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thestrandedrpg · 2 years

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MERIDIUM NEWS: JULY

News travels through the air on the island like salt on a sea breeze. Here is the gossip currently circulating as of July 3, 2022. Read on below the cut!

GENERAL NEWS / NOTICES:

NOTICE: Esther Achebe would deeply appreciate if an “extremely improper” item was retrieved from the Fisher’s Hut. She suspects it’s the previous tenant’s. She knows that he knows what it is.

REVIEW: A Final Goodbye (2022) dir. T. WIlliams. Starring T.Williams. Distributor: Hellish Place Productions. Tamyra Williams makes her Meridium Theatre debut in a poorly lit, badly-built stage on a slightly windy evening beach. The score to her character's monologue is as thinly composed as the rest of the play's accoutrements; it's almost as if Ms Williams was so intent on being the star that outshone everything, she deliberately ensured everything around her would be of lesser quality than her acting. Williams has been out of the spotlight for nearly thirty years, and it shows in her staggered script, awkward stage-blocking and flimsy segue ways. Did she succeed in capturing her audience, as she once did on the big screen? HELL YES I've been SO BORED for DECADES and this is the first cultural foray on this godforsaken island I've had the relief of experiencing. I cried, I was captivated, I leapt to my feet during the standing ovation. Here's hoping Ms Williams will treat us once more. We need more art, any art, even her!!

NOTICE: Something exciting washed up on the beach recently, or more specifically, someone. No, not another school of poisonous jellyfish, a person! When asked, he said it is now the year 2022 outside of the island! How time flies when you're trying not to die! Mik, our newcomer didn't have much in the way of news from the past two years. When asked he shrugged and said, "Uh... Chelsea won the World Cup? And the Queen is still alive..." Sounds like some uneventful times! Mik would also like to add a PSA: PLEASE stop threatening him with knives, spears etc.

NOTICE: Nicholas Alphonsus would like to remind the population that he is “not in fact Jesus. Please don’t come to me asking to turn water to wine. But please do bring wine."

ADVERTISEMENT: Bored out of your mind? Missing your favourite social media? Hire Meridium Mik, island influencer! Meridium Mik is a handsome chap with muscles, so he's already aesthetically pleasing. Watch him try to tell a joke but laugh so hard, he doesn't even get to the punchline! Ask Meridium Mik about his special juices made with scientific nature-derived electrolyte energy! Challenge Meridium Mik to a TikTok dance-off and watch him go for hours! Meridium Mik is guaranteed to reawaken that wonderful existential emptiness from endlessly scrolling your favourite Toobyube feeds.

WANTED: More methods of alcohol production. For medicinal reasons of course, this isn't personal! If you know how to ferment sweet sweet booze from the following: plant matter with footprints, river water mixed with ice and blood, local gossip caught in the air, red-hot flat rocks? Stop by the distillery, kick Hazel out and start brewing. Purely medicinal, remember.

SING-A-LONG

Island baby, oh island baby You're a beacon of light Island baby, island baby Come join the fight! You don't want to be special Except when you do You know many secrets We know yours too! (come home come HOME) Island baby, your hands are red The body lies where you have tread (Cornell? oh ooh ooh) Island baby, your hands are dry The man sunk down and we all know why

Island baby, oh island baby Blooming like a flower Island baby, island baby We're here to make sure You never have to cower From usssssssssss (lagoon lah - goooooon)

Obelisk Eye never closes! This week our Obelisk Operatives (ObOps) have collected the following mysteries! So pull out your magnifying glass, write in the sand, and let's do some sleuthing.

One ObOp spied Nick Alphonsus talking to Esther Achebe! Presumably to engage in a woke discussion on foggy cowardice vs systemic fears, benefitting from privileged rich white old 'First' men. Our ObOps heard mention of something called a '#FreeEsther' movement? What does the number-symbol mean and why was Nick calling it a 'hashtag'? Is this about non-chemical drugs? Pass the hashish pipe, Nick GOSH!

LAGOON-MULTIVERSES ALERT!! Adelina - a seasoned lagoon user - has reported traveling to yet another undiscovered Meridium land. Intrepid Adelina has seen a world called 'Octopus Game', where parallel dopplegangers of her friends are competing for freedom through terrifying and gruesome trials. She described in detail how Sandra Barrow came to a grizzly end. When we asked Adelina who exactly she considers 'a friend', she laughed and then accused us of gaslighting her before she ran off the edge of a cliff. She's fine, but we're still trying to get details on the identities of Lina's 'friends'. If anyone knows, please come forward!

The Obelisk's lidless eye shone down on Alex Woo and Kaz Raval struck in a finger-trap of their own making: incorrigible droll drags on anything and everything on Meridium, including each other. Inconclusive whether this exercise was fun or aggravating, as they each got incredibly worked up and then pretended they didn't care at all. It got to the point where the Obelisk's lidless eye started to suspect they were trolling deliberately and now the eye is very sulky and annoyed at them. Jerks!

An ObOp saw Amelia! Oh wait, never mind. That was just the jungle hag.

Actually spotted: new islander Mik attempting to make friends with all the wrong people. Will his patented charm prevail, or will he continue to be greeting by glares and sharp, pointy weapons? Either way, we can’t wait to find out!

Any other news to report? Become an ObOp or risk being spied on! Always remember:

T̶̪͋̓́̂͌̀̾͆͠H̷̺̙̥̟̼̿Ĕ̸̱͇̮̬̄̒̓̍̓̃ ̴̡͕̗͕̱͈̘͛́͋̀̈́̀̚͠͠ͅȎ̶̞̙͈͉͈̙̥͒͒̐̒͜͜B̸̧̪̀̎̃̓̉̌͠͝Ę̴͔͚̰̠͖̠̘͒̌̂͑̓́̓͝L̷̨͇̺̣̜̾̋̊̀̀͜Į̴̛̮͇̭͙̠̣̱̓̏S̴̡̗̦͚̠͖̺͋̉̾K̸͙̜̠̬̟͇͂́̎̀̒̑̇͜͝ͅ ̸̞̗̺͍̥̒̊̊̾̕͝͠͝E̵̯̺̼̤͉͉͆̄̈́́͝Ỹ̷͎̦̟͉̗̞̊͘E̷̖̫̫͂̑̽̋̈́͠ ̸͉͙̥͂̐̈́͛̊͠N̴͈̾͠È̷̬̜̘̘̇̑̈́̍͋͂͌̔͠Ṽ̴̫̰̥͓̱͕͓͆̐̈́Ȩ̸̛̦͈̗̯̘̫͙̇̀̌̾̑͊R̴̼̣̃̈́͊͠ ̸̡̖̝̬̝̊̈̕C̴̰̰̉̄̃̑͒Ļ̶̢̱̬͇̻̈́̔̈́͋̽O̵̼͍͔͂S̴̭͍̆̉͘̕E̶̮͓̯͕̓͌͋̋̉̓S̸̤̞̘͙̘͂̎̎̇̿̽͆̎̊͝!̴̣̪͈̜̲̈́̾̂̐̍̍͊͊͝

HELP WANTED: Requesting assistance from earth mover or other to build barrier around a beach. Contact Kaz Raval. Prepare to be thoroughly vetted for this one day job. Payment for help: He will let you touch his hair for no more than six seconds.

FARMER'S MONTHLY EXCERPT: Today we are comparing the Hardy-Farm avocado to the Petit Farm avocado. The criteria is plumpness, colour, texture, taste of flesh, crunch of bones, and how annoying the farmer is.

- The Hardy Avocado comes with nonsense folksy rhyme to the tune of some obscure Schoolhouse Rock ditty, followed by a lecture about recycling the seed and peel. It's exhausting but well worth it once you open the fruit and find its flesh yellow and creamy with that special hint of buttery sweetness that makes it the perfect avocado! These avocados are shapely and round and one assumes the farmer cultivated them in his likeness.

- The Saelices Avocado was actually a papaya. Upon questioning, the farmer only replied: "Ah but the mysteries of God, qué miraculous! Hu-hu-hu."

REVIEW: A Final Goodbye (limited run, Meridium Playhouse) Written, directed, and performed by Tamyra Williams Musical arrangement by Tomas Hardy Few actors transcend the generations. If you were lucky enough to catch A Final Goodbye, it should be evident why Tamyra Williams remains one of the greats. From the moment she steps onto the stage and utters the opening line, I cannot believe you’re late, even now, the audience is captivated by her every move. As the one woman show begins, Tamyra addresses a husband whose arrival is delayed for every crucial moment of their relationship. Progressing through the highs of a new romance to the subsequent disintegration of a marriage, Tamyra walks us through with a visceral mix of her character’s love, grief, and regret. “Gripping. Thought-provoking. Provocative. Tamyra Williams at her finest.” - The Beast

APPROVAL RATING POLL: Meridium’s new trio is being assessed for their popularity. While the numbers are still being tabulated, for now, anonymous opinions from islanders are as follows:

Seamus: - “Yeah that whole thing was a little dictator-y but when he says it in that accent, how bothered can I be?” - “Needs to shave. Won’t consider him ‘til he does.” - “Has not answered my question about a house that I asked SIX MONTHS AGO.”

Libby: - “It is a known fact that gingers have no soul. Therefore, I believe that Ms. Blum should have to submit to an exorcism before she can be considered any sort of leader – no I’m not finished, another thing –” - “She can give me a tour of her Labyrinth any time, wink wink. Yes include the wink wink.” - “If she makes her piano public property maybe I’ll like her.”

Tomas: - “Who needs a working brain when you’ve got all that ass?” - “I think he should arm wrestle Kotka and the winner gets to be leader. ... Oh, no, I don’t think that’s especially professional or anything, I’m just bored as hell.” - “Didn’t he die? ... Really? ... Oh, I thought he was dead.”

DEAR MS. MERIDIUM:

Anonymous islanders are invited to voice their questions, complaints, and compliments to the island itself. Replies are not guaranteed.

Dear Ms. Meridium,

First time, long time (‘long time’ as you’ve clearly been holding me hostage on the island for years). Anywhoo, I’m having trouble with a woman. To protect her identify, let’s call her ‘Jenn’. Jenn insists a genie lives in the heart tree but so far has shown no proof. It’s a fool’s folly and a total waste of time. Frankly, it’s really doing my head in. I pride myself on being as off-putting to others as possible. For some reason, this has yet to drive her off! Please offer advice on how to further repel her.

Desperately, Christina Aguilera

Dear Ms. Meridium,

So... Seamus and Esther have definitely fucked, right?

Frankly, Duo Did It

Dear Ms. Meridium,

I have a theory about that old monk-man. Monks used to do experiements with plant genetics right? Mendel or something. I think that's what Saelecis is doing up there in that shitfarm on the high land. He's trying to breed the better tomato only it'll be some kind of tomato that makes us all want to climb Alphonsus Range and build a big statue or something. I don't know about you but he makes me suspicious.

Warily, Shade on the Nightshade

Dear Ms. Meridium,

I have started a support group for all those who were touched with malice aforethought by Alex Woo during the Troubles. The worst part was that after he touched me he made this face like he ate a bad walnut and said "ugh, boooo-ring" and then wouldn't touch me again so he could see a more cool memory. I'm very interesting! I've been wicked! Once I took a whole plate of mini egg roll samples at the Costco!

Yours, Born 2 B Wild I Swear

AO-TREE

The latest Meridium fanfiction submissions can be found pinned to the back of the Heart Tree. Let’s check out the latest titles!

TITLE: anything for my fun RATING: R SUMMARY: lina can get whatever information she wants, and if she wants to have fun in the process? nobody can blame her, really (pwp with lina sleeping with people on the island one by one and getting some good secrets on all of them to hold against them in the future, but really, mostly just pwp of all variety)

TITLE: the labyrinth of vines (and my own feelings) RATING: M SUMMARY: tamyra tried, but she never actually made it out of the jungle when the vines snatched people up, and soon enough she stumbled into wren - to her big annoyance. wren is just a kid, what could she do with her? still the two of them have to survive together and figure out a way to leave the jungle in one peace. and on the way, tamyra has more than one revelations - about wren, herself and her own feelings // canon divergent, possibly updated to R later based on how things go

TITLE: read my future (and maybe my heart too) RATING: T SUMMARY: cian has a special ability - if he touches somebody, he sees glimpses of their futures. it's not hard to turn it into a business and not hard to gain credibility when everything he sees comes true. and then one day iyaz akbar sits down in front of him and cian sees himself in iyaz's future. the problem? he is not ready for anything serious and iyaz is definitely engaged and taken. oh what a conondrum this is

TITLE: a basket full of happiness RATING: G SUMMARY: mik and nick have a fairly normal life, if anyone asks. they attend college, they have their fun with their friends, it's exactly what they want. but then one day a baby is dropped off on their front porch and they somehow stumble into keeping little nova and having to figure out how to raise her together while they are nothing more than roommates. or are they? (college/baby/roommate!au all in one!)

TITLE: my jolly sailor bold RATING: M SUMMARY: fancy is one of the most feared ships of the sea - nobody lives to see the sun rise again after an encounter with it. libby blum as the captain runs the one of the most feared pirate group - that nobody knows contains of all women. then one day they fish out a guy from the waters, a sailor named tomas, and things quickly get complicated. kimiko/libby/tomas, wren/tamyra, amelia/her lonesome and much more potentially down the line

TITLE: i'll break you out, bruh! RATING: R (very gory and bloody, take note) SUMMARY: emre akbar is a death row prisoner, only a month away from his sentencing to be carried out. that is when his brother, iyaz akbar gets sent to the very same prison for crimes unexpected from him. soon it turns out he has a plan and then it's a race against time to get himself and his brother out before it's too late

TITLE: pendant que tu dormais (while you were sleeping) RATING: R SUMMARY: aurélie marchand wakes up in the hospital without any of her memories. a man claims to be her nephew, another one claims to be her husband, and another one sneaks in in the middle of the night, when nobody else is around, and claims they've been having an affair for months now. aurélie has to navigate her new reality (her only reality) and figure out what she wants her life to look like in this new world

TITLE: my love for you is different, but there all the same RATING: G SUMMARY: emre and madi never supposed to have met. but emre was trying to convince his brother that he was putting hookups to the side and madi was right there and suddenly she was pulled into emre's arms and claimed to be his girlfriend even though they've never met before. and the next thing she knows, she is off on a destination wedding as emre pretend!girlfriend and if she didn't know she was a lesbian, she would think she was in some sort of fanfiction or something. this was real though, and even though they were not interested in getting together, they still manage to get into plenty of ridiculous situations, help each other navigate in the matters of the heart and form a bond that might be stronger than anything else they could have if they just fell into bed with each other.

TITLE: find your way home RATING: G SUMMARY: lily takahashi is fourteen and after finding her mother in a pool of blood in their kitchen, gets put in a foster home. libby and tomas hardy seem nice and all, but how much can she trust them? they are not her real parents, even if they seem really nice and interested. she cannot get her hopes up, it's nothing more than temporary. or is it?

TITLE: second chances RATING: G SUMMARY: kaz raval is putting together a team to start a new online magazine about uncovering the truth and revealing people's deepest and most hidden intentions. as their first case, they are looking into the death of senator matthew alphonsus. wren augustine as his most trusted ally, the two of them uncover secrets about people in high places and quickly find themselves in more dangers than they ever thought they would get. will they be able to uncover the truth, or will they lose the people that they love and their own lives as well?

TITLE: new beginnings RATING: G SUMMARY: tomas hardy has never known his aunt. but then his mother dies and suddenly he is on the road, driving across the country to meet a family member he's never known, and yet, once the two meet, his life turns upside down. maybe he's never known aurélie marchand before, but he sure wants to know her and have her in his life now. but does his aunt want him in his life? only time will tell...

KIDDIE CORNER!

Riddles, songs, stories, and games to keep those restless island kiddos entertained!

SHORT STORY SUBMISSION: Aurélie's Revenge, by anonymous Once upon a time, there was a [redacted] who [redacted] the [redacted] and [redacted] got [redacted] in [redacted] and was [redacted] [redacted] forever. [redacted] Fin.

Q: What's tall as a beanpole, naked as a jaybird, and as a gift to see flashes of the future? A: Definitely not Cian. Nope. Absolutely not that guy.

Q: When you lose your Kirk, Jovian, and Solara and end up on an ageless island, what do you do? A: Live long and suffer

#meridium news

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csperspectives · 2 years

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ARTCURIOUS: stories of the unexpected, slightly off, and strangely wonderful in art history [review #1]

started reading: 19, june 2022 / finished reading: 27, june 2022

started writing: 28, june 2022

finished writing: 29, june 2022

(after reading this book, i will be addressing some topics and points that stood out to me from Jennifer Dasal's book. since her book has 12 chapters, i will be splitting up my review in multiple parts. here is part 1.)

[part 1 - chapter 1]

as an art history major, we all got out start in wanting to learn art. my art journey started very early in my life. i remember i used to collect newspaper and create woven bags, and i would buy duct tape from the dollar store to create wallets, mini purses, and so much more.

i feel like i can relate to her in some ways. when i applied to university, i was a cellular and molecular biology major wanting to go to medical school to become an anesthesiologist. did i actually want to become a doctor? i mean, there was this part of me that needed to become a doctor. but deep down inside of me, i wanted to do history. specifically, art history. (i am getting off topic somehow. maybe one day i will create a blog entry of how and who guided me to pursue art history.) similar to Dasal, she entered university and declared her major as geology with a paleobiology emphasis. however, she took that one art history class and never looked back.

Claude Monet is a very known impressionist artist. it seemed like everyone knew what kind of painter he was, and how he revolutionized impressionism art.

but what steps did he take to get there? or better yet, what rules did he break for impressionism to enter the art world?

as a pure insult and change to the previous era, we had romanticism. where it was full of human emotions, while realism was the complete opposite of romanticism. but the impressionist era felt liberal (in a sense) where they pushed for a new chapter of art.

i will not be diving deep into Claude Monet's background because google is a great search engine. however, i do want to bring up how he started his own style. it took him 2 years for his father to approve of him moving to Paris, but after attending art school, he realized that he did not enjoy the traditional way of art school and learned from a Swiss painter: Charles Gleyre.

after breaking through the art world, he had a difficult time selling and exhibiting his paintings (because people were still focused on romanticism and realism.) so he did what, honestly, i would do. create your own (or rent out) a salon and exhibit your own artwork. this was fantastic for Money and all of the other artists who followed because they showed their artwork and slowly gained attraction. people all over Paris enjoyed the salon des refusés (the salon of the refused) because it was different. it opened many people's eyes, as well as critics and salon-goers viewing this type of work as a joke.

even after this era came to a close, people finally realized the true definition of impressionism and why the refused tradition. they had all of the intentions of capturing light and color without any deep thoughts, and that is what they did to rebel. they truly made a big statement by painting whatever they felt like painting.

i do want to quote on some things in her book.

why haven't i learned about Monet's friend, Eugéne Boudin? because it seemed that Boudin sparked that interested in Monet for him to paint nature and outside.

she also quotes Clueless, a 1995 film with Alicia Silverstone. in this case, Dasal mentions that she "can think of no better way to describe some of Claude Monet's post-1900 paintings." which is interesting. (i will try to rewatch the movie when i have the time, to listen to the scene where they briefly talk about Monet.)

"'do you think she is pretty?' Tai asks.

'no, she's a full-on Monet,' Chef scoffs. 'it's like a painting, see? from far away, it's okay, but up close, it's a big mess.'"

i also do want to quote on Dasal's definition of Impressionism art. i think that Dasal defines the Impressionism era well. "first is these artists' commitment to modernity, of finding worthy subject matter in a world that is still so familiar to us today." as well as, "impressionism... about valuing the subject point of view about things that seem like they should be objective: light, color, shadow."

let me break it down:

"first is these artists' commitment to modernity, of finding worth subject matter in a world that is still so familiar to us today."

if it was now, we would probably watch the sunrise or sunset and capture a picture of it, then, post it on social media (probably with the hashtag sunrise or sunset.)

"commitment to modernity" - to me, it seem interesting how Dasal worded this. keeping in mind that this time was 1865-1885, their modern is completely different from out modern. i would assume (and this is a given) their form of entertainment was going out, and the impressionists gave them something to look at and even laugh about because it wasn't accepted just yet. as i am writing this, in a way, i feel like this is stand up comedy because a lot of salon-goers and critics thought the impressionism style as a joke.

as to the second part of this whole sentence, " finding worth subject matter in a world that is still so familiar to us today." subject matter for them is nature, because they devoted their art to their surroundings. comparing the 1860s to 2020, is very different and my definition of nature is not the same as Monet's perspective of nature. nature for them was easy because they can just go outside or look out the window, and they would have it right in front of them. nowadays, (since i live in the city), i would have to drive somewhere just to feel or even be with and enjoying my time with nature.

"impressionism... about valuing the subject point of view about things that seem like they should be objective: light, color, shadow."

there is a small token of appreciation that i would like to point out because impressionism truly is light, color, and shadow. i will be using The Artist's Garden at Giverny by Claude Monet to explain his use of light, color, and shadow.

DISCLAIMER: NOT MY PHOTO, photo was from google.

(p.s.a. i am obsessed with caravaggio's work, and his use of light, and that is why i fell in love with italian baroque art; i am getting off topic."

i am looking at the painting for the first time, and will not be reading any information source on it. i will be giving my own interpretation. in some parts of the painting, there are spots lighter than others, and i think that Monet wants to give us a feel for where the light will hit.

did he paint this during the day? during the afternoon? or when the sun is about to set?

judging by the way he uses color, as well as the shades, i would assume he painted this during the afternoon because the middle of the painting is more vibrant than its surroundings. i would also like to assume that this was painted during the spring season when the flowers are in full bloom. (i could be wrong, but then again, this is my interpretation.) when i first viewed the painting, i saw purple and green. however, as i continued to look at it, i can see light blue butterflies swarming the purple flowers. it makes the painting more exciting. (well, at least i think so.) Monet does use different shades of purple to highlight where the sun is hitting. if this is the case i would assume his light is where the colors are most bright and energetic. not only that, but the bottom right colors are darker than the middle area. my speculation would be that there is a large tree over this area that is not shown in the painting.

(out of context) i suppose that those two figures in the back are on a date. they might be wealthy which allowed them to rent (or have) a boat. their reflections can be seen through the body of water, and it looks like they are enjoying each other's company.

[just a little bit of analysis of Monet's painting so i can get to the point.]

yes, i did talk about light and color; however, i did not mention anything about shadow. if you look closely, there is a walkway path where you can see the shadows of the purple flowers. i believe that Monet did a splendid job on creating the shadows for the flowers.

(which brings me back to my point.) the subject is completely object because Monet uses a few colors but enhances each color to make them pop out and be the focal in the painting.

it is pure, and might i say... gives me a great impression of the artist.

signing off: jhanella mae

#claude monet #monet #art #painting #color #light #shadow #impressionism #oil painting #oil on canvas #paintings

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poe-tic-a · 2 years

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The thing about human that i adore the most is the capability of them to love despite the flaws in the other person. I was the type of person that get turned off easily if i’ve ever seen their flaws, perhaps because i grew up as a perfectionists, so anything or anyone that was not perfect was not worth any of my time nor my feelings. This kind of behaviour was actually concerning because as we all know, nobody’s perfect.

that’s why i asked one of my friend “what if i would never be able to love someone in a long-term just because i can’t tolerate their flaws?” and my friend replied with something along the line “perhaps, you just haven’t found the right one, when the right one comes, i know you will be able to tolerate their flaws and love them as who they are” i have been wondering if that was true though? would someone just come up in my life and then wow suddenly i would be able to tolerate this person just because i feel like he’s the one?

but then i read this book, still the same book as the previous one, “The Art of Loving”. There are reasons this book called love as an art. this book diminished the idea that love is something that comes naturally, this book “despised” the idea of falling in love, this book taught the reader how to “stand in love” which sees love not as a passive thing, but an active one. And just like the art of medicine, the art of engineering, and the art of anything else, it requires efforts and knowledge to master the art. And this book made me realize that, the ability to love and accept someone as who they are is not purely dependent on the object of love, but instead, more dependent on how the one who loves them has really learned and mastered the art of loving. Most people think we love someone because that someone is amazing, that someone deserves to be loved, that’s why we love them. But this book told me that people who really know how to love, who don’t see love as some kind of temporary feelings, whose love is longlasting, is not really influenced by the object of the love. It is their advanced ability to love the object that matters most.

It’s like someone who wants to paint but constantly don’t paint just because they are waiting for the perfect object to paint, the real painter who has mastered the art don’t wait for the perfect object, the real painter know how to paint something beautiful even when the object is not that beautiful.

And i think this kind of answered my first question, that the ability to love and accept someone as who they are, is not a thing that will come naturally, is not a thing that i will suddenly be able to do just because i meet the “right one”. It is a thing that i should learn how to do, so that when the right one comes, i already have the ability to love and accept him as who he is.

That’s why i don’t want to fall in love, falling in love makes you blind for a second from the other person’s flaw, you start to “idealize” them in your mind, it feels like you’re falling for the perfect human being. And for me, those kind of feelings don’t last, you will just be turned off once you reach the ground and stop falling. You will just fall out of love on the day you come back to “your right sense”, when all the adrenaline rush and “honeymoon phase” ends.

I want to walk in love when the right time comes though, loving someone with my eyes wide open, slowly learning about them, acknowledging the fact that they are not perfect, that they have flaws that i don’t really like, but despite all the imperfections i have seen, i know for sure i want to still love them and accept them as who they are. I want to treat love as a decision i make and fully aware of instead of an accident. So that when love is not easy for us, when all the adrenaline rush is finally over, i can still hold his hands and say “You know that loving you is a decision i’ve made with my right mind and i have no intention to change that.”

Because, let’s just face the fact that loving someone for the rest of our life is not an easy task, how many marrriages fall apart, that’s why i think you can’t just depend on something as temporary as your feelings if you really want that to last. You have to put efforts and learn how to make it lasts.

And perhaps that’s why, for me personaly, it’s kind of a bad signs when people confess their love for me but all the things they have ever listed about me are only the good traits, the best version of me, or even the version of me i don’t even recognize bacause they idealize me too much on their mind, it makes me feel like “you reallly don’t acknowledge any of my flaws, do you?” “are you in love with me or are you in delusion? because i personally don’t recognize the person you were just describing, that was not me?”

the one i need is the one who recognize that i have flaws but still choose to stay anyway.

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mrsalwayswrite · 3 years

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Magic and Firelight (Ivar x reader)

Oh God. you know how I said I never write smut....apparently I lied. I blame this entire thing on @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom and @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie for encouraging this. All. Their. Faults.

This one-shot was inspired by the moodboard created by the ever-lovely @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom for a challenge. In the challenge she had to use Ivar, MagicAU and Licking....so I made sure to incorporate those themes into this written one-shot.

Also this does not fit anywhere in the Vikings timeline because I want everyone alive and marginally happy, ok? So everyone lives in Kattegat but think season 5a Ivar.

Warnings: SMUT, unexpected feels, like one swear word.

Words: 4200

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius @evelynshelby @pomegranates-and-blood

reminder: not my moodboard. this entire, glorious thing belongs to @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom who was kind enough to let me use it.

Revelry filled the air, coating everything in the Great Hall like a fresh snowfall. The feast was well underway. The smell of roasted meat and ale rose steadily into the air, along with the laughter and cheers of those still in attendance. A contest of strength just finished, the loser ending up with blood dripping from his nose, tainting his teeth, as he laughed uproariously.

A joyous shout shot through the hall. The signal of the next form of entertainment. Fists pounded on the tables in delight, a few exclamations arising amongst the sound. All noise ceased when a slow drumbeat began, like the echo of a steady heart. It sunk into the skin, traveling to the chest until one's heartbeat matched in echo.

Ivar shifted in his seat near the base of the thrones. They both sat empty behind him, his mother having retired long ago, and Ragnar at a nearby table with Floki and a few others, laughing with a flushed face and ale horn in hand. Glancing around his table, he could see the wild excitement in his brothers' eyes…. for they all knew what came next.

As the drumbeat started to increase, the first of the swirling dancers emerged. Their bodies covered in thin fabric that teased as much as it covered, leaving one longing for a glimpse only to be denied as she continued her provocative movements. The six beautiful women moved through the tables like swans gliding through water, each step, each sway of their hips graceful and in tune with the beat.

"Who are they?" Ivar asked gruffly. These women were not the normal entertainment at a feast. Nor did he did not recognize any of them.

"They came with a trader from the Mediterranean." Ubbe answered, never removing his eyes from the dancers. "He petitioned with father yesterday to allow them the chance to entertain us in the way of their people…. or something along those lines."

"Remind me to ask that trader where they are specifically from, because I know where I am going to explore next." Hvitserk stated with a smirk.

Ubbe bumped shoulders with Hvitserk, an unspoken agreement in the action.

Ivar rolled his eyes at their antics and turned his gaze back to the dancers…. Only to freeze when one locked eyes with him.

She stood across the fire, the flames appeared to lick and dance upon her skin. Every curve, each dip of her luxurious body highlighted in the flickering light. Her hair hung long, swaying with each movement, its own form of enticement. It was those eyes though, that held him spellbound to her. Large, luminous orbs that seemed to peer into his soul, that stole the very breath from his lungs. All he could do was stare as she danced. Each movement was pure elegance and seduction. The whole time those mesmerizing eyes kept him spellbound, oblivious to all but her. With her eyes locked on him, it felt she danced only for him. Each twirl of her body, each shake of her barely clad hips, her hands tracing patterns in the air, it all felt like a dance to entrance him. To maintain his attention. To rile up his blood and desire for her. To make him yearn for her with his whole body and soul.

When she finally released him from her gaze to spin away, he gasped in a lungful of air. Not realizing until now how he had forgotten to breathe while watching her, so enthralled by her, even air became unnecessary.

"You alright, Ivar?"

The raven-haired Ragnarsson looked at Hvitserk, noticing the smile that teased the corners of his mouth.

"This is the closest he's seen a naked woman besides Margrethe and we all know how that went." Sigurd snarked, bringing his cup of ale to his lips.

"Shut up before I rip your tongue out and feed it to the flames." He snarled at his curly-haired brother. Fury stirred in the hollow of his chest like a wild animal threatening to tear apart its cage.

Ubbe smacked the table. "Enough. Both of you."

The table quieted as their focus returned to the dancers. Eyes searching the hall, a slow-growing panic simmered in Ivar's gut as he could not see her. The other five dancers spun and twirled about, their bodies an example of art in motion.

Without warning, the gentle touch of a hand on his shoulder caused his head to whip to the side, ready to demand blood from the one with the audacity to touch him…. Only to be met with those eyes that made him flustered and hot all over.

With her touches tender, she trailed her hand from his shoulder up his neck to cup the side of his face. Even if the need arose, he would be unable to remove himself from her sensual touch and her penetrating gaze, bewitched by her to remain still. Never before had he felt so exposed to someone. Even the times when he broke bones and had to be carried like a child, humiliation ripping into his skin. Now he felt undone as she beheld him, consumed by her with just a look. If the other dancers were art, then she, this divine beauty beside him, was a masterpiece, crafted by the gods themselves.

Waves of jealousy rolled off his brothers, crashing against him like stormy waves on a beach but for once, he did not care. His eyes stayed glued to her, hypnotized by her very presence.

Suddenly he found himself facing her, unable to remember when he turned away from the table. She stood between his brace-clad legs, gazing down at him. Her fingers traced over his cheek, only to land at his mouth. Her thumb rubbed his bottom lip, encouraging his lips to part. Unable to resist her, he obliged, lips parting slightly. She made no further move, either to draw away or closer. His heart beat rapidly with excitement and mischief. A streak of wicked intent made his lips curl slightly, giving him away. His leather-bound hands reached out for her thighs; the soft skin almost foreign beneath his calloused-hardened fingers. In the same instant, he nipped at her thumb, still lingering on his bottom lip. Then he waited for her reaction with an impish smirk.

She chuckled, a sultry, honeyed sound that flowed straight to his useless cock and made him shiver in delight.

Never removing her eyes from his, she reached down to grab one of his hands on her exposed thighs. Then torturously slow, she guided it up the contours of her body, his hand caressing her hip, up her stomach and between her full breasts until his hand was at her mouth. Without waiting, she encouraged two of his fingers within. As her tongue swiped and sucked on his fingers like they were a tasty treat, Ivar lost all ability to think or resist. His hand still on her, gripped her thigh to ground himself, to confirm this was not a dream.

Women never paid attention to him, never looked at him with lust. After the latest raid in England where he proved his prowess in strategy and as a warrior, less women looked at him with disgust.

But never this.

Never had one put him under a spell that made him want to sell his soul to possess her. Never had he seen desire darken a woman's eyes as they beheld him. Never had his own body and mind reacted with such a carnal, animalistic instinct.

He pulled his fingers from her mouth and dropped his hand to curl around her throat with just the slightest pressure. "Are you a thrall?"

"No." She answered in a breathy tone, that only intensified his growing lust. Then she leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear, those barely contained breasts almost in his face. "Do with me what you want, Ivar the Boneless. I am yours tonight."

Whatever previous desire bubbled in his veins exploded at hearing her alluring whisper. A guttural groan lodged in his throat. The hunger for her reached an all-consuming, feverish pitch. Without a word, he pushed himself to his feet, slipping the crutch under his arm. "Come."

He half expected her to laugh and walk away but instead, she traced a hand down the tunic over his torso with a purr of pleasure. Then when she looked up at him coyly once more, he was halfway to throwing her onto the table behind him to ravish her right there.

She silently followed him back to his room. The whole walk his mind raged, both in desire and fear. He knew he could not pleasure her as a man but this ethereal creature that followed him deserved to be worshipped. And she had chosen him tonight. Out of all those in the hall, including his brothers…. she chose him.

He vowed to make sure she did not regret it.

He dismissed his personal thrall as they walked in, pleased to see the fire lit in the small hearth and furs laid out before it. The door closed, echoing in the room. Once alone, he moved over to sit on a nearby stool, leaning his crutch on the wall behind him.

She watched the fire, standing in the middle of his room. Her clothing appeared almost translucent in this light, a way of directing and guiding the eye along her perfect body.

"Take off your clothes." He commanded in a husky tone.

With a seductive wink back at him, she tugged on the few ties keeping the minimal clothing on her flawless body. In a moment, everything pooled at her feet….and he damn near swallowed his tongue. Bare before him, he was convinced there was nothing more stunning, more gorgeous than her. She put every sunset to shame, every spring flower, every star to grace the night sky, nothing could ever compare to her.

"Dance for me, my beauty."

A beguiling smile on her lips, she watched him for a moment. Then she began to move. A slow sway of her hips, hands trailing up her body to rise above her head.

There was no force that could tear his gaze away from her. When she danced in the Great Hall, he had been memorized…. but now, it would be sinful to remove his eyes from her graceful form. The circular motion of her hips, her hands tracing the curves of her body, the heavy-lidded eyes that watched him. He wanted nothing more than to sit at her feet for eternity and watch her dance. To worship at her altar and bestow her with gifts from the Aesir.

Then she began to spin slowly, allowing him to see all of her, a music leading her that only she was aware of. At one point, she squatted down and slowly rose, only to snap her hips up in a way that made him audibly growl. His hands were clenched in his lap, desperate to touch her, to replace her hands with his as they caressed her body.

Finally he could stand it no longer, this enchanting, sensual dance that made his blood boil ceaselessly with desire.

He swallowed thickly, mouth dry. "Go by the fire." He demanded.

If she was confused by his command, she said nothing. Turning around she sashayed over to the furs laid in front of the small hearth in his room. His eyes greedily drunk in the curves of her body as she moved. She laid down on the pile of furs before the hearth, unashamed in her nudity. With the colors of the flames and shadows painted across her body, she appeared ethereal. Something only for the gods to view. Perfection at its purest form.

Sitting on the stool, he quickly worked the straps of his braces, never taking his eyes off her. Unwilling to miss her glory for even a moment. She laid on her side, gaze on him. One hand propped her head up while the other skimmed those curves highlighted by the flames.

Once freed, he crawled over to her like the predator he was. Hunger and domination with each placement of his hands and shift of his shoulders. There was no doubt who was in control. His fierce gaze never removed from her, keeping her pinned with the same strength as if ropes held her down. As he approached, she silently rolled onto her back, an intensity in those eyes as they watched him and a kittenish smile on her lips. With that, he crawled up her body until he hovered over her, blanketing her perfect form. Then he waited. Staring down at her, he was shocked once again that she chose him. That she currently lay beneath, pliant to his touch and commands. It was a powerful and dark sensation. To have this control, this power over her….to have her at his mercy. A more rapturous feeling than killing Christian priests or obliterating any army.

"Ivar…." She sighed out, tracing the line of his jaw with her finger. "Don't keep me waiting."

A crooked grin grew on his face. Here lay this Valkyrie, this goddess, this divine creature beneath him, begging for him. Without wasting a moment, his mouth descended on her skin, his arms holding himself just above her. He placed open-mouth kisses along her chest, loving the soft sounds of pleasure it drew from her. His tongue traced the curve of her breasts, paying special attention to the tattoo of a flower between them. Suddenly he drew one of her nipples into his mouth, causing her back to arch. Her hand flew up to grip his braids, as he sucked and licked the bud until it was hard and peaked, then he switched to the other side to repeat his ministrations.

"Ivar…." She moaned, tugging on his braids, hips rolling beneath them.

"Shhhh…. soon." He nipped at the side of her breast, pleased with the heat that flared in her eyes. "We go at my pace…. and I plan on taking my time."

Slowly he slithered his way down her body, his tongue leading the way over her soft skin. There was nowhere he did not worship with his mouth, nowhere safe that his tongue did not covetously explore. By the time he was done with her, his mouth and tongue intimately knew every inch of her and the erotic sounds those spots drew from her lips. With a long swipe of his tongue starting at her sternum, he trailed it down between her breasts to her belly only to end at the top of her womanhood.

He glanced up from between her legs, the scent of her arousal a beacon for him to follow. She laid there, bathed in flames, coated in his saliva, chest rising and falling like the waves of the seas, with her eyes closed and mouth partly open. Never had he witnessed anything more magnificent.

"Still with me, my beauty?"

Her eyes fluttered open to peek at him, a tantalizing smile on her lips. "Always."

With that, he dove into her. His mouth feasted on the juices coming from her womanhood. It was nothing like he expected. She tasted sweeter than honey, stronger than ale. He continued to lap and lick her, wanting more, needing more of her taste. For he swore, this was the nectar of the gods. A sweet ambrosia not meant for mortal men.

Her cries of pleasure doubled his resolve to ravish her with his tongue. To bring her such pleasure that she would always remember him. He flicked at her clit with his tongue, watching her keen to the ceiling above. Her hips rolled as he sucked at her folds with reckless abandon.

Each mewl and cry from her mouth, made him feel like a god. Each chanting of his name seemed to strengthen his body to continue. Even as he laid on the floor, propped up on his elbows, her legs over his shoulders, he felt no pain. As if her ecstasy flowed back into him. Instead of the constant ache of pain from his legs that clawed at his mind ceaselessly, for once it was silenced. All he was aware of…. was her. As if she invaded his body and possessed his mind.

If he was to die now, with her cries of pleasure filling his ears, he knew Odin would still allow him into Valhalla. For to bring this celestial being pleasure must be akin to the glory of battle. His blood roared in his ears, forcing him to continue, desperate for more. Her taste on his tongue was a craving he never knew he had until now. In the cradle of her thighs was his new favorite place to exist.

When she peaked, when her pleasure overwhelmed her and his name was screamed into the very heavens above, he greedily ate away at her, drinking everything down and still yearning for more. He licked at her womanhood through the aftershocks, her taste and scent all his senses wanted to know.

Once satisfied, he peered up at her, expecting to see her blissed-out, eyes closed and immobile. Instead what he witnessed made him freeze, unable to move.

She observed him with eyes that glowed like two full moons on the darkest of nights.

Where once he had been the predator, intent on devouring her, adamant to possess her…. now he understood. He was the prey. He was the one caught in the spider's web. He was the one now owned by her alone. Those glowing eyes entranced him, preventing him from looking away, sealing his mouth shut to call out. Unable to do anything but gawk at her in a bewildered, longing awe.

Slowly she leaned up, staring at him. He could not remember moving. All his mind could fathom were those eyes…. those glowing orbs that he swore had seen Valhalla, that galaxies swirled amidst, that stole his soul and branded her mark on him. When he next blinked, he was sitting, with her straddling his lap, in all her exquisite, naked glory. Her eyes beheld him with softness, her hands a gentle weight on his shoulders, even her bare breasts pressed against his chest, all of it alluded a power that could only be answered with reverence.

"Who…. are you?" He stuttered out.

She smiled; a captivating thing that made him want to worship her again but also sink his teeth into her bottom lip. "I have been called many things throughout my life. But tonight, those names do not matter. Tonight, I am simply y/n…. Tonight, I am here for you."

"Y/n?"

She purred as if the name stoked a fire within her. "Yes, my valiant warrior." Her hand tangled in his braids again, almost guiding his head to the side as her plump lips skimmed his jawline. "I have heard your prayers, seen your cries. I cannot give you your legs but I will give you what I can."

A quake raced up his spine. "What?"

"Shhhh…. surrender to me."

Hesitantly, she pressed her lips to his, as if giving him time to pull away. Instead, he felt a jolt shoot through him. He groaned, opening his mouth, allowing her to take control. He had thought her taste as he lapped greedily at her core was ambrosia, but her mouth…. oh, the taste of her mouth was both death and life combined. Something so intoxicating and potent, it stole the very breath from his lungs while a vitality bleed into his veins simultaneously. Her mouth held him prisoner, a melding of their lips and tongues that scorched him in every way deliciously possible.

"Do you feel it?" She whispered, before delving into his mouth again with an even greater need.

And he did. By this point, his legs should be screaming at him, especially with her weight on his thighs. Instead there was no pain, no ache. Only blissful tingles danced on his nerves and a fire stirred in his belly.

He wrenched his mouth from hers, eyes wide and panting as he gawked at her.

"I cannot heal you," she quietly said, eyes still glowing, "but I can take some of your pain in exchange for the pleasure you gave me."

Unexpected tears welled in his eyes. Pain, his constant companion since birth, now was barely a blip on his mental radar. He dropped his head to her chest, overwhelmed by the lessened pain and bliss coursing through his veins. As he thought about it, as he feasted on her, every lick, every caress of his tongue against her, pain drained from his body like slow droplets of water. It was only now he noticed, so caught up in her exquisite taste, that he easily could become drunk on and never wish to be sober again.

She spoke against his ear, authority and power ringing in each word. "Hear my words, Ivar the Boneless. Your fame will live on for generations. You will not be forgotten, in this life or the next. This is my final gift that I give you."

She drew his face back to hers, pressing her lips to his in a fiery, desperate kiss. Her words, her touch, her taste, everything felt seared into the very marrow of his bones. A burst of white light and ecstasy flooded through him, making him wonder for a second if he died.

When he opened his eyes, mind hazy as if intoxicated, it was to find himself alone. Frantic, he looked around. Yet there was nothing to show of her presence. Not even her discarded clothes lay on the floor anymore.

"No….no, no, no." He mumbled, refusing to believe she was gone…. but there was no denying the truth. Yet even as he sat there, tears still slipping down his cheeks, he could feel her presence with the absence of pain. He could still taste her on his tongue. Strength and vitality flowed through his crippled body in ways he had never felt before.

He was unsure how long he sat there before a quick knock on his door interrupted his thoughts. It opened to reveal Hvitserk who cautiously stepped in, eyes scanning the room.

"You alright, brother?"

Ivar wondered at the stupid question then realized he must be referring to the evidence of tears still staining his cheeks. Hastily he wiped them away on his sleeve. "What are you doing here?"

"We thought we heard something…. I came to check on you." He tilted his head and scanned the room once again. "Where is she?"

Ivar turned his face to the fire, without answering. How could he explain all that just occurred without sounding mad? That a glorious being chose him, used him for her pleasure and then gave him priceless gifts. No, no one would believe that. This was a memory, a present for him alone to cherish.

"You know if you need advice with pleasuring a woman, I am more than willing to help. They do call me the love guru." Hvitserk chuckled but immediately silenced at the stony glare Ivar sent his way. "Um, right. Well, I'll head back out." He started to walk away but stopped at Ivar's call.

"Wait!" When Hvitserk turned back around, Ivar swallowed thickly then continued. "What…. what color are my eyes?"

The flaxen-haired brother moved closer. "Um, blue…. a vibrant blue…. they almost look like they are glowing but with a veil over them. I've never seen them like that before. Are you feeling alright? Do you want help getting to your bed?"

Ivar smiled longingly, his chest squeezing at his brother's words. "No….no, I feel… I feel great, Hvitty."

"Um, sure. Do you need anything?"

"No, you can go back out to the feast."

"Okay, good night, Ivar."

Ivar did not answer, only just hearing the door closing as turned back to face the dancing flames. His mind drifted to thinking about her, his beauty.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something nestled between the furs. Carefully he maneuvered himself over to gently grab it, curiosity pushing him forward despite caution. Cradling it in his hand like a priceless treasure, he now could see what it was; a pendant, only the size of his thumb, but it was in the color and shape of a full moon and an etching that matched the tattoo of the flower between her breasts.

"Y/n." He whispered, as if prompted by something to say her name. To his surprise, the pendant glowed faintly for a moment, so reminiscent of her eyes before dulling back.

"Thank you." He slipped his necklace off with Thor's hammer and added the pendant. Once back on his neck, he lifted the pendant and kissed it, only to stifle a moan as the faintest hints of her taste tingled on his lips.

Feeling euphoric, he laid back on the pile of furs, pressing the pendant to his lips. He closed his eyes, trying to remember every moment with her. He prayed that he could see her once again, either in this life or in Valhalla. For he knew, there would never be another like her. He had no idea who or what she was, only the name she gave him. A name that would be branded upon his heart and soul for all eternity.

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oliviayamaoka · 3 years

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The Roseville Murders (Chapter 2)

Hi, just wanted to say I adjusted the plot slightly and will go into more detail with the story next chapter! This was a bit experimental and I wanted to write the growing relationship / rivalry between Y/N and Danny. I also wanted to write Y/N as a girlboss and to be just as witty as Danny!

Anyways, please comment any ideas or suggestions you may wanna see in future chapters! I have this planned out but would love any ideas or stuff I can add into the story! Tysm for reading!

It rained softly outside as you took a seat at your workplace. The desk was a bit cluttered with your art, notes, junk, and your papers regarding your current investigation.

One of the drawings on your desk was a sketch of Ghostface’s mask, attached to it was a few notes regarding the origin of the mask. Did Ghostface care for the history of it, anyways? You already theorized he was a narcissist who took pride in his work. Perhaps, he admired Edward Munch and his infamous “The Scream” artwork? Or maybe he based his persona off of it? You weren’t too sure but you did research the distribution and the company that made the masks. It wasn’t a particular popular company but it only distributed to the USA, Canada, and Brazil.

Ghostface didn’t seem too caring when it came to where he stabbed victims. As long as there was a lot of blood and something only he could perceive as art. And maybe you too. You felt excited, you already had a three year timeline. Maybe, you could get ahold of other states and ask if there’s been similar killings. Maybe even Brazil and Canada? You had to pinpoint a location and see if you could find just one name, any name.

Three years. Three countries. A part of you doubted he was Brazilian. Maybe Canadian? You weren’t so sure, you were pretty sure he was American. Y/N would probably have to go to the library tommorow to do research and use the slowly growing internet. Your research was suddenly halted when you knocked your sketchbook over.

Our slid a page. You kneeled down to pick it up, holding it as you examined the dark sketch. On the paper was a sketch of claws? No, they also looked like tentacles. Ever since the incident, you had dreams of these tentacle claws grabbing you and pulling you away from life as you know it. It must’ve been a sign of trauma or maybe it represented what happened through the nightmares? You slid it back into your sketchbook, deciding not to dwell on it. It would only make your room feel more depressing.

Beside your sketchbook was your leather journal. Y/N wrote everything in there, for mental health reasons. You included the incident and what Jonathan did for you. Your previous therapist said journaling your thoughts helped the healing process. It worked but journaling about how you killed your abuser was hell.

Your thoughts were suddenly interrupted when your phone rang. It was a chunky, black mobile phone you got about a week ago? Y/N reached for it and answered.

“Hello?” You answered, using your other hand to organize your desk.

“Hello?” A voice answered, it was a male by the sound of it.

“Hi, who’s this?” Y/N asked, paying no mind to the phone call as she started to put some of her stuff away. Art supplies.

“Who’s this?” He replied.

“Y/N L/N, am I who you’re trying to reach?” You asked, sitting back down.

“Ah, you’re no fun, detective.” He chuckled as you stopped, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion. Who was this?

“My apologies but, this is my personal phone. Can I ask who gave you this number?” You questioned him.

“Why does it matter, gorgeous? I know it’s you now.” He responded.

“Please don’t call me that. And yes, I am indeed a detective but I’d feel more comfortable discussing anything with you on my work phone.” Y/N said sternly.

“Oh, yeah… Detective L/N, huh? Think you’re some sort of hotshot because you’re new? Where did you come from? Washington? Gonna take more than the feds to catch me.” He said to you.

You listened intently and stopped for a moment. Catch him? Must be a stupid prank. Although, not a funny one since he had your personal phone number. An eyebrow raised as you looked at your notes on Ghostface.

“You still haven’t told me your name. Let’s not be rude, yeah?” You responded, being a little more cocky since you were off-duty.

“Awe, don’t tell me you forgot my name. I’ll give you a hint… I’ve been quite famous lately. In fact, I think you’ve taken quite the interest in me, Y/N.” The man teased. It was 100% Danny.

“I asked for a name, not an alias.” You said.

“Maybe after dinner, hotshot.” Danny said to you as you furrowed your eyebrows.

“I’m not in Roseville to play games. Either verify you are who you claim to be or quit wasting my time.” Y/N spoke with a stern tone.

“My last victim had three stab wounds to the throat. It was going to be two but their scream wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be. And they had a tattoo on their upper thigh. Bella Smith.” He said as you froze for a moment.

It was true. The latest murder victim was a middle-aged woman named Bella Smith who worked at a convenience store. She had multiple stab wounds but it was pretty much impossible to see she had three wounds on her throat just looking at photos of the crime scene.

“Okay and how did you get my number? I imagine the infamous Ghostface doesn’t have access to these types of things. How do I know this isn’t some sort of elaborate prank orchestrated by my coworkers?” You questioned.

“Honey, I am Roseville. Also sounds like you have experience with these kinds of things. You ever get humiliated like that?” Danny asked, grinning widely.

“No, it’s just a very logical conclusion. And why would you be talking to me anyways?” You asked him.

While you spoke to him, you quickly wrote down what he said and what he sounded like. You quickly speculated what his age may be, maybe 25?

“I keep tabs on the cops who are investigating my work and to be honest? They’re all stupid, it’s pathetic. Although, I noticed something about you. You come from one of the big cities, don’t you? You’re actually smart compared to those other pigs.” He said.

“Those pigs you speak of have tried their best in pursuing you. They have families too.” You responded.

“Really, huh? You’ve only been here three weeks? I think you should just trust me on this one because those other officers really don’t know what they’re doing. If you actually find out who I am, are they gonna give you credit? The newbie? A woman?” He asked.

“I don’t understand why gender is an issue. And why would they try to steal credit?” You questioned.

“They’re stuck in this shit hole city and I bet they could just really use a promotion right now. They want so badly to be the hero that arrests me… but first, they’ll let the freshly graduated detective do the work. It’s so easy to overshadow women in this world.” Danny said.

“Well, I don’t care. As long as you’re put behind bars.” Y/N responded.

“The bars at this station? I must say, your desk is quite cute. A bit plain but I like your style… interesting files too.” He mused.

“Huh?” You responded, furrowing your eyebrows.

“Your lil’ office at the station, I like it. This place has always been easy to break into. You noticed it too, didn’t you? Their security sucks and their morgue is just too damn small.” Danny said as you frantically looked around, shoving your shoes on.

“I’m going to call them right now and tell them you’re there. That was a stupid move on your part.” You said, practically yelling.

“So young and naive. I’ll be long gone.” He responded, chuckling as you hung up.

“Fuck, shit!” You said, quickly dialling the number to the police station.

You practically flung your door open, sprinting down the hallway and out through the front doors of the apartment complex after three flights of stairs. Your heart rate increased as you continued running down the sidewalk, feeling more frantic when there was no answer.

“Answer…!” You yelled, calling the emergency number.

“911, how can I help you?” A staticky voice answered as you continued running.

“I’m Detective Y/N L/N! Please inform the police station that there’s an intruder! He might be armed and dangerous! Do not touch anything since there may be forensic evidence!” You instructed.

“Oh—yes, right away, ma’am!” The dispatcher answered as you hung up, continuing to focus on your running towards the station.

Back at your apartment complex, there stood Danny with his own mobile phone. It couldn’t be traced back to him since it was stolen and he didn’t leave any DNA on it. If anything, it had the previous owners. Bella Smith. Your apartment complex had fire escape stairs outside your window. Easy enough, he thought. His outfit was black and had some stuff hanging off it. Strings? Ribbons? Danny was quite quick and extremely quiet when it came to climbing the set of stairs.

He reached your window, pulling it open gently and hoisting himself through, landing gently whilst kneeled down. For precaution, he had his knife gripped in one hand. This was purely for investigation and to see what you truly had on him. His head tilted curiously as he noticed your desk. Your art and notebook. His gloved hand reached out to your sketch of him.

Danny was truly impressed at how detailed and good it was. He read through your sticky notes and theories. Other than the fact he was blown away, he knew you were a threat since you successfully guessed his age range and height. Wait, his height? You did a careful examination of the footage he was in, looking at objects around him and his boots to correctly guess a height.

“What the fuck…?” Danny muttered as he looked at your notes.

The Scream by Edward Munch and a costume company? He skimmed over your notes and the psychological profile you built on him. He felt somewhat panicked since you were indeed no joke. His gaze averted towards your leather notebook. Eagerly, he grabbed it and opened it. Most of it was your thoughts and causes of your stress and anxiety. He stopped flipping through when he saw a darker page. It was dark because of the writing and how crumpled it seemed.

December 23rd, 1992

I was walking down an alleyway two weeks ago. It was cold so I had a jacket over my uniform. I suppose that’s why the man didn’t know I was an officer.

At first, I thought that he was going to try and rob me. It took me a while to realize that my money and belongings wasn’t what he was after. I suppose it would be appropriate to say that I was in shock for a moment. He never finished what he started. Despite being in shock, I was able to feel everything and the adrenaline only helped my rage.

Why? Why did this have to happen to me? After getting him off, I pulled my gun out and he stopped. I still remember the look on his face after I shot him. He was scared and pathetic, as he was in life. I don’t regret killing him. I never will. I just feel utterly violated. Never once have I been touched like that so violently. Is this what this fucked up world has come to? What if I didn’t have my gun and training?

He definitely did this to other women… he deserved to die. And I would do it all over again to him and to other men just like him. Of course, I had to call the police. They were going to charge me with manslaughter but they said that they would push this all under the rug, just as long as I never tell anybody. Did I contribute to corruption in the police force? This getting out would ruin everything. I don’t know but I do know that this was my gift.

Freedom was my gift for killing that man. It felt oddly exhilarating. I hope nobody remembers him, I hope his family know what kind of monster he was. Anyways, I’m being reassigned somewhere. They said they’ll give me my first investigation. In a smaller city.

Danny’s fingers trailed over the page. He felt angry and sad for you. That this happened to you. But, something arose in him when he kept re-reading that paragraph. You… enjoyed it? Behind the mask, he had a soft expression on his face. He imagined your beautiful face full of blood with you and your gun. He smiled gently as he kept the notebook.

He did indeed feel bad for you but he wasn’t satisfied with his limited knowledge of you. Danny decided to use this notebook of incriminating evidence to hold some leverage over you. Not only that but he figured he’d get to know you better if they had something interesting to talk to you about. Danny couldn’t help but grin when he thought about your journal entry and the sketches you made of him. So smart yet so naive.

Danny quickly took a look around your apartment to see all points of entry. He took a peak into your bedroom, it was neat and tidy. He seemed somewhat paranoid so quickly went back to your living room window, making his swift little escape. Not without taking some of your notes on him and your sketchbook.

About two hours later, you rubbed your eyes in frustration as another officer came to talk to you. There was a forensic team still investigating your little office space. Apparently, there was nobody here and your office seemed untouched. For about thirty minutes, you inspected any points of entry and tried to look for out of place shoe marks since it rained outside.

“Detective, are you certain it was the killer who called? We get prank calls a lot.” He said as you nodded.

“Yes, I’m certain. It was him, he knows I’m going to catch him soon.” You said as he nodded a bit.

“Okay, well, we’ll take it from here. Come early tommorow.” He said as you sighed.

“I will but please, don’t miss anything. I’m starting to think he was lying. It was him though.” You said as you turned, walking down the hallway towards the exit.

It seemed to be evening at this point and the rain stopped pouring. It was slightly humid but the city looked oddly beautiful when it was wet? You couldn’t stop thinking about your phone call with Ghostface earlier. Y/N already had some tech professionals try to track the number he called from and all of the information regarding the phone company. You’d have to wait two days at the latest for the results to come back.

As you walked through light puddles, you felt more and more tired. All the running and frantically searching for him was enough to just make you exhausted. It was all last-minute too. Y/N stopped dead in her tracks when she felt her mobile phone ring. You pulled it out of your pocket and answered it.

“Hello?” You asked, tired.

“Hey, gorgeous. Just wanted to apologize for my little deception trick earlier.” He responded as your eyes widened.

“Ghostface…” You responded, shocked that he had the courage to call you again.

“God, hearing that from you…” He said with a slight husk as you took a deep breath quietly to calm yourself.

“You know I’m close, don’t you?” You questioned him as he chuckled.

“Of course, I do… only these hands of mine can do wonders for you.” Danny said to you as you scoffed.

“You’re disgusting.” You say to him.

“Don’t lose your temper now, detective. There’s… things we should discuss.” He cooed.

“Things? Seriously?” You asked him, already tired of his bullshit.

“Yeah! Like, this lil’ notebook of yours! Really deep stuff… Victor Houston, was it? The serial rapist? Must’ve felt real good to put him down, didn’t it? Did it feel as good as you said it did in this thing?” He asked as you froze.

You probably let out a small whimper of shock as your hands trembled. Your heart pumped hard and fast. It was all you can hear as you felt your face heat out of pure embarrassment and shock. He… read your journal? This wasn’t good, this wasn’t good.

“W-What…?” You asked as he cackled.

“God, you’re so hot when you sound scared. Don’t be offended though, babe. You still sound real sexy in your cop tone.” He said as he continued.

“Yeah, I read all about the guy you killed. And how it was all covered up to accommodate you. Are you a star student or something? It’s hard covering up murders… or has it always been easy for you?” He asked.

“I-I, um… how did you get that…?” You asked him, trembling.

“You see, Y/N… we’re the same. You and I are too smart for Roseville. It’s just that I got the upper hand this time. While you rushed to the police station, I took a quick trip into your apartment.” He said as you let out a light gasp.

“Yeah, that’s right! I know where you live, I know where you’re from, and your number. I know who you truly are, Detective Y/N L/N.” Danny said mockingly.

“And what are you going to do with it?” You asked him.

“Always so straight to the point. I might give that annoying little journalist Jed Olsen. You’re trying to work with him, aren’t you? You mentioned in one of these notes… you also think he’s handsome.” He said as you covered your eyes.

You fought tears.

“Why? Why would you do this?” You ask.

“I should be asking you that. I’m a bit jealous you find someone like Olsen… attractive. He’s so boring, so normal, so… ugh, I hate talking about him. Still though, nice to know I have another fan besides him.” He said to you.

“Where are you going with this?!” You snapped as he chuckled darkly.

“I won’t tell anybody. Just as long as you halt your investigation for a while. I still want to have fun in Roseville here and well… get to know you.” He said.

“Go to hell.” You muttered.

“How original… so what’ll it be? I kinda need to know now since I’m also on a bit of a time crunch.” Danny asked you.

“W-What the fuck do you want me to do? Sit back and watch as you kill more innocent people?! I won’t let you.” You said with a venomous tone.

“What are you gonna do? Stop me behind bars?” He asked mockingly.

“Fuck you.” You said.

“I’m sure we will. But first, I just want you to sit back and not do anything stupid. We’ll see each other eventually. I’ll call you from another phone soon.” He said, hanging up.

You held your phone in disbelief and quickly made sure you had your gun. How the hell could you have been so dumb?! It was genius, leading you away from you apartment and finding such leverage against you purely out of luck. Your breath trembled as you walked back to your apartment, having your gun ready in your pocket as you did so.

#dbd x reader #ghostface x reader #the ghostface #ghostface dbd #danny johnson x reader #jed olsen x reader #jed olsen #danny johnson #dead by daylight x reader #dead by daylight

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unhinged-summer-fun · 3 years

Text

triptych

The Thief x Marcus Pike x F!Reader (22+)

chapter 1: the heirophant

series masterlist | taglist | previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: A thief, an artist, and the head of the Art Crimes program in the FBI all share a soul-bond. What could go wrong?

Series tags/warnings: Sexual content, art crime, light angst, art history and criticism, soulmate-identifying marks, slow burn, f!reader, a reader who doesn’t always do the right thing.

Chapter warnings: none.

More notes at the bottom! Referenced works linked in the text.

also on AO3.

Special Agent Marcus Pike wasn’t having a particularly good week.

To be perfectly honest, it was less depressing for him to think about this week being not good instead of the more brutally-honest alternative: that things hasn’t been any semblance of good since October, and the fiasco with his ex... well, calling her an ex-fiancee seemed a bit too overstated, considering their engagement lasted for all of three hours and ended over a text message and a blocked number.

Not that he was dwelling on it.

This specific week was a whole other story than his own, however. Thankfully.

Another piece of high-profile Baroque art had been stolen, this time from a gallery in Vaduz. While INTERPOL was investigating on location in Liechtenstein, he was being copied into every break in the case, meaning that by quitting time in D.C., he was still well past his bedtime, and new emails were coming in at one in the morning from the art theft agents on site.

Information about the painting taken kept him awake in addition to the regular bureaucracy of coordinating International Art Theft resources. It was from a lesser-known apprentice to van Dyck, and included studies of Charles I at the Hunt on the back of the wooden board, in addition to a long-debunked smudge which had caused quite a stir when art historians falsely claimed it had been a lipstick kiss. Still, the photographs the Vaduz gallery had supplied caught his interest.

For as long as he could remember, he’d been drawn to light. Specifically, light in art, until that interest had morphed into a general affection for art itself, and later a career in art theft prosecution. Whether it was a romantic notion, borne from the outline of the triptych shape that made up his soul-mark over his heart, or simply pure personal interest, Marcus didn’t know. But what he did know was that there was something about Baroque and even Rococo art that caught not only his eye, but his breath, at times. When he’d been a child, newly 18 and on a trip around the museums on the East Coast, he’d been... well, lucky wasn’t quite the word for it. He never considered himself lucky, no. He had a strange relationship with timing, is all.

He’d been one of the last people to lay eyes on the works stolen from the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum before they vanished five days later. He’d seen them on his birthday, and within a week they’d vanished, with a hundred little traces no one wanted to follow. Maybe that was the push to focus him into art history in college, and then criminal justice for his masters. Perhaps it was the frustration with the lack of real headway or investigation into the heist, and then the overwhelming coverage about the mafia trial happening in Boston following the scandal. Thirteen priceless pieces of art culture, gone forever.

The same helpless frustration had come over him in 2003, just over nine years since his 18th birthday, with the looting of the National Museum of Iraq in Baghdad. He knew much of the chaos had been brought from fear of American forces invading, which had made him second-guess his intention to get into federal criminal justice, until the FBI stood up the Art Crimes Team in offices across the country. His frustrations then had an outlet.

An outlet, which of course, only served to upset him even more. Most of the recovered works they did find in the ACT were damaged beyond repair, fences having been spooked into destroying the pieces rather than catching heat for selling them. Marcus had stood with his hands full of broken idols, and felt just as shattered a dozen different times.

The only hope he really ever held was looking in the mirror, staring down at the simple shapes that made up his soul-mark. His mother had been concerned about its never-changing status, despite him traveling all over for his job. He didn’t share that one time because he’d rather quite forget it. It never filled itself in, not how her mark had filled in to become brilliant orange poppies when meeting her future husband for the first time. Even after all these years, after he had died, that mark was still just as deep and rich, a garden where her love grew no longer.

His father had described the experience of his mark filling in quite simply: “I met her, and it felt like all the light I’d looked for had finally been let into my soul.”

It was no wonder he was so obsessed with artwork that focused on the play of light across stones, through trees, between clouds. It was no wonder he didn’t mind the east-facing windows in his tiny D.C. apartment, nor the heat which came with it. He kept crystal light-catchers and stained-glass art in the windows, sending rainbow prisms across his room, across his skin every morning. He’d look where the colors filled in the mark over his heart, and he’d hope and dream and pretend until he could get out of bed in the morning.

All this being said, the painting was that of a sunrise.

Two lovers had been painted over in the long grass at the focal point, hidden by paint strokes to keep their morning rendezvous a secret, even by this apprentice. For a piece of Baroque art, it wasn’t stingy with the colors, adding an almost-anachronistic hint of Impressionism to the scene. It was the kind of piece that Marcus knew he’d need a chair to look at, which made it a shame that he was sitting in a desk chair, looking over details on his laptop, while the painting could have been anywhere in the world.

At least his French wasn’t as bad as it had been before.

“The canvas dimensions match those of common briefcases, I doubt there’d be many opportunities at border checkpoints to uncover it, unless we asked every man in a suit in Europe to show us his paperwork.” The INTERPOL agent on the other line barked a laugh at his logic.

“Perhaps not that paperwork, no.”

Their teleconferences occurred several times a day with high-profile cases such as these. Most of the time, curators had no idea something had been taken from their galleries. The smarter burglars came prepared with forgeries, counterfeits ready to go while the actual art left with them out the door. The fact that this piece was noticed missing so soon gave the team an advantage, the theft having taken place less than a week ago - the start of the not a very good week.

Marcus may not have been a behavioral analyst, but he could tell when Jean-Pierre was frowning over something else.

“What is it? Something else come up?” Marcus asked, sipping his coffee.

“Yes,” Jean-Pierre said slowly, like he was still turning over the thought in his head. The fact he’d switched to English wasn’t a good sign. There was a brief moment where the INTERPOL agent didn’t speak, which made the hairs on the back of Marcus’s head stand on end. Jean-Pierre was typing in their WhatsApp thread, alleviating none of the anxiety which had sprung up in a particular office in D.C.

JP Benoit: Veduz had a Bernini.

Those four words made too much sense in their shared line of work, and Marcus sighed, rubbing at his temples. He tapped out a response back.

M Pike: Which Bernini.

JP Benoit: David.

“Fuck,” Marcus muttered to himself, standing from his desk but keeping an eye on his phone. No wonder Jean-Pierre couldn’t say anything out loud. “Fuck,” he repeated, realizing that he didn’t have enough coffee for this. Jean-Pierre still had that look of I haven’t gotten to the worst part yet, which made Marcus frown even deeper. “You think it’s him.”

“I don’t know why, it’s... smells like him.”

Marcus let out a dry laugh. “He doesn’t leave enough for us to smell.”

There was a crack theory among international art theft investigators, some kind of urban legend responsible for most of the unsolved thefts in the last thirty years. Marcus didn’t know if he believed it - most gangs and thieves were caught within a decade or so, braggarts all. This list of unknowns had sprouted legs and walked off with some of the most beloved paintings galleries had to offer. Fragonard’s The Swing. Francesco Hayez’ watercolor Il Bacio, and all three pieces of his Vendetta triptych. Aivazovsky’s Constantinople Sunset. Van Gogh’s unsigned but popularly-attributed Cafe Terrace at Night. Several Ladell still-lifes. A metric fuck ton of Henry Fox Talbot photographs. All of these pieces had several things in common - scenes of love, and scenes of light. Hell, Jean-Pierre had once told him the thief had walked off with five of Monet’s Charing Cross Bridge paintings. The most popular attribution was that of the thirteen pieces from the Gardner.

That last theory had been enough for Marcus to dismiss the concept entirely, and Jean-Pierre kept his conspiracies to himself after that.

Until this week, though.

“When can you get on a secure line?” Marcus asked, wanting to know more about the missing six-and-a-half-foot sculpture.

“Sometime tonight,” Jean-Pierre sighed, rubbing a hand over his face wearily. “You need some more sleep if you’re going to hear about this from me.”

“That I do.” Marcus sighed in the same manner, shaking his head. “Alright. If... if you think he’s taken what he’s taken, then I trust you. It’s your case. Send me everything you have on him and I’ll get spun up.” He didn’t apologize for his initial brush-off of the concept of such a prolific thief, but if they were going to catch them, they needed to be on the same page.

Jean-Pierre wisely didn’t send any of the profile for several hours, knowing Marcus was a light sleeper and practically lived on his phone in the middle of a new case. This allowed the agent to get at least a few hours of sleep in, shoddy as they were, what with the neighbor’s new baby being extremely displeased at existing most hours in the day.

Me too, kid, Marcus thought dryly, before passing out.

With at least the pinpointed moment of his bad week in the calendar, Marcus watched his bad week extend to a bad month. The Bernini, and Lovers at Sunrise, and now three more pieces from a private collector had all vanished, traceless save for the conspiracy. The photos provided by the collector - a rather unpleasant man from Menlo Park, New Jersey who considered federal investigations, in his words “gauche” - only made Marcus more suspicious. It felt like he was seeing things in a new light, when applying this masterful thief theory to the story.

He was good, Marcus knew. Too good. He didn’t pay off guards, didn’t break down doors or windows, he instead breezed past tripwires and security protocols with little more than a small gasp in the security system. Whoever it was, they were a real thorn in his side, and a walking migraine for all involved.

JP Benoit: We obviously can’t follow him. We have to trap him.

Marcus smoothed down the mustache he’d grown out of stress, too distracted to trust his normally-steady hands.

M Pike: I might have an idea.

He did more research, and didn’t bother querying online, or even over the phone. An agreement like this was bound to be sniffed out sooner or later, so keeping things on paper or simply in the air would be safest. He got approval from his superiors, and drove to a little loft in Shaw.

He almost missed the building three times, the colorful brick buildings and decorated industrial edifices catching his eye in the early-morning light. He was quite-but-not-quite undercover for this venture, a suit and jacket replaced by a hoodie and jeans, his briefcase now a worn blue backpack, and his shoes one of the pairs that still fit him from grad school. He still felt too exposed, like this. Everyone knew that feds walked every street in D.C., a fact he was a bit too aware of as he pressed the buzzer next to the...

What?

Next to the buzzer for number 313 was an empty triptych.

“Hello?” your voice came through, and Marcus found himself freezing up on the sidewalk. “Uhh did I order food?”

Marcus scrambled to respond. “No, no. This is uh.” Oh Jesus, why did he use his middle name for this? “Ithas.”

A few seconds passed in silence, presumably with you laughing behind the mute button on the speaker. “Come up, O Prometheus, and bring your thefted flame.”

He had no time to recover before the buzzer for the door sounded, and he caught it before it locked again. The inside of the building was just as... interesting as the outside. It must have been some kind of artist collective, common in the artsier enclaves in D.C. He was a little sidetracked, when ascending the tiled stairs, he caught sight of a massive and detailed mural of The Swing, though with considerably less clothes, and the mistress in a sex swing. He blushed furiously, and went up to the third floor.

The door to 313 was propped open by a large cement frog, and as Marcus drew closer, he heard a grunt and something dragging across the floor. Warily, he knocked on the spot below the numberplate, and poked his head in. “Hello?”

“Prometheus? That you?” You walked around the corner, dusting your hands off on a dirty blue apron. Your hair was in some kind of style that may have once been a bun, and your makeup looked left over from the previous night. Maybe meeting a creative type on a Monday morning wasn’t the best idea he’s had. You looked him up and down, expression morphing from curiosity to intrigue in a few seconds. “You don’t look like an Ithas.”

“It’s a, uh, it’s a middle name.”

Your eyebrows pushed up. “Ooh, codenames before coffee. You must be a fed.”

Marcus didn’t have too good of a poker face, especially around people as beautiful as you. You take in his nonverbal answer and laugh, throwing your head back.

“Oh, wow. Please, come in.” You disappeared around the corner you came from, and he stepped in. The murals on the walls in the hall bled into - or perhaps from - your apartment, which was an open-plan loft with lots of windows and natural light streaming in. Several canvases and half-formed clay sculptures sat around the space more like clutter than actual decor, but Marcus found his eyes distracted, bouncing from one beautiful thing to another, yet always skipping back to you. “Do you drink coffee, fire-stealer?”

Marcus grimaced. “You can just call me Marcus. And yeah, if you’re offering.” He sits at your counter, at the safest place that wasn’t covered in sketchbooks, supplies, and a slightly-terrifying pile of bills. He didn’t like knowing so much about people all at once, but his training had another idea.

“Marcus,” you said, tilting your head to the side and considering him again. He fought the urge to shiver at the way his name sounded on your tongue. “Yeah. Marcus. You seem more like a Marcus to me.”

“...Thank you?” he said, unsure how to respond. You barreled through with the rest of your train of thought.

“Sometimes people grow into their names, and sometimes their names become them. Middle names are a bit of a mystery, though. In Ancient Rome, middle names, or cognomen, were related to the branch of your family line you were raised by. Well, unless you were a woman. Over time, it became a means of honoring deceased relatives, or providing individuality in an aristocratic family that just named everyone John. Yet somehow, my mother came upon Titania, and decided that I needed to fill the shoes of Shakespeare’s queen of the faeries.” You pushed the coffee cup over to him, with a small tray of cream and sugar in little mismatched cups.

“You’d think fairy shoes would be small and thus easy to fill,” Marcus said, recovering and adding in probably a little too much cream and sugar to qualify his drink as coffee. He won a small smile from your lips, like he’d passed a test of some kind.

“Surely none as large as Prometheus.” You drank from your own mug, smiling as you sipped.

“I don’t think I ever let my name determine my path in life. I’m certainly no thief.”

“Certainly,” you echoed, before setting down your drink, a serious glint catching in your eye. “Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of Uncle Sam at my door? The tax thing was handled years ago.”

“I’m-I’m not that kind of fed,” he stuttered, fishing his badge out of his pocket. “Special Agent Marcus Pike, FBI Art Crimes Team. I’m the head of the International Art Theft squad, and it’s a bit of a story.”

Your once-open and playful expression had shadowed some. Marcus wished he could take back the words that dulled your sunshine. He floundered a little more. “I’m not here to arrest you for anything. In fact, I need your help. Oh, this is all backwards.”

“Hey,” you said softly, reaching over and stilling his flustered hands from where they were trying to pull on the stuck zipper of his bag. He looked up at you, all big brown eyes and pouty lips. It floored you for a moment, how little he tried to hide of his feelings. It made your fingers twitch, and something near your heart burn. “It’s okay,” you reassured him. “I’m not worried about all that. You work in art theft. I’m an artist. You’re trying to catch someone.”

He deflated, relieved you could infer as much. “Yes,” he said simply. The bag finally opened. “There’s been this... anomaly.” He scrunched his face up at the word, which you found endearing. His face made a lot of different and interesting lines, and you loved it instantly. He explained the theory about the thief, and pointed out the pieces attributed to him. There was a shadow investigation coordinated among INTERPOL, Scotland Yard, the FBI, and the Ministry of Intelligence in England. As he was the only one in the U.S., aside from the Director, who knew about this squad, he couldn’t tell you, but he could tell you what he needed, and hope that smart mind did the rest.

“So why come to me? I know it doesn’t look it, but I’m not a thief.”

The paintings and sketches and sculptures you were working on, or kept stored and in sight, all shared styles with other master painters. A cubist recreation of a blue sedan could have been a Picasso, if he’d ever seen a Honda Civic. The short wax ballerina flipping off the viewer was so close to a Degas sculpture that Marcus had to take another look just to be sure. The lovingly recreated and cheekily altered Fragonard in the hall had your mark on them as well. You were a painter of styles not your own. Your hands remained ill-at-ease unless they were mimicking another, rhyming with the past.

“I know that,” Marcus said. “What I’m asking is... I’d like to commission you. Three pieces, inspired by the pieces we think he took. To be safe, probably a sculpture, a scenic painting, and whatever other media you think would attract him.”

“You want me make art with the goal that it will be stolen,” you deadpanned, lacing your fingers together and resting your chin on them. “Am I getting this right?”

“We’ll have trackers built into the frames, the paint you use, the materials you need. If he takes them, we’ll be able to track him a lot better than the historic masterpieces he’s nabbed before.” You looked at him like he’s grown another head, because the idea was so obviously crazy that you had no idea how it would even work.

“I have rates,” you said after a moment, and he grinned. “I’m charging more because it’s the government.”

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t,” he said joyfully.

“And my process is unique and important to me. I’m not going to half-ass art that’s doomed to be hidden forever.”

“Of course.” He nodded, smiling so hard the corners of his eyes crinkled up.

“You really wanna catch this guy, don’t you?” you asked, tilting your head the other direction than before. Marcus didn’t correct you, but you could tell this was getting a bit personal for him, just by his reaction. “Alright, I’ll... I’ll see what I can do. Give me a week to think it over, and I’ll meet up again to see what you think.”

“We can’t meet at the office, unfortunately. This is a very off-the-books kind of investigation, and we’ll need to make it look like a legitimate commission.”

“Then breakfast.”

“What?” he asked, losing the thread for a moment.

“Then we’ll meet for breakfast next Monday. For all intents, it’ll look like two friends meeting for pancakes. You like pancakes, right?”

“I love pancakes...” he said, some kind of faraway look in his eye. He wanted to ask about the symbol on your call box, but the words died on his tongue at your sweet smile.

“This is my number,” you said, writing it on a scrap of paper nearby. “I’m awake pretty much all the time except when I’m not.” He exchanges your number for the envelope of pictures he’d brought for reference.

“This is all the pieces we know of, in case you need some inspiration.”

“Thanks.”

“There’s also $3,000 in there.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” He got up and looked around a little more, before awkwardly waving and making his goodbyes. He was nearly out the door when the mark on his chest surged and burned. He turned to look at you. You were watching him with another strange, curious look in your eye. He almost asked, again, but chickened out once more. “Did you—? Did you paint the—”

“Les Hasards heureux de la sex swing?” you answered, smugness apparent on your lips. “Yeah, about four months ago. You a fan?”

“I think I could be.”

“Have a good day, Marcus Ithas Pike.”

“And to you, Queen Titania.”

Authors Notes:

- I have only watched the Marcus Pike crumbs of the Mentalist. I don't give half a shit about the rest lmao. - Some of the pieces I reference are actually stolen, but not all. A lot of them come from @moodsworks's art she made of the Thief among his hoarde, which is the main inspiration for this whole nonsense. Please please go look, I'm eternally in awe and I'm hanging this piece in my home as we speak. - Prometheus was nicknamed Ithas or Ithax by a 5th century grammarian Hesychius. It's where the placename Ithaca comes from! - Titania is the name of the Queen of the Faeries in A Midsummer Night's Dream. Her husband's name is Oberon. You can tell where I'm going with this. - All the drivel about middle names is true. - The real-life FBI Art Crimes Team was stood up in 2004 because of the looting at the National Museum of Iraq in 2003. I'm pretty sure it's currently run by the same woman who started it then. I don't think there's an actual International Art Theft department, but governments often help one another out in these kinds of high-profile incidents. - Learn more about why the Gardner heist was such a headache in the Netflix docuseries This is a Robbery. - The referenced stolen painting in Vaduz is made up, as is the sex swing painting. - We meet the Thief in next chapter, and he's going to eventually have a name, sorry. If you want a fic where we don't ever know his name, I've got one of those too.

#marcus pike x reader #the thief x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #marcus pike/reader #the thief/reader #unhingery #self insert #dean mccoppin voice: ART!#triptych #marcus pike x the thief x reader

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ikeromantic · 3 years

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Delicious (SFW edition)

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfiction taking place at the end of Ch. 13 in the romantic route. Approx. 1600 words of FLUFF. Spoilers, sort of?

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Tears of Joy

There were three things in this world Mitsuhide enjoyed above all else. One of them was a hot bath, and one of them was teasing his little mouse. To have both in one place at the same time was decadent.

Right this moment, his little one was sinking into the hot water, her expression one of pure pleasure. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, cheeks faintly pink. A sheen of sweat covered her brow from the steam. She looked . . . delicious.

Of course, she chose the moment he licked his lips to open her eyes. “Mitsuhide! You - you’re staring at me!” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Little one, I’ve seen you naked several times now. Why are you suddenly shy?”

“I - you - I feel like a real mouse about to be eaten up by a very happy cat.”

“Kitsune,” Mitsuhide corrected.

She blinked. “What?”

“About to be eaten by a very happy kitsune.”

She giggled. “Yes, I guess that.”

“You have such a beautiful smile, my love.” He watched her expression shift from laughter to charmed surprise.

“I don’t know what to say when you say things like that.” She touched her face, where the bruise still discolored her skin. “Especially right now.”

Mitsuhide shook his head. “Silly little mouse. As if such a fading mark makes you any less.” He shrugged off his clothes and let them pool at his feet.

Whatever she had been about to say was reduced to a sharp exhale at his sudden nudity. Her eyes went wide as she tried to fix her gaze on a point somewhere above his chest.

“Is there something wrong?”

“N-no! No, of course not! You’re. Just. Naked. All the way. Naked.” She swallowed.

Mitsuhide grinned. “I did plan to bathe with you this time . . .” He *might* have posed himself to best display his . . . attributes. “Should I wait until you finish instead?”

She licked her lips and shook her head. “I - you - just get in and quit teasing me!”

“What fun would that be, little mouse?” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled so wide his cheeks hurt. Perhaps never. He walked slowly to the edge of the tub, using his dancer’s grace to draw out the movement. It was worth every second to see the stain on her cheeks darken and the desire in her eyes grow.

He stepped into the wooden tub and sank down into the hot water. A little groan of pleasure escaped him as he felt the tension melt from his legs and back. “If there is a heaven, little mouse, this is in it.”

She smiled. “I wish I could introduce you to the baths in my time. And hot showers!”

“Mmm, perhaps one day. Your friend seemed to think these . . . warm-holes? Will come again.”

“Sasuke did say as much. I don’t know how sure he is though. I mean, what if we went to my time and got stuck? Or what if I went but it wouldn’t take you?” She chewed at her lip, anxious over all the possible things that could go wrong on such a trip.

It was too adorable, Mitsuhide thought, and put his arm around her. He pulled her next to him and placed a kiss on her head. “Don’t worry about things that are not problems. We have enough ahead of us.”

His little one laughed softly. “True enough. I’m sure Nobunaga and Hideyoshi will have plenty to say when we get home.”

“Yes, those two for certain. But I don’t want to talk about them tonight. Tonight . . . there is only you, and I.” Mitsuhide ran his hand down her back, glorying in her soft skin, and the way she leaned into his touch.

“Oh? Are we going to talk about us?” She batted her eyelashes at him.

He nodded. “We will. But first-” He settled his hands on her hips and lifted her around to sit in front of him. “Let’s enjoy our bath.” He cupped water in his hands and poured it over her hair, running his fingers through it. “I will start with the top of you, and work all the way to the bottom.”

His fingers worked their way into her hair, massaging her scalp, rinsing her hair until it shone like a curtain of silk. Then he worked his way down her back, her chest, her legs. Touching her was pure torment and bliss. She was soft and precious in his arms. And her little sighs of pleasure made him feel a deep satisfaction.

When he finished, she laid against his chest, her eyes half-closed. “That felt . . . “ She sat up. “It’s like you know every spot on my body that feels good. Places I didn’t even know could feel good!”

“Then I am excelling in my study of you,” Mitsuhide smiled. “I intend to make pleasing you an art form. One that I will master, in time.”

“I think you already have,” she laughed. “Now it’s my turn to wash you.”

Mitsuhide hadn’t intended her to return the favor, but he had no intention to refuse either. He felt himself relaxing as she rinsed his hair, and as her hands traveled down his shoulders and back, tension he did not even realize he held released. His little one knew all of his spots too, he thought.

When she pulled his foot up to scrub it, he wriggled out of her grasp, frowning.

“Mitsuhide! Are you . . . ticklish?” She reached into the water for his foot again.

“I think that foot is clean enough.” He refused to admit anything.

“Then give me the other.” She held out her hand.

This was going to be difficult, he thought. But he was a master of deceit. Surely he could withstand a little scrubbing on the soles of his feet without reacting. Mitsuhide gave her his foot.

And immediately tried to pull away again as she purposely! Purposely! Tickled it! But his little mouse was ready this time, and she kept her grip on his leg, laughing wickedly as he squirmed.

“Admit it! You are ticklish! Mitsuhide!”

“Ah-hahaha, ah-alright, yes! I am. Now please, little one . . .” He tried to give her a serious look, but his lips betrayed him by turning up at the edges.

“Good to know you have at least one weakness.” She smiled widely and leaned forward to kiss him.

Mitsuhide pulled her close, enjoying the touch of her soft lips. When she released him, he shook his head. “You will be the end of me, little mouse.”

When they were dry and dressed, the innkeeper delivered dinner to their rooms. They hadn’t asked for anything special, but several trays of food were set out for them as if this was a celebration. Mitsuhide raised an eyebrow at the man, but he only bowed and then left.

“This looks so good!” The chatelaine’s tummy gave a little warning rumble.

“It seems our innkeep expected your appetite,” Mitsuhide teased.

She blushed. “I can’t help it! We only had tea at breakfast . . .”

Mitsuhide ruffled her damp hair. “Then let me watch you enjoy our dinner.”

They sat down to eat. There was grilled eel and pickled radish, poached fish with carrots, spicy cabbage and rice . . . and his little one’s favorite, a tray of sweets. Plums in sauce, red bean paste buns, and fresh strawberries. Clearly the innkeeper had paid attention to the chatelaine’s preferences.

He let her pick what she liked, smiling as she went for the buns first. The cabbage and rice were the easiest to eat, so Mitsuhide chose that for himself.

“Do you like spicy things,” she asked, watching him take a bite.

“I told you, I don’t taste anything anymore. It doesn’t matter to me if it is spicy or not.”

She frowned. “I wish there was something you liked to eat. Then I could make it for you.”

“Little one. I would like anything you made me. Anything at all.” Mitsuhide tried to cheer her up but it didn’t work.

“But you wouldn’t really like it. It wouldn’t matter if it was good or awful . . .” She sighed.

Mitsuhide hadn’t considered his lack of taste important. He remembered - vaguely - enjoying certain foods as a child. Before . . . He cleared his throat. He was about to tell her he’d try to taste what she made when she spoke up.

“You know what, though? I can just make you all sorts of things. And maybe, eventually, you’d get your sense back!” His little mouse smiled at him brightly.

He nodded, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps. You will have plenty of time to try out your recipes when we are married.”

She dropped her chopsticks. Her mouth opened a little as if to speak, but no words came out.

“You are my fiance . . . are you surprised at the idea of marrying me?” Mitsuhide wasn’t sure of her reaction. He remembered how thoroughly she’d rejected the idea when he asked for Nobunaga’s permission. Things had been different then but . . . perhaps she wasn’t willing?

“I - no! I mean, Mitsuhide! That’s . . . do you mean to marry me for real? I thought, I mean, you just - when you said that - it was just . . .”

Mitsuhide stood and went to her side of the table. He sat down beside her and took her hand. “Little one, there is no other woman I would have by my side. I want you to be mine. To make my home yours. To bear our children. To . . .” he ran a finger along the curve of her jaw. “Kiss me every day, with the passion we share now.”

Her lips trembled and then she was in his arms, kissing him breathless. Kissing him as if there was nothing in the world but the two of them.

Next: Hero's Welcome

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen mitsuhide #mitsuhide akechi #otome guys #otome #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff

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ponds-puddle · 3 years

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Stargazer ~{9/??}~

word count- 1615

fluff ahead // not my art

BT Masterlist!

<< previous ... next >>>

“So now you’re dating the homeless man?”

You scoffed at your friend, “For the last time, he’s not homeless.”

She handed you the bulbs of your newest nursery addition, white stargazer lilies. You took a moment to hold it in your hand, feeling it’s every emotion. Flower bulbs always had their own unique emotion. This one brought a bright fluttering feeling in your chest, imagery of a blossoming love, sweet pure innocence and…

You frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

Your hands closed around the bulb, pressing it to your forehead in sympathy.

“It’s sad.”

Shinsou waited at the train station for you once again tonight. You tried to give him a warm smile, but you couldn’t get the sad flower out of your mind. He approached you, a concerned look in his brow.

“Are you okay?” his hand reached up to push your stray hairs behind your ear. You nodded lightly, but his eyes never left you.

“Yeah,” you tried to shrug it off, “We were planting bulbs today.”

“And?”

It became clear to you that he wouldn’t leave it alone until you told him, so you sighed and said, “One of the flowers was sad.”

He gave you a sympathetic smile, kissing your forehead soothingly. People walked passed you, looking at you in discontent, but neither of you paid any mind to them.

“Why were they sad?”

“That’s what is bugging me!” you said exasperatedly, “When I held it, it was warm. It had such a beautiful vision of growing. But it was sad. It wasn’t clear at first, but once my mind picked up on it- it was decaying. Dead roots and insects eating away at it. I know that we would never let the poor thing end up like that, but I’ve never held such a sad beauty like that.”

Shinsou listened to you intently. You liked that about him. He never made you feel silly for things like this. He thought of plants like humans, just as you did. Or at least he understood your feelings towards them and matched you. He made you feel warm.

“Sorry,” you laughed lightly, “We should get back to the house, I’m sure Nakoma is dying to see you.”

“Firstly,” he said sternly, “You had to reason to apologize. I like hearing about your work and your quirk. I don’t want you to think you have to withhold all those things from me. I enjoy hearing it.”

You giggled at his strict speaking before nodding, “Yes sir. And secondly?”

“I- Did you just call me sir?” a small glimmer of a blush traced his cheeks, but he shoved it back down as fast as he could.

“Secondly?” you sang innocently, pulling him towards the train doors so you wouldn’t miss it. Shinsou allowed you to pull him along.

“Secondly,” he coughed awkwardly, trying to settle the slight arousal he felt from your words, “Secondly. I can’t wait to see her either.”

You watched with amused eyes as Nakoma ran happily to Shinsou, rubbing her body against his leg. He greeted her in a chirpy tone, leaning over to pick her up. She curled in his arms, purring loudly at his embrace.

“Someone should write a love story about you two,” you said bitterly, kicking off your shoes and passing the threshold to your house. Shinsou’s laughter could be heard from the living room as you plopped onto the couch.

“Oh come on,” he chuckled, setting the cat down before joining you, “Stop being so jealous of your cat.”

You turned to him, “I am not jealous of my cat.”

“Of course you’re not,” he said, but you knew that he didn’t believe his own words.

“I’m not jealous of my cat!”

“You so are!” he loudly laughed, “But it’s okay. I get it. She is very cute.”

You gapped at the boy beside you, “Are you saying I’m not cute?”

He stuttered, his mind turning into a giant thought bubble. You snorted at how animated his nonverbal reply was.

“I can’t believe that you think my cat is cuter than me.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You’ve kissed me, but you still think the thing that coughs up furballs is cuter than me,” you argued teasingly, “She licks her own butthole!”

“I cannot believe we are having this argument right now,” he exclaimed.

“I can’t either!” you tried to hold back your laughter, “And here I was thinking that you liked me.”

“I-”

He was cut off by you shaking your head sadly, “Really did it to me, huh? All this time together… just for the cat.”

“Okay,” he laughed, “That’s enough now.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you said with a shrug, “I’m not the one attracted to a cat.”

“I’m not attracted to your cat, Y/N.”

You looked up at Shinsou after hearing how his voice had fallen. His eyes were entirely focused on you, bringing a bright blush to your face.

“I was joking,” you said bashfully, “I was just playing with you.”

Shinsou watched the way your shoulders tensed up at his gaze so, with a small chuckle, he whispered, “You’re so cute.”

“Really?” you asked sheepishly as a small smirk struggled not to form, “Not my cat?”

“Your cat is cute, yes,” he said. You were surprised by the way his tone didn’t change, “But you’re much cuter.”

You smiled happily leaning into his body, “You’re full of shit.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes at your bratty behavior, “Alright, calm it down.”

You giggled as you felt his arms wrap around your body and pull you towards him. You happily readjusted yourself to straddle his lap. He hugged onto your waist, pulling you against his chest. You sweetly pecked his neck, feeling the way his body tensed against yours.

“Wait,” he whispered softly, causing the two of you to break apart.

“I’m sorry was tha-”

Shinsou pressed his lips against yours hastily. A static shock of surprise shivered down your spine, but you melted into his touch anyways. His tongue licked against your bottom lip, sweetly asking for entrance. For the first time, you didn’t have the power in you to argue with him. Instead you obediently granted him passage, feeling the way his lips so easily dominated your own. Your hands fell to his chest, absentmindedly undoing the buttons of his shirt. There were about four left before his hands reached out to grab yours and the kiss was broken.

“What-” he drew in a shaky breath at the feeling of your fingertips grazing across his chest, “What are you doing?”

His eyes met yours, almost losing it all merely at the sight of your dazed expression.

“I just want a little more,” you whined, unable to stop yourself. Feeling his touch was dangerous to you. All your inhibitions were thrown to the wind the second he held you, and you weren’t sure if he knew the effect he held on you- but it was impossible to break free from. Not that you wanted to.

Shinsou gulped at the sound of your needy tone. He had never heard you sound like that, and the fact that he knew that he caused it only fueled the fire. So he let his hands fall from yours, instead gripping onto the outer part of your thighs.

His eyes watched your every move, the adrenaline pumping through his veins so rapidly he thought they were going to burst. Your hands gently pushed back his shirt, off the corners of his shoulders. The lighting accentuated every slight curve of his body, his collarbones glistened like a freshly cut diamond. You wondered if you would ever feel this amount of emotion for someone again. The hope burned your skin as his hands traced your jawline, redirecting your gaze back to his eyes.

I want this.

I need more.

“You’re quiet,” he chuckled, brushing his thumb against the curve of your lips, “I don’t think you’ve ever been this quiet.”

Thousands of words fluttered in your chest. The moment’s air suffocated your lungs, blocking the ability to speak.

He laughed, “I must be hot if you’re this quiet.”

You let out an unamused snort, rolling your eyes at him. Instinctively your hand raised to push his shoulder, but the amount of force was feeble. His body continued to stand against yours as if it was made of stone.

“Ah yes, who wouldn’t be turned on by the amount of ego you have?”

Shinso laughed at you, “So you’re saying I am hot?”

“I’m saying you’re annoying,” you corrected, but the way your hand dragged against the nape of your neck answered his question. Shinso’s head rolled back at the feeling, marveling in the emotions that rolled off of your body and onto his.

“You like that I’m annoying,” he boasted as he dropped his forehead down to yours, leaning against you with a cocky smirk, “You can’t say that you don’t.”

“I like that you match my energy,” you confessed, “I like that you don’t expect me to be different than I am.”

His eyes widened at your confession, but when he felt your grip tighten against him he drifted back into himself, “So you’re saying you like me?”

You groaned in aggravation at his never-ending cockiness, pulling yourself away slightly. Despite how you moved, you knew that you wouldn’t get far. Shinsou’s movements were immediate, pulling you back to his chest. With one hand caressing your chin and the other pressing the small of your back into himself, he kissed you once more. The way you melted into him and swayed perfectly in tune with his own motions felt almost like the most elegantly written poetry.

///

I posted this on my main account on accident so I had to fix it oops

taglist (just ask!): @tiny-is-sad-100 @pansexualproblemchild @delicatefleur @just-a-girl-with-alot-of-issues

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subbing-for-clones · 3 years

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The New Apprentice Part 1

Maul x Sith!Reader

A/N: Au where Mother Talzin gives Maul his legs back instead of cybernetics cause why not she's a God damn necromancer witch queen. Takes place after Savage and Maul are united but Maul trains Savage for a while instead of going all out right away like Canon dictates in the show.

Summary: Maul senses the presence of a force user who is strong with the dark side. Desperate for any alliance he can gain to destroy both the Sith and the Jedi he sets out to gain a second apprentice with his brother at his side.

Word Count: 3868

WARNINGS: depictions of slavery, abuse, reader is bound, violence. I’m gonna wreck canon in this series.

NEXT MASTERLIST

A crimson Zabrak male stood before an expansive viewport on the separatist space station he and his brother had infiltrated and overpowered. Savage, the much larger of the two brothers, grunted happily at the abundance of wealth he had found locked in a safe. Maul's stoic form didn't waver at this realization. Instead, he closed his eyes, something gnawed at him.

"Brother, what is it?"

"Can't you feel it... the anger, unaccompanied by fear. Pure, seething, white anger." His eyes opened glowing. Savage reached out into the force feeling now what his brother had referred to. "Who is that?" He questioned. Pacing back to his brother's side, examining the mountain of credits Maul hummed.

"I'm not sure but I get the feeling this will be useful to us and that we will need these credits to find out."

Collecting their wealth, they commandeered one of the docked transports and made their way to the planet the unfamiliar force signature pulled them to. They found themselves in an independent system in the outer rim. Approaching the slaving empire on the planet of Zygerria.

"It's stronger now." Savage growled.

"That it is... I don't recognize it. It's definetly not my former master or his new apprentice."

"It’s not the nightsister who betrayed me either."

"Perhaps a new ally..?" Maul wondered. "We will need an army to accomplish our goals and with the growing number of dark force wielders it's better to have them on our side rather than against us."

Answering only with a grunt Savage watched with his brother as they drew nearer to the planet.

They landed on a docking platform as close to the source of this reverberation as possible. The surroundings were dry; dusty tan and muted burnt red adobe structures surrounded them. The open market place was bustling with sellers and buyers of various goods from art to food, animals and of course to slaves. Maul seemed unphased buy it all but Savage looked around him in a mild bewilderment, never having seen anything like this before in his life.

Off in the distance Maul could sense what they were searching for. He instructed his brother to inquire at a nearby weapons dealer about any newfound lightsabers and to meet him back here when he finished. Giving him a hefty handful of credits and sending him on his way after Savage nodded in understanding.

Maul approached a slave dealer, taking in his 'inventory' until his sight fell upon a woman. She was bound with more precaution than anyone else by far. On her knees with her ankles shackled tightly to the ground. Her wrists bound behind her back, tethering her to another point of security, keeping her in the position. Rope wrapped around her form to keep her completely immobilized. She was gagged, blindfolded and had thick coverings over her ears to ensure almost complete sensory deprivation. The only things that flowed freely were her locks and her rage through the force. She ever so slightly twitched her chin up to Maul's direction.

"What are you in the market for today my friend?" The Zyggerian slaver asked with a smile, draping his arm around the Zabrack's shoulders. "I've got all around servants, navigators, mechanics, laborers and of course we have an array of exotic beauties." The man had gestured to everyone he held but the woman Maul sought.

Maul never took his eyes off of her. "I wish to see this one's eyes." His voice was calm and velvety.

"I'm sorry sir that one's not for sale. She's proving difficult to break, very feisty this one. She's only out here so I can keep an eye on her."

"If credits are your concern, understand they do not concern me. If she proves to be what I seek I will take her off your hands leaving you with one less problem and very full pockets." The Zygerrian smiled a wide devil's grin. "Well alright then."

He readied his whip and removed her blindfold, gag and muffs. The woman squinted and silently hissed at the bright, unforgiving sun. Hardly glancing at Maul, she turned her attention towards her capture. "I'd eat you alive starting at your feet if you didn't smell like bantha shit," she spat. Scowling, he readied his whip and struck her twice sending her body into a convulsing fit from the electric shock.

Still twitching the slaver grabbed her face and turned it towards Maul. He took a step closer and dropped onto one knee so he was eyelevel with her. Her eyes were a bright E/C but a deep gold peeked out behind her pupils like the eclipse of the sun behind a moon. They stared into each other for a full minute only blinking with the occasional spasm from the aftershocks of the whipping. Chest heaving, panting heavily. He could feel the darkness permeating from her soul with a violent intensity.

"I'll take her."

"Are you sure?" The man asked cautiously.

"What’s your price."

After negotiating the slaver reapplied her blindfold and gag, leaving her ears uncovered. Accepting the small fortune, he unchained her and handed over her leash to her new master. Keeping an almost kind hand on her shoulder Maul guided her to the crossroads where Savage waited, eating some kind of exotic meat. The woman's head turned towards the smell, stomach growling but maintaining composure.

"Were you successful in the task I gave you Savage?"

"Yes brother, he had one and it is colored like ours. I can only imagine it belongs to her."

"Good. Let's get out of this place and get... better acquainted."

The woman almost tripped over her chains a few times always being steadied surprisingly gently by one brother or another until the three of them boarded their ship.

Once safely boarded and on their way back out to space Savage was the one to remove her blindfold and gag. She looked almost taken aback by the sheer size of the man in front of her. He raised his hands showing he was unarmed and turned behind him to offer her some of the food he ended up saving.

"I'm not going to hurt you if you don't try to hurt me."

He and his brother watched as she extended her hands, still bound in front of her she took it slowly, sniffed it, sat on the floor and tore into it hungrily. Maul cut the chains from her legs with a quick swing of his saber before he crouched down to her.

"What is your name girl." That sultry voice almost soothed her. "And how did you come to be captured?"

You spoke your reply softly, your eyes met his as you licked the juices from your fingers. Seeming less feral now you continued. "I had a vision of you coming for me in the market. So, I allowed them to take me. Months I've waited for you to come for me..." you moved to your knees and bowed your head still bound at the wrists. "Master, I wish to serve and to be trained by you."

Savage looked kind of surprised but Maul, eyes lit, looked more curious. "Who was your master before?"

"I've never had one." You answered looking back up at him. "Consider me... self-taught. When I was a child, a jedi came to my village and decided they wouldn't take me because they feared I would fall to the dark side,” smiling at the obvious irony.

"How did you come by a saber then?" He inquired further.

"A being, mostly Droid but still organic leaves his dwelling unoccupied quite frequently. He collects them so it wasn't hard to take. However, it was blue when I first obtained it."

Maul thought for a few minutes while Savage cut the bindings around your wrists. You nodded your head in thanks.

"Why do you want me as your master?" Contemplating for a moment before you answered him.

"I can sense your power, your talent and knowledge I can also sense that you will do great things. Alter the fate of planets and great clans, that you will rain hell down on the Jedi. I wish to be a part of that. I believe I've learned all I can on my own, without a hand to guide me I have no purpose. I'm ready for one."

"Do you believe you're worthy of being my apprentice?" He paced around studying you. Covered in grime and dust, hair matted in neglect from your previous ungracious host. You chose your next words very carefully. Although truthful you could tell this was a test.

"I believe the force is strong within my spirit but I have much to learn both with my connection to it and especially with my lightsaber forms. I believe I would be incredibly lucky to call you my Master." Maul chuckled darkly and leaned down to you, teeth bared and growling.

"I will accept you as my apprentice alongside Savage. I am convinced for now that you wouldn't be foolish enough to lie to me. But if it comes to light that your intentions are different than that of which you have just confessed..." he sparked your lightsaber, red glowing on both your faces, growling "I will not hesitate to cut you down."

You bowed your head again. "Thank you Master." Maul handed you your weapon. "Savage, set a course for Dathomir, the wilds of it, so we may assess this new apprentice." Maul strode to the back of the ship beckoning you with two fingers to follow him.

"These shall serve as your quarters for now. Be sure to scrub that filth off of you and get rid of those rags. They don't suit you. I will not have an apprentice that looks like she rolled in a gutter.”

"Yes, thank you Master." He left you to it with one last cautious glance.

You stood in your room and took it all in. You were out of that hell hole and embarking on a new adventure. You allowed a smile to grace your face. Finally, you thought to yourself, I'm not alone anymore. Looking around your room you saw there were two bunks, the bottom being unmade and messy, assessing you will be sharing it with the larger of the two. The other apprentice. Perhaps he will be someone you could relax around. A refresher was connected to your room. Stripping out of your torn scraps, you practically moaned in relief at the hot water that rained down on your body. A knock on your door startled you. Your fellow apprentice called out to you. Noticing the glass was much too fogged for him to see anything you opened the door from where you stood with a flick of your wrist. You could just barely see the outline of his massive form carrying something black.

"Hey so we don't have any women's clothes right now but... this should work for you in the mean-time." Sensing a tone of embarrassment, you called in a soothing voice. "Thank you, I appreciate it. I'll be out soon. I look forward to training by your side." You couldn't see but he smiled when he left the room. He had his brother but it had been a long time since he had a friend.

You lightly hopped out of the shower and dried yourself. Examining the new scars you got during your time on Zygerria. Sighing you picked up the black tunic that Savage had left for you. You looked yourself up and down in the mirror. It was awfully low-cut, reaching almost your navel but not quite. Its end reached your mid-thigh and you managed to fasten it with the belt tightly enough so your womanly features were covered well. It smelled nice.. in a musty masculine way.. You opted to let your hair fall freely without much else option.

Hanging your saber from your belt silently swearing to never part with it again, you made your way back to the common area where you found your new Master and Savage sitting at a small table eating something that looked meaty and smelled spicy. Your mouth watered again waiting in the doorway. "Come join us apprentice, there's no need to hover." Maul called out without looking up at you. Savage flashed you a warm and toothy grin obviously excited to have a new presence.

The only free seat was between the two, forming a triangle, around the small round table. A full plate already served for you and waiting. You didn't hesitate a second more and quickly took it. Whatever the dish was tasted incredible. Your eyes rolled as it passed your tongue.

Maul eyed you and looked down at his own dress before shooting his brother a death glare. Realizing you were in fact wearing your master's shirt a blush dusted the tops of your ears but you stayed stoic knowing it was better than what you came in and much better than being nude.

Savage chuckled amused "Sorry brother but we don't have anything for her and my clothes are way too big."

You interjected readying for a verbal assault at least. "I'm sure I could sew something of Savage's to fit if it would please you.." Maul raised a hand to silence you shaking his head. Once he swallowed what was in his mouth, he turned to you. "Don't waste your time, it's fine. Just caught me by surprise is all. It'll do until we can get you something of your own." He refocused on his dinner. Savage smirked just barley noticeably.

"...Thank you Master."

After dinner Maul suggested that everyone got some rest while they could, they would arrive at Dathomir in 7 standard hours. You and Savage walked back to your shared room where he took is normal bottom bunk and you leapt up to the top. Covering yourself in the blankets an anxiety rose in your chest. After sitting in the dark in an eerie silence Savage sensed your distress.

"Are you alright? You smell... anxious."

"I expected Maul to be... harsher, cruel towards me. But he caught me from falling in the market when I was bound and blinded. He gives me a warm bed; I'm wearing his clothes for fuck’s sake. It's not what I prepared for so now I have no idea what to expect." He thought about what you said for a while.

"My brother was... well... Historically Sith have always been cruel to their apprentices but they also nurtured them and groomed them to take over Lordship when they died. His master was... not like that. I imagine his whole life was like what you dealt with on Zygerria, maybe worse. Then he was discarded and forgotten after a nearly fatal injury. I don't think he wants to be like that."

You stayed mute while you contemplated what your fellow apprentice had told you. "I mean it's kind of unconventional taking a second student anyway, I suggest not forming any expectations so you won't be caught off guard." He paused. "Listen I uh... I'm glad you're here."

You poked your head over the side of your bunk to look at him. Sporting a slight smile, "I'm glad I'm here too. Thank you Savage I do feel better... Goodnight."

~~~~

Maul stared at the ceiling, laying on his back allowing his mind to wander. Hours had passed since he sent his two apprentices to bed. The thought of you wrapped in his tunic, asleep above his brother gave him a wanting feeling. Almost jealous of Savage in a confusing way. Then he thought about how you looked completely and utterly bound out in the hot sun where he had found you. Something stirred in his groin.

Stop. Control yourself. He thought.

The thought of teaching a woman was slightly daunting to him. Although he had interacted with women in the past, he had never just had one around. Despite having an unrelenting connection to the dark side, you were uncharacteristically timid the whole evening. Much different than the one who told her slaver 'I'd eat you alive starting with your feet if you didn't smell like bantha shit' he smiled to himself.

Savage seemed to like her. He doesn't like anyone. His brother was the one he had worried about when he discovered his to be apprentice was a female. His species didn't exactly have a 'good relationship' with their women and his brother had specifically been hurt and betrayed multiple times by them. But so far he seems to like her. Not too much, I hope. The thought of them together made him angry all of a sudden. Standing he stalked to the room you shared with the golden Zabrak. Opening the door discreetly he peered inside.

First, he saw his brother as usual sleeping on his stomach face down snoring softly. Looking up he saw you and his breath caught in his throat. Your hair was a mess but a beautiful one. Strands draped every which way. You also slept on your stomach but faced the door Maul stood in. One leg extended the other, closer to him, hitched with your knee pulled up high. You cradled the pillow close to you. Eyebrows twitching and brow creased. She must be dreaming he thought. She really is lovely.... he frowned and shook his head. He was not going to think like that.

Just as he was about to turn away the nav computer started beeping signaling that they were coming out of hyperspace. She was the first to stir at the sound. Slowly sitting up and rubbing her eyes she asked dreamily "Master are we here?"

"Yes, we will be landing soon. Wake Savage on your way out." He turned and made his way to the cockpit. Hearts pounding at almost being caught gazing at her.

~~~~~

You watched in amazement out of the viewport as your master landed the ship in a small clearing in the middle of a dense forest on this strange world. You were so focused on the red sky you barely noticed Maul assuring Savage that they wouldn't be going anywhere near the nightsisters. You'd ask him who they were later. For now, you were eager to explore this peculiar land.

Double checking that your lightsaber hung from your hip you ran out as soon as the ship settled. Fascinated with the twisted trees, dangerous looking foliage and thick humidity. The dark side of the force seemed to resonate from this planet’s very core. You could hear Maul and Savage exiting the ship and you turned your head, the gold around your pupils glowing, flashing them an almost damning smile.

"Master, what is this place?"

"Our home world of Dathomir." He answered simply.

"Your first test apprentice, is to bring me a sample of a fairly common species that dwells in these forests. Bring me a Rancor." He pulled your saber with the force from your belt and caught it in his hand. "Without this." He instructed. "You did say you've had much more practice using the force than you have had with a weapon, I wish for you to demonstrate your power. We will work with this later. When you have what I want, you must sense us to find your way back."

You bowed your head, fear clawing at your throat for the first time in a long time.

"As you wish Master. It will be done." You took off running into the woods, not wanting to waste any time. You knew what these foul beasts were, you had seen a few on Zygerria in large cases up for auction but you were confident in your abilities. You had to prove that you deserved to be his student. You had to. You'd rather die than be sent away yet again.

~~~~~

Maul sat in a meditative state reaching out into the force to make sure his new apprentice was still alive. Savage on the other hand paced around uncomfortable both by the planet and by his brother's request.

"You didn't make me do anything like this."

Eyes still closed. "That is because you are my brother Savage and you had already proven yourself when you retrieved me from Lotho Minor. This needs to be done."

Hours passed and though they had arrived in the morning, the sun was starting to set when giant footsteps shook the ground. A growing shadow came forward through the trees until an almost unbelievable sight was to be held. She rode atop one beast's head while another followed. One of her hands extended out to the following while the other hovered above the one she rode.

Maul stood in shock as he watched the woman. Meeting her glowing gaze something told him she wasn't finished with her demonstration. Lowering her hands, she knelt and slapped a kiss on her steed's head. Sliding off and landing gracefully she turned to the Rancor that she had follow. Extending her arms once again she closed her eyes and started growling with effort. Blue lightning shot from her fingers with her battle cry, frying the beast until it was dead and smoking. Astonished, Maul watched her stumble back.

"I wasn't sure if you wanted it dead or alive so... I brought you both..." she fainted from the output of energy. Maul had dashed and just barely caught her before she collided with the ground. Looking up at the Rancor that still breathed he found that she had permanently tamed it as it just stood there watching them.

"Astonishing," he whispered.

Savage stared at your sleeping form in his brother's arms. "She's much more powerful than I imagined,” he whispered.

"She's the one..." Maul stated. "She will supersede us after we die and carry on the legacy, recreating and restructuring the Sith. Something new will be born from her. I can feel it." He whispered. "We must tread carefully in our teachings. She can never be cast out."

"M...Master..." she groaned. "I'm sorry I wasn't...strong enough." Her eyelids fluttered.

"Apprentice, my first lesson to you is that you must know your limits.. What you did was incredibly advanced but has left you depleted. If this happened on a battlefield you would be dead and we can't have that now. Can we?" He ran a finger over her forehead to move the hair out of face. She nodded her head.

"I understand, thank you Master."

#star wars maul #maul x y/n #maul x reader #sith warrior #star wars #starwars au #dathomirian #savage opress #platonic savage #sith apprentice #sith reader

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mandoalorian · 3 years

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Sugar and Spice [Maxwell Lord x Reader] - Chapter 4

Summary: When you are evicted from your apartment by your toxic ex boyfriend and have no place to go, who do you turn to? Alone in the city as the countdown to Christmas begins, you find yourself applying for a job as the assistant of the world’s biggest entrepreneur; Maxwell Lord. Little do you know, he has other intentions for you. No doubt about it, this Christmas will truly be like no other.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Eventual smut, mentions of a previous verbally abusive relationship, typical 80s misogyny (but very little of it), mentions of food and drink, alcohol consumption. This is a sugardaddy x sugarbaby fic soooo… a daddy k!nk too oops.

But in this chapter - SMUT (finally lol), spanking, protected p in v (no condom but female reader is protected), discussion of bondage and use of toys etc. A little bit of angst amongst the general Christmas fluffiness.

Author’s note: Oh my god finally chapter 4 is out. This is where it starts getting exciting guys! As always I hope you enjoy. PS- some of you might have seen I’m doing a December Writing Challenge. I still have a few spots for requests open so if you’re interested just click HERE, read the rules and submit a request!

MASTERLIST | SUBMIT REQUESTS

PREVIOUS - CHAPTER FOUR - NEXT

You considered the date had gone well. You and Maxwell exchanged pleasantries and learned a lot about each other. Well, he learned a lot about you. All you learned about Maxwell was that he was extremely closed off from the world. Despite being an ego-centric businessman, every time you asked him a question about his private life, he'd change the subject in the charming manner of a politician. You yearned to learn more about him. You wished he could just give you a little crumb of his childhood or even his adolescence. But nothing.

Despite this, the journey back to his penthouse was intimate, with every touch and brush against skin creating a fire in your stomach. When you stepped into his luxury apartment that looked over the whole city, you had no idea what to expect. You were in awe. "Your home is beautiful." you smiled as Maxwell padded over to his minibar and poured out two more glasses of champagne. He loosened his tie and took off his suit jacket, throwing it on the sofa.

There was something about the way he rolled up his sleeves, exposing the golden skin of his strong forearms. You loved seeing him in this light. Not pristine, not perfect. Just human. A little tired and a little tipsy.

"Oh, this isn't my home," Maxwell replied and you shot him a confused look. "My house in the suburbs of DC, this is just a place I own in the city for when work gets busy. Easier to commute this way." Of course Maxwell Lord had more than one place of residence.

"I imagine your home is like a palace." You expressed with a grin, before taking a sip of the champagne. It tasted a lot more expensive than the one you had drunk earlier at the restaurant, but you weren't really surprised. You swiped your tongue over your lower lips, savouring the sweet liquid, and Maxwell felt his cock twitch in his suit pants. Trying to ignore how much your simple actions turned him on, he opened his mouth.

"What's your home like?" Maxwell asked curiously, and you scrunched up your nose.

Did you tell him about the tiny boxed up apartment you were getting evicted from? Did you tell him about your awful ex boyfriend turned landlord who was just so dreadful to you? You shrugged. "It's okay." you told him, but it came out as a defeated sigh. Nevertheless, Maxwell chose not to question it. You figured he probably didn't even care that much anyway.

"Follow me." he told you, placing his half drunk glass on one of the marble countertops and walking through the dining room and down a hallway. For a penthouse, it sure had plenty of rooms.

At the end of the hallway, there was a door that stood tall, isolated from all the other doors. On the wall, you noticed that there was a silver keypad of sorts. Maxwell tapped four numbers and the door unlocked for him. You felt nervous as you wondered what was in the room ahead. To your surprise, it was simply just a large dimly lit room with a long table and about a dozen chairs positioned around it. No art on the walls, no elaborate statues. Not like the rest of his apartment, or even his office at work.

“You could do with a Christmas tree in here,” you said. “Maybe some string lights and a singing dancing snowman toy.”

“A singing dancing snowman toy?” Maxwell raised an eyebrow and you nodded, unfazed. With every second Maxwell spent with you, he felt his admiration grow tenfold. He had truly never met anyone like you before. Everyone Maxwell Lord had met was either terrified of him, or had questionable intentions. You, however, seemed pure of heart. You didn’t care who he was or what people said about him. Sure, deep down, you were aware, but at the end of the day - this was just a job you needed. That didn’t stop you from wondering what it would be like if it was more than just a job. “This is where I have my meetings.” he informed you, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Take a seat.”

Cautiously, you found yourself scoping around the table as Maxwell collected a stack of papers from a cabinet. You had opted to sit at the head of the table, finding yourself comfortable in the large leather seat. Maxwell couldn’t help but smile to himself when he saw you sitting there, in his seat. Whilst he would normally tell any other person to abruptly move, he simply kept his mouth shut, sliding into the seat next to you. He separated the papers in two piles and placed one before you and one before himself.

“Why did you take me into your meeting room?” You asked, pushing your glass of champagne to one side and examining the papers. “Oh, it’s a contract.”

“Yeah, it’s uhm,” Maxwell cleared his throat. “Legalities and stuff. I just want to go through it with you so we can make sure we’re both understanding of what your employment entails, before this arrangement proceeds. Open to page six.” You did as you were told and found the start of the terms and conditions.”Read.” He commanded.

This was what you had been waiting for as, until now, you had been unsure where exactly you stood in this. Sure, you were aware of the traditional meaning of a sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship but Maxwell Lord had subverted all your expectations so far. There was no way to assume what his intentions with you would be.

You straightened your posture and followed the words on the paper with your index finger. “Upon signing this contract, I, party B, agree to the proposals made by party A, Maxwell Lord the fourth. There’s four of you?” You raised an eyebrow but Maxwell didn’t answer, instead, gesturing his hand in a way that could only mean for you to resume. “Section 1a; bondage.” The word came out as a croak in your chest. The first point he had made was bondage? You felt your cheeks warm up and Maxwell’s eyes burned into you intently. “Subject consents to tying up and being tied up by the other party.”

“Is that okay?” Maxwell asked.

You took a moment, trying to comprehend what was going on and what situation you had found yourself in. You were just now learning that one of the wealthiest men on the planet wanted to tie you up and be tied up by you. You looked up at him and sighed, exasperatedly. “Yes.” you told him and Maxwell smiled, turning the page. You followed his action.

“Section 1b; sex toys.” And there was that lump in your throat again. Strangely, you didn’t feel nervous, despite the circumstances. Maxwell Lord created a warm and safe environment. “Subject consents to the use of dildos, vibrators, butt-plugs…” The list went on and on. After taking another beat to contemplate what was being asked of you, you signed the papers. There was something about the discussion of all of this that created an enhanced sexual tension in the room. You squeezed your thighs together, trying to annoy the prevalent feeling of your panties as they dampened. “Maxwell?”

“Hm?” He hummed. You noticed his hair was a little disheveled and his pupils had dilated too, although you told yourself that might have just been from sitting in the dimly lit room. Little did you know, he had been palming his growing cock underneath the table. Seeing you sitting in his chair, at the table where he conducts his meetings, was such a turn on. If he could have it his way, he’d wish to bend you over the table and fuck you from behind. But this was more important.

You fidgeted with your fingers a little and bit your lip. “All of this stuff is quite new to me… I mean, I’m not exactly- I don’t really know-”

Maxwell placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay. Anything you need to make this process easier, just let me know.” He assured you and you nodded your head. For a moment, the softness in his voice made you feel like you had known him forever. Like he was the closest person to you. That you could trust him. But damn, his gentle demeanor didn’t stop you from craving him. This was so unfair. Upon every instance that you spent time with Maxwell Lord, you wanted him to pin you against a surface and leave a trail of kisses down your body.

After getting through eight pages of terms and conditions relating to the intercourse side of the arrangement, you found yourself almost at the end of the contract. “Section 12a; public appearances.”

Maxwell nodded his head. “Maybe it’s better if I explain this part to you myself.” Maxwell told you and you nodded your head. “As you might know I have quite the reputation to uphold. Now, I’m not sure how long this arrangement between us will last but I have one last public appearance scheduled this year. It’s a Christmas gala at the White House. I’d like you to come with me.”

“As a date?” Your eyes widened and you felt butterflies swarm in your stomach at the prospect. It was that feeling you just couldn’t escape. You didn’t understand it, but part of you yearned for it so bad.

“No.” Maxwell replied sharply, and you shuffled around in your seat uncomfortably. The butterflies died.

“Oh.” You looked away from him feeling embarrassed for even asking.

“No one can know about us and our arrangement. I’m only initiating this contract to get my hellish mother off my back.” Maxwell admitted.

“So I’m just an excuse to get your mother to stop pestering you?” You frowned, feeling genuine hurt.

“Everyone in my life is simply a tool to accelerate my own success.”

There it was. This was the Maxwell Lord you read about in the tabloids. Selfish, inconsiderate, greedy and egotistical. You felt slightly disheartened, like his comment had ruined your whole night. At the restaurant, he was nice and caring, and with every gentle touch, you had felt an overwhelming excitement. But this was cold off him. Silence filled the room as Maxwell watched you intently, waiting for you to say something. It was like he didn’t even realise the consequences of his own words. You sighed, skim reading the rest of the contract and quickly signing your name on every page without further discussion, before pushing the papers back to him and standing up.

“Whatever.” you shrugged, downing the last of your champagne in one gulp.

“So you agree to everything?” Maxwell quizzed. “I’ve never had a business deal go so well.” He grinned. Right - because that’s all you were to him. A business deal.

“Mhm,” you muttered, leaving the room. Perplexed, Maxwell chased after you.

“You’re leaving already? I was going to invite you to stay the night.” He shot you one of those charming smiles you saw on the infomercials and you felt your stomach twist.

“I’m good.” You snarled, about to open his front door when he placed his hand over yours.

“The gala is this Saturday. I will see you there, yes?”

You wanted to be strong and pull your hand out of his and leave his penthouse with your head held high. But instead, you bit your lip and turned around to face him. There were only inches between you two. You could smell the champagne in his breath, and the musky fragrance he wore as he looked down at you. You placed both of your hands on his chest, not breaking eye contact once, and slid them down to his belt.

Maxwell felt his precum drip down his erection just from your mere touch. He cursed himself for not wearing underwear, hoping his seed hadn’t stained his tailored pants and revealed his arousal to you.

“I am not a business deal, Mr Lord,” you whispered seductively, fluttering your eyebrows and loosening his belt. “I see how you treat your assistants. Fuck them in your office and don’t even give them a tissue to clean themselves up with. You make them leave your office without a second to comb through their hair or reapply their lipstick. You will not treat me like that. I want you to remember that my commitment to this is a favour to you. You need me, and so you will treat me with respect. Do you understand?”

Maxwell gulped, hard. He wasn’t used to talking to him like that. But you were right; he did need you, more than he cared to admit. “Yes.” he told you, and you curled your lips into a smirk before unbuckling his belt and tossing it to the floor.

“Good.” you replied, raising an eyebrow. “Now, Mr Lord, I want you to take me back into that conference room and bend me over the table.”

He raised his hand, big and warm just how you remembered, and cupped your cheek, his thumb swiping across the high of your cheek bones. He tucked a little bit of hair behind your ear. “Oh sweet girl, you think you can take me?” he taunted, his eyes darker than you had ever seen before.

You lowered your hand down to his bulge and palmed him through his tailored pants, excitement filling you when a whimper escaped his lips. “Gonna have to find out sooner or later.” you goad with an urgent need to quell the aching heat in between your thighs.

You and Maxwell spent a moment, gazing into each other's eyes, thinking about what was about to happen. You were glad you had finally gained the courage to not only speak up for yourself, but also initiate the sex. You wanted him to know that you were not prepared to just be one of his meaningless fucktoys. Maxwell knew from the very beginning you would be different to the other girls, different to his assistants. He took your hand and pulled you down the hallway and back into the conference room.

You waited for him to undress himself, but instead, he simply rolled his sleeves back up to his elbows and unbuttoned the first few buttons of white shirt. He pulled your black dress over your ass, groaning when he saw the lacy black thong you were hiding underneath. “Bend over.” he growled, moving one of the chairs out of the way so you could do as you were told.

Wanting to give him a little show, you jiggled your ass a little, teasing him. He brought his hand down to your ass and spanked you hard, the rings on his fingers scraping against your soft skin and leaving red marks. “Oh daddy,” you pouted. “You don’t like that?” you asked with a fake innocence dripping from your tongue. You knew damn well he liked it, judging from the way he was palming himself through his pants.

“Take off your panties.” Maxwell growled as he quickly worked at his zipper. To your surprise, he didn’t get undressed at all. Instead he brought out his hard cock and began to stroke his length. You turned around, and leaned your back against the table, admiring his manhood. You went to get down on your knees, desperate for a taste of the precum that was already dripping down his length. “What are you doing?” Maxwell hissed, bringing you back to your feet and turning you back around, pressing you against the table. “You wanted me to fuck you, right?”

“Just wanted a little taste of you first, daddy.” you moaned as he spread your legs apart and positioned himself at your entrance.

“Think you can get away with being a tease?” He hissed when he felt your wetness, as he dragged his cock up and down your folds. “Think you can tease daddy? You can suck my cock when I tell you too. Understand?” He smacked your ass again, earning a yelp from you.

“Yes, I understand.” You whimpered.

“Good girl,” he cooed in your ear, sending chills down your spine. “Looked so pretty tonight in that fucking dress. Look even prettier like this, bent over my desk, just for me.”

He slowly eased his tip inside of you, his large hands finding your waist as he steadied you in place. “More.” you begged as he held himself in the same position for a few minutes. He tsked, before pushing his whole length inside of you in one swift thrust. You let out a cry as he stretched you out, the feeling of euphoric bliss washing over you. Maxwell was about to lose it completely. The way your walls clamped around his cock, almost milking him without the slightest movement. You felt so delicious around him. He didn’t want to move. He wanted to stay seated in you forever. “More!” you cry out again, desperately needing him to move.

“What do you say?” he chastised.

“Please daddy.” you murmured. You couldn’t see, for facing the other direction, but Maxwell had a wicked smile on his face. He loved to be in control. This is exactly what he had wanted since he met you. What he thought about when he called you from his office, what he thought about when he showered and before he slept. And now it was finally happening.

“Fuck, so tight,” you felt the grumble in Maxwell’s chest as he bottomed out of you before thrusting back in. You let out another whine, pressing your cheek against the cool oak of the table. He began to build up a rhythm as he slammed harshly into you. With every thrust, the obscene noises of his balls slapping against your pussy fill the room, along with the wet sounds from your arousal. The grunts and gasps coming from him only make you even wetter as he bends over you, his hands coming over your still clothed breasts and squeezing them. “Nngh, feel so good. I won't last.” he tells you, biting down on your shoulder. “Are you close?”

You hummed a quiet “yes” as his rhythm sped up, hitting your sweet spot with every thrust. It wasn’t long before you felt your walls begin to flutter, and the moment you felt his cock twitch inside you, you came undone, your cunt clenching around him.

“Are you safe?” he gasped, bits of his dark blonde hair falling out of place as sweat laced his forehead.

“Yes Max,” you squealed. “Cum inside me.”

And with those three words, Maxwell spilled his seed inside of you with just a few sloppy but erratic thrusts. You curled your hands into a fist as your orgasm drove through you. For a few seconds, you could hear nothing but Maxwell’s panting as he slowly pulled out of you. You moaned at the lost feeling of fullness but before you could turn back around, he had already tucked his softening cock back into his pants and zipped himself up. Shakily, you pulled away from the table and turned to face him, your eyes still glazed from your orgasm. You wanted to kiss him… but the man hadn’t even taken his clothes off to fuck you. You couldn’t understand why.

You leaned into Maxwell’s chest, slowly unbuttoning the rest of his shirt when he stopped you, pulling his hands away from you. “C’mon baby girl,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and rough. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He swung his arm around your waist, just like when he walked you to the restaurant and made sure you wouldn’t slip on the ice, and slowly walked you to a bedroom.

He sat you down on the king sized bed and immediately you laid back as he sauntered off into the en-suite bathroom. The sheets were white, and of the softest linen you had ever felt. It was like you just sunk into the mattress, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You felt yourself drifting off into a sleep as you wondered why Maxwell didn’t take off his clothes or even let you take off his shirt. You thought that, perhaps you were reading too much into it, and there would always be next time. This was only the beginning of your endevour with him.

You stirred when you felt the coolness of a washcloth rub softly against the inside of your thigh as Maxwell cleaned up his cum that had been dripping out of you. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk tomorrow,” you mumbled and Maxwell let out a small chuckle before deciding he was finished and discarding the washcloth. “Can I stay here tonight?” you yawned tiredly, stretching out your arms.

“Of course.” Maxwell replied. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Mmm, can you tuck me into bed?” You beckoned him further.

Maxwell stood there, watching you and contemplating your words. Never in his life had he tucked a woman into bed. It was rare he even gave them aftercare after sex, but your words earlier had resonated with him. You were different, and so he’d treat you differently. Besides, he could never deny you. He pulled on the duvet and you clambered underneath it. Then he pulled the blanket back over your body. You hummed happily. “Comfortable?” he asked.

“Yes,” you smiled. “Max, one last thing,” you called.

“Yes?” his fingers were already on the light switch.

“Won’t you sleep with me tonight? I mean- come next to me. And we can cuddle.”

“I don’t cuddle,” he sighed. “Besides, I have my own bed.”

“This isn’t your bed?” you questioned.

“No, this is a guest room.” he replied matter of factly. “You’ll be okay. I’m just three doors down if you need anything. Sleep tight.” he said before turning off the light and quietly closing the door.

“Goodnight Max.” you whispered before falling asleep.

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#maxwell lord #maxwell lord x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #maxwell lord smut #max lord #max lord x reader #max lord smut

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maniacwatchestheworld · 3 years

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Responses to this post because I needed more words. Also there was a lot to answer to this time around, so I decided to smoosh everything into one post. >.>

@cornydogx I think Heisenberg may be an actual grave robber, he was depicted as that in the concept art. I don’t think he actually kills people and then experiments on them. Oskar the stable boy got drunk and died in the well, and Heisenberg finds him. In one of his notes he says “maybe I should use live bodies.” But he evidently doesn’t. But idk, you’re probably right, he may actually use live bodies because how is finding so many dead ones to begin with

I've seen that concept art as well, and I love it! Very Dr. Frankenstein. Though Heisenberg needing a car? And having assistants to help him dig bodies up? lol I don't think so. And TBH where they get so many test subjects never fails to confuse me. Miranda apparently experimented on at least 180 people before finding Alcina. 180 people until she got a single relative success! How many people did she kill or turn into lycans to get all 4 of the Lords!? Additionally, Castle Dimitrescu needs staff (that they apparently constantly murder), and Moreau does experiments as well! So if Donna is also luring people away and Heisenberg needs bodies for his own experiments... How the FUCK is ANYONE living in this damn village! The village feels like it would house a few hundred people at most. But then we see SO MANY bodies hanging around in Heisenberg's factory! Thousands maybe! WHERE ARE THESE BODIES COMING FROM!? I just don't think that this village can support that kind of population given the number of houses there! Kinda makes me want to do a census on the village in RE Village, not gonna lie. >.>

Though to be fair, just about everyone in the village was massacred right before Ethan arrived, so I guess that it's feasible that Heisenberg could have collected literally Every. Single. Body. of everyone living there for his army, having just used the bodies of whoever happened to have died around town for his prototypes and prior experiments before getting the assembly line up and ready to go! (Between all of this body snatching and setting up all those boxes for Ethan, MAN does Heisenberg sound busy!) But still. I don't know about you, but I can absolutely believe that Heisenberg grave robs on occasion... Though incomplete families do seem to be A Thing in the village... The Lords constantly killing and/or experimenting on the people living there could maybe explain that a lot.

@penquinlori to cornydogx Heisenberg might have been getting the dead bodies from the other lords, they seem to go though a lot of them.

Actually... I can absolutely see that. I can absolutely see either the other Lords and Miranda handing Heisenberg their leftovers from their experiments, or when their experiments fail and their subjects die, him just sneaking off with their bodies.

But then that just made me think... The fact that Alcina seems to keep the bodies of the female servants around for her own experiments... Maybe she just gives the bodies of the male servants she and her daughters kill to Heisenberg. Certainly explains why most of his creations seem to be male! Also explains why he's so casual about the idea of her cutting the dick off of any man that enters her castle. Like, the first time he examined a body whose dick was chopped clean off, he was rather surprised! But after around the 20th time or something, it just lost its novelty.

More from penquinlori Yeah, Beneviento’s whole segment makes me wonder how much of it was “real” and how much of it was Ethan tripping out. Can Donna even control what they hallucinate? It’s entirely plausible that it was mostly in his head and he actually just chased a terrified women though her empty mansion before bludgeoning her to death.

Also regarding Donna’s ethicality, even if her intentions are pure there’s the implied complicity. Cause as mentioned previous the Duke says that none of her playmates return. Even if she’s not killing them herself it sounds like she’s letting them die.

Well for one, the giant evil baby was probably all a hallucination! Because if that was real just... What the fuck Donna!? I think that would have to VERY much count as a 'live human subject' that she has experimented with/on. No way that thing would be natural... And I would hope that she can influence what her 'guests' hallucinate at least a little. If anything was real in that segment of the game, it was probably the props that Ethan was interacting with (specifically I would think that the Mia doll was an actual physical existing object) and when he could be hallucinating about anything, for him to specifically be hallucinating about his loved ones seems a little too thematic and pointed for it to have not been at least a little influenced by Donna. Though I can absolutely believe that she was just a scared woman being chased through her home by a ticked off dad with a pair of very sharp scissors after she bit off more than she could handle. But also she clearly deliberately makes herself invisible, so at the very least she can control the hallucinations to that extent.

And yeah! That's what I was thinking, actually! After I made this realization that at best she's letting people die after concocting these false pretenses, I realized that's actually really quite cruel (even if he intention isn't there) and therefore a solid argument can be made that Heisenberg acts more ethically! And so now that's left me rather torn on who the worse between the two of them is. Because where before I thought that Donna really didn't do anything wrong at all, now I've come to realize that she isn't actually blameless and has done genuinely bad things to people, even if she doesn't mean to. Not gonna lie... I do think that subjecting someone to a cruel death is probably on a similar level of bad as human experimentation. But it's still a hard call!

#long post #reply #resident evil 8 #resident evil theory #resident evil #wild mass guessing #karl heisenberg #donna beneviento #resident evil viii #resident evil village #re village #re8

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jilyyall · 4 years

Text

The Art of Charming Muggles

Lily would be lying if she claimed to have forgotten to tell her parents about her boyfriend or his impending visit. Really, she was just too nervous at the thought of introducing a boy to her parents for the first time. She should have known James Potter would have no trouble charming his way into her parents' good graces. He fit perfectly in every aspect of her life; why should this be any different?

Rated T for pure fluff. Word count: 13k+ fanfiction.net / AO3

The antique grandfather clock – just about the only item of any significant value in the Evans house – chimed three o'clock in the afternoon. With something of a determined expression on her face, Lily sighed and stood up from her writing desk, skirting the trunk set in the center of the room, and headed out of her bedroom to search out her parents.

She was not altogether surprised to find them downstairs in the living room, her father in his favourite stuffed blue rocking chair, his nose buried in the morning's newspaper and her mother intently watching Happy Ever After on the television against the far wall while pretending to read a book on the couch.

"Mum, Dad?" Lily waited, hands clasped in front of her, until they both looked up at her. Her father laid the paper down in his lap and her mother looked away from the television with a distracted smile.

"Yes, darling?"

"Well, I was wondering if… I know that Christmas holidays are usually all about being together as a family, but I was wondering if you wouldn't mind terribly if I invited over a friend from school. Just for a little visit." She bit her lip when her parents glanced at each other. Her father shrugged and her mother beamed at her.

"Of course not, darling," she said warmly. "We would love to meet your friends."

"Yes, just let us know when you'll be having guests so we can prepare for them," her father said.

"Oh, right. Thank you." Lily waited until her parents had returned to their previous hobbies, then dropped her hands to her sides and tilted her head back in agony. "See, the thing is," she said once she had mostly composed herself, "I may have forgotten to mention to you that I already invited someone over."

Her parents shared another look before her mother leveled the 'mum' eyes on her. "When are they coming?"

"Er – in about an hour? We agreed on four o'clock," Lily said.

"And when did this conversation take place?" Her mother asked.

"On the train home," Lily admitted with a pitiful pleading look.

"A week ago?"

"Yes, Mum. I'm sorry."

"Ah, well, all's fine," her father said easily, leaning forward to lay a hand on his wife's knee. "You were already planning on making that corned beef with cabbage dish you make so well, weren't you, dear?"

"Yes," her mother said. "I do hope there's enough."

"Does your friend have a large appetite, Lily?" Her father asked. "I hope she likes corned beef. Do you know?"

"Er." Lily looked away from her father's innocent expression and grimaced, steeling herself to ruin his optimism. "I'm sure corned beef will be fine. I've never actually seen James turn his nose up at anything."

"James? Who's James?" her father demanded immediately, looking accusingly at his wife.

"A boy, clearly, I don't know," her mother said, rolling her eyes.

"Yes, James is a boy," Lily said.

"Is he a special boy?" Mr. Evans questioned.

"Well," Lily said lightly, "he certainly thinks so."

"Is he special to you, Lily?" Mr. Evans clarified, giving his daughter his no-nonsense look.

Lily's smile was soft and slow and very fond. She nodded. "Yes, he is."

When she managed to look up from her bare toes on the beige carpet, Lily found her parents in the middle of what looked to be a silent conversation. She watched them for a moment – all locked gazes and twitching lips and barely moving eyebrows – and saw, for a moment, herself and James silently debating the best way to get a derailed Prefects' meeting back on track, or wordlessly making fun of Sirius any time he claimed to be uninterested in all things romantic while simultaneously tracking Marlene's every movement with his eyes. Blinking, she focused back on her parents as her father sighed and shrugged.

"Well, we knew this would happen eventually." He set his paper to the side and made to stand.

Lily frowned. "What?"

"You're seventeen, you go to boarding school in a world that's completely different to ours," her mother said, also standing. "We've been waiting for you to come home with a boy on your arm."

"You could have given us more warning, though," her father said as he began to sweep from the room.

"I'm sorry," Lily said, terribly confused. "Wait, where are you going?"

"We've got to start on dinner," her mother explained, patting Lily's shoulder as she moved past her. "You never did answer, but I'm assuming James has a rather larger appetite than you?"

"Well, yes. He is very active, after all," Lily said with a bemused smile. "Captain of our House Quidditch team, actually."

Her mother paused a moment, a terrified look on her face before she rushed out of the room and into the kitchen.

"Dear, he's an athlete!" Lily heard her mother call out "We'll need more than corned beef!"

Her father swore from the kitchen, then shouted, "We've got loads of potatoes! You could whip up some colcannon to go with it!"

Eyebrows furrowed, completely taken aback, Lily followed her parents into the kitchen. Her father had his head in the cupboard while her mother was pulling out pots and pans.

"But we've got potatoes, cabbage, and carrots with the corned beef," her mother worried aloud. "Do we really need a second potato dish?"

"Does the boy have something against potatoes?" her father said, surfacing from the cupboard with a large sack of potatoes in hands to see Lily standing there watching in confusion. He lifted an eyebrow. "Well?"

"Oh." Lily cleared her throat and shook her head. "No, James likes potatoes as much as the next person. But I don't think you really need to make a side dish. He's really very easy to please."

"We can't just serve the boy corned beef! It would be rude," her mother insisted. "He's a teenaged boy with an appetite. And he's an athlete!"

"But…" Lily trailed off when her father began scrubbing the potatoes anyway. She sighed. "Colcannon will be great."

"What about dessert, dear?" her father asked.

Lily decided to take her leave when her mother swore loudly. Still reeling a bit at their unexpected reaction – she had thought they would be upset to learn about James, not frantic to feed him – she made her way up the stairs. When the door at the top of the stairs opened and Petunia stuck her long neck round the door, blond hair in curlers, Lily paused.

Petunia's blue eyes went a bit cool when they found Lily, but she still spoke to her, which Lily took as a victory. "What's all the commotion about downstairs?"

"We've got a dinner guest coming tonight," Lily said with a small shrug. "My boyfriend, James. Mum and Dad have decided to add colcannon to the menu."

"In that case, I'm glad I've got a date with Vernon tonight," Petunia said with a haughty little sniff.

Lily frowned. "But you love colcannon."

"I meant not having to sit through a meal with another freak," Petunia said, nose upturned as she retreated back into her room and snapped the door shut in Lily's face.

Pursing her lips, annoyed and unwilling to let it consume her, Lily took a deep breath through her nose and walked down the hall to her own bedroom. She had about forty-five minutes before James was due to arrive and nothing really to do; she figured she may as well change out of her loungewear and fix her hair.

She started to plug in her mother's curling iron when she saw her wand lying on her bedside table. She reached over to pick it up then, after a moment's deliberation, abandoned the Muggle method and reached for the book of beauty charms her friend Mary had gifted her for Christmas.

After several minutes of flipping though the pages, Lily found a spell she felt confident enough to attempt in front of her vanity mirror. The result was quite pretty, she thought, with her auburn hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. She would have to remember to thank Mary properly for the gift.

A movement outside her window distracted her from admiring her wandwork. She looked up, startled to see a tall boy with long, long legs and messy black hair walking down the street toward her house – it couldn't be four already. She checked her watch and grinned when she saw that he was early – only by seven minutes, but James Potter was never seven minutes early to anything that wasn't Quidditch related.

She ran down the stairs, past the kitchen where she ignored her parents' startled questions, and out the front door. He was in front of her neighbour's house when she flew off the porch steps and into her own snow-covered garden. The wide grin that split his face when he looked up to find her running toward him made her laugh giddily.

He caught her effortlessly when she launched herself at him, his arms wrapping around her waist and holding her to him. He kissed her hair, her temple, her cheek, the tip of her nose, and finally her lips, and was smiling when he pulled back to look at her, eyes soft and twinkling like they always did whenever he was feeling particularly fond of her which was very often.

"Merlin, I missed you, Evans," he breathed, then kissed her again briefly.

"I missed you, too," she told him, burying her face in his neck as he held her, feet dangling off the ground.

"I can see that," he said, and the teasing note in his voice was so familiar and had been so missed that she couldn't even think of what he could be teasing her about. "In such a rush to kiss me you forgot shoes?"

She frowned, then quite suddenly became aware of her freezing toes. She had changed out of her loungewear into a nice pair of jeans and a deep violet jumper and apparently, in all the excitement of testing beauty charms and reuniting with her boyfriend, had forgotten to slip on her boots by the front door. Maybe later – when they were back at school and James undoubtedly told all of their friends about this – she would be embarrassed, but this evening she was too happy to see him.

"Cold!" She yelped and tried to climb him.

James laughed loudly, then hooked one arm behind her knees and shifted his other up her back so that he was cradling her in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tilted her face up to his. Holding her as if she weighed no more than his prized broomstick, he brought his lips down on hers again in a much longer kiss that felt to Lily like a serious effort to make up for a week apart. When he pulled away and straightened up, she buried her face in his warm, thick coat collar.

"Hey, Evans, those folks who've been watching us snog wouldn't happen to be your parents, would they?" James asked conversationally as he began carrying her back to her house.

Lily lifted her face from his neck and turned her head to find her parents standing on the front porch watching them approach. They were speaking quietly to each other and Lily had no idea what they might be saying, whether they were upset or not. She brought her mouth close to James's ear and spoke quietly, her breath undoubtedly tickling him. "Yes, those are my parents, so be on your best behavior from now on."

"You want me to behave, you stop that right now before it's a lost cause." She could hear the smile in his voice, but also the legitimate warning.

They had a tough enough time keeping their hands to themselves at school where they saw each other every day and had ample amounts of time to themselves. After a week apart it would be very difficult to keep their interactions parent-friendly. Lily chuckled in his ear, had the satisfaction of feeling his arms tense under her, and obliged by moving her mouth away from his ear to rest her forehead against his neck as he began to climb the steps to the front porch.

Her parents had stopped chatting by then and were smiling at them. Lily recognized their show smiles – they weren't sure what to think of or how to act around the boy they had just watched kiss their daughter as if they had been apart for months instead of days, the only boy she had ever brought home, the boy who had lifted her into his arms so naturally it seemed he must have always had his hands on her, but didn't want to appear rude to him. Lily locked eyes with her father and watched his eyebrows lift almost imperceptibly.

"I forgot to put on boots." She lifted one foot to wiggle her bare toes at her parents in explanation. "So James, being the gentleman that he is, gave me a lift."

James was grinning at her explanation. She couldn't see it, but she knew it was there when her mother visibly – to her eyes, anyway, if not to James's – melted a bit. Even when Lily hadn't particularly liked James less than two years ago, the sight of that grin, the pure, unadulterated joy it brought to his face, had done things to her.

"Mr. and Mrs. Evans, lovely to meet you," James said and Lily had to fight the urge to turn her head so she could kiss that now audible grin right off his handsome face. She settled instead for tightening her arms around his neck and titling her head so that her mouth was once more buried in his coat collar, almost as if she were kissing his neck. "I would shake your hands," he continued as if he weren't at all affected, but Lily felt his grip on her tighten, "but I might drop your daughter if I did, and I don't think we want that."

"It's nice to meet you, James." Her father stepped aside and gestured for James to go inside.

Once everyone was inside, Lily's parents and James stood in the crowded foyer for an awkward moment. Suddenly uncomfortable, Lily leapt out of his arms and landed on her feet smoothly.

Her parents looked for a moment at Lily, who stood very close to James with his arm now around her waist. Lily looked quickly at James, who met her gaze and then grinned broadly at her parents.

"Thanks so much for having me over," he said as he gripped her father's hand in a firm handshake.

"Of course!" her mother said. "Any friend of Lily's is welcome any time!"

James looked at Lily, one eyebrow arching up at the word 'friend.' She rolled her eyes quickly – her parents just didn't want to say the word boyfriend – and his lips twitched up at the corners. When she looked at her parents, she found them watching her and James with puzzled, if a bit surprised, expressions on their faces and realized that she and James had just been caught having a silent conversation the likes of which she caught her parents having earlier.

"Well, let's move this to the living room, shall we?" Mrs. Evans suggested and began herding everyone out of the foyer.

Mr. Evans bypassed his favoured chair and took a seat on the far end of the couch, and Mrs. Evans sat on the near end.

Lily sat against the arm of the loveseat opposite the couch and James settled himself right next to her, throwing his arm warmly over her shoulders as if they were lounging in front of the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room with their friends instead of visiting with her parents. She caught her father's narrow-eyed gaze on them and considered for a moment signaling for James to give her some space, but thought better of it. Not only would James get his feelings hurt – try as he might to hide it – but she would be lying if she said she hadn't missed sitting like this the past week; their relationship was an incredibly affectionate one and her parents either could deal with it or not. She met her father's gaze, pulled her feet up under her, and leaned into James's side. She wasn't going to pretend their relationship was something it wasn't just for his peace of mind.

"So," her mother said, nudging her husband to stop his glaring. "James, Lily tells us you play Quidditch."

"Yes, ma'am. Brilliant sport. Do you know much about it?" James asked and Lily knew he was eager to launch into details about his favourite pastime – well, maybe his second favourite pastime now that Lily let him kiss her and more just about whenever he wanted.

"I'm afraid not. I haven't really got a good head for sports," her mother said. "But we know there are three balls."

"The Quaffle, Bludger, and Snitch," her father supplied.

"Yes, that's right! There are two Bludgers, though," James said gently as if he were correcting a timid first year's Transfiguration essay.

"Those are the violent ones, right?" her father asked.

"Yes! They try to knock you right off your broom. Had my arm broken in three places by one earlier in the year, right Lily?"

"I think it was four," she said, smiling when her mother gasped in abject horror. "Not to worry, Mum. Madam Pomfrey is a miracle worker and had him back in order by dinner."

"I'm a Chaser," James said to her father in response to a question she missed. "I only handle the Quaffle directly, trying to get it in the other team's goals and score points, but the Beaters are always hitting the Bludgers after the other team's Chasers to knock the Quaffle loose or get the Chasers off track or even sometimes to knock a Chaser off their broom."

"Have you ever been knocked off your broom?" Mr. Evans asked.

"Not since my first game back in second year." James laughed and shook his head, glancing over at Lily. "Do you remember that?"

"Yes, you landed yourself an extended stay in the Hospital Wing," Lily said, closing her eyes and sighing as if recalling a particularly pleasant memory. "Such a peaceful few days."

"Rude," he said on a chuckle.

"Really, though. Sirius skived off all of his lessons to sit with you in the Hospital Wing the entire time and Remus and Peter, with neither of you to distract them, actually sat and took notes all day. I have never experienced such peaceful lessons at Hogwarts," Lily insisted.

"Sounds boring to me," James said, smiling when Lily rolled her eyes at him. He turned his attention back to her parents. "After spending three days in the Hospital Wing, I decided to avoid getting knocked off my broom as best I could."

"Quite right," Mrs. Evans said just as the timer went off in the kitchen. "Oh, my timer! I'll be right back. Come help me, dear."

She stood and pulled her husband to his feet, leading him toward the door, where they paused to look back at Lily and James, who seemed not at all affected to find themselves suddenly alone.

"Come on, I'll show you around," Lily said to James as they both stood. "I know you're really curious about all these Muggle objects."

James grabbed Lily's hand and used it to pull her close to him as they toured the living room.

"Bit of a… hands-on fellow, isn't he?" Mr. Evans muttered to his wife as they watched their daughter lead James around the living room, pausing to explain whenever he seemed particularly interested in something: the lamp, for one; the blank screen of the television; the photos on the wall that he prodded curiously.

"He doesn't seem to be the only one," Mrs. Evans quipped when Lily laughed and slid her arm around his waist to tug him away from the digital clock. "Come, let's leave them be."

He hesitated when his wife laid a hand on his arm. "You think we should?"

Mrs. Evans looked at him with a fond smile and shook her head. "I think they probably get much more privacy up at school. A few minutes alone here won't change a thing."

"You know Muggle photos don't move, James!" Lily laughed and took his wand out of his hand when he pretended to consider trying to make them move. "I also know you've seen Muggle photos before; I've seen Sirius's collection of pin-up models, so there's no way you haven't."

"You know that stealing a wizard's wand is serious business, Lily!" James mocked her, but made no move to take his wand back.

Until just a couple weeks ago, Lily hadn't understood it, having never seen a wand or known much about them until she was eleven, but she had been told by a few of her friends that it was a big deal, a big show of trust for someone to allow another to use their wand.

She hadn't thought anything of it the first time she had reached for James's wand because hers was stowed away in her bag at her feet. She had cast a spell – something mundane: a warming charm, probably – and handed it back to him as if it were nothing. To her, it had been nothing. But she had noticed the wide eyes of those around them afterwards and the depth of passion in James's.

A few days later, he had used her wand to clean up a spill at the breakfast table for no reason, he had said, other than because he wanted to. His wand was sitting right next to him on the table. Several people had gasped as if they'd just been privy to some lascivious act and James had smirked and given her wand back.

When she asked him about it later when they were alone in his dormitory, the curtains drawn around his four-poster, he had kissed her.

"It's a big deal," he had said quietly.

"Yeah, I get that. But why?" She had rolled her eyes, but hadn't been annoyed enough by his evasiveness to reject him when he had clasped her hand in his and brought their joined hands to rest on his bare chest.

"You got your wand at Ollivander's, right?" he had asked and shrugged when she nodded. "Did he say something along the lines of the wand chooses the wizard when you went in?"

"Witch. He said witch."

Smiling fondly, James had rolled his eyes at the correction. "Okay. Witch. Well, he wasn't just being an eccentric old man, even though he is that. The wand literally chooses the wizard. Or witch. It's sort of a sentient thing. A wand has a conscience. It has loyalty. It's loyal to its owner. Most wands don't work properly for someone if their loyalty is to someone else."

"How do you get a wand's loyalty?" she had asked.

"You win it. In a duel." He had said it so simply, so matter-of-factly. "Or it chooses you."

"But your wand worked fine for me. And mine for you."

"Sometimes… if the relationship between two people is strong enough… that could come through. The wand could, essentially, choose to have two masters."

"Oh." She had said. And then, "Oh."

They had looked at each other.

"It's a big deal," he had repeated.

And then he had stroked his fingers through her hair softly and she understood. It was so simple, really. He loved her. She loved him. It wasn't some silly, fleeting first love. It was real and their wands sensed it and shared their loyalties.

Standing in her parents' living room, Lily twirled James's wand between her fingers. He smiled at her, remembering the same conversation as she. She knew now that he liked it when she used his wand, and that he liked using hers as well. He reveled in the fact that both of their wands worked the same for each of them. It was a sort of confirmation for him that she was really with him long term. She would be lying if she said she didn't like it as well.

Still, having no use for his wand at the moment, she handed it over and watched him pocket it.

"I'm assuming Muggle houses have bedrooms, or are they all just living areas and kitchens?" he asked, desire winking in his hazel eyes.

Her parents hadn't said anything to her about James only being allowed downstairs – they hadn't had a chance – but she knew they wouldn't approve of him being up in her room. Lily narrowed her eyes at him, looked over her shoulder, and listened to make sure her parents weren't coming to check on them any time soon. She took his hand and shot him a grin she had picked up from him. It said Rules? What rules?

She didn't have to tell him to tread lightly or to skip the fourth step from the top as she led him up the stairs – the boy was a natural at sneaking around and was obviously watching where she placed her feet because she didn't hear a sound behind her on any of the creakier steps.

She rushed him past Petunia's bedroom and into hers, shutting the door stealthily behind them. She expected his hands on her instantly when the door closed but when she turned to him he was surveying her room with great interest. Her nerves surprised her until she realized that this was the first time he had ever been in her room; she had been in his dormitory countless times since they had started dating, but the spell keeping boys out of the girls' dormitories was just about the only school 'rule' he and his friends had yet to get around.

"Is it all that you dreamed of?" She leaned back against the door and watched him walk the perimeter of the room.

"Well, you're not naked on the bed, so no." He flashed her a grin and then stopped in front of her vanity to pick up her wand. He turned to her with a frown and one arched brow. "You left the house without your wand?"

She bit her lip and ducked her head, knowing he was right to be troubled. It wasn't safe for her to be unarmed in this day and age, especially not outside of her house. Hell, she probably shouldn't put her wand down when she was inside, either, since there was no protective enchantment around her parents' house to keep out unwanted visitors. The lack of protection for her parents when she wasn't around was something that bothered her more each day.

He was still frowning at her when she lifted her gaze to him, so she shrugged. "I forgot."

"You forgot your wand," he repeated blankly.

"In my haste to get my hands and mouth on you? Yes. Or have you forgotten my enthusiastic welcome? Here, let me remind you."

She launched off the door and jumped into his arms, kissing him soundly. James laughed and wrapped his arms around her, one hand sliding to her bum and the other pressing into her lower back when she twined her legs around his waist.

"Nice diversion." He smirked at her, then sighed and shook his head. "Look, I know you don't need a lecture on safety – especially not from me – but please don't leave your wand behind again. I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you."

"I won't." The tips of their noses brushed and she felt his dubious frown on her lips, saw it in his furrowed brow. "I won't. I sometimes get a bit complacent when I'm home, that's all. But I promise I won't leave the house without it again."

He wasn't satisfied by that, she knew, would only be satisfied if she never had her wand out of arm's reach. He never left his wand out of sight and Lily had a tendency to stow hers away in her bag when she didn't know she would need it. It was an argument they had had before and she knew he had the right of it given the war they would be joining as soon as they left school. It was just that she didn't like to worry her parents and if they saw her constantly carrying her wand around, they would be suspicious.

To appease him, she reached behind her and took her wand out of his hand on her lower back. She shoved her wand under the elastic hair band on her wrist and pulled her jumper sleeve down over it. It wasn't the most secure spot for it, but it would suffice until she could find a more suitable place to stow it since her pockets were not as roomy as his. "Better?"

"Much," he said, and then his mouth was hungry on hers. The hand on her bum squeezed and Lily laughed, ripping her mouth from his in the process.

He took the opportunity to lie her down on her bed and cover her body with his. His mouth ravished her neck and one of his hands slid under her jumper while the other slid up her thigh. Alarm bells rang in her mind, but it still took her a few seconds to push him away.

"We can't." She frowned when he tried to lean in and kiss her again, putting a hand against his face to keep him at bay. "I mean it. I want to, but we can't. I need my parents to like you and if they think we've shagged in my bedroom while they're downstairs making dinner, they'll hate you."

"You're right. I know." He let his head hang, neck arched dramatically, so that his forehead rested against her shoulder. His lips brushed the side of her neck when he whispered, "I just missed you so much."

Lily shivered and brought a hand up to comb through his messy hair, the other arm wrapping around his back to hug him. Her legs spread open a bit wider, forming a more secure cradle for his hips to drop into. He groaned his desire and she felt the insistent evidence of how badly he wanted her. She smiled. "I love you."

"Love you, too." He rolled off of her to lie next to her, and pulled her into his side.

She gave him – and herself – a minute to enjoy a good cuddle and then struggled against his hold to sit up. "We should go back downstairs. Or at least open the door."

James let her go with a slight frown and sat up when she swung to her feet over the edge of the bed. "Is it strange for me to say that I can't wait to go back to school?"

"No. Let's not pretend that you haven't always loved school." Lily smirked at him over her shoulder. "And I know it's not just the freedom and the boys. You genuinely love classes, mister Transfiguration prodigy."

"Not so loud!" He winked at her. "You'll damage my reputation."

Lily's hand had just closed around the doorknob when she heard her mother call her name. She looked, wide-eyed, at James. "Shit."

He stood leisurely from the bed even as Lily threw the door open and rushed to the top of the stairs where she saw her mother halfway up the stairs looking up at her with pursed lips and one arched brow.

"Come introduce James to your sister before she leaves," Mrs. Evans said curtly and turned on her heel to head back downstairs.

Disappointed in herself for already having screwed up her parents' perception of James, Lily looked over her shoulder intending to have to call out for him, only to find him standing right behind her. She jolted, forced a smile for him, and turned to lead him away.

"Hey, it's okay." He laid a hand on her shoulder as he followed her. "We can fix this."

She didn't see what he could possibly do or say to convince her parents that they hadn't gone upstairs to fool around. They had, after all, gone upstairs to snog a bit even if James had gotten sidetracked at first. She supposed it could have been worse, though. It could have been her father that came up the stairs to get her. Her parents could have burst into her bedroom. She and James could have been doing much more than kissing on her bed when her parents burst in.

After allowing herself to worry over her parents' reaction for the maybe thirty seconds it took to walk down the stairs, Lily rolled her eyes at herself. So what if her parents thought she had taken James upstairs to have a shag? She and James were adults, and her parents could get over their preoccupation with the state of her nonexistent virginity.

On the landing, Lily turned to plant a kiss on James's cheek and allowed him to slip his hand into hers. "We didn't do anything wrong." She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Now come meet my dreadful sister."

Petunia was standing near the front door, one hand on the knob, glaring at Lily when she and James rounded the corner. "Mum and Dad said I couldn't leave without meeting him."

"How dare they expect you to be polite!" Lily rolled her eyes.

Petunia ignored her sister, her blue eyes sweeping past her to settle on James. Lily watched her face, reading her reaction: the pinched mouth was likely in response to his messy hair; the narrowed, roving gaze a quick take on his exceptional height. She liked to think that the fleeting, almost indiscernible widening of the eyes before Petunia settled a disapproving glare on her features was a moment of awe at his defined jaw, handsome face, and – Lily glanced back at him to see his trademark easygoing grin – friendliest smile.

"Nice to meet you, Petunia," James said loudly as if she had actually bothered to introduce herself. He brushed past Lily, giving her hand a quick squeeze before releasing to offer her sister a handshake. "I'm James Potter."

"Pleasure." Her voice was cold and stiff and the downward turn of her mouth did nothing to hide her distinct displeasure, and she backed away from him.

When Petunia didn't accept his handshake, James let his hand drop to his side casually as if nothing had transpired. He took a step back, noting the way that Petunia was all but flat against the door.

"I've met him, Mum," Petunia announced. "Now I'm leaving. I'll be back late. Don't wait up."

Without another word, Petunia opened the door and fled. James turned to Lily, eyebrows raised, and then his gaze flicked past her and he smiled. "Must be a sister thing. Lily used to hate me too."

Lily rolled her eyes, but looked over to find her parents standing behind her in the kitchen doorway. She moved closer to swat at him playfully. "I did not. I just thought you were a prat."

"Well, I'm a prat who's going to help you do some extra-curricular research tonight, aren't I?" James retorted, flashing a book she hadn't noticed him carrying.

She read the title quickly. Charms of Defence and Deterrence. Despite her confusion, she nodded.

"We were talking just a few moments ago about which protective charms would work best on a Muggle household, so we just went to get this textbook from her room," James explained, seeing the curious expressions on her parents' faces.

For a moment, she was speechless. Was the boy a Legilimens or something? She wouldn't put it past him; he and his too-smart-for-their-own-good best friends had managed the extremely difficult and very illegal Animagus transformation back in fifth year. He could probably manage Legilimency. But no, she realized it wasn't much of a surprise that he would use this time to work on coming up with a way to ensure her safety when they were apart, to ease his mind a bit now that he knew she was likely to walk around unarmed even here.

"Protective charms?" Her father said, his narrowed gaze flicking between James's innocent face and the book in his hand. Her mother cocked her head in wonder as well. "Why would we need protective charms?"

James looked at Lily, silently questioning whether or not she had told her parents anything about the social climate in the wizarding world. She hadn't. He shrugged, shaking his head in a bemused sort of way.

"Why wouldn't you?" He looked genuinely confused and Lily found herself thankful that his years of troublemaking had given him the ability to convincingly talk his way out of just about any situation. "All magical families have protective charms over their homes. It's just an additional precaution."

"It's a bit like investing in a really good lock, Dad," Lily added. "Except free. And more effective."

"Besides," James added brightly, "it's good practice for us, learning how to protect a home. It will come in handy when we've got our own place."

Her parents' eyes widened and Lily froze. When her father scowled at James, Lily turned to look at him and saw that he looked perfectly complacent, like he was aware of what he had implied and had done so intentionally. He smiled at her and Lily leveled her most intimidating glare on him, but her stupid courageous boyfriend was not easily intimidated, not even by her.

They had only talked about moving in together once, and it hadn't been a particularly long or detailed conversation. Rather, they had been lying in his bed one lazy afternoon, laughing about something or other with the rest of the boys, when Sirius had dropped the emotional equivalent of a nuclear bomb on James.

"Keep on like that and I won't invite you to my place over Christmas," he had warned them all as they laughed at his expense.

"My parents' place," James had corrected him distractedly as he took the opportunity to slide his hand under Lily's shirt while she was busy laughing.

"Actually, I've been sneaking out to Muggle London on Hogsmeade weekends to look at flats and I've found one I really like and so I rented it." He had said it casually, like it wasn't a big deal.

James's hand had frozen – his whole body had – and Lily would have sworn his heart had stopped for a moment. When the room went completely silent, it became clear to her that Sirius getting his own place was a very big deal. At least, judging by the concerned looks Remus and Peter were shooting James, Sirius not telling James that he was getting his own place was a big deal. The two were practically inseparable and she had to admit it was difficult for her to think of a time Sirius had kept something important from James before.

"You just… got a flat?" Peter had said slowly. "Just like that? Just went out and got a flat?"

"No, I just said that I've been going out and looking every time we've been to Hogsmeade this year." She couldn't see him over the mess of James's hair, but she had practically heard him rolling his eyes.

"But did you at least tell anyone you were leaving Hogsmeade?" Remus had asked. "Or that you were looking into getting your own place?"

"No." Sirius had said, and Remus and Peter had continued questioning him, growing more and more frustrated with his simple answers as time went on. Before long, they had all three been practically shouting at one another.

The three of them had never complained about her inclusion in their group, had never moaned about her always being around, at least to her knowledge. They had never treated her like an unwanted, unnecessary fifth wheel and had acted from the day she and James had gotten together as though it was always meant to be the five of them – and maybe it was – but she had still felt as though this particular conversation wasn't for her to participate in, so she had simply lain there next to James, his hand frozen on her ribcage, and waited for him to come round.

"Come on, Prongs. Don't act like that." Sirius had rolled his eyes and chucked his pillow at them. "I'll still be over at your place all the time. You know I can't feed myself and your mum and dad would worry incessantly if I tried."

But it wasn't about his mum and dad, Lily had realized. It was about James feeling like his best friend was abandoning him, like his brother was up and leaving without a backward glance. The two of them, from the very first moment they had met on the Hogwarts Express, had been practically co-dependent. James had three best friends, but if he had to choose only one, it was no secret to anyone who he would pick.

"Besides," Sirius had said loudly, sounding as close to desperate as Lily had ever heard him, "you'll be getting a place with Red, yeah? When we're out? You'll be moving in with her, and then we'll all stop in at your parents' together and, honestly, it'll be more like we've got three homes between us. My place, your place, and your parents' place."

He had said it so matter-of-factly, like he and James had discussed it, like he knew that James and Lily were going to move in together after school. But James had grown even stiffer beside her and Lily knew that it was his first time hearing about that part of the plan as well. He had slowly turned his head to look at her, and she had seen the moment that it dawned on him that that was actually exactly what he wanted.

His eyes had turned to molten caramel and he had kissed her sweetly but not quickly, and whispered, "What do you think?"

"I think…" She had paused for a moment, kissed him again to buy some time. "I think it sounds like Sirius has our lives all planned out for us."

"Yeah?" James had said quietly, and it was more a question of her approval of Sirius's plan than anything else, she knew.

"Yeah," she had said.

James had smiled at her, and then threw Sirius's pillow back across the room, whacking him in the face none-too-gently with it. "Sneak out of Hogsmeade without telling any of us again, and I'll write you up, idiot."

That was almost a month ago and they hadn't discussed it since, so Lily hadn't realized that James seemed to have been actually planning for that future. She wasn't surprised, exactly, but she wasn't sure why on earth he had decided to announce his plans to her parents the first time he met them.

"You're not going to… set the house on fire, will you?" Her mother asked after a moment and Lily was both grateful to her for attempting to break the tension and humiliated.

"No, Mum!" she exclaimed, and knew instantly by the sudden increase in temperature that her face was blazing. "It was once, and I was twelve, and I fixed it, didn't I?"

"Actually, that Ministry fellow fixed it for you and threatened to expel you if you didn't stop doing magic away from school," her father said.

"I have to hear this story," James practically shouted, rocking forward on the balls of his feet.

"I'll tell you later," Lily said immediately, relief coursing through her when a timer started beeping in the kitchen.

"Oh, that's the potatoes!" her mother said.

"We're going to start looking through this," Lily said, taking the textbook from James and holding it up.

Her father watched them as Lily led James by the hand back into the living room, and she knew he hadn't forgotten that she had snuck James up to her bedroom or that James had announced their intention to live together after school. When Lily turned to face James in front of the sofa, expecting him to still have that lighthearted, eager look about him and for him to badger her for the story of the time she had accidentally set the house a little bit on fire, she was surprised to see concern in his eyes.

"You haven't told them?" James asked, leaning forward and bending over so that he could speak quietly enough that her parents wouldn't be able to hear if they were still listening in from the hallway. "Don't you think they ought to know?"

"That we're going to live together?" she whispered. "James, I didn't even know that. We've only talked about it once."

"Not that. You didn't even tell them you had a boyfriend until right before I got here." He rolled his eyes. "Our other… after graduation plans."

"What, that we're going to be unemployed volunteer soldiers fighting a war against horrible odds?" Lily frowned up at him when he took the book from her and set it aside on the coffee table. "It's a bit more complicated having to explain things to my Muggle parents than it is for you to explain to your parents who have known about all of the shit out there since before you were born."

She wanted to shield them from the worry, save them countless sleepless nights alone in this house while they wondered who or what was out there, imagined the horrors their youngest daughter might be facing, feared they may never see her again. If she could save them from that with a few little lies, then she would.

"You can't protect them from everything, Lily," James reminded her softly.

Sometimes, it scared her how well he knew her. She sighed and turned away from him to kneel on the floor in front of the spellbook on the table. "No, but I can shield their house."

When she shook her wand from her sleeve and made the pages of the book flutter open to the section on protective enchantments, James let the topic drop and sat himself on the edge of the sofa behind her, his long legs on either side of her body blocking her in as he read over her shoulder. After a few moments of silence broken only by the occasional rustle of turning pages, James waved his wand and a piece of parchment and her favourite self-inking quill flew down the stairs from her bedroom.

She pointed out a few spells that seemed promising and James diligently jotted them down in his frustratingly tidy scrawl.

"I haven't ever heard of this one," Lily said, pointing to a spot on the page. James set down the quill and slid off the couch to sit beside her and leaned in close over her shoulder to see what she was looking at.

"The Fidelius Charm? It's really old magic," he told her, still staring down at the book. "One of the oldest known spells, even. Extremely powerful and almost impossible to cast. Only really talented Charms Masters can achieve it. Dumbledore, likely. Possibly Flitwick. An area – a home, usually – is completely concealed and the secret of its location is given to one person only, and that is the one person who can share the secret with others. Even once you've been let in on the secret by the Secret Keeper, you can't speak of it to anyone who doesn't know. It's beyond our skillset, I'm afraid, and it's a bit too comprehensive for our needs."

"You think my parents would be too safe?" Lily's eyebrows drew together as she stared at him.

James, recognizing the tone of voice that warned of approaching anger, looked up and rolled his eyes. "Calm down. I wasn't saying they don't deserve the best protective enchantments out there. It's just that comprehensive and best are not one and the same. No one would know your parents lived here. Anyone who hadn't been told the secret wouldn't even be able to see the house. Your parents couldn't be Secret Keepers because they're Muggles, so if we were able to pull off casting Fidelius, you would probably want to be the Secret Keeper. They wouldn't be able to have guests over because you would have to meet them first and give them the secret and then they would watch a house seemingly materialize out of nowhere. It wouldn't be practical."

"Okay, okay, you're right. Sorry." Lily sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. "I just … now that you've got the idea in my head … I really want to find something I can do for them now."

"I know, and I think we have," James told her.

Lily lifted her head and squinted suspiciously at him. "Do you have another, better book of spells over there, Potter? We're supposed to be sharing."

"No, I don't." James laughed and shoved her hand away when she started to jokingly pat him down. He pointed down at the book they had been sharing. "Look on the next page. Salvio Hexia and Protego Totalum."

Lily read the descriptions quickly. "Salvio Hexia to protect against basic hexes. Protego Totalum to create a protective shield around a dwelling. It's a good start."

Her parents wouldn't understand why they needed protection from magic, but she just wouldn't tell them exactly what they were being shielded from. Besides, for all they knew, she and James were only practicing for when they had their own place. She rolled her eyes at the thought and kept reading.

James jotted something down and she stared at him in horror.

"Repello Muggletum?" she questioned. "The Fidelius Charm is too much, but a barrier to keep Muggles away from my Muggle parents' Muggle home in a Muggle neighbourhood? Really?"

He laughed and shook his head. "No, of course not. But we can use the spell as a sort of base idea. Perhaps not a barrier against Muggles, but against people with ill will? Something to play with."

"Can you do that?" She asked, cocking her head. "Can you change a spell?"

"Sure." James shrugged. "How do you think new spells are created? You just take the useful bits of other spells and take away what you don't need, add what you do, and there you have it. It will take time to craft this one into what we need because we would have to define exactly what ill will entails and what exactly would happen to anyone who fits the bill."

"You sound like you've done it before," Lily said suspiciously.

"You think it was easy making the Maruder's Map?" James said with a small laugh. "Took us a whole year to get the first draft and then there were constant alterations that had to be made, new enchantments we had to add, some of which didn't exist so we had to create them."

She looked at him for a moment, full of wonder. Here was this boy, this tall, beautiful, athletic, intelligent, funny, popular, well-liked boy, and he spent countless hours researching and inventing spells with his three best friends so they could create a map of a school they were unlikely to ever set foot in again after they graduated. They were all just a bunch of reckless swotty idiots.

When she didn't say anything, James looked over at her and seemed very much confused by the soft look on her face. She kissed him slowly, one hand on the rug to prop herself up, the other caressing the side of his face. When she opened her eyes, he had a goofy, somewhat dazed grin on his face.

"What was that for?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Because I love you."

And she did. She loved him so much it startled her sometimes. They were only seventeen, but she still felt as though she had wasted all this time not wanting to fancy him, wanting her wanker of a best friend to be worthy of her time, time she could have been spending with James, loving James. They had the rest of their lives together, though, she had to remind herself. Countless days of James being smarter than he had any right to be, of him knowing things she didn't have to say, of the warm, comfortable, dizzying feeling she got from just sitting next to him. Millions of kisses and hours, days, years, a lifetime of curling up against his long frame, his arms around her.

But it wasn't the time for such thoughts, so she slid her hand from his face and shifted her weight to lean into his side as she turned back to the book they were sharing. He swung his arm across her shoulders, pressed his lips to the side of her head, and they continued to read.

They worked in silence for quite a while and by the time they got through the entire section of the book that would be useful to them, they had pretended at least a dozen times not to notice her parents walking past the entryway. Lily flipped the book closed and sighed, rubbing her eyes. Next to her, James stretched dramatically, his back and neck arching, arms and legs splaying, and yawned loudly. She laughed when he suddenly jumped to standing, fully of energy, and held a hand down for her.

"Shall we?" he asked.

They would cast the spells that they didn't feel the need to change, they had decided, and take their time working on the others. Those enchantments wouldn't be ready to go until after graduation, they figured, but in the meantime it would give Lily some peace of mind to know that her parents were safer, at least, than most Muggles.

She swiped her wand from the table, took his hand, and let him pull her up. She led him to the door to the back garden, then paused, looking at him worriedly. "Do you think it's okay to do this? What if the Muggles see?"

"Muggles never notice magic," James said dismissively, and sighed when she shot him a disapproving look. "Have they ever noticed the Knight's Bus? The magic that they do see they always find a perfectly Muggle explanation for. The pyramids of Egypt? Stonehenge? All magic. If they see us out there casting protective enchantments, all they're going to see is a couple of teenagers walking circles around a house. If anything, they'll think we're looking to break in."

"Maybe if it was just you, but they won't think I'm breaking in to my own house," Lily said, but he had a point. Muggles did often explain away the unexplainable. Besides, it was growing dark out and it was a bitter cold evening and snow was beginning to fall again. No one would be outside anyway. She opened the door and led him outside.

"Here, why don't you go that way and I'll work my way this way," James suggested, and they began pacing away from each other.

"Salvio Hexia. Protego Totalum. Protego Horibilis. Fianto Duri." With each step she took, she muttered another incantation and a quick, dull, shimmer of light appeared in front of her, the shield taking shape.

She reached the hedge at the side of the house, looked over her shoulder and saw that James was no longer in sight. He had either jumped the hedge or magicked his way through. She sighed, decided that there was no way she was risking jumping over the waist-high prickly hedge, and tapped it with the tip of her wand. It disappeared and she quickly stepped through, waving her wand over her shoulder so that it appeared again.

"Salvio Hexia. Protego Totalum. Protego Horibilis. Fianto Duri."

She met him at the front door. James, with his longer legs, had finished his half of the house first and waited for her there instead of continuing on and meeting her. It was a wise call on his part; she probably would have been disappointed to have taken less responsibility over her parents' safety than he had. It surprised her, protective as she was wont to be, that she wasn't dissatisfied with only having done half of the work. James was a brilliant wizard, after all, and she would be hard-pressed to think of someone she trusted more.

"I feel better now," Lily confided in him. "Now that I know they're fairly well protected."

"So do I," James told her, drawing her near to him. His concern, she knew, was mostly for her next week or so here, but she also knew that he was the type of person who would have been worried over her parents' safety even if she weren't there.

The door opened and light flooded them just as he leaned in to kiss her. Without pulling away from one another, they turned to look at her father, who blinked awkwardly out at them.

"Oh," he said. "There you are."

"We were just finishing up with our enchantments," James explained as he slid his hands from Lily's waist languidly and took a few steps back from their embrace.

"I see," Lily's father said and he seemed to contemplate something for a moment before he settled on his decision. "And do all enchantments end with a kiss?"

Lily laughed, pleased that her father actually seemed to be trying to make light of the situation. She wondered if James stating that they would be living together after Hogwarts had said something of his commitment to their relationship and had made her parents like him, or at least not think of him as some strange boy who was only after one thing.

"Only the best ones, sir." James said with an easy grin. Lily rolled her eyes and gave him a small sideways shove, but she knew her grin matched his when he slung his arm across her shoulders and pulled her closer.

It wasn't until she felt the warmth radiating off of him that she realized she was freezing her tits off. She had remembered her boots this time, but neither of them had bundled up nearly well enough, and it was only getting colder the later it got.

Her father seemed to realize this at the same time she did and gestured for them to come inside. Lily wrapped her hand around James's and dragged him inside behind her.

"Dinner's ready," her father mentioned as he closed the door behind them.

"Oh, is that why you were looking for us?" Lily asked mildly. She noticed her mother standing at the foot of the staircase, looking as though she had just come back down the stairs. Lily wondered if she had gone upstairs expecting to find James and Lily in her bedroom again.

"Yes, come along into the dining room," her mother said, gesturing awkwardly down the hall.

Lily paused briefly to kick off her boots, and then she and James followed her parents to the dining room. Her mother had plated everything on nice serving dishes: her corned beef, the delectable colcannon, a colourful fresh salad, and a pitcher of water. She sat down across the table from her father, and James took the seat next to her.

While her mother served up everyone's plates, something she did every time they had guests over, her father resumed asking James about Quidditch.

"Usually a match will last a couple hours," James told him with a shrug. "Course, there are the ones that take up the entire day. It's why we only play on weekends; it could take too long if we were to play after lessons. And then there are the rare quick games that only take a few minutes."

"A few minutes?" Her father asked, pausing a moment to thank his wife when she set a plate down in front of him. "How does that work?"

"The game always ends when the seeker catches the snitch," Lily said.

"So, if it's a slow snitch and a quick seeker, they could catch it in the first couple minutes," James added. "Doesn't happen often because you usually want to score as many points as possible before you end the match to rack up your points for the Quidditch cup. That and it's dead boring if it's over before it really begins."

He pulled a dreadful, tortured look, and Lily laughed at him, reaching over to pat his knee under the table. "I remember you nearly cried when Martin caught the snitch in the first five minutes of the game against Hufflepuff last year."

James threw his head back and groaned like he was having the life sucked out of him. "I told him not to catch the snitch until we had a good lead over them." He leaned back when Lily's mother set an overflowing plate before him, smiled up at her. "Thank you."

"It's not like it affected our standings. Hufflepuff has never been an actual contender for the cup." Lily rolled her eyes when he stared at her in horror. "You're so dramatic. Thanks, Mum."

"I am not being dramatic," James insisted. "It wasn't about Hufflepuff. It was about getting more points on the leaderboard! We only went up by one-fifty when we could have gone up by at least three hundred and put a decent gap between Slytherin and us. Instead, we dropped below them and needed to wallop them in the final!"

"Which we did," Lily reminded him. "And won."

"Yes, but that's not the point!" James said, gesticulating wildly now as he was wont to do when he grew impassioned. "The point is that instead of focusing on catching the snitch in the final, Martin had to focus on stopping Regulus from catching the snitch and keep track of the score so he didn't mess up and end the game before we had enough points to win the cup."

"But we did win the cup," Lily said.

"I know! But we could easily have won the game and still lost the cup and it would have been all Martin's fault."

"But we won both, James," Lily said.

James made a strangled sound in his throat and his shoulders hunched over as if he were in immeasurable pain. When he pressed his fingertips against his eyelids and knocked his glasses askew, Lily smirked. Across the table, her father looked on with amusement as her mother grew more and more confused.

"Love," James finally said in a strained voice. "I'm aware that you're actively trying to frustrate me, but it's working a little too well. Can you please stop?"

Lily laughed and reached over to pat his thigh. When she leaned into him and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, he gave her a warning look. Not in front of your parents, you impossible girl, she practically heard him say.

"So sorry, dear," Lily said innocently, giving his leg another little taunting squeeze under the table before she pulled away and picked up her fork. "Let's dig in, yeah?"

"Yes, this looks amazing, thank you so much," James said, picking up his fork as well.

"You are very welcome," her mum said, looking delighted when James began eating with great enthusiasm.

For a while, there was little conversation besides small pleasantries. Then, when everyone had nearly cleared their plates, James spoke up again.

"Mr. and Mrs. Evans," he said, nudging Lily's foot under the table and sparing her a slight wink, "I would love it if you would tell me how Lily set the house on fire."

"You…!" Lily choked and kicked him in the shin.

"Ow!" he complained, reaching down to massage his leg.

"Lily!" her mother chided while her father tried to pretend he wasn't laughing.

"I told you I would tell you later!" Lily said, ignoring her parents as she glared at her boyfriend.

"You were never actually going to tell me, though! I know your tricks! You would only distract me every time I brought it up until I forgot all about it if I waited for you to tell me!" he accused. "You know plenty of my embarrassing moments! Hell, you've witnessed most of them!"

"That is beside the point!" she protested. "I've never asked you to relive any of those moments!"

James scoffed and leveled an incredulous stare at her. "Are you going to look me in the eye and pretend that you didn't actively make fun of me for weeks after Peter's spell backfired in Transfiguration and I ended up completely bald for a few hours back in fourth year?"

Lily bit her lip, unsuccessfully trying to hide her giggle. She had in fact teased him horrendously for what was probably closer to a couple months, but she simply couldn't help herself. As much as she had tried to convince herself that his hair was stupid for years, she'd been forced to admit to herself even back then that he just wasn't Potter without the hair. She had taken perhaps a bit too much pleasure in those few hours he had looked truly awkward. Even now that she loved him, the memory still made her feel almost giddy.

"I was trying to levitate a pillow onto my bed. I was making my bed, you see, magically. My entire bed caught fire rather abruptly and when I tried to put it out it just spread even quicker," she said in a very quiet rush.

"Scared us half to death," her father added.

"Scared us even more when the Ministry fellow just appeared in the middle of her room and set it all to rights," her mother said.

"And then the fellow scared Lily to tears, saying that if she ever did magic outside of school again, she'd be expelled forever and have her wand snapped in half," her father said.

James was smirking when he turned to her, but he quickly adopted a more stoic expression when he saw the warning glare Lily was sending him. He cleared his throat and tried to cover the amused twitch of his lips by speaking.

"You know, they don't really do that," he said in what he clearly meant to be a conversational tone. In truth, his voice was a little on the high, tremulous side as he repressed laughter. "Expel you and snap your wand. Not unless you do something really awful like purposely expose a bunch of unsuspecting muggles to magic. They just threaten muggleborns with it because you can't have a bunch of kids running around waving their wands all freely in the muggle world."

"I bet you got to do magic all the time when you were away from school, even before you turned seventeen," Lily grumbled at him.

"I never said it was fair." He reached for her hand on the table, twined their fingers together and stroked his thumb along the back of her hand. "And I'm sure it was terrifying to be threatened that way your first summer back from school."

"Did you ever set anything on fire?" Mr. Evans asked, looking at James.

"Oh, loads of times," James said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"He means by accident," Lily told him.

"Oh, well. In that case…" There was an amused twinkle in his eyes when he winked at her. "Maybe once or twice."

Her parents looked a bit concerned at that – was the boy a pyromaniac? But Lily and James were exchanging very amused glances like it was nothing that he'd just casually admitted to starting fires on purpose. Perhaps it wasn't a big deal in their world.

Lily laughed quietly; she remembered many a time James and his friends had caused explosions and mild fires in classes as either pranks or distractions, but he hadn't done anything like that since fifth year. Besides, a small fire in the back of the Charms classroom was nothing for Professor Flitwick to fix.

Mrs. Evans stood and began to gather the dishes from the table. "I'll just clear this up before pudding, shall I?"

James stood quickly. "No, don't trouble yourself. I'll clear this up."

Mrs. Evans started to protest, but Lily shook her head with a small smile. "We'll take care of it, Mum."

James and Lily made quick work of cleaning up the dishes in the dining room, charming them into neat little stacks and sending them gliding gently through the air to the kitchen, where they charmed them to wash and dry themselves. Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Evans served up four dishes of a scrumptious pudding, smiling softly as they listened to their daughter giggle as James struggled to make sense of the dish organization in the cabinets. If nothing else, at least they could see that the boy made Lily happy.

They came back in both glowing happily, James following closely behind Lily as if he couldn't bear to be more than a few inches from her. Not now that their time together tonight was drawing to a close. They both knew that after dessert came goodbye, and there was no guarantee yet that they would see each other again before they headed back to school.

Mrs. Evans sat a dish of pudding in front of Lily and a substantially larger serving in front of James as they took their seats again. It was all James could do to wait until Lily's parents both had their forks in hand before he dug in. He acted as if he'd never tasted anything so delightful in his life. If Lily didn't know that he ate just about every dessert with as much gusto, she might have thought he was just kissing up to her mother.

"A fan of a good pudding, eh?" Mr. Evans said with a slight chuckle.

James grinned unabashedly and nodded. As eagerly as he tended to devour his dessert, he never did so with a lack of basic table manners, so Lily's parents found his enthusiasm endearing rather than repulsive.

"James usually eats pretty healthy because of Quidditch," Lily told her parents. "But about once a week he'll lose control over a whole platter of treacle tarts."

"A whole platter?" Mrs. Evans said. "Shall I get you a second serving?"

"I really shouldn't, thanks." James grinned over his empty plate. "But you should see me in Honeydukes."

"The sweet shoppe in Hogsmeade," Lily explained when her parents looked intrigued. "I swear, he buys about a ton of sweets every time we go down there."

"And what is a magical sweet shoppe like?" Mr. Evans asked.

"Oh, Dad, don't get him started." Lily rolled her eyes good-naturedly even as James brought his finger to her lips and playfully shushed her.

"Mr. Evans, sir, you have never seen such wonder," James began before launching into a longwinded, incredibly detailed description of the inside of Honeydukes and all the sweets they offered there.

Lily watched him fondly for a moment before her mother caught her attention.

"Did Petunia tell you that she expects Vernon to propose soon?" her mother said quietly so as not to disturb the boys. Lily thought she probably could have shouted it and her father wouldn't have even blinked from James's compelling descriptions.

"Petunia doesn't tell me anything, Mum," Lily said with a small frown.

"She thinks he's doing it tonight," her mother continued in a tone that wasn't quite full of sarcasm, but was clearly forced enthusiasm.

"Well, isn't that brilliant," Lily said, and her tone was dripping in sarcasm. "Congratulations to the happy couple."

"Lily, she's your sister," her mother reprimanded softly.

"She's a mannerless, trifling hag," Lily grumbled, and crossed her arms over her chest as she settled deeper into her seat.

James, still waxing poetic about all of the sweets her father had never seen before, slid his hand over her thigh beneath the table, giving her leg a warm, comforting squeeze. His gaze briefly slanted toward her when her father asked him a clarifying question, and she leaned in closer to him. Her mother let the conversation drop, instead rising to carry the dirty dessert dishes to the kitchen.

"I should probably be going," James said when Mrs. Evans walked back into the room, a regretful note to his voice when he looked at Lily. It was difficult for him to not be able to see her everyday, to just walk down a flight of stairs and find her seated in front of a roaring fire, or to wake up in his four-poster and find her next to him, her brilliant hair fanning across his pillow and over his biceps.

She frowned at him, feeling rather sad to have to say goodnight to him herself. Lily missed walking down the long corridors with him at night, pulling each other into a broom cupboard and losing herself in him like they were supposed to be stopping other students from doing. She wished he didn't have to go, that he could stay here with her. As much as she loved her parents, it was dreadfully boring to be home sometimes, completely separated from all the magic she had grown accustomed to. That, and any world in which James Potter was not constantly accessible to her was plain miserable.

The four of them gathered in the foyer, much like they had when James had first arrived. Only, this time James was pulling on his coat instead of hanging it on the rack and Lily was frowning, on the verge of pouting, instead of beaming and vibrating with excitement.

"Oh, I nearly forgot. When I told my parents I would be meeting you, they got very excited and a bit jealous and made me promise to invite Lily over for dinner," James said very suddenly, turning to level a hopeful look on her parents. "Lily's told me that in the Evans household, Christmas holidays are traditionally spent just with the family, but they'd really love to meet her. If you want to, that is."

He looked at her with wide, inviting eyes, one eyebrow quirked questioningly. Her heart skipped a beat and it was all she could do to hide just how badly she wanted to snog him senseless.

"You mean before we go back to school?" she asked, and bit her lip to keep from betraying her mischievous smirk when he nodded. James's parents had left out of the country on business early that morning and wouldn't be back until the night before the Hogwarts Express left. "Yes, I would absolutely love to have dinner with your parents."

"Is that alright with you, Mr. and Mrs. Evans?" James asked, turning his innocent gaze back to them.

Her parents looked at one another and Lily rolled her eyes. James caught her eye and gave her a warning look – don't mess this up, Evans. Instead of sending him an apologetic look, she rolled her eyes again, more dramatically so that she almost gave herself a headache. Suppressed laughter twinkled in his gaze and they both turned back to her parents before they were caught having another silent conversation. She nearly laughed when instead she and James caught her parents doing the very same.

It was almost funny that they actually thought they had a say in the matter. Lily was going to this "dinner with James's parents" whether they thought it was a good idea or not. Not that she thought they would have a problem with it, really. They had, after all, just hosted a dinner for James and Lily was certain that they approved of him wholeheartedly.

"That would be fine," Mr. Evans said after a moment, his conversation with his wife ending so suddenly that even Lily was a bit taken-aback. He looked at James, who had schooled his face into that uncanny innocent expression once more. "When did they want to have her over?"

"Oh, they didn't specify a day," James said. "They're really not busy, though, so any day would work, I'm sure."

"Tomorrow?" Lily suggested, her eagerness hidden behind wide, innocent eyes and a soft, easy smile. James smirked somewhat proudly and more than a little smugly.

"You've got to give them time to prepare, love. I'm sure tomorrow is far too soon." Mrs. Evans issued her daughter a gentle reprimand, a reminder to be a courteous guest as well as a reminder that she hadn't given her parents enough time to prepare for James to come over, an issue James was not at fault for.

"Really, it's fine," James assured her. "If tomorrow works for you, it will work for my parents as well."

Lily wanted to throw her fists in the air and scream in triumph or maybe do a hearty little jig about the foyer when her parents relented.

"Well, if it's really okay with your parents…" Lily's mother said.

"It is," James cut in eagerly. Lily clenched her teeth in a concentrated effort not to smile at him, and they both avoided meeting her parents' gazes.

"Then, fine. Tomorrow is fine," Mrs. Evans finished.

"Brilliant!" Beaming, James turned to Lily. "I'll pick you up for five?"

She wanted to frown at him and demand he come for her earlier, but he'd said dinner and if her parents weren't already suspicious they certainly would be if he offered to pick her up for dinner first thing in the morning. "That's perfect."

"Mum's going to be so excited." James's eyes twinkled with mischief as he gazed down at her before he forced himself to turn back to her parents. "It was a pleasure to meet you both. Thank you so much for having me over."

"It was lovely meeting you, James," Mrs. Evans said, charmed when he shook her hand warmly. "I hope you'll come for another visit before you go back to school."

"Oh, absolutely!" he said. "I'd love to!"

"Have a good night, James," Mr. Evans said, impressed by the firm handshake he received from the tall boy before him who was standing very close to his daughter. "Don't be a stranger."

"Thank you, sir. I'll bring some of the Fizzing Whizbees you were so curious about when I come for Lily tomorrow," James promised.

"Really? That would be fantastic!" Mr. Evans said enthusiastically.

For a moment, the four of them stood awkwardly in the foyer. Lily stared expectantly at her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Evans stared at James, and James pretended to study the wall clock over the coat rack. Mrs. Evans suddenly caught Lily's gaze – her eyes were steadily narrowing into a mild glare – and jolted in realization. She gripped her husband by the elbow and tugged him away.

"Come, dear, let's go straighten the dining room," she said in a much too chipper tone.

"We've already done that," Mr. Evans huffed, but allowed himself to be towed into the room.

James was already reaching for her, quietly chuckling, when Lily turned her body into him; he folded her into his arms, tightening his grip when he felt her rock up on the tips of her toes to press herself closer.

"You know, I actually would like to have dinner with your parents one day," she whispered into his ear.

"Yeah?" She felt his smirk against her neck. When he pulled away, his eyes were dancing with mirth. "Because you can't wait to have them tell you all my embarrassing stories you haven't witnessed first hand or because it's a big thing, meeting the parents?"

"Both," Lily said, and kissed him. Then, she laughed against his lips. "But mostly for the stories."

"I love you," he grinned and kissed her properly and they both were lightheaded and lighthearted and smiling when they pulled apart.

When he Disapparated with a loud crack right there in the foyer and she turned away still with that dreamy grin on her face, she didn't even notice her parents watching her glide her way to the stairs from the door to the living room, practically floating on that familiar weightless feeling he always brought to her life.

Mrs. Evans turned to her husband with an elated smile when Lily called a distracted good night over her shoulder from halfway up the stairs. "Our little girl's in love."

"Bloody wonderful," Mr. Evans grumbled, but he knew his wife wasn't fooled; in fact, her smile only widened.

That James Potter was a good boy, and it was clear their daughter wasn't the only one in love there. The way he'd hardly been able to take his eyes off her even when he'd been so patiently and masterfully explaining the details of Quidditch and magic sweets to him it was clear that none of the other great passions in his life even held a candle to Lily.

Mrs. Evans twirled away from him and into the kitchen to fix a cuppa, humming happily for their younger daughter. When he sat back down in his favoured blue recliner to wait for her, he was smiling too as he thought of the besotted expression on his not-so-little-anymore girl's face.

Well, he thought, she certainly picks them better than Petunia.

#jily #jily fanfiction #jily fic #established relationship jily #seventh year jily #james potter #lily evans #lily potter #this is pure pure fluff with not a whole lot of plot fyi

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anntoldst0ries · 3 years

Text

Diagnosis

I just want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart to all of you who read my previous fic and left such kind comments. You can’t imagine how much I appreciate this!

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Vicky Valentine)

Word Count: 2,911

Summary: Dr Ramsey attempts to diagnose the most difficult case in his career...his own.

Warnings: None! A lot of introspection again and hints of angst :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ethan Ramsey considered himself a brave man.

He always had the courage to say whatever he wanted to say or what had to be said - be that a terminal diagnosis, savaging someone’s speech at a medical conference (only if the speaker was talking nonsense, that is), scolding an intern - you name it.

With years of experience under his belt, Dr Ramsey excelled at the “art” of saying the most horrible, unpleasant and inconvenient things. It was a process he took to pieces and mastered every tiniest part.

He knew exactly what they were whispering behind his back in the hospital corridors. Dr Ramsey is a bully. A ruthless cynic. No one survived more than 3 minutes of his tirades without bursting into tears. Or, as some of the interns so lovingly put it, he was “the only survivor of a heart transplant”. The last remark had been conveyed to him by Baz, who found it hilarious…and so did Naveen. It took one deadly look to silence Baz forever, however Naveen used every occasion to remind his protégé of hospital’s favourite joke:

‘How’s your heart, Ethan?’

‘Good, why are you as—‘ Ethan didn’t have a chance to finish answering the question, interrupted by Dr Banerji who was in convulsions.

‘God, Naveen, for such a bright mind and one of the best doctors in the world, I still find it hard to believe that you have a sense of humour of a 5 year old’

‘There is nothing wrong with some joy, Ethan. You should try it sometimes, it may do you good.’

Similar conversations took place on a regular basis, but they always ended with Ethan rolling his eyes and Naveen sighing. Younger doctor would never, ever tell his mentor off, he respected him too much. So Ethan let Dr Banerji have some fun at his expense from time to time.

But, truth be told, he kept his emotions at a leash and he was good at it, because there wasn’t a thing in Ethan’s life that he wasn’t good at. Regardless of what it was - saving people’s lives or emotional self-deprivation.

That’s why reminiscing past 2 years was so hard for accomplished diagnostician. He couldn’t help but think that he’s lived more during this time than he’s lived during his whole life. His existence wasn’t a boring one, he loved his job and the cases that the team had to crack were mostly complex and thus exciting. There was also a sense of fulfilment and servitude to a greater cause.

As a kid, Ethan wanted to be a detective. It all started with Alan buying his son one of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s books. There was no hidden intention in this choice - Alan simply ran out of book ideas, Ethan was literally gobbling up the books at his disposal and was thirsty for more. Therefore, Mr Ramsey picked picked one of the thickest positions available in the book shop, with hopes it will keep Ethan occupied for at least a couple of weeks. Oh, how wrong he was - 5 days later his son was already begging for more.

Sherlock Holmes and Hercules Poirot quickly took the top spot on the list of Ethan’s childhood heroes. He was obsessed with their investigative methods, their sharp minds that captured even the tiniest of details and how missing those nuances would make solving a mystery a lot harder, if not impossible.

That’s why he became obsessed with details. He analysed, compared, observed and noted down everything around him with deliberation. After a while, Ethan realised that these skills come handy in various areas of life. He could read people and to a degree foresee what their next move was going to be. If he wanted to, he could probably try and influence their decisions too. If it wasn’t for Alan’s upbringing, this particular skill might have taken his life onto a dark track, but fortunately he utilised it for greater good.

Having this sort of insight made him very self-conscious and he never turned away from reliving his own decisions and behaviours, which helped him become a better doctor, every single day. But he never wallowed in the mud of emotions, instead always operating on facts.

But for the past couple of months, this process became a pure torture.

You know what they say, the devil is in the detail. And the devil it was indeed.

The devil that would be the death of Ethan was 5’4, had raven hair, plumped lips, mesmerising eyes and a captivating laugh.

Suddenly, he heard the devil’s voice in his head.

‘Are you pinching the bridge of your nose right now?’

He was.

‘God dammit!’ - shouted Ethan, so loud that he startled poor Jenner, who resigned from occupying the sofa and ran straight to his bed. Even the retriever, in his doggy wisdom, knew that when his master was upset, it was best to stay out of his sight and wait for the storm to pass.

Whenever Dr Ramsey had a serious dilemma, he would subtly join his thumb and index finger to pinch the gentle skin between eyes. She knew of this somewhat subconscious habit and teased him about it countless times.

With most people, the whole observing and reading process was a one-sided game. For majority of mortals, Ethan was a closed book and they had no idea how to open, let alone read it. But not Rookie. She saw right through him. Ethan considered himself a riveting mystery thriller before, if we’re talking comparisons, but right now he was probably a cheap Harlequin. How did he sink so low in practically no time?

The answer came before he was even able to finish the question.

He was hopelessly, utterly and irreversibly in love with Dr Vicky Valentine.

“Victoria….” he whispered. He knew her full name, he’s read her bloody application and her employee file many, many times. More than he’d ever care to admit. Neither him nor anyone else addressed her by her full name. She always introduced herself as Vicky and even mentioned to him, June & Baz one time that she considered herself too young to be a bearer of such gracious name. But when the name fell out of his lips, it made perfect sense. Victoria. Victory. After a long, tough and heartbreaking battle, she’s won all of him. And man, wasn’t she fighting fiercely.

She was so much like him, and yet so different. Patients loved her, and for a good reason - not only was she amazing at her job, but also so genuinely caring about every patient she met. Somehow, she was able to see past people weary of their conditions, instead she always noticed the human beings with their unique stories. Thanks to her, patients never felt like sickness became their identity, but merely a stage in their life that shall soon pass.

Hospital staff adored her as well, she had time and a huge smile for everyone; her bright aura lit up every room she walked into and was a pleasure to be around.

Those who knew Ethan a bit better or worked with him were aware of the insanely high standards he was holding himself to. And it would have been fine if they only applied to him, but he held everyone else to the same standard too. It was his buffer. Most gave up without even trying, it was humanly impossible to live up to such expectations. And that was the goal. Dr Ramsey wanted no distractions and if anyone wanted so much as approach him, they had a giant wall to jump over first.

But the young intern wasn’t bothered in the slightest. Dozens of people before her stood in front of the wall and tried to figure out how to get in. And she… she just found a tiny gap and squeezed right through. Before Ethan realised what’s going on, it was already too late. And she wasn’t even fully aware of what she’s done.

Like air, she’s entered his life imperceptibly, filling every space until there was nothing else. She was in every reflection he saw, every smile, every freaking thing a reminder of her, one way or another.

He was completely under her spell, enchanted, drunk in the thought of her.

The most ironic part was that if he went by his unreasonable standards, she’d never stand a chance.

She was messy, she was a klutz, she laughed too loud and rounded her eyes like a child when something seriously excited her.

And yet, something about her made him break all of his rules, lower his guard and re-think everything he’s ever thought he knew and believed in.

Obviously, he wouldn’t be himself if the occupational quirk did not kick in at some point. Whatever the cause, Dr Ramsey had to get to the bottom of it, no matter how many tests did he have to run on his mind and heart. He needed the diagnosis so he could start the treatment. But his sharp diagnostic skills which made him a famous man, suddenly decided to go on unplanned vacation and it looks like they were not coming back anytime soon.

Ambivalence became Ethan’s newest companion. Some days, he thought he was going to blow his brains out, the others he was strangely content and did not want to analyse anything, things were good just as they were.

For the first time in his life, he felt truly lost. He felt like Jon Snow, he knew nothing. It wasn’t a result of one event, rather a chain reaction. Starting with Naveen getting sick, the inability to figure out what was wrong with his mentor made Ethan seriously doubt his capabilities as a doctor. Then, Louise Ramsey made a surprise reappearance after having walked out on him and his dad 25 years earlier. When he was little, his dad use to say that wherever Louise goes, trouble follows and it wasn’t any different this time. She brought company - insecurity, sorrow, resentment - to name just a few. Ethan felt like someone ripped a band aid from his heart and painfully reminded him that all the wounds are still alive and never really healed.

And finally, Edenbrook. The place that others saw as walls, glass, beds, people in white coats, sickness, illness, death. To him, it was much, much more. The hospital had almost a transcendental dimension. It was here that Ethan’s transition had been completed. He shed his old skin and became Dr Ramsey, the person he was always meant to be.

That’s why Edenbrook closing hit him so hard - a part of him was about to die and be buried beneath years of sweat, tears and effort. It was probably the hardest thing to come to terms with in the 37 years that he’s been walking on the surface of the Earth.

And throughout all these events, she was with him.

She never gave up on Naveen and Ethan knew that there was more to it than just saving Edenbrook’s most prominent doctor. He believed, he wanted to believe that she did this for him too.

The memory brought shame that drained off him like unpleasant wave of cold water. Ethan never really forgave himself for just laying in his bed like a drunk bag of potatoes, whilst she was busting her gut to solve the case, even though she had ethics hearing to prepare for. A hearing that could make or break her whole career, before she even had a chance to start.

Dr Ramsey would like to think they were alike. But as a matter of fact, she was a much better person than him.

Then, with his mother in the picture, she never told him what to do. Even though he asked, many times. He hoped someone can actually make the decision for him, because it hurt so much to even think about this, let alone decide what to do next. But she never did. She was just there and by simply being, she empowered him to make his own, informed decision.

She was there, like no one else was in his entire life. Not to take anything from Naveen, who had tremendous effect on Ethan’s life - but this was completely different.

She penetrated his soul.

She made him feel.

Love.

It was the first time he used this word in a long, long time.

And maybe, quite possibly, for the first time in his life he used it with intention.

He thought he felt it once before.

When he was a student at Johns Hopkins, Ethan met Camille. She was a year older than him, with angelic voice and looks, the cascade of blond locks surrounding her gentle facial features like a halo.

What impressed him was that she kept hitting up on him, not the other way round. He’s had his mind set on graduating as a top student in his class and then getting the best residency there was - in Edenbrook hospital in Boston. It was either him or someone else. University romances were of no interest to him, or so he thought. After all, he’s just gone past his teenage years and was relatively new to the world of intimate human desires. As much as he tried to push them away, he had needs and his hormones were still a giant part of his decision-making process, doesn’t matter how hard he tried denying it.

Also, there was something motherly about her and she reminded him of the woman who left him when he was just a boy. It was completely fucked-up, he hated his mother and yet a memory of her and how he’d once do anything for her was tattooed in the insides of his brain.

Ethan and Camille shared a passion for medicine, music and opera. A few times, he was close to bringing her down to Providence, to introduce her to Alan, his father. But there was this weird voice in his head stopping him.

Maybe that’s why he wasn’t overly surprised when one day he walked on Camille. In his bed. Screaming and making other explicit sounds…except, he wasn’t the igniter. It was none other than his best friend at the time, Tobias. Ethan would never forget the jealous glance he shot him with when he first brought Camille to one of the student parties. And then things got worse. Ethan and Tobias always competed and for a long time it was a fuel that kept them both going. But when someone wins, someone has to lose. Neither of them was good at losing or accepting the failure.

Ethan was doing better than his best friend. Not significantly better, the difference between them had usually been slight, but it was there. Tobias couldn’t swallow this. Not only was Ethan doing better than him, he also had one of the most beautiful students at Hopkins by his side. Jealousy started to spread inside him like a wildfire and since his attempts to beat Ethan at school were futile, he decided to make use of his other skills. Tobias was a born flirter and charmer. He often used to say that no woman can resist his spell and that “where there’s a woman - there’s a way.”

Dr Ramsey never told anyone, but having found out that his girlfriend cheated on him with his best friend was sort of relief. Call it sixth sense, an intuition… subconsciously he sort of felt that she wasn’t a girl for him. As for Tobias, he was tired of the fight….of Tobias fighting with him, that is. Ethan wasn’t fighting, he was just a better student and was going to be a better doctor. He was tired of petty competition and how the toxin poisoned their relationship.

So they actually made him a favour and helped him killed 2 birds with 1 stone - he was saved from having an awkward break-up conversation that he’s never went through before and he now had every right to hate Tobias. He didn’t really, as such feelings were a waste of energy, but a week later Tobias moved out of their shared apartment and they never really spoke again.

After Camille, he was only in a brief relationship once. With Harper. He deeply admired and respected her, but when things started getting too serious (from her side), he distanced himself. And so, for a couple of years to follow, they were on the off and on again terms. They went through countless friends with benefits stages, but he genuinely enjoyed her company. They just never wanted the same things, which became more and more evident as she was getting older. And he respected her too much to mess her around.

Ethan’s career was everything to him and he accepted the fact that falling in love and having a family is just not in the cards for him.

Or so he thought.

Dr Valentine entered his life one September morning and hasn’t left ever since. And, hell, hasn’t he tried to erase her. To make her hate him. To draw a line between work and personal life. He could honestly say that he tried everything.

For the love of God, he ran to fucking Amazon! He tried to hide from all things Dr Valentine, like a fool who forgot one of the most basic rules of life: there is no running away from yourself.

Tag list (please let me know if you wish to be removed): @terrm9 @openheart12 @openheartthot @rookie-ramsey @alwaysmychoices @brooks-eden @drethanramslay @starrystarrytrouble @justanotherrookie @caseyvalentineramsey@incorrectopenheart @heauxplesslydevoted @perriewinklenerdie @mercury84choices @archxxronrookie @renasalek-blog @maurine07 @whippedforethanfreakingramsey @lemonmiddleton @tsrookie @choicesfan10 @dr-colossal-pita @queencarb @gryffindordaughterofathena @qrkowna @aarisa-frost @choicesficwriterscreations

#open heart #dr ethan ramsey #dr ethan jonah ramsey #dr ramsey x mc #ethan ramsey #open heart choices #dr valentine #play choices #open heart fanfiction #open heart fic #choices fic writers creations #fics of the week

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