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rainbowmoonstonestories · 8 months

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Let Your Dreams Be Your Wings | Chapter 9

Chapters: 9/? Fandom: The Sandman (Netflix 2022, minor content from the Comics) Rating: Explicit Relationships Dream of the Endless/Morpheus x F!Reader Characters: Dream of the Endless/Morpheus, Lucienne, Matthew the Raven, Mervyn Pumpkinhead, Hob Gadling, Death, Rose Walker, The Corinthian, other minor Sandman characters, Original Characters. Warnings: 18+ content (minors DNI), explicit sexual content, POV switching, very long chapters to read. Summary: You always dreamed of becoming a successful Fashion Designer, sharing your creations with the world and making your father proud. But with him being very ill and so many costs solely weighting on your shoulders, things didn’t go as planned and you had to take a different path instead. An interesting offer led you to the elder Alex Burgess and you were hired as a new housemaid for a very good pay. However, your kindness and outstanding empathy convinced the man to give you an additional task for a doubled compensation; gaining the trust of Dream Of the Endless, held captive into the basement for over a century. Despite the shock of finding such an ethereal entity stripped of all his clothes and contained into a confined space, you had to accept for the sake of your father. But the more you got to speak to the mysterious anthropomorphic personification who didn’t utter a single word, the more you were lost into his eyes that, conversely, seemed to contain the entire universe. A deep connection formed between the two of you, separated only by a thick layer of glass.

Little did you know, what started like a simple housemaid job was about to change your life forever.

Credits: The moon dividers were made by firefly-graphics

This chapter includes detailed smut. Minors please dni!

Tagging: @number-0-iz. If anyone else wants to be tagged in the next updates, let me know! I noticed that Tumblr sometimes won't let me tag everyone for some unknown reason, so if it comes to that I can at least send you a message to notify you.

Ko-Fi (If you ever wish to support my work)

Note: This chapter is, once again, particularly long. If you feel like reading it on Tumblr is not convenient, feel free to do so on AO3 instead (link at the bottom). I only ask that you like and/or share this post so that other people can find my work. I would really appreciate it! ♥

Morpheus opened up about a tragedy from his past. However, he was keeping from you a lot more.

"So, how old are you exactly?”

Hob turned his face toward you, his eyes brimming with a tinge of mischievousness and curiosity as he issued a brief, soft chuckle. “I was wondering if you would ever ask about that,” he said in a cheerful and playful tone of voice.

"You don’t just find out on a daily basis that your best friend can live forever," you said, displaying a mixture of excitement and surprise.

Hob moved his hands in a dismissive gesture. "Do you know who he is, truly?”

“Do you?”

"To an extent, yes. Or at least, I think I do,” he replied. "Took me a while to understand that though. He's not exactly the most talkative being in existence.”

He smiled wryly, recalling the multitude of attempts he had made to get Morpheus to open up and divulge more about his personal background.

“How did you find out?” He asked.

You bit your lower lip, hesitating slightly on what to express as you tried to choose your words with utmost caution. Morpheus had evidently not revealed the specifics of his long captivity to Hob, and you didn't want to spill the details that the King of Dreams hadn't felt prepared to share with him yet.

"I wasn't even supposed to meet him, but in the end, I was introduced to him. It all happened by chance."

Your explanation didn’t exactly constitute a falsehood. Hob, on the other hand, didn’t show much faith in what you told him, his expression showing a hint of skepticism.

“Y/N, tell me the truth. Something happened to him, didn’t it?”

You took a deep breah. “Why do you think that?”

"Come on, things are a little too vague. You told me you met this guy at your workplace, but you've been evading most of my questions about him. I noticed the way he changed, I feel like you know more than you want to admit."

Your feelings of discomfort were evident as you regarded him with a look of guilt on your face. If you were to share the informations in your possession without Morpheus’ explicit consent, you would most likely incur his disapproval and potential ire.

You were torn between your loyalty to your best friend and your desire to be respectful with the man you loved.

You turned your body to properly face him as you touched his shoulder, your fingers curling around it lightly and your gaze meeting his as you spoke. "Hob, I'm sorry. I would never want to lie to you," you said, feeling remorseful. "I only think it's best for him to tell you himself.”

There was a moment of palpable silence as he seemed lost in thought. But then, he tried to alleviate the tension by gently clasping your hand, leaning back on the bench with a reassuring smile.

"Just tell me one thing: whatever occurred to him, was it bad? Is this why he stood me up in 1989?” He inquired.

You sighed heavily. "Yes, it was awful. And yes, he couldn’t come to your appointment because of that occurance.”

Hob exhaled a sigh of relief. “Well, now I know he wasn’t trying to avoid me.”

“You were not the problem, I assure you.”

He laughed lightly, his expression conveying a sense of calmness, finally dismissing his accumulated worries and frustrations.

"To answer your question, I am starting to lose count of my age. I met our friend over 600 years ago, which should give you a good indication,” he explained.

While you had previously been aware of the concept of immortality, the notion of a human never experiencing death was still quite unbelievable to you.

"How were you able to stay in one place for so long?”

Hob responded with a shrug. "I can't say it was easy. At times, I had to pretend to be someone else and changed my name. Other times, people assumed I had given up my soul to the bloody devil. There was this one woman in 1789, Lady Johanna Constantine, who claimed to want to know the secret of immortality.”

“What happened then?”

His lips curved upward into a wide grin, his entire face now emitting an aura of amusement and contentment. "Oh, that's quite a story. Imagine this: we were sitting at our table when this mysterious woman showed up with two big men in tow and a painting that did us no justice. She said: ‘They tell of a tale in these London parts, that the Devil and the Wandering Jew meet once every century in a tavern.’”

You laughed heartily at his comical attempt to mimic her persona, the gesture of placing his hands together in his lap and straightening up while doing so creating a humorous picture in your mind.

"The Wandering Jew?" You trembled with laughter as you repeated the words. "Was that meant to be you?”

You were unable to suppress the mirth that welled up inside you, amused by the absurdity of the situation. However, his statement still held a certain degree of wit and charm, despite being quite far-fetched.

"Oh yes. She took out this sketch of him resembling a Vulture from the Twilight movies, and me looking like something terrible happened to my nose.”

It was difficult to retain your composure, as you found yourself wanting to laugh even more. “And then what?”

“She continued: ‘You return to this pub every 100 years, striking bargains with men, sharing gifts, immortality, which you will now share with me.’”

As Hob continued to mimic the woman’s manners, his pitch became lower and more bass. You were quite surprised to see how crisp and clear his recollections were despite the lengthy period of time that had gone by since that day.

“He didn’t even flinch, you know. He never does. Johanna Constantine expressed even more interest in learning things from him, but in the end, he politely refused.”

It was astounding to see how hooked you now were to his narrative, the story capturing your interest and drawing you in.

“There was a little conflict when her smugglers stepped forward. I proudly knocked them out, but she directed the tip of her knife at my throat, the viper. Then, our friend stood up calmly and composed, blew some sand into her face and she dropped to the floor. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she pleaded, whispering in desperation while being confronted by a nightmare that only she could see.”

You felt excited, placing your elbow against the back of the bench and listening attentively.

“I think that was the first time I actually started to connect the dots.”

“I wish I could have seen you back then.”

Hob's face brightened with joy and satisfaction as he smiled at you. He released a breath from his nostrils and affectionately patted your knee in a brotherly way. “I’m glad you know my secret now. You have no idea how many times I considered telling you everything.”

“You know, if I hadn’t met him, I would have found it to be nearly impossible to believe,” you said.

"And for a good reason. I was at a loss for words myself when I realized that I wasn't aging at all.”

“How did it happen?”

He replied with a shake of his head. “It was the year of 1389. I was drinking with my friends, having a good time. I simply joked about how I considered death a mug's game, seeing the majority of the people in my village taken away.”

“Black Death?”

He nodded. “So I made up my mind, declaring that I wasn’t going to die. And I didn’t.”

Your eyebrows lifted in curiosity at his statement. “That’s it?”

“He showed up right in that moment, saying that I had to tell him how it was like. He knew my name, proposed to meet again in that same tavern after 100 years. I thought he was joking, really.”

You hummed in understanding. “And a century later, you were both there.”

“We were.”

“So, how did it feel like?”

His smile expanded further as he observed your genuine curiosity. “Scary, confusing, amazing, absolutely incredible, bloody brilliant.”

Morpheus had informed you about his excitement surrounding the prospect of immortality. While it might seem like a blessing to many mortals, you always believed it to be quite a bane for the simple reason that you would be destined to outlive every friend and loved one.

Yet, this didn’t seem to be enough to make Hob wish for Death to come knocking at his door.

“You should join me.”

You snapped out of your thoughts, your head tilting with confusion. “What?”

“I won’t lie to you. As much as I love all this, sometimes it can get lonely,” he admitted. “If you were granted the same thing, we could embark on this journey together and build a better future. Wouldn’t it be fun?”

While he may have delivered the comment in a light-hearted manner, you could distinctly detect that a part of him was quite earnest about the idea.

“Hob, he wasn’t the one who made it possible.”

“Maybe, but I still got it. This means that it could easily happen to anyone else, right?”

Anyone else, including you.

You contemplated the advantages and drawbacks of committing to an existence alongside your lover in the world of Dreams and your best friend in the Waking World. You were unsure as to whether it would be appropriate to request a similar gift for their sakes, considering there was still so much you didn’t know about Morpheus, or immortality itself.

"I have many other stories to tell, ones I can only share with you. Do you want to hear them?”

You fully turned your body, bringing your legs over each other and bracing your head with one hand. You reclined on the bench, adjusting your position to be more comfortable as you encouraged him. “I’m all ears!”

Your phone rang.

It emitted a loud and consistent sound that reverberated throughout the living room, causing you to rush to pick up the call. When you saw the name flashing on the display, you paused in utter disbelief. You hadn’t been in contact with that particular friend of yours since your college years, losing track of her once she relocated to a foreign Country in order to pursue her degree. You had enstablished a questionable tendency to distance yourself from those dear to you, providing them with the opportunity to embark on their adventures and find their place in the world without your presence constraining them.

You were not certain as to what her intentions were and why she decided to connect with you after such a prolonged period of time. You hesitated before pressing the answer button, wondering if it was merely a mistake and she had dialed the incorrect number.

After a slight delay, you eventually answered the call to stave off the risk of her terminating the communication. “Hello…?”

“Y/N!!!!”

You had to move the device away from your ear as the boisterous exclamation caused it to vibrate against your skull with significant force.

“Oh my goodness, It’s been so long! How have you been?”

“Ella…? Is it really you?”

"Of course it's me, silly! Who else would be calling you from my number?”

Her positive and upbeat approach to life was something that you always found endearing and enjoyable, it was easy for you to smile.

“Y/N? Are you there?”

“I am, sorry. I’m just a little surprised. I wasn’t expecting a call from you.”

You heard her sigh. "I know this is sudden. I should have called you a long time ago, but things got so hectic that I cut myself out from everything and everyone I used to know.”

“I understand.”

A huge wave of teenage memories crashed over your mind, making you feel simultaneously sentimental and nostalgic. Everything appeared far away in your mind, and still somehow clear.

“Look, I need to be honest with you,” she continued. “The truth is that I need your help. And it is absolutely vital for us that you come over for an interview.”

As if pulled by an invisible force, your eyes rapidly opened and closed. “Wait, Ella. What exactly does that even mean?”

“Oh, right. I should explain.”

You were met with a sound resembling sandpaper rubbing on flesh, followed by a loud cough as she cleared her throat.

Ella was known for getting extremely itchy whenever she felt nervous, unable to overcome that nasty habit that led her to wound her own skin as a result of a persistent scratching. Apparently, that old habit hadn't left her, because you could tell it was happening at that very moment during your conversation.

"A few days ago, you contacted our company, Corbyn&Jones. The CEO is my husband, and it seems like he spoke a little too soon, sending you that hasty email.”

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets in shock, and your body immediately shifted into an upright position on the couch. “Oliver Corbyn is your husband…?”

Ella gave out a subtle chuckle. “Indeed. And we found ourselves in an awful situation, to put it mildly.”

Your hand started to shake and perspire as you gripped your phone harder. “He said you didn’t have any vacant spot.”

"Yes, that was the case before our former designer decided to buy a one-way ticket to the US," she replied. “You can imagine my surprise when I saw your name on that email.”

You inhaled sharply, proceeding to remove a handful of strands from your face.

“Y/N, I’ll just be blunt. The interview would be a formal way to introduce you to the team. I absolutely want you on board either way, and Oliver agreed.”

You nearly dropped your phone, grasping it with both hands to secure it. "Ella, this is great and all, but we haven't seen each other in years. You don't have to put in a good word for me," you said hesitantly.

The scratchy sound intensified.

"I never stopped considering you my friend, Y/N. More than that, your work is absolutely outstanding. You know I've always been a fan of your creations, but this time, you've got a portfolio to die for.”

You couldn't decide what was more touching: the fact that she valued your work enough to implement it in her company, or the way she still seemed to value your friendship despite the time apart.

"You can think about it, I don’t expect an answer right away. Why don't you come by and show me more of your drawings? You can take a look around, get to know what we do and the requirements for the job. We could share a cup of tea, have a little chat, reconnect. I think it would be lovely, don’t you?”

You had a strong desire to reunite with your longtime friend. You also wanted to experience the full flavor of the fashion industry to demonstrate to yourself that you did not mistakenly choose the wrong career path.

Failing to seize an opportunity that you had been looking forward to would have constituted a huge mistake on your part. You were finally ready to shine and you intended to let your light flow for once. All of it.

“How about tomorrow?”

The joyful shriek she emitted in response to your acceptance was as deafening as it was heartwarming. Based on the intense drumming of her heels against the floor, one could easily tell that she was kicking her feet enthusiastically as a manifestation of her growing delight.

A broad smile had found its way onto your countenance after concluding the phone call, your heart beating rapidly at the prospect of the imminent future. One that was still shrouded in mystery, but was already filled with numerous enticing and stimulating developments.

Ella Jones Corbyn.

It dawned on you that the name Corbyn was generally associated with dark, mysterious, and just the right amount of spooky. It was a variation of Corbin, a name with English and French roots, where its meaning was none other than "Raven".

You had long since discarded your faith in coincidences, believing that they were nothing more than the result of a combination of numerous aspects rather than random incidents.

You were traversing a lengthy, dimly lit passageway, its light sources emitting an aura akin to that of a complex maze, as you found yourself lost in its obscure, labyrinthine atmosphere. Despite your lack of knowledge with regards to your exact whereabouts, you felt a strong urge to continue advancing within the corridor in a quest to uncover what awaited you at its terminus.

You felt a faint hint of recognition within the setting, as the surroundings reminded you of a place that you had most certainly seen prior. You continued walking along your path, and a long set of stairs materialized before your eyes. Wet tiles seemed to lock into place like a jigsaw, allowing you to go downward.

You descended further and further, until finally landing on a flat surface. The area was completely dominated by a deep blackness, with the exception of the candles that were attached to the walls, casting a soft glow over the space with their flickering flames.

The chills ran down your spine and you hugged yourself, inhaling deeply. You proceeded cautiously, taking deliberate steps that felt as ponderous as a mountain's burden. When you moved onward, an intensely brilliant radiance suddenly erupted ahead of you, as if someone had turned the switch of a spotlight on. You narrowed your eyes in an effort to adapt to its brightness, only to notice an elusive form gaining clarity at the very center of the light.

A moment later, you felt your heart skip a beat, which caused your insides to feel a stinging sensation. Morpheus was there, seated inside a glass sphere on the platform of the familiar basement, completely naked and afflicted.

“No,” you breathed out, your voice breaking up due to the distress and anguish you were feeling. “Not again, please.”

You attempted to hasten toward him but your legs failed to move. As you uttered his name again and again, he didn’t raise his gaze on you. It was as if you weren’t even there.

You were frightened and strove to capture his attention, desperately trying to let him know that he was not there alone. However, the instant you managed to inch forward, you felt the clutches of a firm hold on both of your arms, coming from someone who immediatly yanked you away.

You cast your eyes upward, discerning two guards stationed on either side of you, although their faces were somewhat distorted, glitchy and unsetting. As you attempted to break free, your body became disobedient to your commands to shake them off of you.

You screamed as loudly as you could, imploring Morpheus and panting, as if a mysterious, impervious force beyond your comprehension forced you to remain completely still.

“Y/N.”

And then, you heard his calm and deep voice reaching your ears, even though the creature in the sphere was still unmoved, silent and displaying little reaction in the form of blinking.

“Morpheus…?” you echoed to clarify, a glimmer of hope rekindling in your heart.

“I am right beside you.”

You shifted your gaze, searching beyond the now frozen guards and noticing the King of Dreams, who stood proudly behind them. He raised his right hand in the air, making the two characters disappear into a trail of sand, as you began to regain full control of your limbs.

Upon returning your sights to the sphere, you discovered it to be completely empty, with the glass slowly melting down and vanishing like smoke.

Gaining awareness, you stood from the floor and met Morpheus's face, which provided you with a complete understanding of what had transpired. "Is this...?”

“It was merely a nightmare,” he responded.

Your first nightmare, accompanied by an exceptional level of uncanniness and fear, despite its strange elements and details.

You slowly advanced to reach him, although you had to confirm that he was not another figment of your imagination, keeping your eyes fixated on his face.

As if to satisfy your qualms regarding his corporeal reality, you gently brushed his covered wrist, perceiving the feeling of the fabric of his sleeves as well as the coolness of his fingers when your skin encountered his hand.

He seized you gently, carefully inspecting your anxiety as you attempted to shake off the remnants of your dream.

“This is really you, right?” You asked him.

“It is me,” he replied, assuaging your apprehension.

Rapidly, you wrapped your arms around his neck, hoisting yourself on the tip of your toes and pressing your body against him. You swaddled him in a constrained, trembling embrace, feeling the warmth of his lips against your shoulder.

“Thank God.”

He silently secured his hands on your lower back, moving his thumbs up and down in a soothing gesture. When you moved apart, you took hold of his fingers once more, looking at him with relief and urgency.

Your previous nightmarish setting gave way to a much more pleasant scenery, one that you had already come to know and appreciate. The soft humming of the waves immediately began to subdue your agitated senses, and looking at the sky above, you had the impression that the suface of the ocean was reflecting in it for how clear it was.

The strength of your grasp around Morpheus's digits intensified when he attempted to extricate his hand from your grip. His surprised stare exuded boundless power, permeating your very essence.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to.”

As you spoke your thoughts aloud, his eyes softened. With his gentle touch on your cheek, he allowed you to inch closer to his palm, inviting you into a loving caress.

“The nightmares of my realm are but an image of humankind’s fears. Have you been troubled by thoughts of me being captured again?”

You remained quiet, your response being reduced to a simple nod.

You failed to realize how profoundly your compassion was affecting him. The Ruler of Dreams pressed his lips tight in a pout, looking away and watching the horizon. Gradually, he withdrew his hand from you and an ominous premonition arose within you.

You could sense the presence of something that was inherently flawed and discordant. “Morpheus?”

His expression had transitioned into something else. It was now depicting sorrow, as if he were about to deliver the worst news of your life. Yet he had no clue how to break it to you.

“What’s wrong?” You probed farther, puzzled and confused.

A sudden gust of air startled you, encircling you in what felt like a violent blast. And then, his voice was heard again.

“We must talk.”

While your ears picked up the words, your mind interpreted them in a myriad of ways, yet only one conclusion was plausible in your inner thoughts. A mental explosion was triggered, and you envisioned the whole world around you breaking in pieces.

“You are suffocating me, I’m tired of you.”

“This isn’t going anywhere, it is better if we end it.”

The recollections of your past breakups echoed in your head, reviving the pain that you had not been able to annihilate from your heart.

Although you were in the realm of your subconscious, you could feel the blood departing from your face, your soul being drained of its life-force.

You collected all your strength to brace yourself and speak. “Okay.”

The voice inside you murmured encouraging and confident remarks to ease your discomfort, but it was competing with another sound that rang out with immense resonance. It was a chaotic clatter of opposing opinions - one voice claiming that you were about to be abandoned, while another insisted that Morpheus would remain by your side. The conflict between these thoughts tore you apart, flooding you with doubts and uncertainties.

"There are rules that we, as the Endless, must abide by at all costs,” Morpheus expressed. "I myself have disregarded one of these rules.”

On top of your rising heart rate, the atmosphere also underwent a drastic change. The clear and vibrant blue in the sky was replaced by a washed-out and monotonous gray.

You summoned all the courage necessary to put your question into words. “Which rule did you break?”

"A relationship between a mortal and an Endless such as I is prohibited.”

He turned back to face you, and his gaze dug deep into your soul. As his revelation reverberated in your ears, you came to a full realization that your bond with the King of Dreams was a colossal blunder right from the beginning. A bond that you nourished and cherished for so long, nothing but a mistake he was ready to conclude.

Enduring another heartbreak was just too much for you, too difficult to accept once again.

“Oh.” Your legs started to tremble, prompting you to back away. “Wake me up.”

“Y/N-”

"Please, I can't do this. If you want to leave me, then allow me to maintain a bit of dignity. Just this once.”

As you continued to retreat and your nervousness grew greater, Morpheus was visibly baffled, taking note of the sheer impact of his words on your mind and body.

He quickly raised his hand to stop you. “Wait, you misunderstand me,” he proclaimed.

“You’re not going to dump me?”

A small glimpse of reassurance shone through his solemn facade. “Let me explain.”

A ray of hope suddenly appeared, as you were given the option to reconsider and ponder your previous conclusions.

Your arms crossed over your chest to reflect your inner tension. “All right, tell me more.”

As if searching for the most suitable thing to say, Morpheus nodded and directed his eyes towards the ground.

"You are not the first human that I have grown fond of,” he declared. "Ten thousand years ago, I met the queen of the City of Glass, the place where mankind was first born. Her name was Nada.”

Your cognitive processing was suddenly derailed at the unexpected phrase "ten thousand years ago”. Sometimes it was easy to forget how old Morpheus actually was.

“We fell in love. And through our connection, she was doomed to a dire fate.”

You swallowed a mouthful of air. “What happened?”

The King of Dreams continued his tale, revealing the consequences that his intimate relationship with Nada had brought. "Her entire city was utterly eradicated, destroyed by the sun itself.”

A gasp filled with shock and disbelief escaped from you as you covered your mouth.

"The guilt has consumed her. She wanted to end it, to depart from my presence," he proclaimed, his tone filled with melancholy. "I refused to accept her leave.”

A distant rumble of thunder was heard from above, its loud boom breaking the silence and adding to the atmosphere of a looming tragedy.

“My infatuation for her was my punishment,” he stated. "I did not permit her to abandon me, forcefully making her stay by my side. In the end, she flung herself from a cliff, perishing in front of my eyes.”

As Morpheus painted an all-too-clear picture of Nada’s heartbreaking demise, you could feel his pain as if it were your own. The mental image alone was too much for you to bear, causing an immense feeling of misery within your soul.

“It’s horrible.”

His darkened, tormented eyes, reflected the suffering he had been through for millennia, and he attempted to swallow the lump in his throat. The burden still remained, igniting the grief he held after losing a love that was not meant to be.

“I perceived rejection as an offense. I sought for her spirit in the Sunless Lands, making her an offer that I thought she could not refuse.”

You tensed. “What kind of offer?”

“I wished to make her my Queen, Goddess of the Dreaming.”

Knowing that you were not the sole object of Morpheus's affection wounded you in more ways than one. A jolt of jealousy rose inside you as you listened to him speaking of another woman in such a warm-hearted and caring tone. But then, you quickly dismissed the sudden surge of envy that overcame you, realizing that you were getting mad over a person who was no longer among the living.

You cleared your throat. “And…?”

“She declined my proposition, again. As a result, I condemned her to hell.”

“You sent her soul… to hell…?”

As you looked deeply into Morpheus's eyes, you could see the anger behind their dim light. You remembered the words of Teleute, who had alluded to Morpheus and his darker side in past centuries.

“Why are you telling me all this?”

Your expression and emotion were both subjects of his intense observation, which he was using to gauge how you were perceiving the choices he had made.

“I will not commit the same mistake,” he replied.

“So that’s what I am to you? A mistake?”

The frequency of thunderclaps dramatically escalated, while gusts of wind increased in force. It remained uncertain whether the altered surroundings in the realm of dreams were mirroring your own turmoil or Morpheus’ state of mind.

"No, I am. Retaining you by my side would be unacceptable given the risks I am subjecting you to.”

You contemplated the given explanation, trying to recall a moment, any moment, when you had felt unsafe in his proximity. The sole emotion you felt around him was security.

“I am willing to offer you the opportunity to decide what is most favorable for you.”

“Why?”

"Because… I do not want to hurt you.”

The grimace distorting his facial traits felt akin to a gut punch. You thought over what he had revealed, and the fact that he had sent his raven to monitor your condition for a reason that had been completely unknown until now.

“Matthew,” you realized. “That’s why you sent him to the Waking World. You were worried about me. Because of this.”

“I was.”

Warmth and joy replaced your negative emotions, swelling into your chest and compassing your beating heart with tranquillity. You reached forward, placing your palm on his chest and offering him a gentle smile. "Morpheus, I don't need to decide. I am exactly where I want to be, and this is not going to change.”

Your statement caused the Endless to look dazed and bewildered once more. He was stunned, appearing as someone who anticipated a different end result.

“Did you not listen to me? About what I have done?” he queried.

“No no, I did. You were perfectly clear.”

“Then why?”

You sighed. "Look, I won't lie to you. Your reaction to Nada was a little too extreme, and sending her to hell as a form of revenge for her rejection was rather petty and undoubtedly a wrong move.”

He lowered his eyes downward, attentively listening to you like a scolded pup.

"But I can at least understand the reasoning behind it. You didn't make that decision because you were evil. You did it because you were heartbroken.”

Anyone would tell you that you were insane, that similar behavior would amount to a toxic relationship. And yet, you couldn’t stop thinking of Morpheus as an ethereal entity that was still striving to learn.

He tensed up, yearning for your closeness as you kept moving your hands along his chest and shoulders.

"I can see how much this still weighs on you even after all these millenia. You are always observing, changing. I just know that if you could go back in time, you would do everything differently.”

He shut his eyelids. “You are not safe with me.”

“Yes I am.”

“You should fear me. Despise me.”

“And why is that?”

“They all do.”

“They are all wrong.”

“I am far more terrible than you believe me to be.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

A moment of calm ensued between the two of you. Morpheus's gaze was stern and forceful, though at some point, his inscrutable visage waned, and an impish grin appeared on his lips. You mimicked him, smiling broadly and trading a glimpse of mutual understanding.

"You are quite determined," he stated to you.

Giggling, you leaned your forehead against his, while the wind quieted down and the sky reopened, bringing back its clarity and vivid colors.

"I just don’t see how anything bad could happen to me, when I feel like it is the exact opposite," you said. "Morpheus, my father was going to die, and my life was so miserable that I gave everything up. I had nothing. I was afraid of the unknown and went into hiding, working like a robot for money. But then you came into my life, and for the first time, everything started to change for the better.”

His eyes were so intense that you nearly lost your footing before their magnificence.

So beautiful…

“Today I got a call from an old friend of mine. She wants to hire me, you know? Not for just any job, but for the one I have always dreamed of.”

He deliberated on the matter, moving his eyes from side to side as he pondered on your words.

"Why do I feel blessed, if it's true that being with you means I am bound to an existence of tragedy and misfortune?”

He held his gaze at the far-off scenery, furrowing his brows with contemplation. You patiently waited, listening to the now calmer waves in your vicinity.

"There is a possible justification for that," he eventually said. “Lucienne conducted research on you at my request.”

Taking a step back to scrutinize him, you allow him to proceed with his explanation.

“It would seem that your lineage is directly associated with Paregoros.”

You endeavored to fathom it, but it was a name that you had not heard of, or read about anywhere.

“Excuse my ignorance, but… who would that be?”

“She is the personified spirit of consolation, comfort and soothing words. A companion of Aphrodite, Goddess of love, and Peitho, the Goddess of persuasion.”

Despite the many books about Greek mythology you had come across, you couldn’t recollect any significant information regarding this particular figure.

“And I am related to her? What does that make me?”

“You are mortal. But you seem to possess certain qualities of her, which perhaps will spare you the cruel fate that is otherwise customary for any human I dare to come close to.”

People had conveyed to you that your magnanimity would become your undoing, as being empathetic would be inevitably overlooked as a virtue, but rather perceived as something to exploit. Could it be that your goodness truly derived from an ancient deity you descended from? Did your compassion and kindness towards Morpheus make you immune to the unjust and absurd godly rule that once condemned the one he loved?

Regardless of your background or how you were related to Paregoros, being with Morpheus was the best thing that could have ever happened to you.

"Come what may, I have made my choice.”

Morpheus was about to respond, but his mouth sealed without uttering a sound and his hands fell to his side.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Y/N, not even I can guarantee the truthfulness of what could be nothing but a theory.”

You grasped the edges of his coat and inched yourself closer, brushing your mouth against his. Despite his concerns, Morpheus didn’t display any reluctance, reciprocating the kiss and relaxing in your embrace.

“When my intuition speaks, it is seldom incorrect,” you explained. “I may be only human, but will you trust me on this?”

He refrained from saying anything else, knowing that protesting wouldn't really work with you. Instead, he declared his assertion with another soft kiss on your lips, savoring their taste and breathing on your skin.

Finally, Morpheus relinquished the conversation.

"I wish you could see yourself the way I see you," you claimed. "You don't realize the effect that you have on me.”

A small grin sprang up on the corner of his lips. “And how do you behold me, my love?”

You deliberated about how to express it, and the sole thing that came to your mind was something overwhelmingly inappropriate. Nevertheless, you were still within The Dreaming, standing with Morpheus in a domain that was merely for you and nobody else. Was it truly that heinous for you to show him your affection in the way that you had envisioned? The more you pondered about it, the fewer reservations you had on that regard. It was something that you never particularly liked to get into with your past lovers, but the fact that you felt so strongly about it now simply proved that Morpheus was of utmost importance in comparison.

And thus, you provided permission for yourself to proceed.

As the heat rose and crawled up your cheeks, you allowed your hands to glide over his torso while following them all the way down, gradually kneeling upon the sand with your knees.

"What are you doing?" he asked, tracking your movements with a slight raise of his eyebrow.

“I am kneeling for my King,” you answered. “I want to show you just how much you mean to me.”

A part of you still felt uncertain, but when you caught sight of the familiar sparkle in his gaze, you no longer needed to question yourself.

The sand was incredibly soft and comfortable, providing you with its delicate and glittering particles. You laid your palms onto his stomach and held them there for a moment, moving them up and down as you pulled up his shirt simultaneously. As his pallid skin emerged from under the black material, you took note once again of his lean yet clearly defined muscles.

You moved slowly, placing gentle and delicate kisses on his abdomen, making your way towards his navel. You felt him twitching beneath your touch, but he didn't push you away.

You looked up a few times and noticed that he was completely absorbed in the moment, breathing faster and focusing solely on you. You continued with the same ministrations until you felt prepared to move things ahead, bringing your hands to his thighs to offer calming caresses through the fabric of his trousers.

You took your time, and Morpheus didn’t complain. You stayed there in silence, sliding your fingers in a repetitive motion while listening to the ambient sounds generated by the Dream World. Everything felt so real that for a moment, you wondered if you were truly asleep.

You glided your hands around, and the unmistakable bulge in the front of his pants let you know that he was getting ready for more. Your fingers quivered slightly as you loosened the button and pushed the zipper down, and it was as if the progression of time had decelerated now that there was nothing left between you and your ultimate destination.

Tentatively, you searched his clothes and felt the tips of your fingers graze his forming erection. You took a deep breath and slowly, gently, released the appendage from its confinement, setting it free in the open air. Morpheus grunted inaudibly, holding his ground and repeatedly clenching his fists.

You looked upon his hardened member, already standing proudly in front of you and beckoning for your attention. You began to move your hand over the base, gradually bringing it up until the crown was fully covered and engulfed in your palm. Then, you slowly moved your hand back down, enstablishing a steady pumping rhythm. You repeated the process a few more times before finally picking up the pace, alternating between tight strokes and gentle massages that heightened the warmness and size against your skin.

When you halted your activities, you looked up at his face for a confirmation. You spotted his pink, parted lips, and a pair of blue eyes that shimmered like stars in broad daylight. Even though he remained in complete silence, his unspoken request was loud and clear. “Give me more.”

You inhaled deeply, setting your dominant hand around the base and bringing your lips closer to his glistening tip. You let your tongue explore its surface, dancing around the glans and tracing a wet path down to the taut underside. You felt it throb and pulse as you held it firmly between your fingers, urging you to continue. You wanted to grant him the apex of whatever you were capable of giving, knowing that even that would never be enough to repay him for what he was bestowing to you. Every kiss, every sensual swipe of your tongue, and every caress that you were delivering was purely for his physical satisfaction. Meanwhile, the sense of completion that you were receiving from him was permeating every minute of your day and night, even in his absence.

Once you were satisfied with the preliminaries, you finally closed your lips around the head and adjusted your position. As you placed your other hand over his stomach, you made sure that the shirt would not get in the way. You continued with the stroking motions all over his length, while tenderly suckling at the top with sweet abandon.

You could feel his fingers intertwining with the back of your hair, his nails scratching your nape deliciously. He didn't try to draw you closer or push his hips forward. Although you could tell that he was gradually beginning to feel impatient, you relished how he enticed you, encouraging you to proceed even further.

And so, you did just that, moving your head downward and taking more of him into your mouth. You relaxed your palate and throat to invite his girth as deep as you could, hollowing your cheeks whenever you slid up, and then lowered again. His grip around your hair tightened considerably, but he didn't hurt you. On the contrary, he was following your head's movements with enthusiasm and appreciation.

You hummed softly around him, breathing through your nose. You massaged the part that you couldn't reach, causing his legs to quiver and become rigid. His abdominal muscles tightened under your palm, twitching whenever you drew little circles upon them with your fingertips. You suckled harder, allowing his tip to touch the back of your throat and moving your knees closer to his body for a better angle.

The occasional eye contact, along with the way he refrained himself from choking you in the process, was making you absolutely feral. But at the same time, it was so unbelievably tender that you wished to continue the activity for hours. No other man had demonstrated such decency towards you.

The magnificent landscape surrounding you combined with the tranquil music played by the ocean, made even that appear as something wonderfully romantic. Morpheus' groans were low and deep, almost fully concealed by the waves running back and forth along the shore.

Considering how his length tensed up and pulsed, you could tell that he was getting close to his awaited release. You pulled his member out when your lips started to hurt from the exertion, lingering on his tip once more with gentle kitten licks and loving pecks. As you let your tongue explore other areas, you noticed how increasingly sensitive he seemed to be the moment you stimulated his frenulum, lavishing it with love and consideration with each fiery kiss you granted him.

You were loving every second of it in a way that you couldn’t adequately describe.

When you took him back in, you carefully increased the pace and applied more pressure to your cheeks. Morpheus was about to tumble over the edge, muttering your name and receiving an affirmative hum from you in response. You were relentless, moving your hands in perfect sync with your mouth, letting him shake and stiffen without withdrawing.

The earth below roared and quavered when his orgasm made its way from his core and through his entire being. His hips jerked a few times and he struggled to keep himself upright, yet his feet remained perfectly planted on the ground. You continued to bob your head up and down, feeling every single aftershock that forced him to throw his head back in utter ecstasy. You wanted to take all he had to give.

You could barely let him go with a sweet wet pop and fix his trousers, as he immediately reached down to take your arms and effortlessly lift you up. His mouth was on yours before you could properly stand, devouring your lips and pressing you to his chest. You didn't waste any time, engulfing his neck between your arms and losing yourself in the kiss.

As soon as you caught your breath, you inquired,"Was that too bold?”

Morpheus was amused, unable to contain his mischief and satisfaction. “I must confess, I fid this side of you intriguing.”

You chuckled while capturing his fingers with your own, his remark causing you to exude a tinge of blush and boosting your self-confidence. It was as if the previous conversation never actually happened, and the two of you proceeded along the coast a moment later.

You moved in tranquil quiet with him, staring at the moist grains of sand that dissolved below your feet. You didn't know when you discarded your footwear, nor how your outfit had switched from your mundane jeans and sweater to a bohemian dress you were incapable of recognizing.

The water was reaching your ankles now, the coolness of the waves greeting your skin and drenching the bottom of your clothing, but Morpheus didn't seem to mind.

“There’s something I meant to ask you,” you said, advancing and moving further towards the ocean, attracted by the crystal clear surface in front of you.

“What is it that you wish to know?”

“It’s about my father. Or rather, his unnatural fast recovering. Does it have anything to do with you?”

Your hand partially slipped free from his grasp as you sinked more into the water, but the physical connection was kept intact with his thumb stroking your knuckles.

“I did not cure him, if that is what you are asking me. Being in the presence of an Endless can affect a mortal’s health and provide longevity. So perhaps, your connection to me has also influenced him.”

You considered the information he offered for a few moments. “Is that possible?”

“It can be.”

The medication that Doctor Mills had prescribed was meant to exhibit its effects within some period of time. However, after less than three days of its usage, your father was so full of energy that you witnessed him dancing in the living room, much to everyone’s disbelief. At that time, you had been spending many of your leisure moments in the basement with Morpheus. Could it be true that his presence had an impact on your father in an roundabout way, speeding up his otherwise gradual recovery, assuming there would be one?

You weren't exaggerating in the slightest when you asserted that Morpheus was bringing nothing but benefits into your life.

You smiled, allowing the seawater to reach your waist. As you took a backward step, you descended deeper into the ocean. It felt chilly, but invigorating, just like the ones you immersed yourself in the Waking World.

Morpheus stood on the seashore, his polished shoes and the edges of his pants absorbing the waves. He looked at you curiously, observing the way your wet dress adhered to your figure.

"Come on," you urged him. "Why don't you join me?”

He released a quiet chuckle, moving forward with a couple of short strides. His lengthy coat fluttered on the surface of the water, following his movements and widening like a voluminous cape. You gently caressed his cheeks with both of your soaked and chilled hands, leaving little droplets all over his face. You then briefly pressed your lips onto his, reveling in the sensation of him wrapping his arms around your back and pulling you downwards.

You slowly plunged into the depths of the ocean, as the two of you descended deeper into its underwater domain. You could still breathe through your nostrils and lungs, taking in the beautiful sights of colorful corals and mysterious marine creatures swimming up close to you. His hair wafted in unison with yours, and both your coat and dress perceptibly prolonged and expanded in a swirl of fabric.

The ambient noises were faint and muffled, yet the moment was so enchanting that you felt like a princess living an actual fairytale.

Your eyelids grew more and more weary, and you felt as if you were about to be engulfed in an effulgent radiance emanating from underneath. Morpheus brushed a sizable portion of hair off the side of your neck with his fingers, bringing his mouth close to your ear, and then blowing softly in it. A slew of bubbles emerged from his mouth, tickling your face and fluctuating above you.

His voice reverberated through your brain, echoing all around and rattling the seaweed, which cleared a path for both of you to advance.

“This dream is over.”

Prior to meeting Ella at Corbyn&Jones, you selected your most businesslike outfit and crafted the best resume you were capable of writing. Even though she wasn't obliged to peruse through your former employment backgrounds, you wanted to maintain a formal image in the viewpoint of the CEO and other members of the company.

You composed a quick response on your phone to Hob's message, sent with the purpose of offering encouragement and wishing you good luck for the interview.

The building wasn't especially far away, therefore, you boarded the subterranean railway for a few stops before leaving it and continuing on foot. The weather was once again more agreeable than you could hope for, with a sun that wasn't too scorching for the time of the year, and a soft breeze that gently brushed against your body on your march.

You proceeded through several avenues, cutting through a garden and wandering beneath the trees. As soon as you spotted the structure in the distance, you retrieved your phone from your bag and opened a new conversation with Ella’s number. Your heartbeat was already quickening, partly because of the anticipation and eagerness, partly due to your usual anxiety that regularly crept inside you.

You froze, pausing the typing process the moment you detected a substantial shift in your surroundings. The sky grew extremely dark all of a sudden, and the vegetation seemed to get lost behind a thick layer of mist. It was as if you were teleported to a distinctly different area, the atmosphere was becoming heavy and you could even hear someone calling your name.

It was a combination of three different female voices blaring in the air and originating from all directions. You had to reassure yourself by counting your fingers and pinching your cheek to confirm that you didn't find yourself in the middle of yet another nightmare. You turned around to listen to the reverberations, hastening your breathing and taking a step in the back direction. As you once again turned to face the front, you were shocked to see three women with varying ages in front of you, each of them attired in dark garments and having their hair blowing in the elevated and much cooler air.

"Who are you?" You inquired, directing your gaze from one woman to another.

“Questions, questions,” said the one in the middle.

“We are the Fates, dear,” the younger lady responded.

“Or ‘The Kindly Ones’, if you may,” stated the eldest of the three.

You counted upon Morpheus to intrude on your slumber and disrupt the vision, yet at the same time, you were certain that you were awake and not in his realm.

“What do you want from me?” You were astonished to hear your own voice echoing so strongly, as if you were conversing in an empty broad domain.

The younger woman approached, she was incredibly beautiful, yet in her bearing, there existed something tremendously suspicious. “Poor Y/N, so naive and lost.”

“I’m not lost.”

“Yes you are, my child,” the middle woman spoke again, taking a step forward. “We came to warn you, little one.”

You sensed the impatience escalating, since your primary concern was to arrive at the firm on time.

“Look, no offence kind ladies, but I’ve got business to do right now.”

“Oh, but you shall want to listen,” the elder woman interjected. “It is Lord Morpheus that you must exercise caution with.”

You detected a chill coursing through your veins. “Morpheus…?”

They all smiled at the same moment, and in a way, it was profoundly horrifying.

“A father and a husband once, all is gone owing to his very deeds.”

A father…. and a husband…

A shudder traversed your spine as soon as you heard that statement.

The younger lady inclined her head. "My darling, how many truths is Dream concealing from you?”

You were confused regarding their plans, yet it was transparent that Morpheus was not regarded favorably by them.

“With all due respect, whatever he chooses to talk about or refrain from discussing with me is not your concern by any means,” you uttered curtly.

“Foolish child,” the oldest woman's voice boomed with such force that a surge of energy erupted from her, forcing you to falter. “Trust has a flimsy string.”

Your perplexity was escalating further. “What is it that you’re trying to say? I don’t have time for your riddles.”

The beautiful woman intervened once more. “Calliope was deprived of her dear offspring because of him.”

He was married to Calliope, the Muse and daughter of Zeus?

“The boy-child, Orpheus, went to Hades for his lady-love,” claimed the oldest Fate. “He was torn apart for his sacrilege. Yet, this is an old tale that you know very well, little one.”

You reflected upon the story of the legendary musician and poet, presented in a variety of ways through the pages of novels containing ancient Greek myths. You failed to comprehend how Morpheus could be held accountable for that occurrence, if any of those stories portrayed the truth.

“Morpheus holding secrets about his past is not a reason for me to lose trust.”

"Oneiros shall deceive you, Y/N," stated the younger Fate. "After all, he betrayed his own son and former wife, once.”

You pressed your lips together, sensing a rising uneasiness rushing up from your stomach and permeating your body.

“You don’t even know me. Why do you care so much about my relationship with Dream?”

The Fate in the center parted her lips into a broad smile. “Oh, we do know you, love. For you are the daughter of your mother.”

You felt the blood inside your veins turn icy cold. “My…mother…? What-”

“She does not know yet, sister-self.”

The enigmatic statements of the three women were starting to become more and more irritating. They spoke to you as if they had already mapped out your future and as if they knew more about you than you knew yourself.

You were trying to convey a part of your thought process in your response, but a sudden ringing of a bicycle bell startled you. A random guy pedaled swiftly past you, and upon glancing back at the location in which the trio of ladies stood, they had completely disappeared.

The dark atmosphere and the shadows were non-existent now, everything seemed to be back to normal, as if those events had never actually happened. When you glanced down at your device, your unsent message was right there on the display, and the clock on the screen exhibited the exact same time as before. The few minutes you spent in the company of the Fates, regardless of how real or hallucinatory they might have been, evidently took place in a separate dimension or they managed to pause the flow of time.

"What in the world was that?”

You felt puzzled, uncertain, with countless thoughts creating an uproar in your mind. Even so, there were other mattered that required your focus now, and you did not intend to be tardy for what could be a once-in-a-lifetime career-oriented breakthrough.

You typed the remainder of your message and sent it, resuming your walk toward the structure with a strange feeling deep in your heart.

Morpheus was once married to a Muse, and together they had a son.

Eventually, they were both lost, by one means or another.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 (currently reading) Go to Chapter 10 ->

Read on AO3!

#the sandman #dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x reader #the sandman fanfic #smut

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aroacesigma · 9 months

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do you have any sigzai hcs (or just hcs about sigma or dazai separately)

you're going to regret asking this . headcanons under the cut cause im gonna feel annoying otherwise . most of them are what i headcanon as happening like post canon in a nice world where everyone is alive and happy lol

sigzais <3

ok so to me they are THE transmasc qpps ever . i might be projecting a little but both dazai and sigma are both so transmasc to me. on one hand you have sigma who wears 10 billion shirt layers and a long ass coat and goes on and on about being an ordinary man, and then on the other hand you have dazai who also wears clothes like that and bandages over his chest

hc sigma as oriented aroace with ???? orientation . hes just very confused . theyre so confused . and dazai as bi aroacespec and not particularly averse to any stuff just doesnt feel the attraction most of the time

poor sigma has spent all this time around fyolai like 'god why the fuck are people like this' and then he meets dazai and is like ohhhhhhh. oh .

when sigma joins the ada (and they will u mark my words) him and dazai end up sharing an apartment

at first dazais excited because maybe he wont be living off horrible cooking

unfortunately sigma also cannot cook for shit . he fucking sucks . legitimately the only thing he can cook is cookies in a packet mix .

sigma is unfortunately going through the same phase that kids of controlling parents go through when they finally get freedom, which is making a bunch of stupid decisions . dazai , being the wonderful boyfriend he is, is encouraging all the dumb decisions because he thinks its funny

most of their dates is just going to cafes because sigma has the worlds most horrendous sweet tooth and sigma has no moral objections to guilt tripping him into it

despite being pretty bad at it themself, sigma has a tendency to hit dazai with a pillow until he takes care of himself

vice versa dazai will be a distracting little bitch and wont stop if he thinks sigma is overworking himself

sigma

he/they sigma is so real to me btw just need everyone to know this . they like messing around with neos as well sometimes i think

even though he's pretty much always tired , isnt really a huge fan of coffee , definitely prefers really fancy tea and energy drinks

decided to run with the whole purple thing cause of his hair , abolutely loves the colour. anything he owns is purple if they can get it .

smiles all happy while listening to music in a way that makes you think its something nice . its not . his only musical requirements are loud and screaming to drown out the Anxiety™

not my headcanon but i saw someone say once that they headcanon that occasionally people get an uncanny valley kinda vibe from looking at him cause of his weird origins and honestly i think thats pretty interesting

very happy to join the ada . not quite as impressed by the paycheck .

like , really not impressed by the paycheck . theyre struggling with the dwindling clothes budget . i can totally see him trying to decide whether he wants dinner or new earrings . and probably picking the earrings .

they get along with everyone at the agency really well . a few people dont really trust him straight up but atsushi and dazai vouching for him shuts that down relatively quickly

he gets along the best with atsushi

they have a friendly rivalry with kunikida . agency productivity going straight up just because those two keep trying to outdo each other

dazai

100% has multiple troll accounts online . he enjoys being a menace . not in the mean way , in the absolutely fucking infuriating kind of way

remained in denial (or more oblivious really) about being trans until he was 16 because he asked chuuya if everyone felt like that one time and chuuya was like well yeah (also trans and stupid)

on a related note (this one is kind of about dazai and chuuya but it still counts) mori was kind of like ohhh teenage boys are so much easier to deal with right ? kouyou decided it was best not to inform him that hrt gives you mood swings .

adhd. adhd. adhd.

hes a candy crush mum . its a problem .

eats everyone at the ada's food . but he doesnt eat the whole thing he'll just take a bite . its high up on kunikidas 'things that make me want to string dazai up by his legs and attach him to a ceiling fan' list

has been known to send 12 yr olds graphic violent death threats after losing to them in video games

he has the music taste of a 14 yr old cishet girl . i will let you decide what that entails .

my deepest apologies for making you read all this but i love them both dearly and i have lots of Thoughts

#asks #dreamsicle262 #sigzai #sigma #dazai #ramblings #headcanons i like

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james5-doe · 8 months

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Top 10 Defenders of the Earth Characters

The time has come. A special thank-you to the partner who inspired this. The only requirement for inclusion on the list was that the characters had to be featured in both the TV series and in fan-created fiction. Let's get to it.

10. Lothar

The good-natured, highly athletic Lothar is one of the most liked members of the DoE. Throughout the series, he's shown to be a very responsible father, a valued friend, and a respected figure in his homeland.

9. Kurt

Here's a look at what happens when ambition becomes obsession. Kurt Walker grows up wanting nothing more than to be the next Phantom, but his brother Kit proves most worthy of that mantle. In adulthood, a vindictive Kurt comes back into Kit's life and causes all sorts of trouble, but eventually sides with him while displaying several layers, including a sense of honor.

8. Mandrake

The suave magic man is an intelligent tactician, a skilled combatant, and a compassionate father. Mandrake truly stands among the most intriguing figures in the TV series, and fan fiction offers some engaging peeks into his past.

7. LJ

From the start, LJ comes across as the spunkiest member of the group -- an easygoing, fun-loving guy with a positive attitude. His confidence makes him cocky and impulsive sometimes, such as in "The Frozen Heart" and "Ming Winter," but he always proves to have a good head on his shoulders in the end, and demonstrates his loyalty to those whom he's closest to.

6. Phantom

Kit Walker is possibly the most fascinating of the adult Defenders -- and, no, it's not just because of the mask. Collected and disciplined, Kit displays a level of maturity, honor, and talent that anyone around him can admire, whether they're a superhero or not. In fan fiction, writers tend to have him realize that there's room for more in his life than super-heroics.

5. Flash

Who's the most passionate Defender? We all know the answer to that. As a result of that passion, he happens to be one of the most fun to watch. The charmingly confident Flash Gordon is a legendary adventurer, committed to keeping everyone safe from his nemesis Ming, and to defeating any other extraordinary threat that arises on Earth. At home -- when he finds time to be home, that is -- he's a man who does his best to prove that he loves his family more than missions.

4. Rick

It's an interesting coincidence -- or not -- that Rick Gordon is a skilled mechanic. That craft is all about change, which is something that Rick, himself, is experiencing constantly. Defenders of the Earth begins by altering his life drastically, and several fan writers follow suit, testing the character in various ways. He's had multiple love interests, numerous parental figures, shifts in residence, and plenty of heroic positions. The character lives in a state of flux, facing one challenge after another, and these challenges have generally served to make him stronger.

3. Krotan

Whether you're following Krotan in the TV series or in a fan-written tale, chances are high that you're going to be entertained. The TV character has several facets to his personality, proving, among other things, to be clever, arrogant, and romantic. We also take a look at his shaken side on occasion. And if you want development, you can find it in fan fiction -- usually after his compassion gets the better of him as he separates from Ming and bonds with others.

2. Jedda

This character is basically a fanfic writer's dream, because the TV series left fans with so many possibilities regarding her future. In fan fiction, pretty much everyone agrees that the key to writing Jedda is very simple: give her a great deal of inner-conflict when it comes to choosing her path in life, among other matters. It's an approach that's worked wonderfully, time and time and time again.

1. Hadea

Defenders of the Earth was a solid TV series that featured plenty of wonderful characters. DoE fan fiction has introduced several more, while offering significant development of the original players. The DoE galaxy is a vast place, with many intriguing figures. However, no one -- and I mean no one -- is more interesting or developed than the greatest of them all: Hadea.

What kind of character floats your boat? A proud, ambitious, loyal ruler? A patient, tender, caring mother? A faithful, bold, sensitive lover? A brave, capable, savvy fighter? A thoughtful, rebellious, conflicted daughter? A nurturing, attentive, steadfast sister?

You might find some of those qualities in just one character. Guess whom you'll find all of them in?

Did I mention that she's got superpowers too? Nope, because that's probably the least fascinating thing about her.

The creators of the show called her the Golden Queen. A fitting title, because, when it comes to DoE characters, Hadea is as golden as it gets.

----

Art: "Golden One," by Neldorwen

#defenders of the earth

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vibecraftdecor · 1 year

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HOW TO CHOOSE PAINTINGS FOR BEDROOM WALL

It is essential t for you to choose a paintings for bedroom wall that will give them a new look. The bedroom is the only place where everyone finds rest. It not only reflects the personality of the occupant but also stretches every bit to enhance the asked comfort condition. From accessing the electric entrance to designing the bed at the right height, a lot of study and understanding about mortal gestures has gone into designing the dream bedroom.

Art plays an important role in enhancing the beauty and comfort of the bedroom. That's why it is very important to choose good art for the bedroom wall. Choosing wall art for bedroom can be easy if the person living in the room is alone and clear about his likes, dislikes, and feelings. Still, if he is unable to choose then this article will help you.

These are some of the influences that you should keep in mind while choosing artwork for the bedroom.

Look for the positive: Bedrooms are places in the house where you want to relax, re-energize, and get peace in such a locality, it is stylish to use art that enhances your space and has a soothing and relaxing effect on you. The conclusion is for energies that give a positive outlook towards life and reflect the good side of your personality. So, find the best wall painting for bedroom that matches your feelings and makes you feel good.

Which type of wall painting is good for bedroom?

Most people prefer symbolic art in the bedroom as it easily represents their likes and dislikes. Nevertheless, abstract art inspired by a real subject is also a good choice as it helps one to interpret it in their way and hence have a deeper connection with it.

Modern art it gives a good impact on the present life of a person because it looks like a living painting in which a person always feels new even after seeing it, it is also a good painting for living room.

Favorite colored art needs to be in sync with the room and to achieve that, color plays an important role. Repeating colors from the art in the scene amplifies its impact on the room, so take care of the furnishings or go the other way when it comes to choosing art.

Positioning the artwork, it is really important to position the art to make the maximum impact. So, consider how high you want to place the paintings in your living room so that how your eyes see them.

When hanging wall art above a bed or lounge, position the bottom edge of the frame 6 to 12 inches above the cabinetwork.

Fashionistas are experts to choose bedroom wall painting design in specific ways and it is important that the occupants of the room.

Height matters Determine how much space you have available and find the right size pieces. A rule of thumb is that the art should fill two-thirds to three-quarters of the wall.

Experts suggest that larger frames are better for contemporary art, but if your area is small, even oversized wall art can make it look smaller. So, choose wisely. Tested Your bed room is your sanctuary and it gives you every reason to do what you are most passionate about

Experiment with art and styles, spruce up the wall with pop art patterns, paper art with layers, ceramic art, and nature art use repetition, break the rules, and make your statement.

Check out some artwork ideal for your bedroom.

Choosing and displaying art can be a lot of fun, especially if it's for your bedroom and means a lot to you. Then here are some ideas (or suggestions) to add energy to your creativity!

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#paintings for bedroom wall #bedroom wall painting #wall painting for bedroom #home decor

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sennthefern · 1 month

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A Thousand Suns Part 2 Chapter 2 Meta

Hi here’s my messy notes on Chapter 2 since it was, I kid you not, the most difficult chapter to write so far. Granted a lot of that has to do with the fact that I was trying to integrate ancillary material from the comics. However, the actual biggest challenge by far was the core problem: how do you get a paragon Shepard to willingly join Cerberus?

On John & joining Cerberus

I think this is a really interesting question and that’s one of the main reasons I wanted to initially write this fic. Needless to say, I had my work cut out for me from the get go. I’ll try my best to go into how I achieved this.

The way Cerberus operates in this chapter is through a lot of very subtle manipulation choices. Obviously there’s the fact that Jacob lies to John at the very start of the chapter, convincing him that he’s Alliance and that this is merely some kind of black ops off-the-record nonsense, but it runs a bit deeper than that. Each character from Cerberus has a different role to play in John’s manipulation. Jacob is the confidant, allowing someone for John to trust (and trust is a BIG factor in his story for ME2,) Miranda is the “bad cop” in the sense that she’s very upfront and plain about her plans, and Kai Leng is the “worse cop,” aka the guy that makes everyone else look better by virtue of being a giant jackwad.

On a subtler layer you’ll notice that Miranda is always whisking people along, creating environments and situations where John doesn’t have all the information and is oftentimes the last person leaving the room. Kai Leng is there to run interference, goading John into not paying attention to what’s really happening. The biggest thing that they try to do throughout the course of this chapter is to separate John and Liara, with the intention that John agrees to work with them and further a growing wedge between the two.

Obviously there’s also the exploitation of John’s emotional state when they reveal they’re looking Julia’s body, and Cerberus’ callous treatment of the potential for her resurrection/retrieval. And who’s there to sum it all up in a bow? The Illusive Man, doing his spin doctor routine and sweet talking John with a thousand more surprises and promises. Of course, John’s not an idiot. So he tries his best to keep his distance and have his cake and eat it too. He wants to use Cerberus’ resources without actually working with them.

But that is literally impossible. In a way it’s deterministic; you can’t use Cerberus’ resources without being a part of Cerberus (whether you like it or not.) Granted, a lot of the time he’s been ‘working with them’ has been spent waiting for the SR-2 to be completed, so the conversation with Anderson at the start of the chapter is really the first time he’s challenged on his allegiances.

By the end, however, we see John’s central challenge resolved: morals be damned, he has to see this through. The Alliance turned their back on him. He’s got to continue the fight on his own.

And I think that’s kind of the interesting thing about this fic. How these two twins change and how their respective moral codes rub off on one another. (And yes, I know everyone has been trying to figure out if/when/how Julia is returning. To that I say: I haven’t forgotten; just hang tight :D)

On Omega & the Terminus

So to be completely upfront, ME2 is my least favorite game in the trilogy. Yes, ME1’s gameplay is worse and the writing is weird. Yes, ME3 is… ME3, but I do like the combat in it and i find it to be a satisfying enough conclusion. ME2, though? Where do i start?

I think my biggest gripe is the way the Terminus is handled. In ME1 the Terminus Systems is presented as an alternative region comparable to Citadel Space, even if it lacks a central government. The entire reason the Council doesn’t send in a fleet after Saren to Ilos is because it would spark a war with the Terminus. Cut to ME2 and I realize… who the heck would the war be with? The Vorcha? The freaking blood pack?? Sure, the Hegemony’s there, but they got their asses beat so badly by a barely-interstellar humanity in the blitz that they fully receded from Council Space. Instead the Terminus is presented as the wild west, mainly composed of gangs, gangs, and more gangs. This is so reductive!!! Why would you set a game in a new area only for that part of the universe to be left so empty?

Anyways that’s enough of my soapbox rant. As for how I’m approaching the Terminus, I’m pulling a lot from the ME1 depiction and (perhaps unsurprisingly) a lot of ancillary material. There’s more than just Omega and the Hegemony and mercenaries. There’s rogue asari enclaves and volus anarcho-capitalist trade unions and, most pressingly, the Lysthenti Salarians. They get (i kid you not) a SINGLE sentence in mass effect: ascension and i just… what is the story there!! they’re genetically distinct?? they were forced off Sur’Kesh????? They have their own government in the Terminus???????? Crazy shit. I need to know more BioWare!!

How will these things all work in the actual story? I have no idea. But needless to say that’s how I’m approaching it. (I also pull quite a bit of inspo from Ascension in the description of Omega in this chapter, as well.)

Jacob, Cerberus, and Kai Leng

What can I say about these idiots that hasn’t already been said? I actually don’t hate Jacob. I think he’s a terribly mismanaged character and very poorly written, but he’s not like, bad. Like i said earlier, the biggest theme of ME2 is trust. Who can John trust? Can he really trust anyone? Jacob, to me, is The Guy for this question. John should want to trust him!!! But unfortunately, Jacob sucks! And that’s a juicy conflict!!!!

You may have been surprised to see Kai Leng in this chapter. I know I was when I wrote it. This is a bigger part of the project to integrate ME2 and 3 better. Kai Leng and Cerberus’ Dealings (what those exactly are will be explored LaterTM) are going to be a bigger part of ME2. Did you know that Kai Leng is a big part of the comics? I didn’t! His stuff isn’t great by any means, but it’s at least interesting. (The same cannot be said about his in-game appearances.)

Not to harp on ME2 more, but I am surprised at how little the game actually focuses on Cerberus’ characters. There are interesting things in the lore! Eva Core! Kai Leng! Grayson, Pel, and Golo! The internal politics of an organization that by design is asymmetrical and secretive! I chalk a lot of this up to the fact that Shepard is not willingly working with them in 2, but for a Shepard who is, how much info does he get? Who’s his handler? How much access is he given? These are the questions I really want to explore.

#mass effect #fic tag: ats #commander shepard #fic meta #mass effect fanfiction

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hectormcfilm · 6 months

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Anatomy of a fall

Anatomy of a fall is the latest film I watched at the cinema, an intense ambiguous mystery made for some Oscar nominations. The basic plot is a father's body is found fallen from the top floor of his house and his wife becomes the lead suspect as the audience and jury learn more about the couples tumultuous relationship.

The highlight of this film is easily its direction and cinematography. There is a mix throughout of regular cinematic style and documentary style. The film fluctuates between the two styles, having scenes of the investigators filming the case as if it is a real true crime documentary, adds a sense of realism and a layer of suspense. There are some interesting and unusual techniques used like certain scenes shot in extreme close ups around character mouths or eyes, and a heavy use of lens flare during flashback scenes, giving them a distinct feel and clearly separating them from the rest of the film. The use of grain and blur was also very effective. Unfortunately, towards the end of the film it felt as though these styles were almost merging, making the cinematography feel almost random. There are some unique choices of cinematography like fast zooms that are engaging and cool but didn't really fit the tone of the film.

The best scene was when the child gave his recount of a memory of his father where the father is speaking but it is the child's voice, so well done. I also really enjoyed the metaphor the father used between him and the dog, saying everyone dies eventually and the child must prepare himself for that.

I thought the narrative was great, keeping the audience constantly second guessing themselves and keeping the reality of what happened ambiguous, never revealing if it was suicide or murder. I enjoy this as it allows everyone to have their own interpretation. However, there were a few elements I disliked such as the scene of the child giving the dog aspirin as despite him being a child he always seemed quite smart and this felt very wild and out of character, it also created unneeded tension of if the dog would die. I also believe the ending's pace is too slow, there are a few scenes I saw as unnecessary like the Chinese restaurant where focusing on the barely built up romance felt cheap and makes both character less likeable. I also wanted the answer of what animal she believed the lawyer was.

Overall pretty great with some issues, probably deserves best directing or at least a nomination.

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lilliankillthisman · 8 months

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Oh yah I'm not just walking and eating bad ice cream on holiday I'm also reading The Bolsheviks Come to Power: The Revolution of 1917 in Petrograd, which is super good! It covers the period after the February revolution up to the October revolution in granular detail; it's a style that I've often found myself wanting more of from histories when reading about interesting periods.

So far the element that's struck me most have been the intersections and meaningful debates of the many, many soviet bodies, which honestly I'd never registered as present when reading (much more shallow) books on the period. Reading about these fairly spontaneous, multi-layered democratic workers' organisations is honestly kind of inspiring, mostly on a "god I wish we had this kind of engagement with policy" level than a "I wish everything were organised like this today" level (insofar as those can be separated at all). I kind of wish I'd read this book before reading The State and Revolution; seeing how the soviets were operating at the time of writing makes his vision of a society where representative roles can be filled by any worker and the revolutionary state is totally accountable to the workers seem much less fantastical.

Speaking of Lenin, it's fun to see how little he's getting done! I knew that he fled Petrograd in July; I hadn't realised that he spent so much time sending instructions back based on out-of-date info while out of touch with the city's mood. Somehow I suspect that's going to change later.

On a very, very superficial narrative level, "everyone spends their time arguing about politics and leadership and treachery while the walls close in around them" is a setup I enjoy reading about, and it turns out Russia in WW1 provides that perfectly. Rabonowitch is careful to keep pointing out that at every stage the war effort keeps collapsing further and further, and it's a sign of how effective his microscope view of Petrograd is that it's needed.

Oh, and the best metaphor for revolutionary politics so far is a group of soldiers demanding "the abolition of capital punishment, to become effective after the execution of General Kornilov and his supporters". You've got to get those two the right way round if you want both, yeah.

#txttletale recommended it a while back #and she was right it's super good

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

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Could I request a Bucky Barnes x reader smut? Basically she and Bucky have been together for some time and maybe it’d be a little angst where the two are talking about the future and Bucky not thinking he can ever have a normal future? Which would result in soft smut and later reader being revealed as pregnant so Bucky finally gets his family

I’m Home

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary | based on the request ^^

Warnings | angst, smut, oral sex (m receiving), fluff, pregnancy, mentions of death

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

The Wilson’s boat rocked sturdily upon the water, swaying as the boats worked aboard. Your hand held the weight of a silver spanner, twirling it in your fist as though it were a knife, thinking of the long road ahead of you. Sam had the shield now, that was a good start, but still, there was a ways to go until the world recognised him as the captain that he was meant to be.

There was so much destruction ongoing in the world, what with the flag smashers, and whomever the power broker was, and surely, you knew on the shallow surface, that there would be masses more problems to arise. It was exhausting, to know that there was no end to the war on earth, and that you were surely going to be fighting the threats until you could no more.

Bucky felt the same; he had just gone from one war to another, losing everyone that he cared about along the way. Steve had given everything up to finally find peace, and yet, the two did not share the same opportunity. An escape was never laid at your feet, instead, the pair of you were trapped in the cycle of cruelty, being blended around in a shredder by reality.

“Hey.” A voice confiscated you from the lonesome containment of your thoughts; it was Sam’s hosting sister, Sarah. I’m her own way, though you doubted that she would never admit such a thing, she was a hero. She had become a widow, and not to mention she remained a stable mother to keep her boys afloat, as well as nurturing half the kids that lived within close proximity.

“Hi Sarah.” You put the tool down, giving her your ample attention as you stood, tugging your fingers into the loops of your jeans as you stepped out of the boat, and onto the dock. “Anything I can help with?” It hadn’t passed your attention that Sam and Bucky had disappeared, but not into ash like last time. Instead, they had walked off in the direction of the house, most likely meddling about with a ball, in the back yard with Jim and Jody.

“I just came to let you know I’ve made the sofa up for you and Bucky. Are you sure you’ll be all good, I could always kick Sam outta his bed and make him sleep on the living room floor?” The two of you had nightmares, if you were to be separated from him for even a night, it was certain that the pair of you would greatly suffer. That was something you didn’t want to burden any of the Wilson’s with, screaming in the middle of the night because flashes from your past struck an unconscious nerve.

“All good, and thank you Sarah. You didn’t have to let us stay here, we both appreciate it, a hell of a lot.” One thing that you had learnt throughout your years was to show gratitude. The smallest amount shared had the ability to spring up moods, and had even set you on a much more heroic path than the one that you had been originally been placed upon.

“You’ve earned your stay.” Sam’s sister shrugged with modesty, acknowledging the help that you and Bucky had not only given to Sam, but to her family’s legacy. The two of you had aided with fixing the old wreckage that had now returned to the form of a boat, keeping it afloat rather than permitting it to sink from the quarrels that Sam had with himself regarding fixing the damned yet meaningful port of transport.

“This life you have, it’s great. I get it’s not easy, but it’s beautiful. You have two wonderful kids, that you’ve done such a great job raising, and not to mention, these community that you have is so loving and kind, even to us outsiders.” The pair of you had paused outside of her front door, speaking. “Sam is lucky to have you, he truly is.”

“Well, maybe one day this life could be something similar to what you’ll have.” The sister of your friend smiled, though your mirroring expression retracted. In a stumble of thought, you shook your head, not believing that possibility. This all was... perfect. That was something that you had never had, nor would you think that you’d ever be permitted such a peaceful lifestyle.

“I don’t think that would work out.” You sincerely mumbled, feeling the sad swelling in your chest at the prospect of all the luxuries that life had denied both you and Bucky of. It wasn’t fair all the same, but the two of you were used to being denied human rights, let alone the simplicity of nothing more than a life together. “As nice as it sounds, me and Buck aren’t really cut out for all this I suppose.”

“The world does not choose who can and cannot have a family, there’s always a way. Just because you haven’t had the most ideal line of story does not at all mean that you can’t make it work, from as much as i know, you two deserve a life together, that doesn’t include being shot at, or shooting at other people. Sometimes, you’ve just gotta go for it, and hope for the best.” She gave you a final nod, before heading inside, and you trailed after her into her her residency.

The two of you went your separate ways, and there, you saw Bucky, sat up on the sofa, his hands clasped together as his eyes stared towards the tan bag, that concealed not the shape, but the Stars and Stripes of the infamous shield. It was much a relief that it was no longer in Walker’s toxic clutch, however its presence, among other things, were taking a clear toll on your boyfriend.

“You ever feel like we’re stuck?” The air was tense around you both as he spoke solemnly, it diverting to match the mood of his question. “Like we’re us, and I love us, but it makes me think that it’s it. Just me and you, on this path for the rest of our lives, never getting a compensated break, nor an average person’s future. I want this, what these people here have, not the combat that is aided by this metal arm, or the associations that stick to us like life lines.”

“All the time, it’s on my mind James.” With a sigh, you came to sit beside him on the couch, resting your head against his bionic shoulder. “I ever wonder if there’s a timeline of you and me where there’s none of this ruckus, we just have a nice little house in a quiet and accepting place, and maybe a kid or two in the future.”

“I’d give anything up for that.” He looked at you, almost wide eyed, as his hand slithered down onto your knee cap, rubbing small circles as he wore a blunt and endearing smile upon his infatuating lips. “I mean that Buck, that sounds...”

“Perfect?” He asked, leaning closer as he grabs your chin with his wondrous fingers, his nose brushing alongside your own as his puckered lips fell upon yours, earning a small hun of content from within you. “Because you’re perfect to me, and no matter what life we are encased in, I want to share it with you. I want stare at the night sky and watch the moonlight illuminate the side of your face, and the stars reflect in your entrapping eyes, that I want to look into like a medium’s orbs forever, because that is how I will see the future that I ever so hope for.”

“How long have you been working on that one Barnes, because you are usually not that smooth?” A small laugh erupted from your mouth, but you were quickly silenced as you felt a cold metal hand slither up and beneath the back of your tank top, rubbing along the seam of your spine, as his lips ran down the column of your throat, evoking small and delicate whimpers out of you.

“Shut up doll, because I really want to fuck you now, and those words leaving your mouth are making it kinda hard to concentrate.” A furrow imbedded between his brows, as you tilted your head at him, a smirk proclaiming your expression as you pulled the material over your head, and reached behind yourself to unclip the back of your bra.

“Kinda hard to concentrate, hun?” You asked nonchalantly as his gaze zeroed in on your bare breasts, his hands smoothing along your ribcage as he adjusted his grip of you so that he was palming at your breasts, and squeezing the nipples. “I want you in me baby, I’ve practically gone days without you inside of me.” Licking your lips, you reached down to palm your beloved through his layers, earning a positive groan from the former assassin.

“Hours, you mean. I fingered you on the road trip here.” Yes, that was true, however, it was only his fingers, not even the metal ones, and whilst you loved what they alone could do, he had to be discreet as you were sat on the back of the truck, which had carried the primary parts for the Wilson’s family boat. If you were to scream out, they’d have surely thought that you’d fallen off the back of the truck and pull over, or if they had much sense, they’d have noticed that there was more going on than two passengers sat side by side on the journey to their small neighbourhood by the docks,

“You heard me Barnes, otherwise I’m sure Sam wouldn’t have any problem if I came to his room in this state of undress that I am currently portraying.” Growling was never Bucky’s fortes, however the sound aggressively ripped through the tunnel of his throat, as he threw off his grey top, quickly unfastening his belt, as he awaited for you to strip the rest of your clothing before him.

But rather than doing so, as he stood before you, your hand had trouble resisting the sight of his cock that had bobbed to attention, and thus, you wrapped it around his toned flesh, giving it a couple jerks that had his head reeling back, before you tongued his tip, moaning to yourself at the taste of him invading your sensitive taste buds. “Love your cock.”

As soon as you said that, Bucky gently gathered your head in a ponytail so that it was free from bombarding your face, and groaned as quiet as he could as you sucked him in your mouth, running your tongue up the side of his shaft. “Is that a part of your dream world baby doll, the sight of my cock throbbing to be inching down that perfect little throat of yours?”

To answer him, you pressed your head down deeper, humming around him as your eyes ogled up at the sight of your super soldier, who was trying his hardest to keep his eyes open, and attuned to the sight of you. He held his bottom lip between his teeth, as you lightly gagged around him, pulling off him, and squeezing his balls, before running your hungry tongue along the middle of his sack.

“Always. It would be a dream if you made love to me right here and now though, I’m not sure I can wait any longer James.” Bucky took a long inhale, before ravishingly pulling down your jeans and panties in one go, and tossing you so that he was below your form, and you hovered over him, toying with his erect cock. “I love you so much Bucky, and I’m scared of what’s to come. I have a feeling that there’s gonna be a fight.”

“There’s always a fight doll face.” He rubbed his thumb soothingly across your jaw, pulling your hips down closer so that you were rubbing your slick folds against his standing cock. “But this is what we’re fighting for, the rest of our lives together. I’d be damned, one day after this, and if I were to die, I’d be a happy man. There’d be the memory of you to keep me forever happy in the afterlife, and not to mention, there’d be no more wars for me to participate in.”

“I’m not going to let you die Buck, even hypothetically. We saw how your little hypothetical synopsis went last time.” Tapping his cock against your clit, a breathy sound evicted from your lips, as you stared down at the two of you intimately touching, the sight alone making you more turned on and impatient. “No one is allowed to kill you, otherwise I’ll unleash hell on all their flag smashing asses.”

Giving him one last stroke, you guided his tip towards your entrance, removing your hand once you had him situated, so that you could rest it upon his sturdy shoulder, and sink down on him, the feeling of him stretching you being the most euphoric sensation that you had ever endured. Hushed moans ceased from the both of you, as Bucky’s hands gripped your ass cheeks, only adding to all of the pleasure that was erupting within you.

“Think your pussy is gonna kill me before anyone else does; your so tight.” His pitch had rose, as your fingertips danced along the left side of his handsome face, invisibly connecting the dots of his beauty marks. You allowed the pair of you to adjust for a simple moment, before you began to raise your hips, sliding up his super soldier rod, only to slide down it again.

The actions were repeated, as your own hands trailed down his warm skin, to drag down the golden lines of his vibranium arm, only to bring the weapon to your mouth, and kiss every black finger up, as you tried your best to muffle the moans that were hoping to reap free. “So fucking big, I love you and your cock.” You muttered, your sight turning blurry as Bucky realised that it was his turn to do the work, and thus, he thrusted up into you, making echoing sounds of your skin slapping together reverberate around the room.

“Love you more.” He gritted his teeth, pulling his metallic hand away from your numb lips, so that he could swirl the elegant digits around your clit, the action provoking whimpers to rapidly surpass your exterior, as you bit harshly onto your own lip, and screwed your eyes shut. “Cum for me doll, want you to cover my hard cock in everything you have. Come on baby, you can do it.”

Without much thought, as your mind was too scrambled to do so, you reached for Bucky’s spare hand, pulling it to your mouth as you sucked on his fingers as though you were blowing him. A low moan that was dialled down from the presence of his flesh digits, ran from your mouth, as you began to bounce your hips, chasing and eventually reaching your high. You came around him, pushing him too over the edge, his seed filling your walls, as you collapsed atop of him, huffing from exhaustion as you removed his salivated hand from the realms of your mouth, resting your head against his panting chest.

Stringed sighs fell from Bucky’s breath as he tried to catch his own breath. His hands rubbed your back, not only to comfort you, but also to subconsciously pull you closer against him, and his softening cock that was still inside you, and was keeping his cum plugged within your tender and pulsating walls. If life was easier, there’d be more time for this, and that, but for now, it was just every now and then. Maybe you’d win this fight and survive until the next one, but maybe, you’d lose and never battle again.

Life was precious, that was something that you had not only learned as an avenger, but also something that had been told to you by Isiah. That man thought that you deserved a normal life, no fighting, no super soldiers. He himself was the biggest yet silent critic of those with additional strength, but his opinion was never going to sway you, not as you stared out into Sarah’s backyard, and watched the man that you loved play with the boys.

They had the shield, and were whisking it through the air like a frisbee; dangerous, yes, but again, life could only amount to so much without an ounce of pain. A content and satisfied smile absorbed any pain on your face, you were enraptured with the sight of Bucky like this, he was like an uncle to these two kids. He was no captain America, that was for sure, but you didn’t want a man in Stars and Stripes, all you wanted was him to be at peace, and it was a fact unbeknownst to him, that you had made such an alternative to that.

“Still want all this?” Sarah emerged, a cheap yet formidable bottle of wine pursed in her hand, as she held two clear and tall glasses in her hand. You hummed, watching as she poured the thin red consistency into one glass, but as she went to fill the other, you held out your hand, shaking your head. The woman was confused, last time you had visited, and were entangled on her sofa with the limbs of your boyfriend and a shaggy old blanket, you had kindly accepted her offer.

“Sure do.” You sighed, staring out into the green abyss where Jim was hanging from Bucky’s arm like it were a branch. “How do you do this, this whole mother thing? I’ve never been able to wrap my head around how you make it look so easy, it’s just, you do such a good job.” Your palms rested flat on your thighs as you laughed at Sam ordering Jody to jump on Bucky’s back, as he fell down in faux defeat.

“It never is easy y/n.” She placed the open bottle down, along with the mismatched glasses, that were asymmetrical considering one was half filled and the other wallowed in emptiness. “But every step of difficulty is worth it. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t miss their father, but they’re my priority. For Jim and Jody, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do, and you’d understand that if you ever opened yourself up to giving your life of heroism up to have all this.”

“I might have to.” Twiddling with your fingers, glancing up at your boyfriend, realising that he was in fact not looking over, you clasped your intwined hands over your stomach, smiling softly to yourself. “And maybe not having another option is the best option for me and Buck, because we don’t have to fight with ourselves over being included in our duties, we have new ones.”

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” Sarah asked, resting her nurturing hand upon the tile of your shoulder, prompting you to turn your face towards her. There was a conflict in your eyes, it was something that she recognised her younger self having once worn. It was the idea of putting everything aside, all for a child, everything that she had ever known, so that she could put her baby boy first. “Does Bucky know?”

“He will.” You shifted your head down, unsure of yourself. This had been what you had wanted, and whilst you still envied Sarah for the role she had, you were hurt. A part of you wanted to be an avenger until you were nothing but a soul drifting in the abyss of non existence, another didn’t want to let the knowledge of being a carrier for a new future crumble you. “I just need a moment to tell him.”

“I’ve got it.” She sent you a wink, picking up the items she had brought out, before she called on Sam and the kids to come inside. Sarah had gifted you the opportunity of revealing the truth to your partner with no one else around; you appreciated that. As he stalked closer, you met him halfway, sinking into his arms as he hugged you.

“Looked like you were having fun with the boys.” You verbally noted, loving the feeling of him running his fingers through your hair. “You’re amazing Bucky Barnes, to me and to everyone. I just, don’t want you to freak out on me, I have something big, really big, to tell you, and-“

“Baby, I know.” He smiled, pulling back so that he could look you in the face. “I have super human senses, I heard their little heart beat for the first time yesterday. We’re having a baby, and I couldn’t be happier about it. In fact, I want to ask you if you’ll accept my question of making Sam the godfather.” You nodded, tears standing in your eyes, as you brought the man down for a kiss.

“Yes. But I’m not sure that he’ll be praising us for making a baby when we technically created him or her on the couch inside.” Bucky shook his head at you, kissing your forehead before walking inside with you, preparing to tell the Wilson family, that had along the way became your own, the good news- well, not the sofa bit.

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feanorianethicsdepartment · 3 years

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Alright, I read your recent post and need to know - what is your interpretation of Maglor’s relationship with the twins?

askjdhslkjag my biggest self-inflicted problem in this fandom is that my take on maglor, elrond, and elros' relationship is so intensely detailed and specific i am forever tormented by none of the fic i read ever quite getting it right (from my perspective; i’ve read plenty of fic that presents a good interpretation on their own terms, it’s just never mine.) it’s simultaneously way darker than the fluffy kidnap dads stuff and nowhere near as black-and-white awful as the anti-fëanorian crowd likes to paint it, it’s messy and complicated and surrounded by darkness, and yet there’s also a sincere connection within it which mostly serves to make all those complications worse. angry teenage elrond is angry for a great many reasons, and the circumstances around him being raised by kinslayers account for at least half of them. there’s lots of complexity here, and i don’t see it in fic nearly as often as i’d like

(warning: the post... feathers? i already have an internet friend called faeiri this could be awkward - anyway, the post she’s talking about includes the line ‘everyone is wrong about kidnap dads except me.’ this post follows on from that in being as much a commentary about why various popular interpretations of both how the kidnapdoption went and the way people subsequently characterise the twins just don’t work for me as it is a setting out of my own ideas. i’m not really interested in getting into discourse here, i’m just trying to get my thoughts down. i’ve read fic with these interpretations before that i’ve liked, even, don’t take this as a Condemnation, aight? also this turned out long as hell, so i’m putting it under a cut)

i can never buy entirely fluffy depictions of kidnap dads

which isn’t to say i don’t read them! sometimes all i want is something sweet, for these kids to get to be happy for once. it’s not like i think their time with the fëanorians was completely devoid of laughter

it’s just. the pet names, the special days out, the home-cooked meals, it can get so treacly it stops feeling like the characters they are in the situation they’re in and turns into Generic Found Family #272

it soaks out all the complexity - which is the thing i am here for - and acts like oh, these kids were never in any danger, they were perfectly happy being abducted by the people who murdered everyone they knew, there’s nothing possibly questionable about this relationship at all

and... yeah. that’s not the characters i know. that’s not the context i know they belong to

i just can’t forget the circumstances that led them to meet

rivers of blood, the air filled with screams, a town ablaze, a woman choosing to die. every interaction the three of them have is going to proceed from that nightmare

(sidenote: i tend to hold it was maglor that raised the twins, with maedhros looming ominously in the background not really getting involved. it’s mostly personal preference, i’ve been in and out of the fandom since before this kidnap dads thing blew up and when i joined that was a perfectly standard reading)

(also the cave thing was a dumb idea, old man, if only because it implies beleriand had streams safe enough for children to play in at that point. the way it separates the twins from the third kinslaying is also something i don’t particularly vibe with)

probably my least favourite angle i’ve seen on the situation (edged out only by ‘maglor was actively abusive towards the twins’ which no no no no no no no no NO) is the idea that maglor (and/or maedhros, append as necessary) took the twins specifically to raise them

like, i get where it’s coming from, but it makes maglor come off as really creepy

(i have read fics where it is indeed played off as really creepy, but that’s not a maglor i have any interest in reading about)

(’mags 100% bad’ is just as facile a take to me as ‘mags 100% good’)

even if you’re saying maglor took them in because they had no one left to take care of them - i highly doubt they were the only children the fëanorians orphaned at sirion. idk, it always makes maglor seem much less sympathetic than i think it’s meant to

i prefer to think of it as more... organic? something that evolved, not something that was preordained. them growing closer gradually, the twins finding an adult who might maybe be on their side, maglor becoming invested in them almost by accident

and then the twins are so comfortable with the second scariest monster in amon ereb they frequently sass him off and maglor’s gotten so used to not hurting them he’s not even thinking about it any more. no one’s quite sure how it happened, but they’ve made a Connection

‘wait aren’t they a murderous warlord of questionable mental stability and a pair of terrified small children who’ve lost everyone they ever knew? isn’t that kinda fucked up?’ yup! that’s the point! complexity!

another idea i don’t like is the idea that maglor was an objectively better parent to the twins than eärendil or elwing

other people have talked about this already, i won’t rehash the whole thing. i will say that while i don’t think elwing was a perfect parent - someone so young, in such a horrible situation, i wouldn’t blame her for screwing up - i do think she (and eärendil) did the best by them they possibly could

this is one of the few things they have in common with maglor

something i come across now and again is the idea that sure, elwing and eärendil weren’t abusive or horrible or anything, but they were a couple of basically-teenagers with so many other responsibilities, there was only so much they could do. maglor, on the other hand, is an experienced adult who could take much better care of the twins

and...

first off, it’s not like mags doesn’t have a job. he’s a warlord, he has a fortress to help run, military shit to handle, lots of other stuff that needs to get done to stop everyone from starving or getting eaten by orcs. i feel like sirion had enough of a government there was plenty of opportunity for elwing to take days off and play with her kids, but in the fëanorian camp nobody really has the time to chase after a couple of toddlers, least of all one of the last points on the command network. they just don’t have the people any more

(seriously, the twins getting a formal education with tutors and classes and shit is a weirdly specific pet peeve of mine. this is a band of renegades, not a royal household; if there’s anyone left with those kinds of skills they almost certainly have more important things to do)

more than that, though - well, a quick glance through my late stage fëanorians tag should tell you a lot about what i think maglor’s mental state is like at this point. he is so accustomed to violence death means nothing to him, he’s lost most of his capacity for genuinely positive emotion to an endless century of defeat and despair, he hates everything in the universe, especially himself, he’s only able to keep functioning through a truly astounding amount of denial, and he covers it all up with a layer of snark and feigned apathy, which he defends aggressively because he’s subconsciously realised that if it breaks he’ll have absolutely nothing left

(maedhros, for the record, is... i’d say more stable, but at a lower point. maglor may interact with the world mostly through cold stares and mocking laughter, but at least his mind is firmly rooted in the present)

(on the other hand, at least maedhros lets himself be aware of what they are and where their road will lead)

which... this doesn’t mean maglor doesn’t try to be kind to the twins, or rein in his worst impulses around them

there’s just so little of him left but the weapon

he stalks through the halls like a portent of death and gets into hours-long screaming matches with maedhros and has definitely killed people in front of the twins

not even as, like, a deliberate attempt to scare them, but because when you solve most of your problems by stabbing them it’s pretty much a given that people who spend a lot of time around you are going to see you do it at least once

and sometimes, he curls up in an empty hallway, and weeps

... suffice it to say i don’t think elwing’s the more preoccupied, or the less mentally ill, parent here

just. in general, the fëanorians aren’t cackling boogeymen, but they’re not particularly nice either

no one has the energy left for that. not these isolated and weary soldiers at the end of a long losing war and the beginning of the end of the world. they don’t really bother to guard the kids against them escaping. where else are they going to go?

the sheer despair that must have been in the fëanorian camp after sirion, the knowledge that the cause cannot be fulfilled, that they are utterly forsaken, that they’re really just waiting to die -

it can’t have been a happy place to grow up in, under the shadow of loss and grief and deeds unrepentable, and the slow march of inevitable defeat

they would have had a better childhood if they stayed in sirion, raised by people who knew how to hope

but that isn’t the childhood they had. and despite everything i’ve said, i don’t think that childhood was an entirely awful one

yeah, see, this is where the other side of my self-inflicted fandom catch-22 comes in. just as much of the pro-kidnap dads stuff comes off as overly saccharine and simplified to me, i find much of the anti-kidnap dads stuff equally simplistic in the opposite direction

the idea that maglor and the fëanorians never meant anything to elros and elrond, that they had no effect on the people they became at all, that it was just a horrible thing that happened when they were children, easily thrown in the rear-view mirror...

that’s even more impossible to me than the idea that life with the fëanorians was 100% fluffy and nice

like, i’ve seen the take that elros and elrond hated the fëanorians from start to finish. they were perfect little sindarin princes, loyal to their people and the memory of doriath, spurning every scrap of kindness offered to them and knowing just what to say to twist the knife into the kinslayers’ wounds

... dude. they were six. hell, given their peredhelness, mentally they could easily have been younger

what six year old has a firm grasp of their ethnic identity? what six year old is fully aware of their place in history? what six year old would understand the politics that led to their situation?

don’t get me wrong, i can see hatred in there. but something else that doesn’t get acknowledged alongside it often enough is the fear

some of the stuff i’ve read feels like it gives the kids too much power in the situation. they’re perfectly happy to talk back to and belittle the people who burned down their hometown and killed everyone they ever knew, like miniature adults who don’t feel threatened at all

and, like, six. i can see them going for insults as a defensive measure, but it is defensive. it’s covering up fear, not coming from secure disdain

(and a lot of those insults sound, again, like things an adult who’s already familiar with the fëanorians would say, not a scared child who’s lost almost everything. why would a six year old raised by sindar and gondolindrim know what the noldolantë is, let alone what it means to maglor?)

(... i’m just ranting about this one fic that’s been ruffling my feathers for five years straight now, aren’t i)

i mean, i write elrond as the world’s angriest teenager, who snipes at maglor pretty much constantly, but the thing about angry teenage elrond is that he’s angry teenage elrond

he’s spent long enough with the fëanorians he has a pretty secure position within the camp, and he knows that maglor won’t hurt him from a decade and change of maglor not, in fact, hurting him

but as a small and terrified child abducted by the monsters his mother had nightmares about? he fluctuated wildly between ‘randomly guessing at things to say that wouldn’t get him killed’ ‘screaming at maglor to go away in words rarely more complicated than that’ 'desperately trying not to do or say anything in the hopes of not being noticed’ and ‘hiding’

(and i don’t think the twins were never in any danger from the fëanorians, either. quite besides the point that before they started orbiting maglor nobody was really sure what to do with them... well, they wouldn’t be the first children of thingol’s line the minions took revenge on)

(fortunately for them, maglor did, in fact, take them under his wing. by this point even their own followers are shit scared of the last two sons of fëanor, nobody’s going to mess with their stuff and risk getting mauled. tactically, it was a pretty good decision for a couple of toddlers)

more to the point, i feel like a child that young, in a situation that horrible, wouldn’t reject any kindness they were offered, any soothing touch in a universe of terror

in a world full of big scary monsters, the best way to survive is to get the biggest scariest monster possible to protect you. that’s how elros rationalises it when they’re, like, eight, mentally, but at the time they were just latching on to the only person around them who seemed to care about them

that’s how it started, on their end. two very young very scared children lost in a neverending nightmare clinging tightly to the lone outstretched pair of hands

as for maglor...

i’ve called mags evil before, but i see that as more of a... technical term? he is evil because he did the murder, he remains evil because he won’t stop doing the murder. hot take: murder bad

but that doesn’t make him, like, a moustache-twirling saturday morning cartoon villain. he is deeply unhappy with the position he’s in and the person he’s become, and he’s always trying not to take that final step over the edge

it’s not that i can’t see a maglor who is abusive or manipulative or who sees the twins more as objects than people. it’s just that that characterisation is one i am profoundly uninterested in. i do occasionally read fic with it, but it never enters my own headcanons

horrible people can do good things!! kinslayers can do good things!! the fallen are capable of humanity!! people can do both good and evil things at the same time, because people are complicated!! maglor is not psychologically incapable of actually taking pity on these kids!!!!

it’s... again, complexity. the fëanorians straddle the line between black and white, which is a lot less sharp in the legendarium than it’s sometimes characterised as. it’s what draws me to their characters so much, why i have so many stupid headcanons about them. pretending they fall firmly on either side of the line is my real fandom pet peeve

and, like, this moment? this sincere connection between a bloodstained warlord and two children who will grow up to be great and kind in equal measure? i may not entirely like the direction the fandom’s taken it recently, but that beat, that relationship, it still gets me

so no, i don’t think elrond and elros’ years with the fëanorians were an endless cavalcade of abuse and misery. i think there was love there, despite the darkness all around them

an old, tired monster, and the two tiny children it protects

maglor never hurts the twins, not ever, not once. his claws are sharp and his fangs are keen, if he so much as swatted them he’d rip them in half. instead he folds down the razor edges of his being, interacting with them ever so carefully. he has nightmares of suddenly tearing into their skin

seriously, the power differential between them is so great, maglor so much as raising his voice would break any trust they have in this horribly dangerous creature. fics where he does corporal punishment always get the side-eye from me

the mood of their relationship is... i find it hard to put into words. melancholy, maybe, like a sunny afternoon a few days before the end of the world. three people who’ve lost so much finding what respite they can in each other as the world slowly crumbles around them

there are times when it feels like the three of them exist in a world of their own, marked out by the edges of the firelight. maglor telling stories of the stars, elros giving relaxed irreverent commentary, elrond getting a few moments to just be, all their troubles kept at bay

they are the last two lights in a world sunk into darkness, the last two living beings he does not on some level hate. he will tear his own heart out before he sees them in pain

he teaches them to ride, he teaches them to read, he gives them everything he still has left. the twins should never have been in this situation, maglor probably isn’t entirely fit to take care of them, but it is what it is, and they take what love they can

(maglor depends on the twins emotionally a bit more than any adult should rely on any child. he’s still very much the caretaker in their relationship, but that relationship is the only one he has left that’s not stained by a century of rage and grief. he’s obsessed with them, maedhros tells him frequently. maglor’s standard response to this is to try to gouge maedhros’ eyes out)

(that particular darker side to their relationship, where maglor’s attachment to the twins turns into a desperate possessiveness - that’s not something i think i’ve ever seen in fic. which is a shame, it feels much closer to my own characterisation than the standard ways this relationship gets maleficised. darker, in a different way than usual. horribly compelling in its plausibility)

however you want to read it, i don’t think you can deny this is a relationship that defines elrond and elros’ childhood. they were raised in the woods by a pack of kinslayers, the text is quite clear on this

but i’ve seen a lot of talk about how elros and elrond are only sirion’s children. they are completely 100% sindarin, they love and forgive eärendil and elwing thoroughly and without question, they identify with doriath over - even gondolin, let alone tirion. the fëanorians - the people who raised them - had zero effect on the people they grew into and the selves they created

and that, more than anything else, i find utterly unbelievable

look, i get what this is a reaction to. a lot of the kidnap dads stuff paints the fëanorians as elrond and elros’ ‘real’ family, and i’ve already talked about what i think of the idea that maglor-and-possibly-also-maedhros were better parents than eärendil and elwing. i think it’s reductive and overly optimistic and just a little too neat

but to say instead that elrond and elros held no great love in their hearts for maglor, no lingering affinity with the fëanorians, no influence on their identity from the people they grew up around, none at all? that after it happened they just left it behind and resumed being the same people they were in sirion?

that strikes me as just as much an oversimplification. it sands down all the potential rough edges of their identity, all that inconvenient complexity that stops them from fitting into any well-defined box, and replaces it with a nice safe simple self-conception i find just as flat and boring as declaring them 100% fëanorian

we can quibble over who they call ‘father’ (i personally find that whole debate kinda petty) but denying that it was actually maglor who was the closest thing they knew to a parent for most of their childhoods, and that that would, in fact, affect the way they thought of themselves and their family, elides so many interesting possibilities out of existence

(i’m not even going to get into the most braindead take i have ever heard on the subject, namely that because their time with the fëanorians was such a small fraction of elrond’s total lifespan it was like being kidnapped for two weeks as a toddler and had no greater significance than that. do you not understand what childhood is????)

like, i tend to think of elrond as a child as being very loudly not-a-fëanorian. elros is more willing to go with the flow - hey, if the creepy kinslayer wants kids, elros is happy to play into that in order to not be murdered - but elrond is very firm that he’s not happy to be here and he doesn’t belong with them

(this is after they get over their initial terror, of course, when they’ve realised they won’t be fed to the orcs for the tiniest slight. even so, elrond only really gets shirty about it around people he’s comfortable with, whose reactions he can reasonably guess at. naturally, the first person he does it to is maglor)

elros calls maglor their father exactly once, when they’re... maybe early preteens? this is because elrond hears him do it and immediately loses his shit. they have a dad, elrond says, in tears, and a mum, and any day now their real parents are going to come to pick them up and take them home

... right?

it gets harder to believe as the years roll on, as their memories of sirion fade, as they find their own places within the host, as maglor watches over them as they grow. elrond still mentally sets himself apart from the fëanorians, but it’s more of an effort every year. life in the fëanorian camp is the only one he’s ever really known. he can barely remember his mother’s voice

then the war of wrath starts, and the fëanorian host drifts closer to the army of valinor, and the twins come into contact with non-fëanorians for the first time in forever, and it becomes clear just how obviously fëanorian elrond is. he always insisted he wasn’t like the kinslayers at all, but he dresses like them, talks like them, fights like them

the myth cycles the edain tell are almost completely unfamiliar to him, he barely remembers the shape of the songs of lost doriath. even these sarcastic commentary and subversive reinterpretations he made of maglor’s stories - those were still maglor’s stories! he’s been trying to guess at the person he was meant to be, but it’s growing nightmarishly blatant how little elrond ever knew about him

instead, the people he was born to are as alien to him as the orcs of morgoth. he is a fëanorian, through and through

... yeah, elrond (and/or elros) having an absolutely massive identity crisis upon being reintroduced to his quote-unquote ‘true kin’ is another angle i’d love to see in fic that i don’t think i’ve ever come across. all those potential grey areas around who they are and who they’re supposed to be sound utterly fascinating, and i think it’s the complexity i hate to see elided over the most

i really, really doubt they could effortlessly slot back into being eärendil and elwing’s children. not when they’ve been surrounded by, lived alongside, been raised by the people who were supposed to enemies for most of their lives

they just don’t fit into that box any more. they can’t

speaking of eärendil and elwing, while i do agree that they both (especially elwing) get a lot more flak than they deserve, i don’t agree that therefore elrond and elros were never the slightest bit mad at them and fully forgave them for everything with no reservations

because, well, they were left behind. elwing had no other choice, but they were still left behind; it led to the world being saved, but they were still left behind. all the best intentions in the universe don’t erase the weeks and months and years of waiting, of a hope that grew thinner and frailer until it finally quietly broke

that’s a real hurt, and a real grievance. even if the twins rationally understand that their parents were making the best out of their terrible situation, you can’t logic away emotions like that. it’s perfectly possible for them to know they have no reason to resent eärendil or elwing, and yet still harbour that bitterness and pain

(i did write a thing once where elrond loudly rejects eärendil as his father in favour of maglor, but something i didn’t add in that i probably should have is that elrond later regretted doing that)

(not like, several centuries later, when he’d grown old and wise. two hours later, when he’d calmed down. but he was still legitimately angry at eärendil, because the one thing angry teenage elrond was not lacking in was reasons to be mad at the adults around him, and before he could figure out if he had anything less furious to say the hosts of the valar left middle-earth behind)

(it’s another element to the tragedy of the whole thing. in that particular story, which is mostly aiming for maximum pain, the only thing elrond’s birth parents know about their son for thousands of years is that he hates them)

(and he doesn’t, not really. you can’t hate someone you’ve never known)

not that i think they couldn’t ever make up with their parents! fics where elrond and his birth parents work past all the things that lie between them and form a functional familial bond despite it all give me life. i just don’t like the idea that there’s nothing difficult for them to work past

i don’t like the idea that elrond and elros would naturally, effortlessly identify with the mother they last saw when they were six and the people they only vaguely remember. i can see them doing it as a political move, i can see them going for it as a deliberate personal choice, but i can’t seeing it being immediate and automatic and easy

no matter how great a pair of heroes eärendil and elwing are, that doesn’t change the fact that to elrond and elros, they’re at most a few scattered memories and a collection of far-off stories. and so long as the twins stay in middle-earth, they’re never going to draw any closer

compared to the dynamic, multifaceted, personal, and deep bonds they have with the fëanorians - who, and i know i keep saying this but i think it gets tossed aside way more casually than it should, are the people who actually raised them, their birth parents must feel like a distant idea

and that’s why i can never buy interpretations of elrond as 100% sindarin, a pure son of doriath, with no messy grey areas or awkward jagged edges to his identity. given everything we know about his life, it seems almost cartoonishly simplistic

honestly it seems like a narrative a bunch of old doriathrin nobles trying to manouevre elrond into being high king of the sindar or something would propagate. it's neat and nice and tidy, something that’d be much more convenient for everyone if elrond did feel that way

but i just don’t see how he can. this narrative is easy and simple in a way real people never are, it ignores all the forces pulling him apart. elrond being uncomplicatedly sindarin with the life he lives and the people he's close to - that doesn’t make any sense to me

which isn’t to say i think he’s 100% noldorin, from either a gondolindrim or a fëanorian perspective. (i find it a little more believable, given, again, who he grew up around and who he hangs out with, but it’s still a bit too reductive for my tastes.) it’s also not to say i couldn’t believe an elrond who made an active choice to emphasise his sindarin heritage

it’s not how i think of him, but it works. i don’t have a problem with other people interpreting the complexities of the twins’ identities differently

i just have a problem with people acting like it doesn’t exist

in general i think there’s a lot untapped potential that gets left behind when you declare the twins, separately or together, as All One Thing

they’re descended from half the noble houses of beleriand, and they have deep personal ties to most of the rest. they belong to all of the free peoples even the dwarves, somehow, probably and i feel like that was kind of the old man’s point? so many peoples meet in them, to say they wholly belong to any one species is probably an oversimplification

they sit at a crossroads of potential identities, and rather than narrowing down their worldviews to one single path, they take the hard road and choose all of them. that’s what you need to do, if you want to change the world

and, to bring this back to my ostensible topic, in my estimation at least this mélange of possible selves does include them as fëanorians! it’s not overpowering, but it’s certainly there, and the adults they grow into long after they’ve left the host still bear influence from their childhood

nothing super obvious, nothing that wouldn’t stand out if you didn’t know what to look for, but there’s something almost incandescent in how fiercely elros reaches out for his dreams

there’s something almost defiant in elrond’s drive to be as kind as summer

as for who they publically claim as their family... honestly, it depends. while it’s usually more tactically prudent for elros to connect himself to his various human ancestors, on occasion he does find a use for his free in with the elf mafia, and elrond, code switcher par excellence, is famously the son of whoever is most politically convenient at the moment, which is rarely, but not never, maglor

(in the privacy of their own minds, well, eärendil and elwing may have been the parents elros was supposed to have, but maglor was the parent he actually had, and elros doesn’t particularly care to mope over what might have been. elrond, for his part, figures that after all the shit maglor has put him through, the least that bastard owes him is a father)

but honestly? i think before any of their mountain of identities, before thinking of themselves as sindarin or gondolindel or hadorian or haladin or fëanorian or anything, elrond and elros identify as themselves

they are peredhil, they are númenóreans, they are whoever they make themselves to be. that’s how elrond finally resolved his identity, figured out who he was and found something past the pain and the rage

he wasn’t doriathrin, or gondolindrin, or falathrin, or fëanorian, or whatever else. he was elrond, no more and no less

and that person, elrond, could be whatever he chose to be

... elros came to a similar conclusion, with much less sturm und drang that he’s willing to admit. being able to go ‘hey, i can’t possibly be biased towards any one of your cultures, because i’m descended from all of you and i was raised by murderelves’ makes it a lot easier to unite people around your personal banner, turns out

the stories other people tried to force on them shattered into pieces, and the peredhel twins were free to shape themselves into anything they could dream of

and as the new world struggles alive, these lost children of an Age of death begin to bloom into their full glorious selves -

i just. i love the poetry of that. despite every single shadow that hangs over their past, despite all the clashing notes pulling them apart, they harmonise it all into a greater, kinder theme, determined to make their world a better place in whatever way they can

they fail, of course, but so do all things. the inevitable march of entropy doesn’t diminish the long millennia they (and their descendants) held onto the light

and their growing up in the fëanorian host definitely had a huge effect on the noble lords they became. you can see it in elros’ loud ambition to create a land of happiness and hope, elrond’s quiet resolve to heal all the hurts inflicted by this marred reality

it wasn’t a perfect time by any means, but neither was it a nightmare. it was what it was, a desperate existence at the edge of a knife where, nevertheless, they were loved

even after years upon decades upon centuries have passed, it’s hard for the wise king and the honourable sage to separate out and identify all the conflicting emotions swirling around their childhood. they never knew eärendil or elwing, true, but they also never really knew maglor

not as equals, not as adults, not as people who could truly understand him. he disappeared into the fog of history, leaving only childhood memories of razor-sharp, gentle hands

it’s messy and it’s complicated and getting any real closure would be like shoving their way through a thornbush with bare hands even if elrond could find the shithead, and yet at the core of it all, there is light. not the brightest of lights, maybe, but an enduring one

that contrast, above all, that note of warmth amidst the shadows, is what fascinates me so much about their relationship. three screwed up people in a screwed up world, finding a little peace with each other

and the fact that somehow, it does have a good ending - the children grow up magnificent and compassionate and just, they become exemplars of all their peoples, lodestars of the new world born out of the ashes of the old - that makes it seem to me like this relationship must have contained some fragment of happiness

but, fuck, all the darkness that surrounds that love, all the tangled-up emotions its existence necessitates, all the prefabricated self-identities it can never slot into - nothing about it is simple, nothing about it is easy, and i find that utterly enthralling. especially how, despite everything, that flickering light never goes out

well, i don’t think it does, anyway. my take on this relationship is both complicated enough no one else ever quite gets it right and well-defined enough every single ‘error’ in other people’s interpretations sticks out like a kinslayer in rivendell

it is an entirely self-inflicted problem, i will admit. other people are allowed to interpret those complexities differently from me, and it’s entirely my own fault i lack the :waves hands around nebulously: to write my own hypothetical fic on the subject at a pace faster than glacial

still, though. i do wish there was more fic out there that engaged with these complexities. a lot of the common fandom interpretations of this relationship just sweep it all away

#ask #my terrible headcanons #elros #elrond #maglor #elwing #earendil #feanorians #niphredilien #yellow feathered faerie #putting your old url in the tags for archival purposes #post nyanyannya askbox clearout #ironically it turned out almost as long as the songfic that clogged up my askbox in the first place #and it is DONE #fuck this took forever to write #stayed up late just to get it out the door so i don't have to think about it any more #this is a long ramble and i'm pretty sure the end is just me repeating myself ad nausem sorry #i'll admit to a certain pro-feanorian bias in my interpretation #but i also don't want elros and elrond to just. live in a neverending horrorshow for decades #the silm's cruel enough we don't need that #narratively i feel like elrond being All Of The Elves is a good mirror for elros being All Of The Humans #but it didn't really fit the angle i was going for #bleck #let's see how many followers i lose for this

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hypahfixations · 2 years

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So something I haven't heard other people talk about for Our Flag Means Death, and it's entirely possible I totally just missed it in the vast expanse that is fandom on tumblr, but I find it interesting who of the Revenge Ed specifically chooses in the end.

((So here's your spoiler warning if you haven't watched the show yet))

Anywhoozle it's been lingering in the back of my brain why, when Ed transforms himself into The Kraken and is literally throwing away everything tied to Stede including the crew, he had specific interactions with Lucius, Jim and Frenchie.

Lucius is the easiest one, right? Sure, he was snarky and defiant, not the best prospect for an underling, but he was also a fair bit cowardly when facing infliction of pain or death.

The problem was that Lucius knew too much. He could read and write and sketch - gotta keep in mind that literacy and documentation is a huge pull of power in this vaguely historical adjacent world to be sure. But more than anything Lucius was Stede's confidant, Ed's confidant; he can usually see right through anyone he has laid eyes on. Not only that but he is beloved by both crews (aside from Izzy) for both being charming and his skills.

And if the Kraken is Blackbeard's fiercest form, that simply would not do. No, having someone who would boldly remind him, and everyone else, of his soft heart would be bad for his renewed image. So overboard the boy must go.

Next we see Jim being summoned to the stripped and darkened captains quarters. Jim is world's away the strongest combatant of the Revenge, and frankly the most competent person on the ship. They have a history of and impulse for violence, disguise, and theft. All trappings of an extraordinary pirate that, as Blackbeard mentions, would be worth watching and recruiting.

But I don't think he's fully aware of the layers that Jim has. He knows that Olu adores Jim, of course, why else would be be sure to separate the pair before seeking them out, but I doubt he knows it runs both ways. And even if he did know they finally got together, misery breeds misery; Why should Ed be the only one to have found love and then have it ripped away from him with no reasons to be found?

So the Kraken decides to take the next most powerful player off the board. If Lucius is the suite of Hearts and Jim the Ace, that makes Frenchie the Wild Card.

Frenchie can't read or write or fight. He's superstitious and gullible but specifically not stupid. He can blend into the background or hold the spotlight to execute the roles required of him. He's likeable and reliable in a way that is similar to Oluwande but where they diverge is self preservation and I feel like that makes a huge difference.

But Blackbeard isn't thinking about all that. All he asks is if Frenchie can sew.

Like I said, Frenchie isn't stupid. The guy knows how to be subservient in a way that is as beneficial as possible for him. But he's loyal to himself and part of that is being loyal to who he chooses to care about. He got out from under the thumb of the rich elite yet chose to join and remain in Stede's crew. To serve under a fancypants rich boy that turned out to be kinder than Frenchie thought possible for those types.

His loyalties lie with the rag tag group of the Revenge and that includes when Blackbeard was Ed.

I think that's going to be the one to crack through the Kraken's exterior in Season 2. Frenchie will play the role that Blackbeard wants him to play, treating him almost like a stand-in Lucius at times. Meanwhile, he's working with Jim on the sly, reforging an alliance with Fang and Ivan for when Blackbeard and the rest of them were actually happy, and perhaps even sowing the seeds of those memories in Ed in subtle ways.

#Hypah rambles #Our flag means death #Ofmd #ofmd spoilers #our flag means death spoilers #Ofmd meta #Ofmd spoilers #lucius ofmd #jim ofmd #frenchie ofmd #Do i refer to Ed as three different people? Yes he's got personas he wears #edward teach #Blackbeard #The kraken #Is this anything? Is anyone else thinking these things?#Long post

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softykooky · 3 years

Text

sanctuary: seven

summary: the absence of you is a void that they never thought they’d have to experience again. they were fine before they met you. but the sky would fall before the boys would be fine after you’ve gone. 8.03k words.

genre: mafia au, ANGST, poly au

pairing: ot7 x reader

warnings (READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION) : toxic and dysfunctional familial relationships, mentions of domestic abuse (physical and verbal), swearing, ptsd & trauma, poor mental health, mentions of anxiety & panic attacks, eating problems, alcohol abuse, abandonment issues...

rating: NC17

author’s note: okay I lied there’s going to be another part! I just couldn’t fit all that I wanted and I figured it was better to give you guys something now instead of making you wait another century for me to wrap up the story. please let me know if I forgot anyone in the taglist! please let me know what you think, and I hope you enjoy!

♡ series masterpost ♡

Just leave.

Like a cruel rhythm or a drum that keeps on beating in your chest to remind you of the pain that rips through your heart.

You’re such a fool, Y/N.

Should you blame them for growing tired of you? Even snapping at you like they did, or did you deserve it? It was so easy for you to wither back into the mindset your father had trained you to adapt at the slightest intrusion. Now, after that massacre in the kitchen with the people you trusted with your whole being, you weren’t sure if it was possible to think otherwise.

Through the warm tears that have clouded your eyes, frantically stuffing the little belongings you have into a backpack is otherworldly difficult. Your heart hurts. Your soul hurts. Your entire being hurts and you can only wonder how many times a person can be pushed aside and unwanted until they just completely break. You wonder how close you are to that point.

There’s anger running through your veins, cocktailed with devastation and confusion, but you’re not sure what it is you’re angry at. Were you angry at them? Could you ever be angry at them, even after they did something like this? You weren’t sure what to feel anymore, but that wasn’t important.

There was one objective in sight: pack up and get the hell out before you let anyone else completely destroy you.

But even then, you can’t help but to think about how they hadn’t even bothered to come after you. None of them did. And it ignites a different fire of pain that you’re finding harder to ignore. You’re halfway through shoving your shirts into the backpack when a soft voice sounds from your doorway. Jun is standing there, fiddling with her apron and warm sympathy on her face.

“Y/N, sweetie, they’re just...maybe give them some time. Please don’t go”, Jun sighs.

“No, Jun. They don’t want me here anymore”, your voice cracks at the realization. “I’m not going to stay and be unwanted. I won’t do it again. I-I can’t.”

When the last item is tucked into the pocket of your bag, you swing it onto your shoulder. The weight of the backpack feels as though it’s pulling you deeper into the ground. Like you are sinking and there is nothing you can do but wait until your head is submerged.

“Jun…” you breathe out, wiping away a warm stray tear, “could you...could you tell them that I’m sorry? I-I’m not sure what for, I guess for everything. But could you just tell them?”

Jun nods solemnly, though the reluctance is clear on her expression. Even she can recognize that you have nothing to apologize for. “I will, honey. Are you sure about this?”

“I have no choice, Jun. I love them and I-” you cut yourself off.

This is the first time you’ve been able to say it out loud. You love them. You’ve fallen in love with them and the timing could not be worse. But all in all, you consider yourself lucky. There was no way you would have recovered if you confessed and all seven of them inevitably rejected it. Perhaps this fight just saved you the great pain of knowing they cannot love you back.

“And I need to go.”

You’d have to leave before dinner. Through the back door. The one that no one thinks you know about but as always, no man gives you nearly enough credit as you deserve. You’ll tell the guards you’re going out for a walk and pray they don’t question the overstuffed backpack you’re hauling. You’ll just open it and run and…

Find a new home? A new life? Find a new set of souls that will cherish and care for you and make you feel like you’re actually meant to be in this world?

You love them. That much you know is true. And perhaps people like you weren’t meant to have love in this world.

“You’re excused, Lee. Be grateful you’re still here.” The venom in Namjoon’s voice remains clear as day, even after your ungraceful departure from the kitchen. You had left so abruptly with so few words that they weren’t able to even try and stop you.

They still can’t see straight through the searing anger that pulses through their entire being. Anger at the world, and the traitors, and the idiotic rookie that lost them thousands in shipments.

But the anger at you had faded a long time ago, the moment you bolted out of the kitchen and up the stairs. However, the boys were nothing if not stubborn. Why did you have to get in the way of their business? Why couldn’t you just remain kept away, for them to keep safe and away from the dangers of the outside world?

Jimin is the first one to make a move to the staircase, up to where you were packing, trying to be stealthy until the leader catches a glance of him.

“Jimin. Stop. Just let her cool off”, Namjoon sighs, pinching the space between his eyebrows to relieve his tension headache. He was usually the sensible one. The leader of the pack telling everyone to keep their cool. But the load on his shoulders has been getting far too heavy and you were the light breeze that caused it to collapse.

“You should wait to calm down before you talk to her, anyway. That vein in your forehead might pop out of your skin”, Hoseok snidely remarks.

Jimin scoffs, running a hand through his hair for the umpteenth time that day.

“Everything we’ve been doing has been for her best interest. Why is she making this so difficult?”, he exhales, frustration still licking at every word. But with a mere glance at Jimin, anyone in the room could tell that he truly held no antipathy towards you. That his words were coming from an unresolved pool of anger that had been bubbling away for ages.

“You don’t think she means it, do you?”, Taehyung mutters, eyebrows still creased in intensity. “The leaving part?”

“Where could she go Taehyung? We’re all she has at this point”, Yoongi speaks. A layer of irony coats the room as Yoongi remembers the words he had spat at you in the heat of the moment. A vicious declaration to tell you to leave, and he feels a string of guilt twining itself around his lungs. He numbs it away, of course. As he does everything else.

Jin takes a deep breath. “Listen, we’re all stressed and sleep-deprived. Why don’t we just calm down separately and talk it over at dinner? I’m sure by then, this whole thing will be completely forgotten.” His words sound sure and steady. Jin hopes they don’t notice the worry that bleeds into his voice.

A chorus of agreements and hums quietly sound across the room as the seven of them shuffle out of the kitchen and slowly saunter into their respective rooms. And as they tiptoe past your bedroom, where your door was shut tight, the boys can’t help but feel the rationality that has begun to trickle back in. The logic and reason that had abandoned them during the fight had slowly returned, and the thought of you on the other side of that door made them all want to barge in and hold you again.

Maybe they overreacted. Maybe they were wrong. Pride, however, was a stern mistress, and the potential consequences of their actions hadn’t yet reached their thoughts. They hadn’t realized the poison of their words.

They would wait a bit longer.

Everything would be okay after dinner.

The first thing you realize after leaving is that you chose the wrong pair of shoes to attempt an escape on foot. Of course, you had to be wearing the new ones that the boys just bought you that hadn’t been broken in yet. The heel was digging into your skin painfully, undoubtedly leaving red marks and calluses. Your feet ached with every step, but you had to soldier on. At least until you found somewhere to rest for a bit and figure out where the hell you would go.

A glance down at your phone has you eternally grateful for your past self for remembering to charge it. Hopefully it would last you until you found somewhere for the time being.

There was no more family in the country besides your immediate ones. And you’d rather swallow knives than go back to that. The thought of them makes you sad though when you remember Soyeon.

You wonder how she’s doing. The things she’s been up to. Is she shopping as much as she always does? Is she happy? Does she miss you? The train of thought makes you scoff at your own patheticism. Even after everything, you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate her. You would always love your sister.

The Bangtan manor hadn’t been as far away from the city as you had thought. On the other hand, you weren’t exactly paying attention to the time. Just let your feet carry you where they wanted to and stared blankly at the passing ground, trying to empty your thoughts as best you could. The sky was beginning to darken and the wind blew a bit colder but you refused to let it slow your pace. You couldn’t let yourself feel. Not yet, anyway.

The first motel you see is the one you enter. It’s not grand by any means; more of a fixer-upper. The wallpaper was peeling, the carpet reeked of age and dust, and the receptionist was chewing gum and scrolling absentmindedly on her phone. The place was a dump compared to what the likes of you tended to live in. But you had limited cash, and this would have to do.

It takes you three times clearing your throat for her to notice that a customer was at the front desk.

“Hello. I’d like a room with one bed, please.”

She doesn’t hide her blatant scrutinization of you, visibly looking you up and down with something akin to disapproval. Her phone is tossed on the counter annoyedly and she snaps her gum, wheeling her chair closer to the computer and clacks away on the keyboard.

“ID and payment, please”, she drones, holding out a hand without sparing you another glance. When she looks at the card you have placed in her palm, there is a spark of recognition. The Yoo family name. She must have seen your name in the paper or something. The ambassador’s daughter. In a place like this?

You are eternally grateful when the receptionist says nothing; just hands you back your card and dangles a key from her red-nail polished index finger. You two exchange no more words. The only sounds in the lobby are the clinking of the metal key, the padding of your footsteps on soft carpet, and the smacking of the bubblegum between her lips. But it is enough to begin to allow the loneliness in. The fear of it all. The uncertainty and utter devastation that you have left behind the one place that had just started to feel like home.

When the door of your motel room closes, and it is just you...

You with the clothes on your back, the necessities in your bag, and all the feelings you have kept bottled up for weeks on end. It is more than easy to collapse in a cathartic heap as soon as the lock clicks in place.

Who cares if the walls are paper-thin? You scream it out on the undoubtedly dirty floors. The agony of being so close to happiness only to have it ripped away from your hands. The pain of knowing them, only for them to push you out of their lives.

You don’t weep for anyone else. Not the seven boys you loved, not Soyeon, not your father, not Jun.

You cry for Y/N.

You cry for the realization that maybe the thing you’ve been chasing your entire life is simply not in reach. That peace was something you had to fight for, completely alone. That they don’t love you back, or even nearly as much as you loved them. If they did, you wouldn’t be here, desperately trying to hold yourself together for what seems like the billionth time. If they loved you back, well...you reckon that reality only exists in your surreal dreams.

There were distant cousins. In the states. And if you could get a hold of them, you had faith they would be willing to fly you over. You could spin an excuse at the drop of a hat. Maybe something about wanting to see America for a while and get away from your normal routine in Seoul. Something about needing space or enjoying time with missed relatives. They’d believe it. You’ll leave as soon as you can, hopefully in the morning.

Naturally, this night is sleepless and you swear the sky is darker than usual. It’s starless, and even the moon is nowhere to be seen, hidden behind overcast clouds and you want to cry even more. Because after everything, is it still too much to let you feel the light? Is it still too much to let you rest under a gentle nightscape?

You make a promise to yourself. To Y/N.

You wouldn’t let her chase after pipe dream happiness anymore. You wouldn’t let her be so naive, so hopeful for something better. You’ve had your chance at finding it, and after more bumps and bruises, have come to the conclusion that maybe it merely does not exist for you.

You promise her a lifetime of loneliness and solitude. But those are familiar things. Comfortable things. And you would take that over a broken heart any day.

As soon as they fell onto their respective beds, all seven of them had drifted off to sleep. It seemed that days of constant work, chugging black coffee, and pulling consecutive all-nighters had taken its toll, and the boys finally caught up to the pure, unadulterated exhaustion.

The seven of them slept through the night, plans of dinner completely forgotten as they glued themselves to the comfortable bedding. Unfortunately, with needed rest came a clear mind and the realization that they had been completely and utterly horrible to you ever since it all went down.

Jungkook is the first to wake up. He brushes his teeth and slips on an outfit with a rapid fervor, ready to put everything behind him and just...hold you. Because he realizes it’s been weeks since he actually has, and maybe that’s just the thing he’s been needing. To feel your frame in his arms and hear your soft breathing.

“Taehyung! Get up!” Jungkook pounds on the door of his hyung’s room. He hears shuffling from the other side, and a rustled bedhead emerges from a dark cavern.

“What Jungkook? It’s too early for this”, he grumbles, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Hyung we all slept like the dead through dinner. I’d rather not let this whole thing with Y/N marinate for any longer. Get up and let’s talk it through, I know you miss her like crazy too.” Jungkook does his best to keep his voice down since you were still sleeping in the room beside Taehyung’s. He has to round up all of them first before asking you to come out.

So he does. Sweeps his floor and the one above to awaken the other six men. Jin and Namjoon were the only others who were dressed and ready to tackle the day. The rest of them moved like zombies to rid themselves of the sleepy fatigue.

Somehow, they all manage to congregate in front of your door, nervously staring it down while the tension in the air choked them. It’s unnerving. The radio silence coming from your room. You must be really upset, and reasonably so. Hoseok clears his throat, twisting his hands together out of nerves, and glances at the others.

“Well? Should I knock?”, he whispers. The other six nod solemnly, glaring at the door like it might combust at any moment.

He steps forward gingerly and raps on your bedroom door thrice. The seconds trickle by like molasses, even slower when there is no sound from your end.

He knocks again.

Nothing.

A third time.

Complete and utter silence.

“Y/N?”

Hoseok’s eyebrows deeply furrow, and with trepidation, he twists the doorknob and swings it open. The bedsheets are made, duvet untouched and pillows stacked neatly against the headboard. The curtains are drawn and everything looks fairly clean. Almost as if there was no one in there in the first place. Now that he looks closer, the only sign of you being there was the vase of brown and wilting peonies on the bedside table. The ones they had gotten for you months ago. Even your scarce amount of belongings were nowhere to be found.

In the ache of the silence, nothing can be heard but their utter shock. Their minds jumping to the worst conclusion but still in denial because there’s no way that you would do that. No way they could have lost you when they all loved you so much.

“M-maybe she’s in the basement. Or the library. I’m sure she didn’t….she hasn’t….”, Jimin cuts himself off as he drifts off into all the terrible possibilities. Namjoon yells at the guards downstairs from the second floor, and the sounds of their rushed footsteps to find you in this giant house is the only noise that reaches their ears.

“Jun!” Taehyung hollers down below, where she is undoubtedly fussing away in the kitchen or slaving over a boiling pot. The woman calmly emerges upstairs with a sharp gaze, head held high and shoulders stiff in her posture. There is no emotion on her face, except the faint disappointment as she stands in front of the seven men.

“Where is she?”, Yoongi growls, stepping forward like a huffing beast, but Jun remains unbothered.

“Where is who?” Jun monotones.

“Don’t play dumb, Jun. Where is Y/N?” She scoffs at the concern dripping in Yoongi’s voice. How ironic that the very person who maliciously told you to leave was now in pieces at your absence.

“I was surprised you even noticed. It’s not something you’ve been doing as of late. Noticing”, Jun calmly retorts. She’s never been one to be afraid of them. Never scared to stand up to them, because though they were grown men, they often still needed some mothering.

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Jungkook spits, frustratedly gripping at his hair.

“Is it not true, boys? Y/N’s been practically invisible to you these past few weeks. Who knew it would take a mere fight to finally get you guys to pay attention to her.” Jin’s reflex is to immediately respond with an argument. But the words die on his tongue when he realizes the truth in Jun’s statement.

The seven of them stare at her in silence, still high-strung on stress and anger, but intent to listen to her words.

“She left.”

The two words that they had been so desperate not to hear sound like a death knell when they fall from Jun’s lips. Their blood runs cold, and the temperature in the house drops to subzero. A moment frozen in time and all they can do is be forced to come to terms with their actions . The room immediately explodes into desperate questions and exclamations to their head housekeeper.

“Where is she? Did she say where she’s going”, Hoseok tearily yells.

“Did she leave a note?” Jungkook chews on his lower lip until it bleeds.

“When did she leave? She couldn’t have gotten far.” Jimin grabs Jun by the shoulders, forcing her closer as if he could look in her eyes and pretend she was lying.

“Excuse me if I am speaking out of turn, Sir”, Jun clears her throat, “but what did you think was going to happen?”

The seven of them are stunned into silence, swimming in utter confusion and worry about where in the world you could be. If you were in danger at all.

“She’s been left by herself for weeks. In this big, cold house while you all were wrapped up in your business. Tried talking to you so many times, but you all pushed her away.” Jun sighs disappointedly.

Her words ring with truth, and perhaps that is the most painful part about it all. The boys can’t do anything but stand there and listen. You were dear to Jun, and she wouldn’t let the fear of standing up to her intimidating bosses keep her from saying the things you didn’t have the courage to.

“Y/N, she...she’s been struggling. Did she tell you that? Wouldn’t sleep for days, so I sometimes snuck melatonin into her afternoon tea. But still, she’d come out of that bedroom with dark circles that almost looked painful. I’m surprised you didn’t hear her toss and turn all night, Taehyung.” Jun spares him a glance. Not malicious or accusing. Just genuine curiosity and it makes Taehyung want to burrow himself into the ground.

Namjoon’s heart drops as Jun continues speaking. How could they have been so oblivious to everything? So out of touch and wrapped up in other priorities that they seemed to completely forget about you? Arguably the most important person in their life.

“Sometimes, she even refused to eat. Couldn’t even stomach a cup of soup, and she’s gotten so thin, I had to tailor all her clothes.”

Jin’s eyes widen at the statement, his throat in knots and the sinking feeling in his gut only magnifying. Like ice water to warm skin. That’s how Jun’s words felt to their system. Like they had been so blind this entire time, so distracted by everything else that they forgot someone who had become one of the most important people to them.

“Forgive me for speaking my truth, sir. But I’ve never quite felt such disappointment when I heard the things you said to Y/N yesterday. A-And I don’t condone her decision to leave. But can you blame her?” Jun sighs, exasperated as her worry for you seeps into her consciousness.

Jimin pushes away the tears that have clouded his eyes, looking down at the marble floors so that no one sees the gloss that wasn’t there before Jun started speaking. He pretends not to notice the way Jungkook’s tremulous and shaky breathing, or the way Yoongi’s fisted hands have turned completely white from the tension. All he can think about...all they can think about...is you.

Hoseok coughs, clearing his throat and steeling his voice to not show emotion. “Did she tell you where she was going?”

Jun shakes her head solemnly, twisting her apron in her hands. The boys begin to make their way downstairs, tension in the air thicker than ever and only one priority clear in their minds.

“However…”, Jun’s small voice stops them in their concentrated footsteps. “While she was packing, she told me to say one thing to you all.”

It’s expectant. They almost don’t want to hear it at all. Hearing it would affirm that they are completely undeserving of you. That you are an angel among beasts whose love language is to destroy and wreck. That maybe leaving them would be the best thing to happen to you.

“She told me to tell you she’s sorry. For everything.”

Everything is what you deserved. Everything is what they would do to prove that to you.

Korea from the view of your aunt’s private jet was a bittersweet revelation. It was beautiful. So achingly and hauntingly beautiful with the ghosts of your past and the shattered promises for the future. If you squint, you could still make out remnants of the Han River. Traces of a place that seemed to cry for you as you left for the states.

You didn’t want to be truthful to yourself. You didn’t want to admit that you wouldn’t miss Korea because of the people or the landscape or the weather. You’d miss it because they were there. That home had been so close you could nearly taste it.

The trip was a chaotic blur. You faded in and out of sleep, in a hypnotic trance that proved to be your body’s self-defense mechanism to repress every emotion you had felt since you left. Stewardesses offering you flutes of champagne, drivers loading and unloading your luggage, the words of everyone around you flowing in and out like a stream of water that you ignored.

“I trust everything is to your satisfaction, Y/N? Really, you must come visit more often. Your uncle and I have missed you terribly.”

Your aunt had always been a kind woman. She was from your mother’s side, and like everyone else, so oblivious to the true nature of the Yoo family. How sinister things truly were behind those closed, gold-plated doors. Their house was grand, large enough so that you could make yourself scarce and wouldn’t be a disturbance. Though you couldn’t help but to notice the lack of boyish voices drifting down the hall, or the rhythm of Taehyung’s hands on the keyboard in the room next to you.

You offer a kind smile to the butler, who gently sets your singular backpack on the plush bed that screamed out your name.

“Thank you so much for everything, Aunt Kim. I promise I’ll transfer over the money for the plane fees and carry my weight around here for the time being.”

Your words make you nearly wince with the uncertainty of your wobbly plans. Where would you even get the money? Ask your father? Ask them?

“I....I promise to be out of your hair as quickly as I can”, you shakily breathe, failing to convince yourself. Yet your aunt only holds a kind smile and a warm gaze.

“Stay as long as you want, dear. It’s the least we could do to repay everything your family has done for us over the years. Especially your father.”

You know you cannot blame her oblivion. Not when it is such a well-guarded secret. Yet her words douse kerosene to the fire in your chest. Tugs at the stitches of the subconscious wounds you have yet to heal. It makes you remember them. Your boys. How they would burn at hearing such words, grit their teeths and spit poison at anyone who held your father’s name in a high regard.

Or would they? After everything, you’re not so sure anymore. Painful or not, it makes you miss them even more.

So you smile. Bite your tongue, hold your fists at your side, and thank her again for the kindness she has shown you when you had nowhere else to run. America felt different. The air itself seemed like a culture shock. Being the ambassador’s daughter had prepared you for fluency in English and how to carry yourself diplomatically, but the journey ahead was bound to be rough.

For the first time in your life, you would be the only one you had to care for. Not Soyeon, not your mother, not Bangtan. You’d have to do this by yourself, now, and though all the emotions you have locked away will inevitably return to confront you, this sanctuary for now would have to be enough.

You were surprisingly more difficult to find than the boys had expected. Traveling alone with no clunky belongings meant you were able to move more quickly than they had anticipated and the motel you stayed at was paid for in all cash. However, nothing in the city could really happen under Bangtan’s watch, and here you were. Video footage displayed on the screen of their basement office, and they can only feel heartache as they watch you through the screen.

“She checked out in the morning. Got picked up by a gray SUV and taken to the airport.” Taehyung drones, eyes still glued to the screen. Like looking at your pixelated face would bring you closer to him somehow. He missed you. They all did.

“The plane’s not registered with any public company, so I’m guessing it’s a private one belonging to her family.” Taehyung adds on, leaning forward in his chair to rest his elbows on the table. The air was tense with frustration. Anger at themselves and at each other for letting his happen. For making you run away.

“Any idea where it’s going?” Yoongi quietly murmurs from the end of the long table.

“America.”

America. You felt so discouraged and hurt by them that you had to go all the way to America. They did this. This is their fault.

“So? What are we waiting for? Tell the guards to prep the jet to America. We’ll bring her back”, Jimin gawks at Namjoon, who nurses a glass of scotch like it’s his lifeline. The room falls silent awaiting their leader’s course of action, but the six of them are left speechless when Namjoon himself starts laughing. The kind of laugh that sends chills down their spines. So raucous yet emotionless. So full of hidden pain. Namjoon tips the rest of the glass down his throat, looking at them all with a hopeless expression.

“What makes you think she wants to see us? After what we put her through? Hell, I’d be surprised if she lets us within a 10 foot radius.” Namjoon’s words are cruel, but they can’t help but to believe it to be true.

“N-No. She’ll understand that we were stressed. I-If we just explain everything, I’m sure she’ll-”

“Don’t you remember what happened in the kitchen? What Jun said? She’s been withering away for weeks, Jimin, and none of us gave enough of a fuck to notice. We made her feel invisible.” Namjoon chuckles, but there is only pain in his tone. One that he drowns out with another swig of top-shelf whiskey.

“We can fix it. We can go to America and fix it”, Hoseok stares down the leader, insistent on making efforts.

“No we can’t Hoseok”, Jin’s brows furrow, eyes lighting with fire, “Jun said she didn’t sleep. She didn’t eat. I wouldn’t take us back either.”

The boys know better than to take it personally. They were all heartbroken in the wake of your leaving, so desperate to get to you yet ashamed of themselves, apprehensive of if they even have the right to chase after you.

Jungkook leaps up from his seat, chest huffing and hands raking violently through his hair. He paces back and forth, eyes swimming in hurt and frustration until it all seemed to combust through his body, flinging his office chair to the side to find any form of catharsis.

He spares a poisoned glance over to Yoongi’s direction, who still sits with his eyes glued to the floor, as if ashamed of his mere existence.

“You.” The malice in Jungkook’s voice is crystal clear.Yoongi’s shirt collar is acquaintanced with Jungkook’s fisted hand, and he grips onto the older man like a viper to its prey. As if blunt force could make you come back. The other five boys could only watch.

“You did this. You told her to leave. Now she’s gone. I loved her, Yoongi.” Though Jungkook’s words are pumped with antipathy, the sheer devastation is heard most through it all. Yoongi doesn’t fight back. Doesn’t even make a move to push the younger off or shield himself from oncoming hits. Just sits passively with a monotone expression, staring into Jungkook’s eyes with a blank gaze.

“You’re not faultless. You yelled at her too.”

No, none of them are faultless. And perhaps Yoongi’s words were the nails in the coffin, but they all had part in pushing you to that brink. Jungkook’s eyes gloss over with defeat, and the grip he had on Yoongi’s shirt loosens. He steps away, unable to meet any of the gazes of his older brothers or the footage of your distressed face on the flat screen monitor. Leave. That’s all he’s known to do.

“Jungkook?” Yoongi holds no anger in his voice. It stops Jungkook in his tracks as he waits for his hyung to finish.

“I loved her too. We all do.”

They can only pray they’ll get to tell you.

The diner two blocks away from your aunt’s apartment complex is the last place anyone would expect Ambassador Yoo’s eldest daughter to be, much less employed at. You had spent the last two weeks scouring the area for a place that would take a girl with no prior work experience, a pending student visa, and no contacts or references. But here you were, working a minimum wage job and saving every penny to make something of yourself in this entirely new country.

It hasn’t been easy. Trying not to think about the seven boys that you left back home. The seven boys that you love so desperately and hopelessly, and foolishly thought they felt the same. It’s in the wee hours of the night that you toss and turn, closing your eyes and imagine yourself back at their manor. You will your brain to manifest the clacking sounds of Taehyung’s keyboard from across the wall or the footsteps of Yoongi’s bulky shoes when he walks past your door every night.

You miss them compulsively so. And perhaps they do not deserve your thoughts or heartache, but it belongs to them. Even after everything, you still belong to them. But you won’t give yourself the luxury of thinking you mean more than someone who they took pity on.

The days are the same. You get up early in the morning, put on a pot of coffee by yourself much to the disapproval of the housekeeper. Though it’s baby steps, you feel more independent this way. The coffee is terrible, of course, but it’s the thought that counts.

You leave before your aunt even leaves her bedroom, dedicated to your full-time job and earning money whenever you can. The pay is almost humorous, and a week’s worth of your labor probably equates to what Soyeon spends in a day. But it is your work. Your money. And though everyday starts and ends with heartache and longing for a life you once had in your grasp, it feels refreshing to learn to only need yourself.

“Y/N”, your manager sighs as you stumble through the door with frazzled hair and painfully dark under eyes. “You’re late.”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry. Traffic was insane this morning. It won’t happen again.” Your hair is expertly swept back into a haphazard bun, fiddling with the apron around your waist before jumping to the orders that have begun to get cold on the counter.

The work was simple. Slow. But it was honest and enough for you. The diner was calm; a refreshing environment from the one you had in Korea.

“Here you are, sir. Black coffee and a side of toast”, you muttered in a sugary sweet voice, fake smile stretched on your face to hide the perpetual pain in your chest that has not went away since you left the Bangtan house. It’s easier these days to just not think about it. To completely repress the trauma of your father and the boys and the failed therapy. The smile drops as soon as you turn around to walk back to the counter.

“Rough morning?” Lina’s voice is gravelly, rough from the coffee and 15-minute smoke breaks she takes every lunch.

“Something like that.” You collapse onto the cashier counter, holding your head in your hands to will away the pounding ache of your temples.

“First it was me completely sleeping through the morning alarm. Then it was the bus detouring and making five extra stops they usually don’t”, you huff.

“Y/N?”

“And don’t get me started on the fact that I decided to drop my phone in a puddle when I was running here.”

“Y/N.” Lina’s voice cuts through your venting monologue. She stares past you, as if there was something behind you captivating her attention.

“I think someone is staring at us from across the street.” Your brows furror at her words, whipping around to the window. When you see him. The air in the diner thins until it completely disappears, and the breath is stolen from your lungs.

Your paled face and shaking hands is what he sees from where he’s standing, clad in a black hoodie that covered his head, but you could recognize him in your sleep.You are both frozen in time and chaos, staring at each other like you both did not belong. Eyes glued to the other like you are both too good to be true.

Are you imagining it? Through the tears that reflexively pooled in your eyes and the way your body quivers, are you finally going insane and imagining a person who has been plaguing your mind for weeks?

Your feet carry you into action when your mind is still stuck in shellshock, bursting out of the diner doors with desperation on your tongue, hands reaching out as if it would span across the streetlight and bring him closer.

“Jin?” You are not quiet. You scream his name across what feels like a chasm, but is only just a couple meters away. Your legs usher you into the open street, and cars veer and honk to avoid your form, frozen on the crosswalk.

It takes you one second to blink and him one second to disappear into the crowd. Like he was never there at all and your mind was playing cruel, evil tricks on your already crumbling soul. A ruse that Lina was in on, just to torture your decimated spirit.

Could you allow yourself the luxury to think that he had come to see you? You didn’t know if you even wanted him to, didn’t know if you had it in you to forgive and forget.

“Jin.”

It comes out as a shaky whisper under your breath. A broken voice that longs for something she cannot have. Something that was so far in space and time it now felt like a figment of your imagination. You allow a tear to fall, your heart to crack a bit more, and return to the diner.

“Where have you been running off to these days?” The words are snide. Coated in feigned concern and curiosity and meant to be a jab at Jin’s recent absence in Bangtan activities. They are easy to fall from Yoongi’s lips as he steals another swig of the McKellan whiskey he’s been saving up for a special occasion or a rainy day. What more fitting than to mourn the space in his heart where you used to be.

Jin stays silent, only giving the intoxicated Yoongi a heavy eye roll and trudging past him. To say that the seven men were in terrible shape after your departure is a gross understatement. But Yoongi’s onset alcoholism seemed mild compared to how the rest of the boys were faring.

Both Taehyung and Jungkook haven’t left their rooms since finding out you were in America, only the sounds of their computer keys, heavy footsteps, and the empty food plates left at their doors to signal that they were alive in there. Namjoon had thrown himself into work, picking up the slack of all the other boys and sometimes emerging from his office at the early hours of dawn looking like he hasn’t slept in a week. His gaunty face and the way his once fitted shirt now falls loosely on his shoulders tells Jin he hasn’t eaten much either.

Hoseok could more often than not be found in the training room, breaking and bruising himself to numb him from the pain of losing you. He takes it out on the poor gang recruits that were unlucky enough to be chosen to spar with him.

And Jin? Well, Jin spent his days away from the house. Away from the business and the drugs and the people. He never tells anyone where he’s going or when he’s coming back and they are all too drained to try to ask. The boys live together but not truly. Just exist and breathe in the same space and too resentful of themselves and the others to fix the fragments you left behind. They miss you. Long for you and burn for you like they never have for anyone else.

See, it’s one thing to not know where you are and be forced to be away from you on the basis of ignorance. But to know your exact location, have the time and resources to easily get to you, yet can’t come to you because they’ve hurt you immeasurably is a different kind of torture. A different kind of ache that haunts their souls at every waking moment. You are so close and so far away, and they only have themselves to blame for the distance.

“Jun, can you make a meal for Namjoon? I’ll take it up to him.” Jin sighs to the housekeeper, shedding off his coat on the kitchen stool.

Jun nods knowingly, fully aware of the effects your absence has had on the masters of the house. And she is not blind to Jin’s indifference or the way he is doing worlds better than the others.

“He’ll probably try to yell at me and make you go away first. But he’ll be thankful eventually.” Jin nurses a cup of tea to warm him after his journey. Ones that he takes every week and for days at a time.

Jun nods again, assembling a tray of food that Namjoon will undoubtedly leave to get cold either at his door or the end of his desk. Before he leaves, however, Jun spares the man a knowing glance and a sad smile.

“You may want to return the private jet more promptly next time, sir. The others have gotten...wary.”

Jin’s eyes widen at her words, frozen for a millisecond in his footsteps as realization strikes in that he hadn’t been as inconspicuous as he thought. He says nothing as he departs from the kitchen. Only stares at the marble floor and wonders what would be the next time he’d get to see you. Even if from a street’s distance.

It takes four syncopated knocks before semblance of a noise emerges from behind Namjoon’s closed door. It comes in the form of an angered grunt, but Jin is no stranger to his leader’s brunt. He opens the door with no further permission.

Namjoon is in worse shape than he had expected. His hair is another level of unruly, greasy and matted and looking like the man ran his hands through it a billion times. The paperwork strewn across his desk and floor reflects the mess in Namjoon’s own head. Like he is suffocating himself in his work but still finds breath in his lungs. Still finds you in his thoughts.

“You need to eat”, Jin states demandingly. Namjoon only hums in response, keeping his eyes glued to the work in front of him. Jin pushes the tray into his line of vision.

“Eat, Joon. You can’t work if you starve. Y/N would want you to eat.”

Your name makes his pen stop writing. Makes his eyes widen like he hasn’t heard it said aloud in ages. It’s pathetic to Namjoon, really. How much one person has affected him.

“How would you know what Y/N wants, Jin? How would any of us?” He sneers, resuming the scribbling on his paper. Jin sighs dejectedly, opting to leave the food on his table and not be bothered with trying to help someone who so clearly didn’t want to be helped. He turns around to leave. Until Namjoon opens his mouth again.

“Unless….”, he teeters, “you do know what she wants.” He tosses the pen and papers aside, crossing his arms and sitting back in the desk chair.

“Unless you’ve been going behind our backs to see her.”

Had he been turned around facing Namjoon, the younger would have seen the clear exposed truth on his face. The blatant and unhidden look of guilt and shame that he quickly masks once he whips to face Namjoon.

“What are you talking about?”

The responding statement is quick. Too quick. Too accosting. Namjoon squints his eyes.

“Only the several days these past weeks you’ve disappeared from Bangtan’s radar. The bills for the jet fuel sent to my directory. The pilots you’ve been pulling away from our forces in Korea to personally tend to whatever shady business you’ve been hiding under my nose.”

Namjoon’s words are rapid fire, piercing into the facade that Jin thought he had so carefully crafted. He should’ve known nothing goes unnoticed under the leader’s eye.

“Namjoon, I-”

“Just be glad I didn’t tell the others. Especially Jungkook.” The thought of the youngest makes him sigh. Jungkook has always been so volatile. A ticking, emotionally-charged and codependent time bomb hiding under that muscle and masculinity. Namjoon knew better than to expose something like this just yet.

When he looks up at the man standing in the doorway of his office, he’s looking straight past him. Through the window like it was you he saw in the sky. Observing him now, up close and with more attention, Namjoon finally gets to truly see him.

On the surface, Jin is faring worlds better than any of them. He’s clean and freshly showered, hair coiffed to perfection like it usually is. He dons a black button up; perfectly ironed without a crease in sight. But Namjoon knows him better than that. Jin looks so utterly drained it stirs sympathy in even the darkest of hearts. His eyes communicate something his words can’t: Seokjin is completely lost without your light.

“I’m sorry.” The words come out breathily. Like he’s been waiting to say it all this time but couldn’t.

“I just…”, he stares down at his hands, “I just needed to see her. See if she was doing alright after we…” Jin trails off, not able to face the truth of their actions just yet. And though there is lingering anger in Namjoon, he can’t help but to feel his distress vicariously.

“You know, she’s a waitress now. At this small, run-down diner downtown. With a cute little apron and everything”, he chuckles softly, sadness seeping in every word.

“She lives with her aunt and uncle, and walks everywhere because she doesn’t have a car, at unholy hours of the night which keeps me up every night constantly worrying about her. But that’s Y/N, isn’t it? So careless of her own safety and well-being.”

Namjoon refrains the smile that creeps on his face at the thought of you.

“She was smiling when I saw her. I could still see she was sad but she was smiling. Like she always does just so other people feel happier around her.”

“Jin, you don’t have to-”

“And she’s lost so much weight, Namjoon. She was trying to yell out for help and all we did was ignore her.”

Jin’s words are nails on a chalkboard. Vinegar in wine. It makes them both nauseous and rueful, and the oxygen in Namjoon’s office suddenly becomes all too suffocating. Your presence, or lack thereof, has left a heavy residue on the walls of the manor.

The two boys sit in silence for a moment, before the sound of thumping boots on hardwood flooring echoes down the hallway, getting louder as it approaches the office. The door is nearly taken off its hinges as it violently swings open. Taehyung stands in the threshold, sweat on his brow and chest huffing up and down like an overexerted engine. He is pale in the face, hands trembling at his side and the sheer shock in his gaze tells the two older men that the words preparing to slip from his tongue are not going to be pleasant. Jin and Namjoon brace themselves for impact.

“It’s Y/N”, his whispered voice quivers. Their hearts drop.

“There’s been an accident.”

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justallofmyfandoms · 3 years

Text

Revenge is best served Small

Reader x Fred Weasley

Reader x George Weasley

NO TWINCEST!!

SMUT! SMUT! SMUT!

(Just to make this less awkward on all of us, yes I am clearly going through some stuff, and yes everyone enjoys what happens to them in this, even if it's reluctantly. Nothing unconsensual. 6,486 words)

[There’s a comment on this post that perfectly summarises it: “i have no idea what just happened to me all i know is that i will never be the same after reading this” so... read at your own risk my dudes, I am so sorry]

You slam a fist into the common room desk, glaring down at your potions homework with enough anger to perform the killing curse on it. Or maybe crucio would be better, just so the homework can suffer all the same pains it's inflicting on you.

A chair at the table scraps against the floor with someone plonking themselves on it. You look up to see Fred Weasley, leaning over the desk to stare down at your paper, "Having trouble with your potions essay?" He asks, evidently just to piss you off because it's pretty obvious you were.

"Bugger off, Weasley. We can't all pay zero attention during class and still get perfect grades" you focus back on your work, but not fast enough to miss Fred's shit eating grin.

"Still mad I got a better grade on our end of semester test?"

"No!" You snap back, perhaps a little too quickly. It made the ginger chuckle. You and the twins had been good friends since first year, but it infuriated you to no end every time they got a good grade, because you just knew it was all talent and no effort.

The twin crossed his arms and leant them on the table, scooting closer to you, "Not that I don't love the look of anger on your face, but why does it annoy you so much? You've been going on about this for six years"

"It doesn't matter, I just wanna get this stupid essay over with!" you complain, throwing your quill on the desk, "Where's your brother, anyway? He said he would help me."

Fred pats your head and sighs, "Ditched by your own boyfriend? There's tragic..." You knew he was just being a prick, Fred always did enjoyed teasing you, but you hadn't seen George all day. It was beginning to worry you. Besides, you two had made it a tradition to do your potions homework together ever since third year.

"He actually sent me here to apologise. He's at tonight's party up in Ravenclaw tower. The ol' sod's drunk a bit too much to help out I'm afraid"

You sit up and frown, the anger being pushed to the back of your mind out of newfound sadness, "Oh... he could have at least told me he was going to the party..."

Fred nods sympathetically, but eventually grins and scoots closer, "In the meantime, how about a deal?" You'll be getting whiplash from all these emotions. First anger, then hurt, and now Fred was making you highly suspicious. He has that expression he gets when dreaming up a crazy plan.

"If you help me with a little scheme I've concocted, I'll help you finish your essay" he continues since the only reaction you initially gave was a squint.

"What kind of scheme?"

He drums the table, bitting back a smile that might warn you off, "I've come up with a new product idea, but in order to make it, I need a very rare ingredient that can only be found in one place"

You sigh, resting your cheek against your raised fist, "Snape's supply closet..."

He points at you like in charades, "Exactly!"

"How do I know you'll actually help me? Making a deal with you is a bit like making a deal with the devil"

"We'll get the essay done tonight!" He declares, spinning the paper to face him, and picking up a nearby quill, "Then tomorrow, you'll help me get the potion"

After a fair amount of consideration, you nod, "Alright, deal!"

"Remind me again what the plan is?" You and Fred were stood in the women's bathroom on the first floor, a bathroom you generally tried to avoid as it was occupied by a particularly annoying ghost called Moaning Myrtle. She didn't seem to be revealing herself though, which you assumed had something to do with Fred teasing her about her nickname and the... other connotations "moaning" has.

Fred took a small vial from his trouser pocket. The contents were green and bubbling, "First, I'll drink this shrinking potion, then you'll take me in your robe pocket all the way to Snape's classroom and put me on the third shelf up next to his supply closet. I'll sneak in through the hole my brother and I drilled there years ago, grab the bottle and get out!"

"You mean you and George have done this before?" you asked, watching as he set the bottle down on the edge of the sink, taking off his robe to hang it over the cubicle wall

He turned back to watch him roll the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, "Yeah, every now and then if we need tough to find ingredients"

"And what exactly do I do?"

"Well, while I'm getting the bottle, you keep an ear out for Snape, then when I get out, you grab me and the bottle, put me in your robes and bring us back here so I can have my regrowth potion" he pulls another vial out of his pocket which is red and shiny.

"Sound good" you say, while he plonks the potion back into his pocket, and pops off the cork on the shrinking one.

"Bottoms up" he says, and downs the contents. The second he does, Fred begins to shrink! His clothes, thankfully, shrink down in size with him, until finally, he was no bigger than your pinky.

"Wow!" You exclaim, squatting down, "This is super dangerous. I could step on you."

"Please don't..." Fred mutters, his pitch the exact same despite his small size, just a bit quieter due to the distance and size of his mouth and all that. Damn, TV and movies have lied to you. A look of mild horror suddenly adorns Fred's face as he pulls something out from his trouser pocket. It's so small, you had trouble realising it was his regrowth potion, "Oh bugger! I forgot about that..."

You were tempted to lie down on your stomach and be as close as you could to eye level, but you doubted that would be very sanitary on the bathroom floor, "What's wrong?"

"I just realised I let the potion shrink with me! Now it won't work! It'll only grow me back to the size of a foot, if we're lucky"

"Speaking from experience?"

"Unfortunately." he shivers, "But it's okay, we'll just have to stop off at my room afterwards to get some more. I always make extra if I can afford to"

"Well that's good. Ready to go?"

"Absolutely" he held up his arms and you scooped him up like you would a wand. You got to your feet and were about to place him in your pocket when you noticed you still had your potions essay folded up inside. Fred had helped you finish it last night, the legend. Took you until 4 am to finish writing it.

You put him in your breast pocket instead, for fear that your robes might fly around too much and he might fall out, or that someone might bump into you and squash him. The breast pocket was at least hidden and safe. Besides, there were still two layers separating him from your actual boobs.

You opened the door and peaked your head through, checking to see if anybody was there. Nobody. Brilliant. Hurrying down the cobbled hallway, you B lined to the stairs leading down to the dungeons, and hurried to the classroom door. You and Fred had a free period right now, so that would explain why it seemed you and he were the only ones not in class. Despite how thankful you were for Fred's help, you wouldn't have skipped lessons to do this, it's risky enough as it is. Fast walking now, you peeped your head into Snape's office, where beyond it lay the door to his private stash.

"He better not come, Fred, or I'll squash you"

"Don't worry, he's in his lesson! Only got one potions teacher"

You thought this over and realised that yeah, there is only one... why the fuck do they only have one teacher for each subject? Do they get breaks? That's unlikely seeing as they have to teach all four houses in all seven years over the span of only five days a week. That's mental that is. Regardless, you would have the time to ponder this later, for now you had a potion to steal. You crept into Snape's office and shut the door, pulling out your wand and enchanting "Colloportus" to lock it behind you.

Fred really knew what he was talking about, because there were indeed shelves next to the closet door. The third one up was even covered with books, and when you grabbed Fred out from your pocket and plonked him on the shelf, he pointed to the dusty copy of 'The Moral Implications of Love Potions' and you took it out to reveal a hole behind it big enough for tiny Fred, “This looks like an interesting read..." you mutter, flipping over to read the blurb. There was a mini scoff, and by mini you mean it was produced by a mini person.

"Right, well, you have fun reading that, I'll search for the potion. Be back in a second" and he was off, disappearing through the hole. You sigh, fidgeting with anxiety at possibly getting caught. Doesn't make sense though, Snape is in class, he has no reason to come in here. When do lessons end anyway? You glance around for a clock but don't find any. Serves you right for not wearing a watch... would a watch even work at Hogwarts?

You flipped open the book and began reading a random page: Dr Eglantine proposed the following moral dilemma: if two people love each other but are too afraid to admit to one another, is it wrong for one of them to drug the other with love potion? Wizarding philosophers are torn on this issue, and when intercourse is involved, the grey area becomes even larger—

There was a loud bang from outside, which made your heart drop. You scurry over to the door, pressing your ear against the cool wood, holding your breathe in hopes of hearing better. The sound of students filled your ears, but not just a few students having a free period, but a whole herd of them. That could only mean one thing: class had ended... Oh fuck!

"Fred!" you cry out in the quietest panic you can muster, scurrying over to the hole, "Snape is coming."

"Almost... there!" Fred called between grunts, emerging with the bottle. You snatched it up, preparing to despose of it into your pocket when Fred raised a valid argument, "Don't put it in there! Snape will check your pockets when he finds you here!" He began downing his second potion, growing only to the size of a regular sized hand, "Damn"

"Oh, right" you scan your body for another hiding place, then the thought came to you. You shove the vial up your shirt and into your bra.

"Great, now me!" Fred exclaims, raising his arms up.

"I can't put you in my bra! You're too big, he'll see you!" You scoop him, holding his torso like a toothbrush.

He stares up at you in stunned confusion, "Really? That was what was wrong with that plan?"

You realised you ought to have said 'no you pervert I'm not letting you touch my boobs' but now wasn't the time to curse yourself for it. Your heart was hammering with fear, inspecting your body for somewhere to stash him. The doorknob rattled, and the sickeningly familiar tone of Snape's voice cursed that it was locked. Your time was up, there was only one thing for it! You pulled away the elastic of your skirt and stuck him down there,

“WOAH—!" He yelped, hair practically standing on end.

"Just hold onto the elastic along the outside and we should be fine!" You put him onto your outer right thigh, knowing full well that a pair of shorts and a pair of underwear and a whole thigh were separate him from... that.

"Alohamora!" the door swung open just as you were putting the book back, and there stood Snape, in all his emo glory. He froze, clearly having not expected to find anyone inside. Once the shock had left his system, he straightened up and glared at you, “What exactly do you think you are doing?" his nasally voice grilled, doing nothing good for your nerves, which were in absolute tatters at the moment.

"I was looking for you, w-when someone locked me in the class" you scramble, the lie just about the worst you could come up with. You had to remind yourself that Fred was on the outside of your thigh. Considering he was in your skirts at all, that was the most innocent position he could be in. All he had to do was hold on to the elastic of your shorts and you should be fine!

"Why?" he trudged further into the classroom.

"Why was I looking for you or why did someone lock me in the class—?"

"Why were you looking for me?" His booming voice told you that you were on thin ice.

"Ah yes, well, I... I was having trouble with the essay assigned for tomorrow, and thought maybe you could help me"

Snape closed the door and came to lean on his large desk, "Do you really expect me to believe that one of my students, who has never once asked a question in six years, is now asking a question?"

You frown, so suddenly insulted that you almost forgot about Fred on your leg, "Professor Snape, I ask questions all the time"

"Oh, how unmemorable you are then" he sneers, making you fume, "Regardless, I'm going to need to search your pockets"

You sighed, "Yes, sir"

He stalked over to you, holding out a hand for your robes. You pushed the sleeves off each shoulder, removing it, and dumped it into his palm. As he began to examine it, you felt Fred's shoes scrapping against your skin. It's as though he's trying desperately to find a foothold, no doubt still exhausted from having to push the bottle. If he falls, not only will you be caught, but Fred could get seriously injured!

Again, you knew what you had to do but hesitated to do it. As subtly as you could, you extended the elastic of your skirt, took Fred out, then plonked him into your shorts. His entire body went flush against yours, no doubt the skin tight shorts were crushing him. As long as there was no more risk of him falling... Hopefully it wasn't suffocating him though.

"If it's too tight, move" you hissed, keeping your eyes trained on Snape, who unfortunately heard you.

"What did you say?"

"I said—" you took a sharp breath, feeling Fred's back sink further into the fat of your thigh as he pushed away the area of fabric suffocating him, "If it's too tight, move" you repeated loudly for the two men in the room. "The pockets get a bit stuck sometimes so you have to jostle it around a bit" you added to give fake context to an instruction that wasn't even meant for Snape.

The shadowy teacher was evidently confused, but decided to ignore your outburst. Meanwhile, you could feel Fred inching along the front of your thighs, moving closer to your core. This was fine, as you didn't exactly want him to asphyxiate in your shorts, that would be a tragic way to go. You did hope, however, that he wouldn't overshoot his target, and fall into the abyss between the crotch and pant leg. Just as you had thought it, you felt the man slip. You gasped, pressing your legs a little closer together, enough for him to reach out and grab the first piece of fabric he could get his hands on. Unfortunately for the both of you, that piece of fabric were your panties. You wondered whether he knew what he was doing, when he began to scramble onto it, lying down flat onto the crotch like a hammock. Your question was quickly answered by the sensation of his arms sticking into your folds, and the subsequent wriggling of regret.

Sucking in a deep breath, you had to grip the nearby desk with all your might to stop a loud moan escaping your lips. Regardless of how bizarre and awful this situation was, having anything rub against your clit was an arousal waiting to happen. Poor guy must have though those were your shorts he grabbed before... You were just about to dig in and help, when Snape extended your robes back to you. You'd have to walk, with mini Fred mushed into you vagina, all the way to grab it. Praying he might forgive you one day, you stepped forward, effectively compromising Fred's escape, trapping him between your knickers and crack. Talk about getting stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"Very well, I will take a look at your homework" and he rounded the desk, unfurling the essay he had taken from your pocket and sitting down in preparation to help. You swallow, approaching the table as he skimmed through it. He paused for a moment to look up, "Well, sit down" he ordered.

Staring down at the chair, you gulped. Every time you sit down during class, the skin tight shorts you wear, under your Hogwarts skirt, ride up into your ass. Having that happen right now is about as undesirable as they come, "Um, I'd rather not, if that's alright with you"

He blinked and looked back down at your work, "Well anyway, the beginning of your essay seems promising." You smiled, that was the part you wrote by yourself. Just wait until he gets to the part Fred helped you with. There were things he told you on the topic that you swore you had never heard before, you'll look like such an expert! Speaking of, the unfortunate blighter had given up on his attempts to leave, probably worried that his efforts might be thwarted again by your moving thighs. He was now using his hands and knees to keep himself pushed away from you. If you thought about it hard enough, you could convince yourself Fred was just a bumpy pad with a tuft of hair on the end... that moved.

Alright now body, I know you're an animal that listens to its instincts more than its brain, but please don't respond the same way you usually do when something— anything is pressing against you. You thought to yourself. We are not creating any new weird kinks today, thank you very much. Besides, the poor guy is going through enough as it is.

"You think Felix Felicis was created by Felix Williams... and that it contains balm, angel's trumpet, bitter root, and a single strawberry cooked under a full moon" he looked up from your work, pinning you with an expression of cold unamusement.

He must be testing you. Fred's a prankster but he isn't a dick... most of the time. He wouldn't. He couldn't! "Yes...?"

"Your Wolfsbane... does it contain any other nonsense ingredients I should know about?"

You froze, as did the guy in your pants. He must have heard, and Merlin have mercy he was going to pay for what he'd done!

This was just like that incident in fourth year all over again! You were in the showers after a quidditch match and Fred snuck in and stole your clothes and towel. When you realised you would had to run butt fucking naked all the way to your room, you were absolutely furious. Fred was lounging in the common room, along with twenty or so other people, and they all watched as you went gunning for the stairs. George felt awful, having not known his brothers prank, and offered to obliviate anyone who talked about it. It was then you realised Fred could be kind of a dick, and George was the man for you.

Fascinated by just how much Fredrick Weasley had fucked you over yet again, you decided to plop down on the chair opposite Snape. The moment you did, the skin tight shorts became skin tight. Fred's entire body went flush against yours, sending a delicious zap up your spine that attempted to summon a moan you coughed back, “Sorry, I wasn't trying to insult you with my work... I got a friend to help and it seems he was just taking the piss" Fred was moving, his chest bumping and smoothing over your clit. You had to actively try not to squeeze your thighs around him to increase the pressure.

George had bought you a dildo once as a "joke" (he just wanted to watch you wank yourself off, the kinky bugger) and you had run it between your folds, but that pailed in comparison to this. This was far better. Fred is made up of so many intricate parts, each of them squirming against you. His legs, for example, were kneading the source of your arousal. His shoes were in there now, using it as a foothold to try and push his way out. It was heavenly.

"Now I might remember you, as the girl with a poor judge of character" Snape interjected, pulling you out of your sexual haze. If the context were different, you might have gotten mad, but you couldn't bring yourself to at the moment. Not while you were getting oh so sweet revenge on a certain someone, "Well, for starters, dragon bone isn't an ingredient in any of these, so we might as well cross that off the list—" he took his red ink and began marking your paper. His voice became a distant drone in the background as you disassociated once against, focusing on how Fred had began shimmying his way to freedom. If only you could quicken his pace. If only you could rock your hips and fuck yourself against him. You weren't available to move, but he certainly was.

Leaving the one hand there on the desk, to rest your chin against, the other snuck under the table and under the hem of your skirt and shorts. Your fingers hovered above him, a little unsure what to do, until the index finger took initiative and pressed down onto his back through the pants. If he wasn't mushed against you before, he sure as hell was now. His hands slap your folds, but you could feel his head angled up for air. He should be fine.

You experiment by pushing him up. There his chin is triggering the most sensitive nerves of your clit! You roll your hips to savour it, using your thumb to squash his head down and create a more prominent friction. The round nature of his face and bumps making up his features created the most delicious rub. You had to loop your feet behind the desk's legs in order to stop your thighs from crushing him. When he slaps you for air, you reluctantly moved your thumb and pushed his body down. Now his feet were teasing your entrance with the sensation of being filled. You sat down more firmly onto your chair to shove him deeper inside of you. You pushed him up again, then down, up, down, repeating the gesture while his limbs squirmed, awakening new flesh with every swipe. Your middle finger joined the index's perch on his back to pick up the pace. You bit your lip and sucked a deep breath through your nose to push down all the noises that were bubbling to the surface. The only thing that could have moulded you any better than Fred would have been a literal mould. Even then, it wouldn't have been nearly so fun to hump.

You were now rolling him against you in deep tight circles. Your hips were swaying in time, and as much as you wanted to use your whole hand to rub him madly against you, you thought Snape might notice your entire arm thrusting under the table. Unconsciously, your thighs tighten around him, sucking him almost up into you. You lull your head back and arch into him, sighing in bliss. When Snape looked up, you snapped your head back down and froze, biting your fist in order to stop yourself whining in disapproval.

"Does that make sense?"

"Yes sir" what on earth were you agreeing to? You hadn't the foggiest.

"Then don't waste my time with useless garbage like this again. If you haven't produced a coherent, serious essay by tomorrow, I'll be deducting twenty points from your house. Now go!" He pointed to the door.

You had half a mind to snap back, but thought: to hell with him! You had things that needed your immediate attention, and no hooked nose, greasy hair, middle aged virgin was going to ruin that for you! “Very well, thank you sir" you stood up, and to your eternal disappointment, it loosened the strain of your clothes to unstick Fred from your cunt.

Exiting the class, you were devastated to find the hallway packed with students ready for their next potions lesson. The women's bathroom was just around the corner and up the stairs. All you had to do was get to it. You sped walked around the students, opting to push some aside rather than do any fancy footwork and likely squash the man inside of you. From the lack of movement, you guessed he had probably made peace with the situation. Luckily for you though, the movement of your walking kept banging him against you, and you had to stop yourself from dropping to the floor right then and there to grind him furiously against you.

When finally you had made it to the bathroom, casting "Colloportus" on the door for some privacy, you froze at the sight of someone stood inside with their back to you. You recognised those ginger locks straight away.

"George?" you called. He let go of the robe he was examining over the cubicle door and beamed, bounding up to you with all the excitement of a puppy.

"Darling! I've been looking for you everywhere, where have you been?"

What to say, what to say. You doubted rubbing your shrunk brother against my vagina in revenge would be largely acceptable, so you opted to white lie, "Oh, I needed Snape to help me with my potions essay"

George frowned, "Why'd you do that? I could have helped you. Can't imagine ol' hook nose was as fun as me"

"Well maybe if you weren't at that party last night—"

"What party?"

Judging by Fred's immediate scramble to break free, you imagined George was about to tell you something that would spell out very bad news for his twin. To stop his escape, you move a hand behind your back to fist your underwear and hoist it up, making it impossible to give way, "Fred told me you were at the Ravenclaw party last night..."

George's chocolate brown eyes widen in horror, immediately replaced by a scowl as he looked up to curse the air. Little did he know he actually should have been glancing down if he wanted to curse his brother. His squirming against you was making this entire thing leagues better, "What? Oh that prick! I was sick last night with a cold and sent him to apologise to you because I didn't want you catching it while Madam Pomfrey's sweets took effect"

Your cunt was fluttering in anticipation for what long and hard revenge you were about to take. Fred was scrambling so wildly, you couldn't wait to get down to business, "That asshat. He said you were drunk and convinced me to steal some stupid potion with him"

George's anger multiplied, "Bloody hell! I told him not to do that"

"What do you mean?" You were genuinely curious, but your body had literally no care in the world. It was hoisting your pants even higher to keep Fred glued there, wriggling your hips as your breathing became laboured.

George didn't seem to notice, "He was planning on making a thing of love potion with it. Told him it was a stupid idea and he was perfectly popular enough to get anyone he wanted without it. He's got hundreds of girls and guys in the past, I can't think of who he thought he needed to trick..." you consider it for a moment. That was a very good question, it's strange for Fred to care so much about someone... but this could be left for another time.

You hook your foot behind George's leg and brought it forward to wedge it in between yours. Without warning you hopped up and felt Fred immediately sink into your flesh. You doubled over, gripping George's shoulders, and moaning to savour the feel of being entirely and completely touched. George had to brace his hands against the door either side of your head to stop himself from falling over. In surprise rapture, he watched as you were already so unravelled. Finally, the surface you needed. Twins were supposedly two halfs of a whole, and never before had that sentiment rung so true. His leg was the missing component that pushed Fred so absolutely into you, no margin of error. All of him was rubbing against you now as you began humping without mercy.

You thrust yourself forwards and backwards, side to side, around in broad circles. Your folds accommodated him so well, stretching to make sure he always stayed between them. At times you were almost sure you could feel them curling around him, to keep him there as a permanent feature. Tempting indeed, he certainly made walking more fun, and imagine the possibilities in History of Magic. He could get you off under the table without anyone having a clue!

Fred was becoming slick with your arousal, lubricating him into slipping and sliding into usually unattainable flesh you never knew yearned for touch. And because of George's pressure under him, his hold on those neglected areas of your cunt was positively sinful. You throw your head back, your hands on George's shoulders, tugging up and down to massage yourself against Fred.

"What is that bump in your pants?" he finally questioned, having snapped out of his shock.

"Just a sex toy" you reply earnestly, making no alterations to your position.

There was a sudden sting on your clit that made you yelp and stop for a moment. Fred must have bit you... and it was incredible. You wondered whether you could get him to do it again, "It's loves being in there while I fuck myself with it. A tool for my pleasure" You were bouncing up and down like a rubber ball, poking him to react. He still wasn't doing anything to participate, but it was fine. You were doing more than enough for the both of you. All he needed to do was be there as you pounded yourself onto him. Then, your continuous lifting and applying onto him made his shoulder lodge so deep inside of you, you let out a howling moan, crushing George's lips to yours in order to muffle the sheer volume of the scream. He pulls your bottom lip into his mouth, urgently swiping his tongue against yours. You moan and put everything you have into the kiss, allowing him to dive in and taste you. George's lips began to wander, bitting, nibbling and sucking his way to your pulse. His hands came up to hastily undo your tie and shirt, pushing them aside to reveal your bare stomach. As he works your skin into his mouth, creating a glorious love bite on the swell of your neck, his palms fan out across your stomach. You take a sharp breath, as he caressed towards your bra, grinning against you when he notices it's the one he got you for Valentine's Day that unhooks at the front. Lucky coincidence, all your other ones were just dirty.

"I leave you for one night and you become a horny mess" George teases, his hands gliding down your sides to grip your hips. He nudged your legs apart, spreading you wider over your toy. Although he didn't take over the pace, he certainly sped you up. God you could have kissed him for knowing exactly how to whind up your pleasure. A shame then that his mouth was currently occupied with other things. You tangle your hands into his hair as he strokes your nipple with his tongue, pulling it into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks to suck it hard. Your head lulled back to angle yourself further into him, whimpering at how close your climax was.

Seemed Fred was just as desperate to get it over with as you were. He was now doing everything in his power to jack you off. He had somehow managed to grasp your clit between his hands, and paired with your thrusting it created a borderline unnatural amount of pleasure. You were screaming with moans. But somehow more importantly than all that, he had his leg plunged inside of you.

That was it. The idea had been toying in your mind this whole time, but now you knew you needed him inside if you. "Wait a second George" you breathed, perching yourself a little higher in order to stick a hand down your panties, pinching Fred so his arms were trapped by his sides, and sliding him, feet first, through your entrance, until nothing showed of him but his head.

Head back, mouth open in an overjoyed groan, something in you snapped. You didn't even have to thrust him in and out. He was twisting, his arms and legs were flailing in the little space available to them. The walls were hugging his every curve, likely trying to suction him to the back. It was the combination of George flicking your nipple with his tongue and Fred massaging your insides that had you finally unravelling. Hot, slick, arousal came dribbling past what little gaps Fred’s body provided, and you went limp in his brother’s arms with one final howl.

George straightened up to hold you close, stroking your hair until you were ready to stand on your own again, “Nifty toy you got there. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you quite so animalistic” he chuckled.

Wiping the sweat of your brow off on your robes, you tried to make yourself look presentable again, smirking up at your boyfriend as you redid the buttons of your shirt, “Yes, well, nothing beats actual sex with you. Wanna go for a round two in your room?”

He beams, “Course! Want me to wait?”

“Nah, I’ll meet you up there” you gesture him away. Normally you would ask him to stay, but you had something to deal with first.

“Alright, see you in five” all excited, he ran for the door, then turned back just as he had performed the unlocking spell to give you a quick peak on the lips, then off he went.

Rummaging around in your shorts, you sigh as you unclog your hole, the contents stringing against Fred as you lift him to eye level. Merlin he looked awful. His fiery hair was stood on end, gelled up with your cum. His white shirt was practically transparent and clung to his abs as though it have been soaked in water. His eyes were a little bloodshot probably from liquid splashing into them, and his lips were rather swollen, like they would be after making out with someone for too long or too roughly. Just generally, your essence was rolling off of him in big globs. You placed your other hand to your mouth and giggled at his appearance, but he seemed the furthest thing from amused. His arms were crossed over his chest, a highly displeased scowl etched across his face.

“Oh don’t look at me like that!” you say, “If you hadn’t planned the robbery so terribly, or lied to me on twooccasions in the 8 hours proceeding it, getting me to write a whole 4 thousand word essay on things that were complete horseshit, humiliating me on front of Snape and—“

“Alright alright—!” He had softened up a little, averting eye contact, but you didn’t care.

“No! I’m not done!” That got his attention again, “Fred, you have been a dick to me for the past six years! Sure, you’re funny and can be sweet sometimes, but most of the time you don’t know where the line is! You prank me all the time, it’s relentless! And today you bloody pushed me over the edge. I had a perfect means of getting revenge and damn it I took it.”

He shrugs, “Whatever, I guess we’re even now”

You open your mouth to continue arguing but snap it shut when you realised what he had said. That really took much less convincing than you though, probably because you were feeling a smidge guilty for going so far in the heat of anger. It’s not like he orgasmed or anything... well if he did you wouldn’t be able to tell, his trousers were drenched, “Yeah, I guess...”

You waddled to the sink, turning both faucets on for lukewarm water, plonking him in the basin to clean off the sticky residue. You then hobbled into the closest stall to grab a wad of tissue and wipe yourself clean with it. Despite how absolutely caked in the stuff Fred was, you were still drenched. You exit the stall a couple of minutes later to find him completely washed down, "Right, let's get you back to your normal size, but let's put you in my pocket this time..."

"What a shame. I had really learned to call your vag my home" the sarcasm drooled from his lips.

You scooped him up, pinning him with a warning eye, "I'll put you back in there if you're not careful."

"Sorry sorry sorry!" he back peddled, extending his arms like a man about to be hit by an unforgivable curse. You gently lay him in your pocket, and snapped your head up to find Moaning Myrtle staring at you in disbelief.

"Umm..." the ghost muttered, for once in her life (or death) at a loss for words.

"Don't tell anyone what you saw here today, Myrtle" you warned, pointing a long threatening finger at her, "Not like they'd believe you anyway"

She nodded vigorously and dove into the nearest sink.

#giantess #giantess smut #fred weasley x reader smut #fred weasley x reader #geroge weasley x reader smut #fred weasley #geroge weasley #geroge weasley x reader #geroge weasley smut #fred and george #fred weasley smut #fred and george weasley smut #harry potter smut #fred weasley lemon #weasley twin smut #weasley twins smut #weasley twins x reader

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sunnyville36 · 3 years

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Mamihlapinatapai {part 5}

I am so excited to share the last part of this story with you. It means so much to me to be able to share my work and have people enjoy it, so thank you to everyone who has read this little fic. Huge shout out to the extremely talented @fizzydrink698 for being an inspiration to my writing and an all-around sweet and supportive human. And the biggest thank you of all to my beta reader, @harry-on-broadway, for being the most encouraging and wonderful friend, without whom I never would have had the confidence to write this, let alone put it out into the world. 💜

Hope you enjoy the finale of Mamihlapinatapai.

Need to catch up? {overview} {part 1} {part 2} {part 3} {part 4}

Pairing: Bang Chan x Female Reader

Themes: royal au, medieval au, court intrigue, arranged marriage, original characters, mutual pining, slow burn

Warnings: smut, emotionally abusive parents, usage of degrading names

Rating: Mature

Word count: 6k

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As Soft As Petals | Kingdom of Gu, present day

It was late into the evening, maybe even so late it was actually early, and you were standing outside the prince’s door, frantically knocking on it.

“Y/n, what’s happened?! Is everything alright?”

You walked straight into the room, not even bothering to wait for Chan to invite you in.

“It’s my mother. I can’t find her anywhere. I assumed she went with a separate wagon party the way she came when we left Lajor, but everyone in the servants’ quarters says they haven’t seen her in hours and I’ve looked everywhere I can think of and - “

“Shh, shh, Y/n calm down, it’s alright,” Chan said, taking your hands in his. You were full on hyperventilating at this point, your body starting to physically shake with worry.

“I-I just… these past few weeks I almost lost you and then we almost went to war and I can’t handle not knowing where she is. I just can’t imagine what I’d do if she - ” your voice caught in your throat, unable to bring yourself to say your worst fear.

“I know, I know, but it’s going to be alright,” Chan soothed. “I’m sure she’s fine and we’ll find her, but you are in no state now to continue looking for her. Why don’t I ask a few of the guards to keep searching the palace grounds, and I’ll send a rider to Lajor to make sure she would have made it back with us?”

You looked up at him. “You would do that?”

“Of course, Y/n, this is your mother we’re talking about. We’ll do everything we need to until you know she’s safe,” he said, guiding you gently with him towards the door, knowing you wouldn’t want to let go of his hand based on the vice-like grip you currently had on it. He leaned his head out into the hallway, calling for one of the guards stationed at the end and relaying what he wanted done to continue the search for your mother. All the while you were watching him with an expression of awe and gratitude. It still surprised you, how he seemed to know exactly what you needed, and even more so that he was willing to do whatever it took to do it for you. He walked you back into the room, taking the both of you to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Thank you,” you breathed out, still catching your breath from your moment of distress.

“You don’t need to thank me,” he said gently, leaning down, his lips ever so slightly grazing the crown of your head.

You felt a shiver run through you.

“Your Highness,” you lifted your head to say something, hoping to avoid talking about what he had just done, but were stopped in your tracks by the look on his face.

“I was actually hoping to see you tonight. I need to tell you something, Y/n. And you might not like what I have to say, but I can’t keep denying it for the rest of my life. These last few weeks have shown me that I can’t take anything for granted, so I intend to stop right now.” He paused and stood up, giving you room to stop him if you wanted, but when you remained silent he took that as permission to keep going.

“I’m in love with you. I think I always have been. I’m in love with the way you hum that same silly tune to yourself when you’re doing chores. How you can read a map of any terrain, how you’re not afraid to correct me when I make a mistake while drilling our sword fighting techniques. I’m in love with the smile you get on your face when you ride through the woods and the way your hair looks when the light shines on it through the trees.”

You were aware your mouth was slightly open, your eyes staring at Chan like a dumbstruck deer, but you couldn’t quite wrap your head around the words he was saying. You’d always known you still had feelings for him, and could only dream he reciprocated those same feelings. But hearing him say all the little things you didn’t even notice about yourself, hearing him say he loved you for those things, your mind was at a loss for what to do.

“I love how you care for our people, how you always have their best interests at heart. How you would be willing to never speak about these feelings I know we both share so as to not jeopardize your ability to serve me, to serve them. But most of all I love that you see me. Not the statesman or the fighter or the ruler, just me.”

You made up your mind then. To hell with the king’s threats, with the questions your mother had asked you about responsibilities and sacrifices. You had been making the greatest sacrifice of all for the last sixteen years, but no more.

You launched yourself at him, his arms wrapping around you immediately and your lips meeting his.

It was somehow exactly like that night five years ago and nothing like it at all. You’d both grown in experience since then, having had other partners over the years. Your lips moved smoother against one another’s, and it was more passionate than it was gentle. But you felt that same feeling of euphoria glowing inside you, knowing that you were here with him and he was here with you and you were both finally admitting to what you’d always felt but never dared to acknowledge. You felt yourself sinking into him, willing to let the tide of his love carry you away if it meant you could stay in this moment forever. Your lips parted from his, Chan titling your head up to look at him.

“I need to hear you say it. I need to know that you love me, too.”

You took his face in your hands, willing your voice to convey how sincere you were.

“I love you Chris. I love the way your hair is always ruffled in the morning and that you sing to yourself when you think no one can hear. I love how you take three cubes of sugar with your tea instead of two. I love your determination to better yourself and your dedication to better your people. I love that you have always treated me as an equal. I love your dimples and your eyes and the way you make me feel safe when my hand is in yours.” You brought your thumb up to wipe away a single tear that was sliding down his cheek, his eyes shining as he listened to your words. “It has always been you, Chris. It will always be you.”

He smiled then, that same blinding smile that had bound you to him from the day you met. He kissed you again, then began moving his lips down the side of your neck, your head tilting back to allow him more skin. His hand reached back and in a few quick motions the laces of your bodice were loose enough for your dress to fall off your shoulders. He kissed downwards over your chest, and your breath hitched as the dress moved lower and lower, eventually dropping to the floor, leaving you almost bare for him.

Your hands came up to thread through his hair as you mocked, “You are entirely too clothed for my liking, Your Highness.”

At that, Chan whipped his shirt over his head, exposing his soft skin and toned abs, then pulled you to him, tone light but face serious. “I never want to have to hear you call me that ever again.”

“Chan,” you laughed, lightly smacking his chest, “what we’re doing right now is staying confined to this room; I’ll still have to call you that in front of everyone else.”

“Fine,” he all but growled, “I will settle for never hearing it in this room. For now.” His lips returned to pressing featherlight kisses to your jaw and found your sweet spot below your ear. A sigh escaped your lips as Chan lifted you up and placed you under him on the bed, your hands roaming over his shoulders and back as he shed the rest of his clothes and removed the final layer separating you from him. You could feel his hardness against your dripping core and you looked down, holding in a moan when you saw how big he was.

“Ah ah ah,” the prince purred, “I don’t want you to hold anything back tonight. I have waited so long to have you like this, and I want to hear every sound that falls from your lips. I want to know how good I make you feel, Y/n.”

Even if you’d wanted to, you couldn't hold back the sinful sound that left you as he brought his mouth to suckle and nip at your breast, his hand reaching down to rub the pads of his first two fingers against your heat. Slowly, he increased the pace and the pressure as he kissed down your body, bringing his head between your thighs. You moaned when you felt his tongue lick a long, languid stripe up your core, then brought your hands to tangle in his hair as he stroked small circles against your sensitive bud. Desperate for him, you pulled his head back up to meet yours, back arching as you whimpered, “Please Chris.”

He lined himself up with your entrance and slowly pushed in, the feeling of him against your walls far better than you’d ever imagined. Being this close to him, feeling his cock reach places inside you you hadn’t known could feel this good, the intimacy was almost overwhelming, so you clung to him, reveling in the feeling of being with the man you loved.

“How did I get so lucky?” Chan was whispering, praises falling from his lips. “Fuck Y/n, you’re so beautiful, an angel, my perfect girl. Taking me so well, like you were made for me.”

“I was,” you breathed out, “all of me is yours Chris, only yours.”

His thrusts increased then, both of you teetering on the edge of your highs. You captured his lips in another burning kiss, sealing your love as the ecstasy coursed through you both. You laid there for a few moments, relishing the weight of his body on yours and the quiet sound of his heartbeat. Then Chan rose and fetched a cloth to clean you both, your body already starting to succumb to the pleasant exhaustion.

When he returned to the bed you heard his voice whisper one last I love you before you drifted off in his arms.

Runaway | Kingdom of Miroh, 28 years ago

The girl had been running for two days.

She’d prepared her knights and her attendant, told them the story she’d fabricated for them to repeat, and paid them handsomely for the trouble she was surely causing them. Her parents would be frantic, but eventually they would mourn her and move on. The kingdom would survive without her; in fact, it had to, because she knew nothing would ever make her return, force her to take on a responsibility she never asked for nor wanted.

Only five more miles to the border, she thought. Then I can start over, be whoever I want to be.

By the time she reached the marker for Gu, she could barely stay upright, having taken as little rations with her as she dared. She wandered across, hoping some small border town would be close by where she could eat, maybe get some rest. After another few miles some buildings started to pop up, small cottages and what looked like a market and an inn. The girl squinted at the prices on the inn’s sign, trying to remember the conversion rate of the currency she’d brought with her.

“Hey! I saw you come in to town; you look a little lost. Can I help you find anything?”

The girl realized the voice was talking to her, and turned to see a boy about her age, maybe seventeen, tall with shaggy brown hair, looking at her curiously.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” the boy said. “It’s just… you seem to be having a little trouble reading the sign and I-I’m uhh... pretty good with numbers; I could help you, if you’d like?”

“Oh umm… yes… p-please… thank you.”

The boy walked closer, the girl showing him the money she had so he could count out the equivalent of the price. “So, is your family visiting from Miroh?”

The girl balked at his perceptiveness. Despite all her planning, she hadn’t thought about what she would tell anyone when they asked for her story. She tried to come up with something quickly, stumbling over her words. “Umm no, m-my parents are… they’re uhh… they died.”

“Oh, I-I’m sorry to hear that,” the boy said, looking at her sympathetically, and the girl felt like he really meant it.

“Well, umm, here’s what you’ll need for a night’s stay here,” he continued, handing her back the money. “If you want I can show you a good place to eat that’s close by; you look like you could use a hearty meal.”

Despite knowing him for all of two minutes, the boy seemed trustworthy. And he was right, she could definitely use some nourishment.

“That sounds nice,” she answered.

“Great!” the boy said, stepping down from the inn’s doorstep and walking towards the village center, the girl following. “I’m Minhyuk, by the way. What’s your name?”

“My name’s Julietta.”

Revelations | Kingdom of Gu, present day

You awoke, startling for a moment at the unfamiliar surroundings until you remembered what had happened the previous night. Smiling to yourself, you turned in the sheets, expecting to see Chan laying beside you, but you were met with emptiness on his side of the bed. You frowned, scooting over and feeling the spot still warm from his body.

He must have only just left, you thought.

You glanced over and noticed a small note sitting on his bedside table, letters written in his artful penmanship. You picked it up, eyes running over the words.

Good morning my love. How I wished to have you wake up in my arms, but I’ll only be gone for a few minutes. I’ve gone to speak with my father about something, and when I return, the whole kingdom will be able to hear my name spoken by your beautiful voice.

A wave of dread washed over your entire body, threatening to pin you to the spot where you sat.

Chan knew his father could be cold, knew he was a callous man who cared for little more than his own self-interest and what he deemed acceptable. But you knew he’d always believed maybe he could change the king, could open his heart to the same degree Chan and his mother had shared. You, however, never saw the man through such rose-colored glasses, having been the recipient of his threats and intimidation too many times to believe he could be redeemed. And your beloved prince was about to find out the true depths of his father’s loathing towards the relationship you shared.

You sprung into action, body moving without thinking as you dressed in last night’s clothes and ran from his chambers, heading to the throne room. Maybe you could reach him in time, spare him the pain of hearing his father’s rejection. You’d have to convince him you didn’t want to bring your relationship public, and he’d be hurt, devastated, but it would be nothing compared to the anguish of what he was about to bring on himself. Or the punishment he was about to unknowingly inflict on you.

Chan was nowhere to be seen in any of the hallways leading to the throne room. Your feet moved faster, desperately trying to prevent what was about to happen. But when you burst through the thick oak doors, you saw Chan kneeling at his father’s feet. Both men looked up to face you, Chan’s expression one of blissful optimism, his father’s one of knowing anticipation.

You were too late.

“Hello, Y/n,” the king said darkly, mouth morphing into a sneer. “You already know what he’s asked me, don’t you?”

“Your Majesty… please...”

You shuddered at the sound of your own voice, tone betraying your agony, your fear.

“You never told him, did you?” he questioned, the trace of pity in his voice making you all the more uneasy.

“How could I?” you sighed.

The king nodded contentedly, then motioned for the guards on either side of you. You felt their hands capture your arms, body going all but slack in their hold. You couldn’t find the strength to fight anymore.

Chan had stood up and was now looking frantically between you and his father. “What is the meaning of this?!” he asked, tone laced with bewilderment and shock.

“I’m sorry Chris,” you murmured, heart breaking at the look on his face.

“Christopher,” King Bang said, standing and approaching his son, “do not fear. I will take care of this disobedient whore and then you will be free of her influence. I should have never let her remain for as long as I did, look what it has done to you, my ingenuous boy.”

You felt it, the moment Chan realized what his father was implying. His whole body shifted, backing away from Geun as he spoke, voice void of emotion.

“What did you just say?”

For once the king seemed genuinely surprised, eyebrows raising and voice the tiniest bit unsteady as he answered, “I-I mean, certainly that’s the only reason you would ever come to me with this request. Clearly this woman has convinced you to denounce what I’ve taught you about tradition, about knowing one’s place, through what means I dare not say; but I don’t blame you Chris, this is my fault.”

Chan stopped moving then, having almost reached your side. His face contorted into an expression of dismay, of grief, as he shouted.

“Are you really so ignorant, so far removed from reality, that you think my actions are a sign of disloyalty?! Of neglecting my responsibilities?! Because they are nothing of the sort. And even if they were, Y/n would not be responsible for convincing me to do anything. Your outdated principles and misguided sense of your own virtuosity could have done that on their own! You were blind to a plot happening in your own palace because of your desire to have me bend to your will, but I won’t let you do it anymore.”

He turned, ordering the guards, “Release her, now!”

“You will do no such thing,” the king’s enraged voice rang out. “Christopher, you will never get my permission for this.”

He turned back to Geun, eyes furious but voice calm.

“I was not asking, father. I will marry her. And I am not betraying you, or our kingdom, or our traditions. And I’m not doing it because she seduced me. I’m doing this because I love her. Because she supports me, and cares for me, and knows our people intimately, probably better than I do. And because, for my whole life, she has been the only person besides Mother who has ever truly loved me for who I am. So you’ll have to throw me in prison too if you intend to stop me, because I refuse to be here without her.”

“No!” you yelled, straining against your captors, energy rushing back to your body at his words. “No, Chris please, you have to let me go! I’m so grateful we had last night; it was the best night of my life and always will be. I knew the consequences I might face, and getting to tell you how much I love you was worth every one, but you were never supposed to suffer because of me. I can’t let you do this.”

Your pleas were interrupted by a herald entering the room.

“Your Majesty - “

‘WHAT?!” King Bang whirled on him, outrage blatantly evident on his face.

While the king was distracted, Chan shoved the guards away from you and took your shaking form into his arms, cradling your head against his chest. “Y/n, you’ve protected me and sacrificed for me my entire life. Let me be the one who takes care of you now.”

His whispers stopped when you heard the announcement of the herald.

“His Majesty King Peter Soleil of Miroh is here with his wife, Queen Margaery, as well as one of our palace servants, Julietta, Your Majesty. They are insisting on an audience with you.”

“Your mother?” Chan questioned, meeting your equally confused face with his own.

The king glanced to where the pair of you stood, rolling his eyes obnoxiously. “Fine, bring them in. Let these two have their last embrace before I rid us of her presence.”

The herald opened the doors, and there stood your mother, dressed in a beautiful gown you could tell was made for royalty. She entered, followed closely by the king and queen of Miroh. You’d seen them a few times over the years at various palace functions. They seemed like steadfast and benevolent leaders, reflected in their small kingdom’s reputation for nonviolence and generosity. In fact, the only turmoil you could remember them being involved in was the disappearance of the crown princess, several years before you were even born. Not much was known about the circumstances of the disappearance, but it was said the king and queen had never given up hope of finding her.

They came to a stop in the middle of the room, the sovereigns flanking your mother. Looking at the three of them, you couldn’t deny the resemblance of your mother to the elder two people, and a memory stirred in the back of your mind.

“King Peter, Queen Margaery,” King Bang addressed them tersely, “I would say I am pleased to see you but I am at this moment engaged in a personal matter and would like very much to return to it. If you could please explain why you have one of my palace servants here with you playing dress up, I would appreciate your cooperation.”

“Certainly,” came King Soleil’s placid reply. “We are here on a personal matter as well, one that Julietta, and indeed Y/n, are involved in.”

Chan’s arms tensed around you, preparing to defend you against any allegation, any harm or threat or danger to your wellbeing. But, as had happened once before in that very room, no one was prepared for what the Mirohan king said.

“You see, Julietta is our daughter. Almost thirty years ago, she left our kingdom, because she felt trapped in a life we had not prepared her for. Her mother and I should have supported her, should have taught her to confide in us, but we were very different people then, and different rulers too. We would have done what you are attempting to do to your son, forced her to betray her own self to mold to our will. However, when she left, we saw how wrong we were, and vowed to do better. Now, Julietta has come back into our lives for the sake of her daughter, our granddaughter, Y/n.”

Every set of eyes in the room was trained on you, your own frozen wide in disbelief at what was happening. King Bang seemed to be at a loss for words, having fallen back into his seat on the throne. Your mother left her parents’ side and walked to you, smiling tentatively. Chan reluctantly released his hold on you as she took your hand and brought you to stand with her away from the others.

“My dear, I know how much of a shock this must be to you, and I am sorry, so very truly sorry for never telling you,” she said quietly. “But I was ashamed… When I ran away, I did what I thought I needed to do at the time. Looking back it may have been reckless, irresponsible and selfish even. But most importantly, it had been my choice. And I took that from you, the ability to choose what path you wanted in life. I thought we would be better off away from the life I grew up in, and for a while we were, with your father. But when he died, I was adrift and had no idea what to do and somehow we ended up back in a palace and at the whim of an arrogant king, but this time without even an inkling of the power I once held. I thought about returning with you to my parents then, but how could I be sure you wouldn’t resent me for forcing you into the life I had tried so desperately to escape? I struggled with my choice for years, until eventually I saw that you were happy with your training with the prince, getting to do all the things you used to do with your father that would have been scorned had you been the one in the boy’s position. But then I saw the signs of your feelings for him, your realization of the insurmountable barriers that would prevent you from being together, the way you resigned yourself to unhappiness. I knew I could do something about it, but I had to be sure you were ready to accept the responsibilities that would come with having the ability to be with the man you loved.”

You looked up at her, recalling your conversation at the coronation, and she nodded. “I am sure now. Which is why I went back to Miroh, back to my parents and the position I despised a lifetime ago. Because if I can give you the ability to make this one choice, maybe I can make up for all the other mistakes in my life.”

“Mother... “ you started, wanting to tell her you understood her choices, that you didn’t think they were all a mistake, but were quieted by her hand on your cheek.

“I know you are quick to forgive, just like your father, but let me take responsibility for this.”

You looked back at your grandparents.

“They won’t force you to accept,” Julietta said. “That was my one condition.”

Your head was spinning with the onslaught of new information. Searching the room, your gaze locked with Chan’s, reading the utter adoration in his eyes that you knew mirrored your own. You knew his father would never accept your relationship at your current status. And despite feeling confident you wanted a chance to make an impact as a ruler, you didn’t know everything about what it would mean to take on this responsibility. But there was one thing you were absolutely certain of.

You turned back to your mother, squeezing her hand. “Thank you.”

She led you back to the group, your hand linking with Chan’s as you came to stand beside him and your grandparents.

“We are aware of the young people’s affection for each other…” King Soleil began, but King Bang seemed to have recovered himself enough to realize what the other was about to say.

“That girl will NOT marry my son!”

“Geun,” your grandfather warned, “that girl is my granddaughter, a Mirohan princess. I strongly suggest you watch your tone when you speak about her in front of me, or anywhere for that matter. Now, it was already quite unreasonable to want to prevent your son from marrying a woman he loves, but it would be wholly irrational of you to deny a match for the prince to the heir apparent to the throne of Miroh, wouldn’t you say?”

You stood up straighter, feeling Chan’s hand tighten around yours.

The king was silent for a while, but finally gave an acquiescent sigh. “Very well.”

The two of you smiled but kept your composure, bowing to the king and turning to your grandparents. They pulled you both in for a hug as you thanked them, saying they were eager to get to know their new grandchildren, and your heart skipped a beat at those words. You didn’t hear anything else after that, your focus entirely mesmerized by Chan who was pulling you towards the door, your pace quickening before breaking into a run as you left the castle, heading for the stables. You rounded the building first, then felt him reach around your waist as he gathered you in his arms and spun you around, laughing his brilliant laugh and pulling you close to him as he placed you back on the ground by the pond.

“Does this mean I have to call you “Your Highness” now?” he asked, giggling at your stunned face from the use of the term.

You playfully put your hands up to shove him, but he captured them in his own, kissing your knuckles and bringing your palms to rest on his chest. You could feel his heart beating as you knelt your head to meet his and heard his soft voice ask.

“Y/n, will you marry me?”

You had never been happier to say yes.

Epilogue | Kingdom of Gu, 1 year later

You were standing in front of the mirror, your mother behind you pinning your hair into an extravagant twist when a joking voice came from the door.

“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” You turned to see the smiling face of the queen of Lajor.

“Korenna!” you exclaimed, dancing happily in place, too afraid to move while your mother continued her styling as your friend came to sit next to you.

“You look stunning, Y/n, truly. Chris is going to lose it when he sees you.”

Chris, your mind echoed lovingly. You’re marrying Chris today.

“And how come I don’t get a hello from my favorite little princess?” you teased.

“Paige is a bit preoccupied practicing her petal tossing abilities with her Uncle Felix,” her sister responded. “She definitely has the upper hand in technique, but I’m not sure who looked cuter in the flower crown.”

“Speaking of flower crowns,” your mother said, turning you to face her, “Chris left this for you.”

You looked down at her hands where she held a sealed letter, on top of which rested a single wildflower.

Your mother saw the tears prick in your eyes and started to gather up her things, motioning to Korenna. “Let’s give Y/n a moment before the ceremony while we - Oh! Your Majesty, my apologies, I didn’t see you there.”

You turned to see King Bang milling awkwardly at the entrance of the room. Putting the gift from Chan down, you ushered your mother and Korenna out then came to sit in front of his father.

The two of you had avoided each other as much as possible over the last year, which hadn’t exactly been hard since you had moved with your mother to Miroh to catch up on all the instruction you’d missed these past twenty-three years. You’d seen him at the Four Kingdom Competition and at various dinners and balls, but Chan always made it a point to keep you as far away from him as possible. You weren’t going to complain about it to your fiance, but you’d almost wished he’d let the two of you talk, tension clearly still lingering between you. And though this visit was unexpected, considering you were going to be family after today, now seemed just as good a time as any.

“What can I do for you, Your Majesty?”

“Actually, Y/n, I-I came here to apologize,” the king said, his voice sounding almost as taken aback as you felt. “I have spent my whole life avoiding saying that phrase, but I realize now you are one of the few people I feel I really must say it to.” He took a deep breath before he continued. “I’m sorry for the death of your father, I’m sorry for my insults and threats over the years, and I’m sorry for trying to keep you and Christopher from being together. I had no right to try to do that, whether you were noble-born or not.” He paused, and you could tell it was getting harder for him to keep his voice steady. “After my wife died… I had this blind rage I felt towards everyone, but especially towards you, and when I finally took the time to analyze it, I realized I had been jealous. Jealous of your skill and your talent, but mostly jealous of my son’s devotion to you. This year has shown me that I was wrong to think his love for you would turn him away from me or his responsibilities; in fact, his happiness at being with you has only strengthened our relationship and made him a more present, more thoughtful ruler. So I came to apologize, and to thank you for bringing the light back to my son’s eyes.”

You were stunned, but grateful, and the king seemed to read that in the expression on your face. “You don’t need to say anything,” he said, standing up and heading for the door, “I just wanted you to know.”

You stopped him before he could leave, placing a hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

He nodded and shut the door, leaving you alone. You turned your attention back to the envelope on the desk and gently opened it, unfolding the paper in one hand and holding the blossom in the other.

Y/n,

Since the beginning, my love for you has grown like the roots of a flower. Even on this day, we are but tiny buds, only just beginning to sprout. I look forward to every day we’ll spend in the garden, tending to our love until we reach full bloom. And just as flowers slowly fade, may we grow old together, enjoying the memories of those sunny days when we used to ride through the meadows we planted. Know that my love for you will remain long after our petals are reclaimed by the earth, my beautiful wildflower.

Yours forever,

Chris

You held back the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks, placed the flower in your hair behind your ear with trembling hands, and walked out to meet your mother standing at the entrance to the courtyard.

She took your arm in hers as you made your way to the aisle. You saw Minho and Felix on the right, both grinning from ear to ear, and Korenna and Paige on the left, the younger’s sparkling dress and tiny braid matching the elder’s. And in the center you saw Chan, looking to be on the verge of tears, but his blinding smile on full display. Your mother walked you to him, your gown glinting in the light of the setting sun. He took your hand in his and held it while the priest recited the hymns and blessed your marriage, pronouncing you husband and wife.

Later, while the celebration was in full swing inside the ballroom, the two of you made your way out to the balcony. He took you into his arms, both of you swaying to the music floating out on the breeze.

“You look breathtaking tonight,” Chan whispered.

“You told me that earlier, Your Highness,” you responded, wiggling your eyebrows at the term he used to hate, recalling the conversation you’d had the first time you shared a dance on the balcony.

“I know,” he said smiling, catching on to your words. “I wanted to tell you again.”

You pulled his lips to yours, kissing him before whispering, “We’re married.”

“I know that too,” he responded, the two of you giggling and bringing your foreheads together. He reached up to tuck your hair that had come loose behind your ear, revealing the flower, and you let the feeling of peace wash over you, knowing you had a lifetime together.

“I love you, Chris.”

“I love you too, Y/n.”

{end}

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