow’s and keeps the cross imagery that I wish she kept after Beacon. Add it with the goggles on her head, it’s a preppy and cute choice for Ruby.

Good outfit. A bit too far from Ruby’s design, and the amount of skin showing is not something Ruby would show, but it’s still good given what you had to use.

Weiss’ is cute, and honestly a way I would’ve coloured her Mistral outfit. The blue of the bolero calls back to the blue of her original jacket, which would allow for additional white decals that you could add in post. The only thing I dislike about the boleros she wears is that she loses the high collar with them, and so you lose the great positioning of red in her outfit. A lot of times the red is just slapped on and it doesn’t have the same oomph as her collar does.

But now that the dress is white, shows off her colour properly without sacrificing her unique colour. Though the sash now blends completely with her white dress, with only the bow giving indication that something is there. The bow’s cute, I’m not gonna lie, it just all blends a bit too much. The blue line at the bottom is something I’m not a fan of either, it just looks kinda tacked on and really reminds me of toothpaste.

I actually like the pleated skirt look on Weiss, though.

Great way of showing her colour while keeping the blue, but it’s kinda plain in general. In post, it could help with some detailing on her bolero and dress.

Blake’s is my favourite. This could be her outfit for Vacuo and I would not complain. The beret is a really cute addition that I wish Blake did wear to further sell the French fashion. The purple line helps keep the black beret from disappearing into her black hair too.

I like the black crop jacket keeping the white on her chest, and the purple bottom is honestly really pretty, still the wrong shade of purple, but a nice way of using the purple without Blake being defined by it and white. Combined with her black pants, it really uses purple as an accessory without getting out of hand with it. The white shirt is small, and is pretty much kept to her chest, so I wish it was used just a little bit more to add some interest to her lower half.

The zippers attempt to add some interest while calling back to the zippers on Blake’s shorts in Beacon, but they look really weird there and I’m not a fan. Like her Mistral outfit, black pants and boots do keep her colour throughout the outfit, and the purple details do help to keep the boots from blending into the pants, but it’s slightly plain. A white version of her emblem could add something to her pants too.

However, I really like how this works with Blake’s dark skin. It helps her yellow eyes pop while the lighter purple and white keeps the black from blending too much with a darker complexion.

Great outfit! The only thing I would change is the shade of purple, and just the case of adding something of interest to the mostly black look so it doesn’t look as plain.

Yang’s is alright. It definitely a Yang thing to wear, and I like how the belt and pants look, but the shirt is a bit too exposing for Yang as a fighter. She looks unnecessarily exposed, especially since this is a bikini rather than a proper shirt. A tube job could serve the same purpose and a jacket helps isolate the yellow to make it pop while separating her hair from it and protecting Yang more.

The pouches on her pants are a great way of having the gold buckles on her pants, adding some interest while being practical too. The white belt also contrasts with the dark pants, while accenting the gold of her buckle and having Weiss’ colour on her.

Really, Yang is the one girl who can work with all four of RWBY’s colours on her. The black and white are neutral that works with her yellow, while the red helps sell the fire motif she has on top of being another warm colour that wouldn’t clash with her yellow.

And speaking of colour, I’m not a fan of Yang being in brown and orange, especially since now she’s also wearing red in her shirt. I don’t wanna keep repeating how brown and orange tends to overwhelm the little yellow Yang wears.

Still, it’s a good attempt, but the shirt and colour choices really do bring the design down.

#rwby #outfit critiques #ruby rose #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #answered #luke.txt

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