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fictionsbypandorakiin · 2 years

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REMEMBER, REMEMBER, THE 5TH OF NOVEMBER.

Coming Soon(ish) in Dripping Wings & Heavy Things

Photography by danthedanimal | DA | P | R | S6

Online Reading: https://bit.ly/SPNDWnHT

Offline, At Your Leisure: https://bit.ly/EODPart1eBook

Warning! Explicit Content Ahead!

Excerpt:

Cas opened the motel room door and walked in, grinning and laughing. Setting down the white grocery bag Missi Missouri had sent them away with—cheap Tupperware filled with meals enough to last another day—on the table in front of the window, he shed his coat. Dean came in a few steps behind him, dancing through the door, fresh from Broadway, his voice playing around with the final bars of a song that hadn’t finished before the radio in the car went dead with the killing of the engine.

“...I would walk five hundred miles, an’ I would walk five hundred more, just to be the man who walked a thousand miles to fall down at yooour doooor...” The accent was awful, the pitch slightly off, but the feeling and meaning every word was all there. Dean had quickly figured out that Castiel couldn’t keep a straight face being on the receiving end of him at his most impishly charming; being serenaded was doing the trick friggin’ beautifully. Cas stood there, back toward him, one hand on his hip, shaking his head and trying to restrain his laughter as he cradled his face in hand. Dean dropped his arms to his sides, letting them swing, grinning and laughing at his own foolery as much as Castiel’s reaction. He closed and locked the door behind him.

Less than a step inside the room, Cas turned on his heel and closed on him, looking ready to swallow him whole. It occurred to Dean he’d probably looked at a few apple pies almost the same way. He tossed the keys at the two-seater tabletop—and missed. Probably had something to do with the fact that Cas had already captured his lips, and he’d closed his eyes just as the keychain took flight. His backside hit the wall first, hard enough to bounce his hips forward, making it immediately obvious there was something hot and hard waiting for him under the angel’s clothing. If he was reading this right, Cas seemed determined to have him—all of him—again today. His body—his cock, specifically—was sayin’, ‘fuckin’ Hell yeah’, his good sense on the other hand...

“Cas—” Shut down by a kiss. “Cas—” he breathed into the angel’s lips.

“Yes?” the seraph asked, lacking the breath to say it with any kind of force. Dean hesitated, so he kissed the man again, breathing him in at the same time; the smell of a backyard fire’s smoke, barbecue fried burgers, bread, butter and cornmeal, onion, cheese, condiments, jerk chicken, maple ice cream, good beer, orange zest, and whiskey. All this and every little thing that went into them colored the already delicious taste and scent of the eager human being in his grasp.

“Cas.” Dean opened his eyes, kissing the angel back when kissed, though not with the same heated intensity.

Castiel laid a kiss on him that was nothing if not an apology. “You’re unwilling?”

Dean looked down on him with disbelief. The friggin’ vocabulary on this guy... “Unwilling...? Heh. No. Haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

“I know. Your thoughts are very...” Cas cocked his head to one side while he paused, considering his word choice. “loud.” Dean’s lilting, darkly mischievous laughter sent a shiver down Castiel’s back, over his arse, and down his leg.

Despite the lack of space between them, Castiel’s hand slipped down there—calmly pulling belt tongues free of buckles, prongs out of their holes—his gaze wandering from looking Dean in the eye to lingering on his lips. Dean’s breath left him for half a minute; approximately the amount of time it took Cas to have their belts and waist buttons undone, zippers down, and a couple of his shirt buttons undone from the bottom up. Some adjusting and their penises stood comfortably underneath their underwear, side-by-side between them.

Dean snapped his eyes open, surprised he was unaware he’d closed them, simply enjoying the feeling of being undressed, taking in breath softly and unsteadily. That Cas had watched and delighted in every minute expression that showed momentarily on his face didn’t faze him in the slightest.

He shook his head and marginally looked away from Castiel. His expression turned troubled. “Do you have any pain, ’round back?”

The fingers of Cas’ busy hand walked around his waist, staying still behind him on his loin for a few seconds. Then the angel flattened his hand onto his skin and held him close with a grasp that allowed for no space between their pelvises as he rhythmically whet their cocks, grinding himself into Dean. “Mild,” the seraph replied as evenly as he could with how ragged his breathing already was.

Dean scoffed. Relative to what? Thousands of years in the Empty, and Dean had the distinct impression Castiel wasn’t the screaming sort. He looked Cas in the eyes again. “I’m not goin’ there again for a few days,” he said, pressing his tongue into the sharp tip of one of his top teeth as Cas ground their hips together hard. Refraining was going to be as hard as going without. “You need to recover. No pain.”

Cas’ nod was minute but genuinely accepting. He kissed Dean’s open lips. Dean needed no prompting to drop his jaw and let the angel’s tongue past his teeth, letting himself be kissed deeply. Worrying about threading his arms underneath Cas’ clothing, Dean held the angel tight against him, the skin at their groins superheating with no space between their bodies. Shifting how he stood was enough movement to light him up, setting his own enthusiasm loose. He was smiling, chuckling, and kissing Cas at the same time. Dizzy... feeling a liiittle dizzy. Dean took the breath he was shy on. If it hadn’t been a foregone conclusion before, it was now; he needed to paint the angel’s stomach white before settling down to sleep.

The seraph started to outright Cheshire grin the moment the thought crossed his mind.

Dean started snickering. “Hey now, sinning’s my department, angel.”

“Tonight, the ‘helping hand’ is mine,” Castiel asserted, his tone as dark as it was smooth. He quickly shed his jacket and shirt, bared chest butting up against Dean’s, as he insisted, “You’re overdressed, and so am I.”

Clear of his own clothing, Cas’ burning hands went up under Dean’s tee shirt as Dean stood forward from the wall for clearance enough to pull his plaid off over his head. As the tee shirt’s neck stretched around and over his jaw and nose, his lips parted, and he took in the breath he’d been forgetting to take. Watching Dean’s chest heave that way was swiftly becoming one of Cas’ favorite things to see his body do. Add it to the fucking list of things about the man that made him utterly weak.

#Destiel #Castiel #DeanWinchester #TheySilencedYou &#TheyStillAre #DeanCasAnniversary #CasDeanAnniversary #DestielAnniversary #HereHaveSomeGaySex #RememberRemember #NeverMoveOn #Reingnite #FlameOn #YouAreSEEN #CasDean #DeanCas #supernatural #mywriting

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akira-emberheart · 3 years

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songs I’d like to assign to the glee kids (part II)

Read Part I (for Kurt Hummel)

I’d like to start by letting you know that I’m not done with songs for Kurt. Oh no. There are more to come. I just feel it will be best to introduce others as well, since my list is not exactly complete or in some sort of specific order, and I’ll easily keep adding more songs.

Apologies for any spelling mistakes and canon misconceptions - I watched Glee last year and some seasons stuck in my head more than others. Here we go!

for Blaine Anderson

> Piece by Piece by Kelly Clarkson

"He takes care of me He loves me Piece by piece, he restored my faith That a man can be kind and a father could stay"

I heard this one for the first time in Jenna Ushkowitz’s voice, and for that reason I did think about it for Tina, because it sounded wonderful. But then it made so much sense for Blaine, and his voice would flow beautifully, making a beautiful scene of him singing this to Kurt.

We don’t really know much about Blaine’s relationship with his family, much less with his dad, unfortunately. The few canon pieces we have is that he wasn’t super accepting of his sexual orientation, and that he (possibly?) left his mom around S6. Without much info, I usually don't like headcanoning that he was a terrible father - parenting is hard, and you’re bound to make mistakes. With the very scarce hints we had from other tidbits over the series, I’m headcanoning that Blaine’s father is rather absent, and not so readily accepting of Blaine as a person, but at the same time not a terrible, abusive parent. Still, after observing Kurt’s relationship with Burt, I believe Blaine must have felt at least some jealousy, and that surely, when Klaine would be to have their own kids, Blaine would steer clear of acting like his father did.

This song, lyrically, takes us to a much more dramatic and negative experience, and for that reason, doesn’t seem to fit perfectly with this relationship. But emotionally, I think Blaine would definitely hear this song and feel something. Maybe after a less than pleasant conversation with his dad, or after spending some time with Kurt and his family and feeling like he was deprived of a good relationship with his own father.

So for this song, it would probably have to happen in a non canon scene, as I said, maybe after a fight with his dad. I also like this one to be sung in an assignemnt for Glee club, in the choir room, directed at Kurt. Quiet instrumentals, just sung over a piano like Darrren Criss does so well. Kurt and everyone would tear up.

***

> Oceans by Seafret

“It feels like there’s oceans

between you and me once again

we hide our emotions under the surface

and try to pretend”

There are a lot of songs that I can choose for Klaine’s breakup and their time apart - this one speaks to me a little differently.

Oceans is about distance. Physical, emotional - here’s no difference here. It’s about a relationship that isn’t exactly falling apart, but somehow drifting away in the distance.

In the beginning of S4, we see Kurt move to New York (pushed by Blaine), and slip into this whirlwind of a new busy life - while Blaine stays at McKinley, finishing high school in his small town life. It’s a hard balance to maintain, long distance is hard, and with everything keeping him so busy, Kurt ends up distancing himself, even though it’s not on purpose.

We see Blaine feeling lonely and left behind, and that’s exactly where this song would fit. Oceans lives a lot from the amazing vocals, so that woudn’t be an issue for Blaine at all.

I would imagine this one being sung more or less when he did “Barely Breathing” with Finn - as he considers his feelings, his relationship, going through his day to day feeling that Kurt is unreacheable (which, as we see from those phone calls, he kinda is).

“we hide our emotions under the surface

and try to pretend”

There’s also a lot of pretending everything is fine, when it really isn’t. Blaine could have tried to have an honest conversation with Kurt about how he was feeling, and about their relationship, but instead, he stayed in his corner, maybe thinking things would change, maybe witing for Kurt to realize. And as time passed, as Blaine felt more and more alone (and eventually made that mistake that led to their breakup), their relationship grows more and more distant.

***

> Always by Panic! At The Disco

“When the world gets too heavy

Put it on my back,

I’ll be your levy.

You are taking me apart

Like bad glue on a get well card.”

I am very into Blaine singing Panic! At The Disco songs - solely because his voice would fit so, so well.

This song initially made me think about how devoted and careful Blaine is with Kurt - mainly because of that first lyric. The immediate image that popped into my head was of Kurt arriving to the New York apartment after a workday, tired, and Blaine just being there, with dinner ready, ready to take care of him and make it all better.

But upon closer inspection, that’s not really what the song is about. The lyrics seem to describe someone who is deeply, irreversibly in love with someone who just doesn’t really reciprocate, or at least someone who does not answer similarly.

With this in mind, I actually have a very specific time that this song would fit in very well - the back half of S4, when Blaine and Kurt have somewhat reconciled, are friends, have even hooked up a number of times. But that’s not enough for Blaine - he wants a relationship, like they had before he made that mistake. Kurt isn’t there quite yet - and at that point, Blaine wonders if he’d ever be. Cheating is a hard thing to get over. Even if they had hooked up, Blaine couldn’t be sure Kurt would really want a serious relationship with him again.

So I would picture him singing this around that time - he’s available for Kurt, he isn’t giving up, and he’s still giving him all his love and care and attention, waiting for the day Kurt will will want the same as him.

***

> Impossible Year by Panic! At The Disco

“There’s no sunshine

This impossible year

Only black days and sky grey

And clouds full of fear”

Another one by Panic! At the Disco. Once again, Blaine’s voice would absolutely kill in this song - we all know the power of Blaine and a piano.

I love this song. In short, it’s about bad times, in a depressing and dramatic way.

I see Blaine singing this one shortly after the Break Up with Kurt - either one of them. Because in both situations he is in a really bad place, lonely, depressed, and just lost the love of his life. So it’s up to you when Blaine goes to the lonely piano in the auditorium and performs alone, to the empty chairs and dim lights.

***

> Us by James Bay

"So tell me how to be in this world Tell me how to breathe in and feel no hurt Tell me how 'cause I believe in something I believe in us"

Admittedly, I have way too many angsty songs for Blaine.

This song fits very well into Blaine's vocal ability. It seems to be about having someone very special to hold on to when everything else is falling apart.

I like this one for around S5EP16 - when Blaine is struggling with body image and adjusting to New York life, and how different his relationship with Kurt is from when they were in high school. And because of how much his self image is crumbling as he doubts himself, that doubt bleeds into the relationship he has with the most important person in his life.

In the episode, if I remember correctly, after their heart to heart the next sceen they show of Blaine and Kurt is much more lighthearted, but in my head, this song would fit right after that talk - when Blaine realises he can't just keep bottling up his problems and doubts, and that Kurt will be there for him as he builds himself and his confidence back up.

#glee #blaine anderson #klaine #glee meta #glee songs #klaine meta

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safflowerseason · 4 years

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You reblogging Gilmore Girls inspired me to go back and watch and now I'm back in my Jess/Rory feels. Ngl, the way they ended up kind of reminds me of how I felt about Dan and Amy's ending in Veep, and the lack of any real sort of closure or resolution to their storyline, even with the entire revival. I'm interested to know your thoughts on the way their story was handled/wrapped up. (Plus side -- my love for Emily Gilmore was revived again, what an icon).

Hi Anon - thanks so much for writing in. I love hearing from other Veep fans who enjoy the same shows I do ☺️ Your ask caused a mini-storm of Rory/Jess reblogs on my end too, lol. And yes, Emily Gilmore is a fucking icon. A tour de force performance.

What’s interesting about Gilmore Girls for me is that while I do love it a lot and enjoy talking about it and occasionally get in my feels about it, it’s not a show of my heart for me the way Veep and The West Wing are. I probably would not donate money to a political cause in order to watch a GG reunion special, lol. So while I love Rory/Jess very much, I don’t feel psychically wounded by their storyline the way I feel about how Dan and Amy’s storyline was treated.

For me, Rory and Jess’s final meeting in S6 works as both closure and a form of resolution. It’s a little ambiguous, but there’s pretty definite takeaways: Rory realizes she loves Logan (bleh), they acknowledge their connection anyway, and even though Jess is disappointed, he’s also a real adult about the whole thing. He’s obviously not going to cut Rory out of his life or anything drastic and immature like that.

The revival, in contrast, tosses a firm resolution out the window, but this seem to be ASP’s preferred modus operandi where Rory’s relationships are concerned. It makes clear that that in the last ten years they’ve developed a deep and enduring friendship and that he’s still carrying a torch for her. Is that closure? I think it’s closure in the sense that we’re given all (or nearly all) the facts about where they stand with one another and their relationship is treated very significantly by the show (in other words, there’s no Mandelian gaslighting). We don’t know what’s going to happen with Rory and Jess, but we know their relationship matters, and that they are a major part of one another’s lives.

In some ways, I think that the “lack of closure” you’re referring to is really just ASP letting Rory and Jess’s profound connection endure in a very realistic way. Two people can have a soul-deep relationship, can even have confused and repressed romantic feelings about one another, and it doesn’t always mean they have to be a) romantically involved or b) fully cut out of one another’s lives. (Okay, this turned into a real essay, so below the cut are my angsty feelings about teenage Rory/Jess, haha).

I tend to get most in my feelings about teenage Rory and Jess, though, because that’s when their dysfunction is on display, and as y’all know, I love me a star-crossed dysfunctional couple who can’t quit each other. And also mostly because the show totally nails the adolescent yearning of their relationship, the almost-grown-up-but-not-quite desire that’s powering their connection. They just want each other so much. And I love the fated sense of doom hanging over their attraction in S2, as they edge around each other. It’s done really lightly and aching, and so pure and bittersweet, you just know this is all going to blow up in everyone’s faces somehow, that both Jess and Rory are going to self-sabotage. (Yes, of course, Jess is objectively more dysfunctional and the dissolution of their relationship is absolutely his fault—he’s barely staying in school, he’s a complete emotional wreck, he strings Rory along, he should not be anyone’s boyfriend. But Rory also has emotional issues that exacerbate things between them.)

I do have a lot of complicated feelings about how Jess is written in S2 and S3. I think Jess is a great character and they got better at writing him overtime, but at first he’s stuck in this kind of cartoonish over-the-top rebellious teen mode, talking like he’s a greaser member of a street gang in the 1950’s, and I think Milo Ventimiglia delivers a lot of those lines way too heavy-handed in the beginning. Whenever he baits Dean in S2, I always cringe a little, partly because everyone is acting so embarrassingly, and partly because, whatever ASP might be wishing, it’s not actually 1952 and no one talks like that. Ventimiglia shines a lot more in his quieter moments with Luke and Rory.

But I also feel that the way the breakdown of their relationship was handled was very…hamfisted. We barely get any Jess and Rory just being Jess and Rory before their relationship starts dissolving before our very eyes. There are some super cute moments sprinkled throughout S3, but they’re all overshadowed by Dean basically muscling in Rory and Jess’s first date or Jess ruining his meeting with Emily or Jess flaking on Rory…so the poignant bittersweet sense from S2 just becomes this impending sense of dread in S3 as we wait for Jess to do something so truly horrible he becomes unsympathetic to the audience. I actually don’t rewatch most of S3 for this reason, but at least it makes his redemption feel earned. I applaud the show for actually bringing Jess back in S4 when his life is still 90% a mess. He’s taken a few baby steps, but it’s realistic about how hard and messy it is to really change your life. Without those messy S4 appearances, his obvious growth in S6 wouldn’t feel nearly so powerful.

Obviously Rory loses her virginity to Dean and has an affair with him blah blah, but I think her relationship with Jess really represents her loss of innocence as a child. He’s the first person she actively “loses” after her dad. Christopher’s absence is built into Rory—it’s a part of her identity. But Rory loves Jess and loses him even as the purity of their emotional connection is increasingly emphasized over the rest of the series. That loss is foundational for the rest of her relationships—it’s a huge part of why she relapses with Dean and why she finds Logan so appealing, and it’s a huge part of why Rory keeps Jess firmly in the friend box for the rest of the series, even as they connect and reconnect and as Jess grows enough to realize that no dramatic pronouncements of love are going to win Rory over.

I don’t know. That scene when they’re kissing by the phone box and everything is new and perfect and tender and untouched between them and they’re both just like wow and you just know it can’t stay that way forever. It’s so perfect. It’s the perfect encapsulation of what it’s like to be seventeen and in your first real relationship (and then Rory runs off to apologize to Dean…ugh. Boundaries, Rory!) (also, I do not count Dean as her first real relationship. They're just playacting. Rory only dates Dean because he’s a magazine’s idea of a perfect high school boyfriend. She has nothing in common with him. They spend the entire time fighting about Harvard. Dean sucks.)

#gilmore girls #rory gilmore #jess mariano #rory x jess

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winchester-fantasies · 4 years

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Backtrack - Summer of ‘98: Chapter 5

Backtrack Masterlist

Series Summary: What if you were the one Dean came to instead of Lisa? Rewrite of “Swan Song” and some of S6.

Word Count: 1765

Warnings: fluff, sexual tension, possessive Dean

Pairing: Dean x Female!Reader

A/N: Sorry for such a short chapter. I wanted it to be longer but with me getting sick I just wasn’t up to writing a ton. Thank you all for being so patient and supportive of this series and for your understanding and kind words about this chapter being late. 💕 Next chapter is gonna be juicy! 😉 Chapter 5′s song: My Heart Is On Fire by Asta.

Winchester Fantasies’ Masterlist

“What are we doing here?” you asked, looking around at the thick grass blanketed in darkness.

“You’ll see,” Dean smirked, sending you a wink before climbing out and opening your door. He took your hand before leading you to the front of the vehicle, leaning back against Baby’s hood.

You looked up at the star-speckled sky, the tiny balls of light twinkling like a million diamonds. “It’s beautiful,” you breathed.

“Yeah. It is,” Dean murmured beside you. You turned your head, finding him staring at you. Your stomach flipped and your breath hitched as he moved closer, his arm coming around you securely.

He raised his hand to your face, cupping your cheek in his rough and calloused palm. “I’m not very good with words,” he whispered. “But I’d like to show you...how I feel. If you’ll let me.”

You paused, your eyes shooting between his. You nodded slightly, licking your lips nervously. Something shifted in his eyes then, a look you couldn’t quite place radiating from their mossy depths. His arm tightened around your waist and your heart skipped a beat as he slowly leaned towards you.

The moment his lips touched yours, it was as if the entire world stopped moving. They were soft and warm and his touch was gentle. It wasn’t anything like your kisses with Caleb; they had always been rough and demanding, always asking more than what you were willing to give.

Dean’s hand on your cheek moved to the back of your neck, and when his tongue slid over your bottom lip you willingly opened up to him. His tongue found yours and you soon lost yourself in the taste of him.

You didn’t question him as he gently lowered you to your back on Baby’s hood, his arm coming to rest under your head while his other draped across your waist, his knee slotted between your thighs. You wound your arms around his neck, one hand carding through his soft hair and massaging the back of his neck.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, just exploring one another. But when Dean finally broke the kiss, your breathing was heavy and your heart was racing. You’d never had someone kiss you like that and it was a little overwhelming.

“God, I could do that all day,” Dean whispered, his hand coming to your cheek again and brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. “It was good,” you said shyly, biting your lower lip.

Dean cocked an eyebrow. “Just good?” he asked. “Looks like I’m gonna have to make another go of it, because I’m pushing for great,” he teased, a cocky smirk crossing his lips.

You giggled again, but your laughter was soon cut short as he leaned down again, capturing your lips in another kiss, this one just as tantalizing. Blood was rushing to your head and your skin was heating up, but even the heat of the moment wasn’t enough to stave off the chill of night. Dean pulled away and helped you off the hood when he felt you shiver, leading you to the back door of the Impala and holding it open for you. You slipped inside, Dean following close on your heels, shutting the door behind him.

You laid back on the leather seat, Dean crawling over you. You spread your legs, allowing him to settle between your thighs comfortably before he took up where he’d left off.

Dean’s mouth left your own, and he trailed kisses along your jaw and peppered your face with kisses. He abruptly dipped down, softly kissing your neck, testing the waters. You moaned at the sensation, turning your head to give him better access and silently giving him the okay to continue. You felt him smirk against your skin before he did it again, this time more confidently.

You moaned as he sucked a mark behind your ear, your hands once again weaving through his hair, keeping him close. You shifted and arched your back as his lips trailed over your shoulder and along your collarbone. Dean groaned softly at the movement and that’s when you felt it - his erection - pressing firmly against your core.

Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you tensed. Dean must have sensed the shift, too, because he pulled back, a look of concern evident on his face even in the darkness.

“Hey, everything okay?” he asked, his thumb running gently over your hip.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “It’s just, um…. I’ve never…. Well, I’ve never had sex,” you finished quickly, your cheeks turning red.

“Sweetheart,” Dean said, leaning down to kiss you softly. “I would never ask you to do something you weren’t comfortable doing. That’s a big step. We’ll take things slow. Because right now, here, with you….” He trailed off, a lazy smirk crossing his plump lips. “This has gotta be Heaven.”

You grinned, your heart swelling with emotion and pulling him down for another kiss.

**********

When you finally paused for a much needed break, both of your mouths were red, swollen, and tender. The first light of dawn was peeking over the horizon, casting the field around you in a soft and golden hue, and you thought that the morning couldn’t get any better.

“You hungry?” Dean murmured, his face nestled into the side of your neck.

“Yeah, a little,” you said, playing with the hairs at the base of his skull.

“I don’t wanna move, though,” Dean groaned, burrowing himself deeper between your thighs and wrapping his arms tighter around you. “Was kinda hoping you’d say no.”

You giggled and hugged him close before pressing against his chest, forcing him to get up. “Yeah, but we can’t stay here all day,” you argued. He grumbled again, but he finally conceded but not before pressing a soft kiss into the skin of your neck.

A while later Dean pulled into a diner, one of your favorites in the next town over. You’d forgotten you’d mentioned it to Dean on one of your dates, and you were pleasantly surprised that he’d remembered.

Dean led you inside, choosing a table near the back, letting you slide into the booth first before scooting in after you. His arm immediately came around you, pulling you into his side possessively.

“What can I get you two?” the middle-aged waitress asked, a pleasant smile on her face.

“Two of your breakfast specials, a couple coffees and whatever pie you have,” Dean ordered for the both of you.

“You got it, sweetie,” she said before putting your order in and returning promptly with the coffees and two slices of cherry pie.

You both dug into the pie, the sweet and tangy mixture heavenly. “This is delicious,” you commented, taking another bite.

“Mmm,” Dean hummed, nodding his agreement. “Hey, you, uh, got a little...right there,” he said, gesturing to the corner of your mouth. You swiped at it and held your face up for him to inspect. He shook his head. “Nope, still there. Here let me help.” He suddenly leaned forward, crashing his lips to yours in a wet and sloppy kiss.

“Dean!” you playfully reprimanded, slapping him lightly on the arm.

“What?” Dean asked with a loud laugh. “You know I had to.” He tugged you close, placing a chaste kiss to your temple.

“Yeah, yeah,” you teased, grinning and leaning into him.

“Hey, (Y/N).”

You glanced up, the smile on your face fading instantly, and your stomach filled with dread. “Caleb,” you clipped.

Dean tensed at the name of the guy who had broken your heart, and his arm came around you a little tighter as he eyed Caleb with contempt.

“So…” Caleb said, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “How you been?”

“Fine,” you said back unceremoniously. “How is, uh, what’s-her-name?”

Caleb swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Ashley,” he said with a thin-lipped smile. “Ash and I…. We broke up.”

“Oh,” you said, the feeling of...nothing, surprising you. A few months ago you would have been elated to hear that Caleb and Ashley had broken up, a part of you hoping for a second chance. But you felt nothing. Not even empathy. Maybe it had something to do with the man beside you, you thought, glancing at Dean whose face was hard as he continued to stare Caleb down.

Caleb’s eyes darted between you and Dean before finally settling back on you. “So who’s this?” he asked, jerking his head in Dean’s direction as if he wasn’t even there. Dean’s expression grew darker, and you could tell he was on the brink of saying or doing something he probably shouldn’t. But one touch of your hand resting on his thigh quieted him and you felt him relax. But only just a little.

“This is Dean,” you told Caleb. “My boyfriend.” The words left your mouth before you could even stop yourself.

Caleb’s eyes widened, and Dean’s head jerked around to you, his face wearing a shocked expression.

“Oh,” Caleb said, words escaping him. “Uh, congrats I guess…. See you around?”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile, not really answering him, before you watched him walk away. Only then did you realize Dean was still staring at you. You felt your cheeks redden, and you withdrew your hand from his leg, twiddling your hands nervously in your lap.

“I’m sorry I said that,” you apologized. “I know it’s not true. I just didn’t think.”

“No,” Dean said, his gentle tone surprising you. You’d expected him to at least be a little perturbed. “I’m glad you told that douchebag off. And if I’m being honest…. I’d like for what you said to be true.” He cast his eyes down, and you could’ve sworn his cheeks turned pink.

A wide grin spread across your lips, and you shifted so you were facing him a little more. “You...you want to be my…my boyfriend?”

“Well...yeah,” Dean said with a chuckle, his hand running over the back of his neck almost sheepishly. “That is if you want me to.”

You grabbed his face between your hands, capturing his lips in yours. He immediately responded, wrapping his arm tighter around your waist, the other coming to rest on your hip. You wound your hands behind his head, weaving your fingers through his hair.

You were out of breath, and Dean’s chest was heaving when you finally broke the kiss. “Does that answer your question?” you asked impishly.

“Mmm, it certainly does,” Dean said, leaning down to kiss you again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you liked what you read, let me know!! ❤❤

***Please do not share my content on any other platform without my consent.

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Everything:

@divadinag @mogaruke @calaofnoldor @defenderrosetyler @coffeebooksandfandom @emoryhemsworth @satans-0-spawn @fandom-princess-forevermore @titty-teetee @gallifreyansass @swiftrogerswinchesterthot @hollymac79

Dean Girls:

@weepingwillowphoenix @akshi8278 @thesuicidalflower

Backtrack:

@hazel-eyed-hunter @backseat-of-deans-67chevy @wickidlady @messrrs-prongs @tranquility-or-chaos

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean x reader #dean winchester fluff #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfiction series #backtrack #summer of '98

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theonceoverthinker · 5 years

Note

TMI Tuesday ask: Did meeting Bobby at the con affect the way you write Rumple / Golden Hook at all? Or does that feel completely separate to you?

While I really wish I could say that it did -- especially since, as you know I adore the Golden Hook dynamic and will latch onto basically anything and say “needs more Golden Hook” -- it really didn’t since he didn’t touch upon that dynamic. In general, I don’t factor actor’s takes on characters all that much when it comes to my feelings on their characters, at least not in the long term.

That said, I wish he did, because one thing that has me struggling with my GH works is trying to write Rumple in a more balanced way when it comes to Golden Hook, specifically in “A Tumultuous Embrace,” and maybe a comment about them from him might have helped me out. This doesn’t apply to my other GH stories because I love Rumple when he’s sadistic and the GH 4A arc is the epitome of that sadism in a way I can’t help but jump on like a bus to Storybrooke itself!

Anyway, when writing, I always feel like I make Killian too sympathetic when compared to Rumple, and that’s not something I wanted to do too much in this story (I wanted it to be somewhat present, but not to the extent that I feel like it currently is). And I’ve taken steps to better this by trying to put Rumple in situations where he’s more sympathetic, but then I feel like the balance is off, so I do the same for Killian and before I know it, I’m back to Square 1. It’s tough to balance him because I do tend to drift more towards Killian when it comes to who of the two is more sympathetic in Seasons 4-6 (Including the post-S6 interlude) and while I won’t apologize for those feelings, I do want this work to put them on similar-ish footing without going too heavy on what made them hate each other in the first place (I want to go more into detail about this, but it’s kind of spoiler-heavy for the next chapter, so please forgive the vagueness).

I struggle with this a bit too in “Marital Bliss,” but it’s to a much lesser extent, quelled by (1) the fact that this is Season 1 Rumple, so I have liberties to make him darker than in a post-S6 fic, and (2) the fact that there are some very sympathetic-heavy Rumple moments coming up in future chapters.

I’m trying to take steps to better this is a short Rumbelle AU I’m working on, so here’s hoping maybe that can help!

Anyway, this was long-winded and got a touch sidetracked, but I hope this answered your question! Thank you for sending it since I always love talking about Golden Hook!

#golden hook #nice nonny #killian jones #rumple #ouat #Anonymous

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slow-smiles · 6 years

Text

Canon-compliant post 6x07 smut (at least I’m pretty sure it’s canon compliant? I never watched s6.) Later that night, Emma’s hand won’t stop shaking. A bit of praise kink. My second entry for @cscocktoberfest (Only a little bit late this time! Yay!) ~4.7k words. No major trigger warnings apply.

Read on AO3.

give and take.

When they leave the Charming’s apartment that night, it’s not without copious complaining beforehand. Emma hadn’t wanted to leave the apartment where her father lay comatose in bed as Snow cuddled and tried to soothe a baby Neal whose crying had picked up when he realized his father wouldn’t respond to the pokes to the chest.

(Killian realized with a pang that it was a game Dave played with his son. Neal poking him would provoke a reaction, dramatic and giggle-inducing, that could entertain Neal for hours on end.)

(Now he just slept on, dead to the world.)

(All around, not a particularly banner day in Storybrooke.)

Regina and Emma had been trying to help, suggesting possible solutions or attempting to take Neal from Snow’s very resolute grasp, and Henry was buzzing about the kitchen trying to do something, but Killian could see Snow starting to fray at the edges.

Their night had ended when Snow had finally set Neal down in his bassinet, and all but shouted, “None of you are doing anything useful!” The commotion in the apartment immediately ceased, save Neal’s heart-rending whimpers. “It is almost midnight, and I am exhausted. My son is not going to stop crying because you all are being too loud, and I am not going to get to sleep tonight knowing that my husband is under a sleeping curse. So please, all of you, just leave and come back tomorrow.”

Killian quietly suspected that she’d very much like to break down but was unwilling to do so in front of company, even if the company was family. He can certainly relate to that.

Emma murmured to Snow, “I can stay upstairs, in case...” but Snow was already shaking her head.

She took her daughter’s shoulders in hand and inhaled shakily before saying, “Go home with Killian. We will be all right.” Her eyes were watering, so it didn’t lend much credence to her words. She’d sniffled then before putting on a smile. “We’ll figure this out tomorrow, and at least some of us need to be well-rested for it.”

Killian looks down and notices that Emma’s hand is shaking, and she clearly wants to hide it from her mother as she quickly moves to hug Snow and keeps her shaking hand far away from her.

Soon, Henry and Regina are off to their home, and Emma and Killian are off to theirs.

He stops her before she gets into the bug, taking her shaking hand in his and bringing it up to his chest. He runs his thumb along hers, but it doesn’t stop the quaking.

She looks lost and broken and it hurts his heart to see her like this. His story time had apparently not been as effective as he’d hoped.

“I’m sorry, love, I thought today helped,” he offers.

She softens at that, but her hand is still shaking. “It did,” she says, “It really did, but that was...” She swallows. “That was before we failed and forced my parents to hand their hearts over to the Evil Queen.”

He sighs, “Emma, no one’s failed yet. They’re still alive, and that means they can be saved. I told you that you can overcome anything and I meant that.”

“I want to believe that too,” she says.

She leans into him, tucking her head beneath his chin and keeping her hands curled against his chest. He can still feel the one shaking, and he closes his eyes against his disappointment in himself. He should be able to help her.

“Let’s get you home, love.” He leans back enough to catch her eyes, “Do you think you can drive? We can walk if you can’t.”

She nods. “Yeah, I can drive.”

He holds her hand all the way home.

When they arrive home, she’s still shaking. “God, this is pretty freaking annoying when it doesn’t stop,” she says, trying to make a joke but her heart is clearly not in it.

“Let’s go inside, yeah?” he suggests, only letting go of her hand as long as it takes him to get out of the car and back to her side.

They get inside and trudge straight up the stairs, not bothering to remove their shoes by the door.

Inside the room, Emma’s hand is still shaking. She pulls away from him and sits at the foot of the bed, her hands curled loosely in her lap. “I don’t know how to stop this.” She looks up at him, desperation and sadness in her eyes. “I don’t know how to stop anything.”

He kneels in front of her, not taking his eyes from hers. “I know you’re scared. I know we might not know how to save your parents right now, but we can figure it out. We always do.”

“But if I can’t stop the Evil Queen, then how am I supposed to stop the hooded figure in my visions? If I can’t save my parents, how am I going to save myself?”

He leans up to kiss her and disrupt her speech, and Emma leans into him, a move that makes his chest hurt in the best of ways.

He pulls away, but only just. His forehead still rests against hers, their noses brushing with every other breath. “This moment, Emma,” he says. “We don’t know what will happen tomorrow or the next day, so I want you to focus on right here, right now.” He stands fully, gently guiding her to lay back on the bed. “There’s nothing outside of this bedroom,” he continues as she settles back into the sheets. “Just us,” he finishes as he settles beside her, propping himself up on his left elbow so he can look down at her.

Her attention is rapt, but he wants to make the worry disappear from her eyes, wants to smooth the creases between them with kisses until the dimples from her smile light up her face.

“You deserve a moment of peace, yeah? Just a moment where you don’t have to worry about anything. Let this be that moment, love.”

His right hand plucks at the hem of her shirt, just barely grazing the smooth skin of her lower abdomen with the backs of his fingers.

“Will you let me help you?” he asks, aware of the grittiness in his voice. He knows she likes it, so he doesn’t hesitate to play it up for her, let the rasp of his voice wash across the skin of her neck just below her ear.

The breath she lets out is soft, a caress, a gentle statement of pleasure and desire, but he wants to hear her say it. Her hips cant upwards, pressing towards his gently questing fingers, but he refuses to press harder or push deeper beneath her shirt. A sharp breath now, one of frustration and wanting.

“Say it,” he prods, breaking eye contact to lay his lips against her pulse point. He care barely feel it beat against his lips and gives a teasing lick up her jaw before pulling back.

She’s staring up at the ceiling, her expression hard to decipher. She closes her eyes and nearly whispers, “Okay.”

“Okay what?”

That pulls a little laugh from her, prompting his own smile in turn.

He knows he’s being a little difficult, but he has a feeling being a little difficult is going to be the only way he can get through to her. Her hand is still shaking, and he needs to make it stop. This is the only way he knows how.

“Helping with the... the moment of peace,” she says, and finally tilts her head to look at him. “The here and now.”

“Anything for you, darling,” he says, and rewards her with a heavy stroke upwards with his palm, not bothering to tease before he takes one of her breasts in hand. They’re both still fully clothed, so the soft fabric denies him the skin to skin contact, but he presses the flesh up, cups her in his hand, draws his thumb across her hardening nipple.

Emma reaches for the back of his neck, and to his consternation he can still feel it shaking as she pulls him down to her lips. As their lips part and their tongues move in a wet slide, Emma shifts, pulling him fully on top of her and tangling their legs in such a way that puts one of his thighs between hers.

The way she starts to gently grind her hips into him sends a shot of such unfettered arousal through him he can’t help but moan into the kiss and then break away. His hand is still at her breast, plucking her nipple as he tells her, “That’s a good girl. Take what you need. I’m yours.”

Another sharp pant from Emma as she pulls back abruptly, flinging her shirt and bra off at a record-breaking pace. She disentangles their legs, depriving him of her delightful thrusts and reaches for the zippers for her boots. “You better be getting naked too, buddy.”

He chuckles, sneaking a quick look at her hand. No tremors. If his arousal was intoxicating, the sight of her still hand was impossibly immense relief. “Aye aye, Captain,” he answers.

He shucks his jacket, vest, and shirt in quick succession, ignoring the small voice of protest when he simply flings them to the floor, going to remove the brace that holds his hook in place, the contraption pulling away from the well-worn callouses across his shoulders and down his arm.

They hit the floor with a muted thud against the carpet, but they don’t drown out Emma’s quiet, “Damn it,” that he hears from behind him.

He quickly turns towards her. She’s laid back on the bed, boots now gone along with her shirt and bra. Shirtless Emma is a sight to behold, for certain, but his eyes are drawn away from her pale skin, coral-pink nipples, and down to where her hand rests over the button of her jeans.

It’s shaking again.

His heart falls.

“Oh, Emma.”

His heart falls even further when he sees her frustration pooling in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she croaks, her opposite hand coming up to cover her eyes.

He sighs. He lays back down and rolls across the bed. He nuzzles against the fingers across her face. “Let’s see that beautiful face, love. Come on.”

It takes a few moments for her to drag her hand from her face, revealing red-rimmed eyes but no tears have fallen.

“There she is,” he says softly.

That pulls a smile from her, watery, but brilliant. She gives him a short, choked laugh. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” he assures her, brushing her hair away from her face with gentle motions.

“Can we just--” She rolls onto her side to face him again. “Can we just do this?”

He strokes a hand through her hair. “We can do whatever you’d like--”

Emma surprises him with a kiss, aggressive, wet and fast and intense. She pushes him onto his back with ease, and he moans into her mouth. He quite likes it when she seizes control. She moves on from his lips, sloppily moving across his cheek and down his neck. “Gods, love,” he manages, “Love you. So much.”

She starts grinding down on him in earnest, seemingly trying to fuck him through the layers between them. His hand and wrist fall to her hips, encouraging and eager.

His cock is straining against the fabric, and he wants nothing between them--wants to tear their clothing off, throw her down on the bed and show her just how much she loves her. Truly fuck it into her, make her understand with each forceful thrust of his hips that he cherishes every piece of her, will cherish every piece of her as long as he can.

“Emma,” he says, “Emma, love, just let me--” He reaches down to where her hips still rock roughly against his, going for the button on his jeans.

She catches his hand in hers. “No, let me.” Her hand is completely steady.

Killian grins. “By all means,” he replies, going so far as to tuck his hands behind his head to show her that she’s in control.

Emma gives him a small smile, rolling off him, but only just so that she can shuck her remaining clothing. Before Killian can make a move to remove the last of his garments, Emma is doing it for him, wordlessly encouraging his hips up and dragging his pants down in one motion. He’s already half hard, and Emma crawling back astride him means that it won’t take him long to get all the way there.

His hand and wrist find their way to her thighs, and he lets out a strangled sigh when she lowers her wet core against him. “Gods,” he gasps. “You’re so wet. So beautiful and wet for me.”

She begins to grind herself down on him, and Killian gasps, tilting his head back against the pillow at the feel of her against him.

“Gods, I wish you could see yourself,” he murmurs, running his hand up to a breast. He draws his finger along the underside, just barely brushing her nipple.

Despite her soft moans and the flood of arousal coating his length, Killian still notices something is not quite right. Her hand is still trembling (less now, at least) and her eyes are closed tightly, and her brow is furrowed, like she’s retreating into herself.

That just won’t do, because as strong as Emma is, he knows that she has a deep need that she rarely voices, or even acknowledges, that craves affection, craves adoration and love. And as rarely as she admits it to herself, she admits it even less often to others.

Killian sits up, startling her from her spiral into herself, and wraps his arms around her waist. “Don’t do that,” he says, kissing her softly once.

“Do what?”

“Hide yourself away like that.”

She pauses, confusion clouding her face a moment before it clears in understanding. When it does, her entire body relaxes into him, her chest pressing into his, allowing his arms to pull her closer. She leans her head down to her shoulder.

“It’s okay to want to let go for a little while,” he says.

She doesn’t answer for a moment, but her fingers tickling along the skin of his back and shoulders tells him she’s listening.

He turns his head so that his lips are in her hair, and he presses a small kiss to her scalp. “I’ll take care of you. You deserve it, love.” He pulls away from her a little, prompting her to lift her head away from his shoulder and meet his gaze. “Can I, Emma?”

Her cheeks go bright red as she nods, revealing one of her deepest, most intimate desires leaving her feeling exposed. raw.

Well that simply won’t do, and Killian leans in to kiss her, trying to pour every ounce of emotion he has into the kiss. It’s reminiscent of their second kiss outside Granny’s, years ago now, hundreds of kisses ago, but he remembers it like yesterday.

He urges her to the side and onto her back. She goes easily, opening her legs to let him settle between.

He’s completely hard for her, can feel the heat of her sex against his cock, but he holds himself back. There will be plenty of time for that in a moment. His lips venture away from her mouth, trailing across her jawline and down her neck. He devotes himself to reddening her collarbones, with lips and tongue and teeth, and she is positively writhing beneath him now, making small, impatient noises as her hips press up towards his.

“That’s it, love,” he says, “I love how much your body craves mine. It’s bloody incredible, that you want me as much as I want you.”

He travels down to her nipples, pinked up and stiffened in the cool air of their bedroom. He laves a tongue across one and lets his breath stiffen it further under his mouth. “Love your breasts,” he murmurs as he drags his lips sloppily in the valley between them. “The way you flush red all the way down,” he continues before covering the other nipple with his lips, sucking it firmly.

“Please,” Emma gasps, her hips moving a little more insistently.

His only response to her plea is to release her nipple and continue his lips’ path down her stomach.

When he reaches the place she’s wet and wanting, he looks up at her; her gaze is wild with lust, but under that there’s something else. There’s love and trust and no longer that guarded edge he’d seen earlier.

Her hands are both still. One moves to cover her own breast, kneading and tweaking slowly, and the other goes to Killian’s head, smoothing through his hair and scraping lightly along his scalp.

“What do you want, darling?” he asks, already knowing he answer and easing a thigh over his shoulder in preparation.

“I want your mouth on me,” she says, a bit breathless, and Killian is struck with a swell of pride in his chest because he remembers the early days in their relationship when it was so difficult for her to reveal her physical desires to him, let alone her emotional secrets that she’d barely begun to share.

“That’s a good girl,” he says, and lowers his lips to her cunt.

He barely hears Emma’s moan over the sound of his own. Her salty slickness on his tongue is addictive, the sounds she makes as he begins to eat her out even more so.

Her thigh on his shoulder helps open her up, so he has free access to her clit to swipe across with his tongue a few teasing times as he makes a show of fully exploring her. He dips into her opening a few times before venturing back up to her clit.

He pushes her harder now, focusing his efforts on her clit and begins to suck and lick with more vigor. Her hand tightens in his hair, and he grins. “Love the way you hold tight when I taste you,” he murmurs. “I love the way your hips start to move against me when you’re getting close.”

“Killian,” she whines as he draws her clit into his mouth again. Her hips press up in time with the pulsating sucks, and he has to grind his hips down into the mattress to relieve some of the pressure building in his groin.

Her hand trails from his hair to his cheek, urging him to look up at her. He does so with a parting, firm suck to her clit that has Emma gasping.

“I want you inside me when I come,” she pants.

He grins. “Oh, gladly.”

He rises quicker than a blink and his mouth hovers over hers. “Do you want to know how you taste, Emma?” Her mouth chases his, but he backs off, keeping his lips just out of reach. “Imagine,” he rasps, “how I feel when I look at that pretty cunt of yours and I can see it’s positively dripping with how much you want me. Imagine it. Can you feel it love?” He dips his mouth closer to hers, teasing her before pulling away once more. “Can you feel how much I want you? How I ache to taste the heaven in your skin, how I yearn for the warmth of your body and your heart?”

Emma nods frantically. “I can feel it. God, I feel it.”

He dips down and kisses her then, sloppy and messy and soft, letting her steal the vestiges of her arousal from his lips. It’s a fair trade for the sensation of her moaning against him, for the feeling of her wrapping her legs around his waist and pushing her hips into his, grinding her core against his cock.

“Gods,” Killian gasps. “I love you so much. I want you to feel it when I fuck you into this bloody mattress.” He reaches for the head of the bed, grabbing one of their plumper pillows for the task he has in mind.

He taps on her hip, silently signaling her to lift up, and he positions the pillow under her hips.

“I want you to feel how much I love you,” he says again, “I want you to listen to every word I say when I’m inside you.” He gives her a last, parting kiss before he pushes back onto his knees. He takes one of her ankles in his hand and pushes it outward, using his wrist to do the same with the other, leaving her completely spread and vulnerable to him.

When he presses inside, he nearly comes when he feels how tight she is, her wet heat squeezing delightfully at this angle. He doesn’t move yet; he knows that once he does, much of his coherence will fly out the window, and he wants her to understand him.

“You’re not just the Savior, not just the product of True Love,” he tells her, leaning down to press a kiss to her sternum. “You’re Emma Swan. You’ve the most resilient heart I’ve ever known. You forgive, you see the best in those around you, no matter what they’ve done to wrong you.” He steals a glance up at her to find her watching him intently, her gaze following his every move. He trails his lips to the left and tenderly licks over her nipple. “You managed to bring a man who was a hundred shades of terrible back from the brink of self destruction just by virtue of being you.” He smooths his hand up and down her leg, relishing the trembling he feels there, and ventures over to her other breast, giving it the same treatment as the last before he looks up. “I didn’t fall in love with an infallible Savior, I fell in love with an amazing woman who keeps getting back up when she’s knocked down. She inspires greatness in others because she herself is great.”

He presses up to brush a kiss over her lips. He lets go of her ankle for a moment to brush an escaped tear off her cheek.

“You give so much of yourself to others,” he continues, and begins to move his hips. Small movements, but they make the suffused pleasure begin to spark. “I can at least try to give you back even a fraction of the love you give me.”

Emma looks shocked in the best of ways, her mouth slightly slack and tenderness in her eyes. No more tears fall, but it’s a near thing.

He leans back once more, gaining a firmer hold of her ankle with his hand, and balancing the other with his wrist. His pace increases, the next step in a steady build. Emma’s eyes fall closed, her mouth gaping wider in a silent gasp of pleasure. Her fingers grasp feebly against the sheets. Her chest rises and falls in rapid pants.

Gods, he feels like he has so much else to say to her, so many more words he could use to attempt to make her understand the depth of his feeling for her. It goes so much deeper than romantic love. Before he loved her, he respected her as an adversary. Then, he respected her as an ally. He admired her as a leader. Everything about her seemed worthy of note, worthy of attention and care and praise, and yet somehow she always seemed to be starved for those very things.

Killian was only too happy to fill that void.

He picks up his pace again incrementally, pulling out further and pushing in harder with each stroke. With this angle, he hits that place inside her that has her moaning for him in no time.

“Fuck, Killian,” Emma gasps when his strokes pass from steady into hard.

With her legs spread as they are, she cannot fuck her hips back into his. She has no choice but to lay back and take him. Despite her usual preference to be an active participant in their lovemaking, she’s certainly not complaining now.

Her moans are deeper now. He knows that she was close when he was eating her out before, so she’s only been climbing higher since then. She usually needs some stimulation on her clit before she can fall over that edge. One of her hands tweaks and massages a breast. The other begins its descent downwards.

Much as he likes to watch her touch herself, he lets go of her ankle to catch her hand before it reaches its destination.

“Let me,” he says. He quickly hooks his arm around her knee, drawing her leg in towards his chest so that he can maintain the deep penetration and still reach her clit.

He runs his fingers along her swollen labia before running down to feel where his cock pushes into her. It’s a self-indulgent moment, but it allows him to gather some wetness before he trails back up to her clit and starts rubbing over it in time with his thrusts.

“Fuck,” Emma says, high-pitched and breathy. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“That’s it, beautiful,” he encourages. “Come for me. Let me take care of you.”

“I’m--” Emma cuts herself off, breath catching in her throat and hips twitching. He can feel her starting to clench within. Not long now, he knows.

He’s been staving off his own orgasm, wanting to watch her fall first, too focused on her pleasure to worry too much about his own. But with her little, high-pitched gasps and bitten off sentences signaling her impending orgasm, he can feel his own building.

“Come on, love,” he encourages, swiping against her clit harder with each pass.

She’s a treasure to behold in the throes of ecstasy. Her golden hair spread on a pillow and mussed from their motion. Her hands molding her breasts, pink nipples peeking out from between her fingers. A slight glimmer of sweat across her belly. The quivering thighs, protesting being held open for so long when he knows she wants to clamp down and ride out her orgasm with him held tight against her.

And he desperately wants to feel her skin against his. As much as this position allows him to go deep inside her, he misses her chest against his. Misses feeling connected at every point.

When she finally comes, she does so with a sharp wail, her eyes wide open and affixed to his face.

It’s her watching him that finally breaks his resolve. He drops her legs and collapses his torso against hers. He kisses her because he can’t help himself. She kisses him back fervently, and he does his best to maintain a steady enough rhythm to help her ride out her orgasm. His steady pace falters when she ruthlessly squeezes her internal muscles, and breaths in his ear, “Come for me, Killian,” in a voice that’s husky with sex. It finally does him in, and he comes, pressing as deeply into her as he can get.

He manages to thrust a handful more times as he rides out the last sparks of pleasure. They fall still. Emma wiggles and extracts the pillow from where it lay beneath her and wraps her arms around him, encouraging him to put his full weight on her. He obliges gratefully and relaxes into the cradle of her hips, resting his head against her collarbone.

There are a few seconds of quiet before Emma says, “I love you so much.” She twists so that she can kiss his forehead. “Thank you.”

He feels the pull of sleep starting to nibble at the edge of his awareness, so he pulls out of her. He rolls onto his back, but doesn’t look away from her.

“I love you, too,” he replies. “And we should rest while we can.”

Her answering smile is soft. “I think I’ll be able to now.”

Killian smiles back in kind. “Good.”

#cs ff #cscocktoberfest #cs smut #captain swan #cscocktober #my fic #posting this one which has been in my drafts for-fucking-ever #instead of the friends to lovers AU which got out of hand #and might need to be a two parter #but we'll see #regardless #here's some smut! with a lil bit of praise kink and body worship!

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cactusspatz · 5 years

Text

January recs

Fables of the Reconstruction by Mugatu (Walking Dead, Daryl/Jesus)

It’s more than two years after the end of the world and six months after the war with the Saviors when Daryl Dixon returns to Alexandria.

AU from juuust after I stopped watching in S6, thus avoiding Certain Bullshit. This author has an A+ Daryl POV, and uses her non-linear structure well to shift between the past slow burn character stuff and the tension of the current-time search & rescue.

Missing Pieces by flailinginlove (Naruto, Kakashi/Iruka)

Shinobi Enforcement Agency is the only bounty station (un)officially recognized by all of the Five Great Nations. It'd be the best place to bring in targets, if only there wasn't so much paperwork involved.

When they don't seem interested in taking out the new missing-nin in town, Kakashi wants to know why.

(Or, the one where both Kakashi and Iruka are missing-nin bounty hunters who go after the same target.)

Cheerfully fun AU heavy on the humor and competence porn.

No Reservations: Narnia by Edonohana (Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations RPF, gen)

I’m crammed into a burrow so small that my knees are up around my ears and the boom mike keeps slamming into my head, inhaling the potent scent of toffee-apple brandy and trying to drink a talking mouse under the table. But is it really the boom mike that’s making my head pound? I know for sure that my camera man doesn’t usually have two heads. I have to face facts. The mouse is winning.

I finally read this after seeing it recced approximately everywhere, and holy shit did it deserve all of those recs. If the prospect of Anthony Bourdain getting into a drinking contest with Reepicheep doesn’t immediately snag you...idk, I can’t help you. A vivid, funny love letter to both Narnia and food, accessible even without knowing Bourdain’s work.

My Love Should Be Heard and Not Seen by lurknomoar (Welcome to Night Vale, Cecil/Carlos)

Cecil Palmer is the best phone sex operator in the small company called Night Vale. One night, a slightly tipsy and very lonely scientist dials his number, and gets far more than he bargained for - a late night conversation about advanced biochemistry, a brand new fetish for surreal horror, a surprisingly reasonable internship program, some newts, and slowly, strangely, the love of his life.

Yes, I am also amused that I read two separate awesome phone sex AUs in one month. This one is sublimely weird and funny and sweetly romantic, as is right and proper for WTNV.

Tall Grass by aeli_kindara (Supernatural, Dean/Cas)

“I think we should have a garden,” Cas says.

Dean looks up from his beer. He hasn’t had that much to drink, but Cas still has a vague look of unreality about him, a splash of living color that doesn’t fit in the bunker’s echoing stillness. Dean didn’t hear him coming. A lot of the time, Cas is so unobtrusive it feels like Dean has the bunker to himself, with Sam away.

Dean shakes his head to clear it. “A — garden?” he repeats.

Man, this was such a great read but I’m not sure how to synopsize it? There’s a lush, warm, slow burn romance, domesticity a la Winchesters, road trip casefiles featuring various awesome ladies from the show, and a haunted plant! Highly recommended.

Follow the Heartlines by fakexpearls (Captive Prince, Damen/Laurent)

“Apologies, Exalted. What I meant – ”

“What you meant is that you don’t know why I can’t remember anything since His Majesty flayed my back and had me dressed in gold paint and slave’s garb to serve him. But he was a prince then. And a king now.”

Laurent tried to hide his flinch at the words, at his own memories. He looked away to the marble floor.

Damianos continued: “You say that was four years ago. In that time, I seem to have aligned myself with him in country and in marriage. And no one tried to stop me.”

Look, the author had me at their note “An amnesia AU (with political intrigue)” and the story is pretty much exactly what you’d expect from that trope set (pining for someone you’re technically married to! trust issues! politics and competence porn!) but very well executed. I loved her character work for Laurent and how you can read a lot of how their marriage has been by how he keeps stumbling what isn’t there anymore. Right in the feels.

#supernatural #dean/cas #walking dead #daryl/jesus #naruto #kakashi/iruka #captive prince #damen/laurent #anthony bourdain #narnia #crossover #wtnv #cecil/carlos #fic rec #monthly recs

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aicosu · 6 years

Note

Lotura prompt: Victorian/Jane Eyre style courting. Also!! What did you think was garbage about S6?????

It starts with mineral from Caltraak. A custerfori gem on a chain. Pinks and golds, sliced into fractures. A necklace.

She almost didn’t see it at first. It sits on the Castle’s left control, where her hand hovers over it as it glitters in the corner of her eye. A place only she would occupy.

Meant for her.

It's innocuous. Simple. No bigger than the top of her fingertip.

“You okay there, Allura?”

It’s Hunk who asks.

Her fingers scoop the gem into her hand, and she slides the thin jewelry into the lining of her collar.

“I’m fine.”

She tries not to think about what picking it up means, tries not to think too hard on what it means. And oddly, she knows what it means. She shouldn’t, not now, not hundreds and thousands of years later in a world where such a gesture doesn’t even matter anymore. And where a return gesture can’t even follow. (Altea is gone, her people are gone, she doesn’t even have a handmaiden to take down a poem, let alone deliver it.)

Her hands return to the controls, the panels flashing up like gems of their own.

She ignores it. She ignores the press at her throat or the cold tickle of the links and puts effort into not looking over at the viewport where Corran stands with his back turned, next to the only other Altean onboard.

Maybe it was nothing.

It was probably nothing.

When she returns from a meeting with Ryner and Pidge about perimeter defenses, it’s Pidge who points out the rubric probe before her quarter doors. “Is that--- Galra tech?” “Wait, Pidge--”

The paladin is quick to act though, and the race to the door fills Allura’s cheeks with a heat not related to sprinting.

“Are the Galra sending spies--” Pidge’s hand shoots out to apprehend the floating rubric, it’s activation light making her fingers glow purple. “Pidge wait--Don’t touch it, it’s just-- It’s--it’s for me!”She shouts the last part. Enough to stop the younger girl. She catches up, giving a frown, before outstretching her palms.

The rubric settles in her palm. And Pidge starts to ask her who the message is from, but duly accepted, the probe simply snaps open, light flaring in the hall as a binary melody plays six or seven notes.

It’s an Altean song. One her mother had played for her once. And any idea that the previous gift had been some coincidence or misunderstanding is squashed by the burned in textbook lessons from her days training in court manners and etiquette.

“A message? Is it… some kind of encryption in a music box?”The rubric goes silent. Pidge is staring at her. “It’s… not encrypted in the way you mean. It’s just… it’s an Altean practice for…”She’s not saying it. And she’s not sure if it’s because she’s too embarrassed or too ashamed.

“It’s an… offer of engagement.”

“For war?” Her eyes snap to the girl in surprise, but then in understanding. What other reason would Pidge think anything but? With the daily troubles they have during the battles around them. War is their every concern. “For marriage.”

“Wait. What!?”“Please--” She urges, a hushed whisper to remind Pidge to be quiet. “It’s--it’s actually quite common among Altean culture to have tokens sent to the one your interested in for matrimony--”“Who is it? Who is proposing?”“We often go months exchanging gifts before anything is officially announced.”“Exchanging? Wait-- so you’re saying you and someone else have been talking about getting married for months? Through drones?”“N-No!” Her ears go hot, and her breast tickles with the necklace dangling beneath her suit. “This is only the second token and… I haven’t… I can’t respond.”Pidge adjusts her glasses with a look of discomfort. “Why not?”“Why not? I--I can’t deal with an engagement now! We’re so busy, and, it, I-I don’t even have time to craft the necessary response, I would need -- I would need an Altean menagerie to have enough variations of flowers in order to properly convey my feelings for him to properly understand.”“Altean engagement sounds complicated.”“That’s not even half of it! As of his first gift, we aren’t even to speak to each other until a lady in my waiting responds with my consent for more gifts or a rejection.”“So get someone to reject Lotor for you then.” “I--”

The name fills the space between them in the hall and suddenly she’s hot all over. And despite being so much taller then Pidge, Allura feels very small, and very young.

“How did you..?”Pidge looks at her with that gleam she gets when pointing out obvious mathematical errors. Her fingers even count out each of her points. “Galra tech, Altean custom. And we talked to Corran this morning. Not that he seems the type. He is kinda old.”Allura’s fingers roll on the rubric, as her jaw works her tongue in her mouth nervously. “Oh, this is… inconvenient.”

“Look… I wouldn’t… normally volunteer. This doesn’t really seem like my area of expertise, but honestly, it doesn’t seem like anybody elses either. Unless Corran.”“Oh no, please-- He’d be livid in my honor, I couldn’t--”“Then if you need a…. lady in waiting...?” Pidge shrugs, and this time it is her whose blushing, looking uncomfortable, but generous.

Allura hugs her.

It takes some time. And honestly, it’s not at all traditional. But his gifts had been… imitations of tradition as well. Not that she blamed him. Half Altean and half Galra, she was surprised he even knew the steps.

Surprise. She had put that in there too.

Attendance (but silence) is mandatory. So she and Pidge walk to the pod docks where they know he is.

Shiro is there too, sitting on a crate and helping Lotor rewire his cruiser. Just to make this even more humiliating.

Neither man hear them approach at first, the sautering tool in Shiro’s hand is too loud. So Pidge has to yell.

“Hey! Lotor!” Allura cringes beside her. The honorific is missing, and when the noise goes out and they get his attention, Pidge doesn’t bow.

But to his credit, the Galran Prince seems to know what’s happening immediately.

He goes to his knee.

The drop of his frame seems to sink her heart into her stomach as he does it, slow and calculated. He keeps his eyes on Pidge though, unwavering even as his knows flares.

Shiro’s sauter fumbles in his fingers. “UH--”

“Uh….” Pidge trails. Too.

The Paladins both look to Allura. She nods to Pidge, pointedly, trying not to shake.

This is not how she imagined her first courting to turn out. Not with such impropriety and lack of privacy. Nor did she imagine it would be in a docking bay.

“My… lady, requests you open, uh, this.” Pidge hands over the response token. It’s a palm holo projector.

At first, the confusion on Lotor’s brow worries her. (It’s not the right object, at all.) But he takes it all the same, thumb waving over the signal to turn the holo on.

An explosion of flowers happen digitally. A simulated bouquet unfurling with color and programmed free falling petals. It’s a bit overt. Pidge had gone all out.

“Whoa. What’s that?” Shiro asks.

Lotor’s expression doesn’t change at first, eyes scoping the colors quickly, meticulously.

Yellow is the most prominent. Surprise. Reds leaves for gratitude, blue calla for trepidation, and orange glowdews, four of them, and a single purple snaptail.

It’s a mess of colors. (She’s a mess of responses.)

No white though.

Lotor stands, snapping the holo off and bowing low. The locks of his hair fall past his shoulder. “Right. Okay.” Pidge says, but turns to look at her confusedly. “We… we leave now.” Allura whispers. “Okay.” “What is happening?” Shiro asks again, standing from his crate and scratching his neck with his hand.

“Nothing!” Pidge answer, “Bye!” They leave them there, Lotor still bowing until they exit.

“Guys? Come on--!”

A Dalcycle goes by.

And really, it’s more worrisome than not.

At this point, they have yet to talk, and it’s actually been a bit of a problem. On one occasion, with a strategic meeting about Galran frontlines, they have to talk in 3rd person relating to each other, acting as if they weren’t simply standing side by side.

And, while it would be nice to say the Paladins didn’t notice, they certainly did.

After, Corran asks if the Prince had angered her. Shiro asks if they’re pulling a prank.

Pidge asks her why it’s still going on if she already rejected him.

The Prince himself has been nothing but respectful to the process. He avoids her gaze, and bows her head as she passes him in the lounge or on the bridge.

So after awhile, she wonders if perhaps, it had been a fluke all along.

And the he catches her.

Alone.

She had been headed back from the Olkarion epicenter, the sun dying into orange shafts and shadows, when she nearly walks into him on the Castle’s ramp. She means to apologize, but her lips snap shut.

He bows.

She thinks it’s just another awkward instance then, and means to walk past him, but his hand raises suddenly, and he’s standing straight now. Eyes almost orange in the light itself. “Accept my hand for a walk?” He asks.

And Allura suddenly realizes his voice has been sorely missed.

“Yes.”She places three fingers in his palm, and he leads her back toward the epicenter.

They are quiet for some time. Which is fine. It takes most of her focus to understand the texture of his palms, and the size of them in comparison to hers.

His nails nip at her skin as he releases her to stand quietly.

“Forgive me, Princess, for now I seem to be at an impasse.”“I… had the feeling… it might be so.” She acknowledged.

He smiles. It’s sharp, but his brows are drawn. He’s apologetic. “It’s at this point I would speak to your father.”“Yes.”

“And in Galran culture,” He begins tentatively, gaze flickering from her face to the sunset. “I would be expected to cut blood from my hand to show my acceptance of pain on your behalf.”“Oh, n-no, please, that's completely unnecessary.”

“And to you, most likely more an insult than flattery.” He chuckles. It’s low and heavy. It sneaks through his lips like a breeze. “So I find myself at a loss to continue in a fashion you would appreciate.”She steps toward him, enough that she has to look up. He is naturally tall. And she’s not sure if that is the Galra in him, or if he would be a tall Altean too. “But, I have appreciated it. Everything.”“Have you?”“I can’t be more appreciative. I haven’t… it’s been a long time since basking in any tradition of my people. Even if this particular process is more… intense than others.” She’s aware her face is burning. She blames it on the sun, creasing her eyes as she looks up to his face. “I know it must have taken you time and I… admire your attention to the details.”There’s a smile forming on his face, but he rids himself of it to say, “I only did so to portray my genuine affection.” Affection. The word is like swallowing anti-gravity firmware to hear. She feels like floating away, him saying it so plainly. “Affection.” She repeats. She has too, she can’t believe it. “Yes.”

Yes! Just like that he says it. “I would make it known that as political as all our actions inevitably are, Prince and Princess aside, I do not send tokens without affection in them.”Yes, she got that much but the choices of gifts he made. The music meant, well… it was more suited to an anniversary then a proposal, if that meant anything.“Just as… attraction came with yours?” It’s a question, but it’s said with a grin and Allura immediately regrets the orange glowdews. “I-I’m, I, I would, I am not… dishonest!” It’s all she can manage.

He laughs. She can almost feel the hum of it in her bones.

“And so here we are. At an impasse. I have no way to give you the final token.” He looks regretful and she’s thankful he seems to be sad to miss the opportunity to continue. “I suppose you need a blunt answer then. From me, since my father…”She trails and he steps forward this time, a hand gently cradling her elbow. “Yes. Unless you’d like me to bring you the head of a great beast, as Galrans do.”She shakes her head, smiling, thankful for his charm to lighten the mood. “No. I can… answer.”

His fingers tighten.

Her own hand rises, dips past her collar to release the chain lying secret under her suit. “I… am acknowledging your open admittance of interest in betrothal, with conclusion that I also, would be open to a planned enga--” The cristofori gleams pink in gold, specks of light fracturing off his shadow as his other hand pulls her close and he leans to kiss her.

Between heat and warmth, and the soft sound of his coat furling in wrinkles between her fisted palms, he whispers on her lips. “Forgive the impropriety, Princess, I am simply…. Overjoyed.”She gives him a shaky laugh. “You’re forgiven.”

He kisses her again.

#lotura #lotor #allura #voltron #prompt #fanfiction #THANKKK YOUUU #also i hated 6s messy plot derailing for sudden exposition dump scenes that had no previous setup #Anonymous

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ahumanintraining · 6 years

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start back at one With his return, there’s so much to catch up on, but maybe they don’t need words for their feelings. — shallura, post s6.

notes: something I intended to write four weeks ago but never got around to finishing until now. [read on ao3]

She hasn’t had a proper conversation with Shiro ever since.

The journey to Earth doesn’t take very long. With Keith’s maturing relationship with the Black Lion and Shiro’s guidance, the team makes it to their home planet in just under a varga.

The entire team is greeted with open arms and happy tears, and Allura’s heart goes out to everyone reuniting with their families and friends. As Hunk works with Coran on the construction of the next and more glorious iteration of the Castle of Lions, Pidge starts coding new functions onto a new prosthetic arm for Shiro, Lance is busy with all his nieces and nephews, and Keith is catching up with Shiro for as much as he can about well, everything.

And Allura? Allura thinks it’s nice that she has some time alone. She still hasn’t been able to process and clearly think through what has happened in the last series of quintants, and she really needs to before she can properly handle the next phase of Voltron’s work.

But for now, her mind is tired, and she hasn’t made any progress with her emotions, so Allura occupies herself with the wonders of Earth — the pink and purple flowers, the deep blue oceans, the white silver-lined clouds, the yellow-orange of the setting sun…

It’s exactly as Shiro described it to her. Breathtaking and beautiful, with colors beyond imagination. A moment not just to witness but to experience.

Somehow, she remembers this, exactly as how he said it, even if he spoke those words long before…

“Allura?” his voice comes behind her, as if summoned by thought alone.

She turns around. She hasn’t heard her name in his voice in a long time. It seems nearly years since he’s called her anything but Princess.

“Shiro,” she replies, in a practiced voice. She tries not to sound alarmed. “What are you doing here? You should be resting.”

He shrugs, giving her a sheepish grin. “I got bored,” he says lightly, before his eyes soften. “And I wanted to talk to you.”

Hearing this makes her heart flutter — but as much she wants to talk to him, she’s not sure she has all of her thoughts together just yet. She opens her mouth, but then closes it again.

“I see,” she answers instead.

“Sorry that it took this long,” he apologizes. “So many things were going on, and I felt like every opportunity I got to try to catch you was stolen.”

“Yes,” she agrees, but she knows she’s been purposefully avoiding him.

“How are you?”

And it’s such a simple question with such a complex answer. He knows it too, and he laughs to himself, apologizing. “Sorry, I know that’s a big question.”

“No, no,” she assures him. “I should be asking you that.”

“We have a lot to catch up on then,” he says.

She gives him a small smile. “We do. But it might take a long while, don’t you think?”

He returns the smile. “I’m happy with whatever gives me more time to spend with you.”

Silence falls over them again. Shiro looks like he wants to embrace her — his arm swings up past his hips but then once he sees her poised expression, he lets his arm drop back, tucking his hand to the side of his leg, his fingers holding onto the seam of his pants. He plays it off like he was smoothing out some wrinkles, but she notices anyway.

She also notices that his face falls, the shadows lengthening over his cheeks as his eyes turn downcast and a frown settles on his lips.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he apologizes. “I know you went through a lot, and that the team went through a lot, and all that time I wasn’t there.”

Allura’s eyebrows furrow, and her eyes flutter closed as she takes a steady breath in and out. This is not what she wants to hear from him.

“I didn’t mean to leave the team in such distress,” Shiro continues. “Keith was telling me he was completely unprepared to take my place as the Black Lion, and that even if I had told him and trained him earlier, he would never be ready for how suddenly I disappeared.” He pauses, and she can hear his face turning toward her. “In my absence, I know there was a lot of rearranging. All the teamwork had to start from scratch again. And—”

“Stop apologizing,” she interrupts him in a snap. She looks up at his guilt-ridden eyes, and immediately regrets her tone, covering her mouth with a hand and turning away from him. “I’m sorry,” she then tells him, once she re-modulates her voice. “I… I don’t think I’m ready to talk to you yet.”

“Hey.” He steps to her side, gingerly placing a hand on her shoulder. When she doesn’t shrug it off, he lets his palm rest completely over her skin. “It’s okay to be upset with me.”

She shakes her head. “No, no,” she counters. “I’m not upset with you. I’m just…” and she trails off as she finds the words. “I don’t even know where to start.”

His eyes shift to the side, and she sees his bottom lip curl under his teeth, as if he’s biting back words he wants to say.

They slip past his lips anyway.

“Can we start with you and me?” he asks, his gaze returning to her. “I just want to know if we’re still where we were before… everything.”

Where we were before… everything. Did he mean the long conversations under the stars telling each other about what they missed most about their home planets? Did he mean the subtle teasing under the table at dinner time? Did he mean the quiet sleep-in mornings when she’d find herself waking up with her hip under his heavy thigh? Did he mean weary post-mission afternoons when they barely had enough energy to get into the shower, much less remove themselves from each other’s arms?

“I understand if you need time,” he says, when her silence extends past comfort. He lifts his hand from her shoulder. “I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

Her heart gives a start. She takes his wrist before he moves any further away.

At the core of it, he’s right. There’s only so many chances to have this conversation. If she missed it this time, there is no telling when she would next be able to talk to him, just the two of them.

And she really doesn’t want to delay it anymore. Already, the hole in her chest is growing wider by every minute she avoids him. She hates not being able to see him. She hates not being able to talk to him. She hates not being able to hug him tight, kiss his lips, breathe him in and feel like she is home.

“It’s not you,” she begins. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just…” A hard rock in her throat forms, and she swallows it down. “I betrayed you,” she confesses.

He looks up at her, meeting her eyes. “You didn’t.”

She can’t read his eyes. They’re dark and intense, and she loses her words and her thoughts in them.

“I did,” she argues, blinking out the blurriness in her eyes. She starts to blabber. “I didn’t realize he wasn’t you, and I thought you had changed. I thought he was you.”

She watches him for any signs of anger or upset, but he doesn’t show any. “Not many people realized he wasn’t me,” he reminds her.

She shakes her head, refusing that excuse. “I fell out of love with you. I stopped loving you and I moved on without you. I didn’t ever think we’d come back to this, and I didn’t ever think I’d think about you again like this.”

“People fall in and out of love,” he says, shrugging it off.

“Yes, but I told him that I didn’t love him anymore and I broke his heart,” she continues, taking his hand in both of hers, interlacing her fingers between his. “Then I fell in love with Lotor and I broke his heart again. I broke his heart twice. I made him cry. And now I know he wasn’t you, but I still feel like I broke your heart twice, and that I made you cry.”

He laughs softly. “Why do you keep trying to convince me that I should be upset with you?”

She doesn’t realize that this is what she’s trying to do, but now that he’s said it, the cloud over her emotions suddenly clear.

That’s it. She feels guilty for everything she’s done and she’s worried that if he finds out, he’ll be upset and never want anything to do with her ever again. This is why she’s been avoiding him. This is why it’s taken her this long to figure out what was eating at her heart.

How is that he can always find her?

“You should be upset with me,” she replies.

“I’m not,” he assures her. He takes his free hand and lifts her chin up to him, watching her eyes. “Are you upset with me?” he asks softly.

She shakes her head. “No,” she says, taken aback by his question. “Not at all. You didn’t do anything wrong. None of what happened was your fault.”

He smiles. “Exactly.” His fingers move up her jaw and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s exactly why I forgive you.”

She swallows, her eyes slowly surveying up his sturdy shoulders and neck to his new head of white before stopping at his soft black gaze. When their eyes meet, he gives her a gentle smile.

“Can we start over?” he asks. “From wherever we left off?”

She nods, replying almost breathlessly. “Yes.”

His other hand escapes from between her fingers, following up her right forearm before slipping over her elbow to settle on her waist. He doesn’t ask it, but she steps slightly into him. She’s surprised by how automatically her hands reach for him, and she carefully lets only the tips of her fingers touch him, feeling the warmth emanating from his chest.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes,” she says, barely a whisper — but for how little distance there is between them, she doesn’t need to be any louder.

He smiles, his eyes dropping to her lips. His eyelashes are as long as she remembers them.

The last time she was ever this close to anyone…

“I kissed Lotor,” she blurts, another pang of guilt coursing through her. “I made love to him.”

The smile on his face doesn’t fade. “I don’t care.”

And maybe this is all she needed to hear from him — that he’ll have her however she is and has been — because that’s when all her doubts and regrets fade from her mind, overshadowed by the growing hunger for his lips.

“Now,” he murmurs over her lips. “Where do we begin?”

#shallura #shallura fanfiction #shiro x allura #voltron #—shallura #—voltron #not completely sure why this took forever to write #bleghhhh

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majoringinsarcasm · 6 years

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I saw a post that was like a twitter poll and the person was askin “hey if you ship allurance are you happy with how it’s been confirmed” (not that it’s confirmed it’s not) and the answer was a big no. Which I find interesting. On the one hand (and rn I haven’t watched S7 so if I get something wrong, kindly add it or at least don’t yell) Allura suddenly getting feelings for Lance in the last episode of the season is weird. It’s maybe not unexpected, but it’s quite sudden and our of character for Allura.

Unlessssss it isn’t.

If Allurance is endgame, I think they’ve done a pretty good job of setting it up. Not for a wedding at the end of the show, not a super big moment either. But a good path to go on in terms of hinting at a relationship continuing after the series. I think the main concern is the relationship Allura and Lotor has in S5 and S6. Another post I saw said that while Allurance is rushed in towards the end, we saw the progression of Allura and Lotor’s feelings for each other. And they are right about the second part. We DID see their romantic relationship progress.

Quickly.

The timeframe in space is all over the place, so I honestly don’t know how long Lotura were sweet on each other before Allura yeeted him out of her heart. But in the very beginning, with the fight with Zarkon, the Kral Zera, and discovering the space Bermuda Triangle and the white lion, things escalated fast. Allura was hesitant to trust him, but I could see she fell faster for him after learning he was half Altean and saw his markings glow. Allura, as part of her character and as her flaw, is less on guard when it comes to her former home. We’ve seen it with AI Alfor, and the inter dimensional rift. She has been shown to become blinded, for a moment at least, when anything about her people or culture is mentioned or shown.

So Lotor, hanging peace banners and seemingly sticking to his word about changing the Galra, plus his knowledge about Altean alchemy, has Allura letting her guard down. Do I think Lotor cared about her? I would like to believe so, bc I did think they were cute together. But I think for Allura, she was caught up in the rush of infatuation. Lotor has so much to offer her, he was being kind, he made her feel connected to her people in a way she hasn’t before.

But when his true colors were shown, she didn’t hesitate to shut down and lock him out. She was hurt, no doubt, and it probably hurt for a while. Her heart, her pride, her role as the commander of the castle. She let him get close to her and her paladins. He could’ve done any number of things on her ship and she feels so stupid for trusting him.

And then there’s Lance. Lance who comforts her, not romantically. Not “you still have me baby forget him”. But as a friend. As someone he loves and respects. He says Lotor tricked them all, that they ALL trusted him. He helps shoulder her burden so she isn’t so heavy with the guilt. He takes care of her in that scene like she’s taken care of the paladins since their journey started.

Until now, we’ve only seen Lance’s feelings about Allura. His romantic feelings anyway. He was a bad flirt and a show off, super cocky and spacey. But he grew. As time went on and everyone grew closer and stronger, he stopped seeing Allura as JUST the princess he has a crush on. He sees her as a partner, a paladin, a fellow Blue lion pilot. He knows how much she wanted Red, to fill her father’s place (I have a theory abt that which I’ll write later) and he sees how she’s grown as a fighter. I don’t remember the episode but it starts with Lance in sniper vision and he sweeps over the team and just watches Allura fight and he’s in awe and he’s so Proud. He’s Proud if how far she’s come.

Allura never leads Lance on. She’s aware of his affections but that doesn’t stop her from being around him, from being close to him. She may not return his feelings but she appreciates him as a person and a teammate, and she cares about him. And like I said, we only see how Lance’s feelings grow over time. Allura and Lance share some beautiful moments (the changing of the lions, the heart of Voltron, the Altean sword, the comfort after Lotor’s betrayal). We know his affections for her grew romantically. But in these scenes we see how Allura has grown too.

To connect with Blue she tries to imitate Lance and flirt. We saw she likes playing with the mice, who make her laugh and keep her entertained. She jokes and laughs with Lance. She’s comfortable enough to hug him. I can’t remember off the top of my head but I think we’ve only seen her hug AI Alfor, Coran, Keith when she apologized to him, Lotor, and Lance. Each hug was different. Family, second family, acceptance and apology, infatuation, and comfort.

What I LOVE about them is that, thanks to S7, they’ve completely switched places. Lance was the stranger on an alien planet. He had to learn how to do things different ways. He had to cope with being out of his element. And now Allura is on Lance’s Home turf, surrounded by new things and challenges. Just because we didn’t have back to back episodes of Allura and Lance holding hands and kissing doesn’t mean there’s been no set up.

And no, Lance isn’t a rebound. He’s not a second best or a replacement. Allura fell fast for Lotor because he was surrounded by what she wanted. The idea that the war could end Right Now. That she could fulfill her father’s wishes and save the universe. He was her dream, a fantasy that she flung away the minute she woke up.

Lance has always been there, for the team and for her. He wasn’t perfect at the start, and neither was she. Allura was too quick to trust and judge and got angry when questioned. She’s learned that she isn’t commanding a team, she’s part of one now. And she can see that Lance has never pressured her. He’s always just been there, caring about her as she’s grown to care about him.

Lance was the first person she saw after ten thousand years. The show sets up important relationships very specifically. I don’t think it was just for comedic effect.

Allura and Lance, if they end up together (in a confined way) at the end of the series, isn’t a rushed decision. It isn’t to spite other ships or to erase representation or to push a ‘safe’ hetero relationship. If Allura and Lance end up together, it’s because they were meant to be together. Because they have broken free of the “Girl must pick between boy next door or mystery bad boy”. The boy next door keeps his feelings out her way, and the girl doesn’t ‘make do’ with mystery boy and his past.

If Allura loves Lance the same way he loves her, that’s because it happened the same way. Slowly, over time, and with the kind of comfort that sneaks up on you. It’s so gentle you don’t notice it until they’re looking at you like you have the power to change the world.

And you believe them, because they have never let you down.

#allurance #voltron legendary defender #long post #i tried this like three times cause i wabted a title but oh well i hate this app

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themostrandomfandom · 6 years

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Hi! Adore your blog

Hey, @lydiagravy!

First off, thank you for your kind words. I’m glad you enjoy my blog.

Next, I will admit up front: I have never actually read this bookmyself; I have only had the content explained to me by a friend who majored inhuman development, who read the book as part of her coursework and enjoyed itvery much.

I apologize if I end up bungling anything.

From what I understand, the three primary attachment types breakdown like so:

Anxious: Personswith anxious attachment types tend to be nervous about their relationships.They require frequent reassurance from their partners that they are wanted,appreciated, loved, etc. They crave affection and often fare poorly when singleand/or physically or emotionally separated from their partners. They are slowto trust even the people they’re closest to and can behave irrationally,sporadically, and over-emotionally if they feel insecure in theirrelationships.

Avoidant: Personswith avoidant attachment types tend to be independent and uncomfortable withintimacy. They find commitment difficult and often complain of feeling“suffocated” when people try to get close to them. Most frequently, they chooseto operate solo. However, if they do enter into romantic relationships, theytend to do so with an exit strategy already in mind going in.

Secure:Persons with secure attachment types are generally comfortable—both asindividuals and romantic partners. They regularly express affection and trusttheir partners enough to be intimate with them. They know how to draw clearinterpersonal boundaries, handle rejection, and communicate regarding problems.For this reason, they tend to make excellent friends and romantic partners.

Basedon those definitions, I agree that Brittany has a secure attachment type.However, I think Santana is kind of an interesting case, in that she sometimes presentsherself as having an avoidant attachment type, but in actuality, at her core,she has an anxious one.

Morediscussion after the cut.

___

Brittany

WithBrittany, things are fairly straightforward.

Thoughshe sometimes experiences insecurity when people who don’t know her well don’tget her (and especially when they underestimate her intelligence), when itcomes to her attachments to the people who matter—her family members andSantana—Brittany is very comfortable being who she is and, by extension, iscomfortable in her relationships.

Ingeneral, she functions with the understanding that the people who matter willget it and that the people who don’t get it don’t matter after all.

Interms of her relationship with Santana specifically, she understands thesignificance of their feelings for each other, even at times when Santana is inheavy denial. Though the hurtful things Santana says during S1 and S2 sometimescause her to question the viability of her and Santana’s relationship, she always seems to return to the fact that because they are in lovewith each other, anything is possible for them, which is why she is able towait for Santana to get her act together.

Ofcourse, Brittany having a secure attachment type doesn’t exempt her fromexperiencing the occasional moment of doubt or from occasionally behavingpoorly within her relationships—because she certainly does both of those thingsfrom time to time.

Itjust means that, by and large, Baby Girl feels confident giving and receivinglove, and she trusts that she and Santana will be able to overcome whatevertroubles they face because they are deeply committed to each other. She remainssteady even when the boat is rocking.

Nowhere is her secure attachment type more evident than in her speech to Santana during episode 5x12, where she expresses her belief that she and Santana have a special, once-in-a-lifetime bond (“I really wanna be with you, Santana. I’ve seen the world and I’m sure now more than ever that I belong with you. And I’m sure your girlfriend’s great but you can’t re-create what you and I have. Just tell me to stay. Please. It’s your choice. If you want me, I’m here”). Her confidence that Santana will ultimately choose her over Dani speaks to the trust she has in Santana, as well as to her generally easygoing temperament.

Santana

As stated above, I think that even though Santana sometimes actsavoidant, in reality, her attachment type is most likely anxious.

Here is my reasoning:

As I’ve written about here,Santana has what is known as a reactive temperament, meaning that she typicallyexperiences strong emotional responses to stimuli. Not only does she feelemotions very strongly—when she feels sad, she feels really sad; when she feelshappy, she feels very happy—but in her most natural and unchecked state, shealso manifests those emotions in unmistakable ways, meaning that she cries atthe drop of a hat when something upsets her and smiles so widely that herdimples show when something goes her way. Simply put, Baby Girl wears her hearton her sleeve.

—and the fact that she does so makes her socially vulnerable.

In the public school system, kids who are easily provoked and/orwho get really excited about things tend to become targets for bullying. Theirclassmates will attempt to rile them up just to get a rise out of them. They’llalso mock them for being too effusive about the things they like and dislike.

My theory, based in large part on what she says during her HurtLocker confession, is that Santana learns fairly early on that being reactivemakes her socially vulnerable—and especially once she hits puberty and startsto recognize her attraction to girls for what it is. She knows it is dangerousfor her to wear her emotions so close to the surface, particularly in relationto any physical attractions and/or romantic feelings she might develop, so shemakes the conscientious decision to start downplaying how she feels aboutthings and purposefully repressing her reactivity.

Over time, she developes her “bitch” persona, which she can wearlike armor in order to safeguard herself, pretending not to like or care muchabout anyone or anything. Through concerted efforts, she submerges the emotionswhich make her socially vulnerable—like her insecurity concerning hersexuality, her enthusiasm for performance and other personal passions, her lovefor Brittany, her fears concerning her own lovability and individual worth,etc.—in favor of more “defensible” emotions, like open hostility and annoyance.The anger she allows the world to see is meant to mask the fear she isdesperate to keep hidden.

We don’t know when exactly Santana develops this “too cool forschool” act, but we do know that said act starts to become unsustainable forher during S2, when the possibility that she might lose Brittany to Artieforever dredges up many of the emotions she has been working so hard tosubmerge.

Throughout S2, Santana is an emotional hot mess. Whereas beforeshe had planned out her life so she could always stay two steps ahead of heremotions, now she and Brittany have moved “off-script,” so she can’t anticipateher feelings, only react to them as they happen (see here).

As she becomes increasingly fearful that she will potentiallylose Brittany to Artie forever, she also becomes increasingly aggressivetowards other happy couples around her, as we see between episodes 2x08 and2x13, when she goes on a “spree of relational destruction,” taking on Finchel,Fuinn, Fabrevans, and Pizes in turn. She is frequently weepy in public. Herinteractions with the glee club and with Brittany especially are all over theplace. The more she becomes aware of what it is that she really wants—a stable,romantic relationship with Brittany—the less she knows how to get it.

Eventually, after hitting her emotional breaking point inepisode 2x14, in episode 2x15, she is able to admit to herself and to Brittanythe true nature of her feelings, and once she does, the proverbial floodgates open.Once she says those magic words (“I have to admit that I love you”), she can’tkeep repressing how she feels even if she wants to.

As the seasons wear on, Santana becomes increasingly comfortableacknowledging and expressing her feelings, to the point where in S6, she hasactually gotten back to her openly reactive baseline for the most part.

So getting back to your original question:

I bring up Santana’s reactivity (and her reaction to her ownreactivity) because it plays into the way she displays her attachments.

Baby Girl is at her core anxious, but she sometimes behaves inan avoidant manner as a defense mechanism.

When Santana loves, she loves hard—and she knows as much, evenfrom the beginning (see here).

One of her biggest hang-ups throughout the show is her fear ofrejection. On a very primal level, she worries that if the people she loves andwho love her learn the truth about her, they’ll withdraw their love, and shewon’t be able to cope. We see this belief manifest during her fearfuland defensive interactions with Brittany during the Back Six of S2 (“I said ‘Ilove you,’ and you didn’t say you loved me back”), her reluctance to come outto her parents and grandmother during S3, her insecurities in her friendshipswith various glee club members throughout the show, etc.

In many ways, her anxiety is textbook: At her core, she worriesthat she is inherently unlovable, so she requires frequent reassurance from thepeople who matter to her that such is not the case. As long as she receivesregular, sincere expressions of love and affection from her family members andBrittany, she thrives. But if anything gives her cause to question thestability of her bonds with her loved ones, she does, and she starts to flail—hard.

As previously noted, she strugglesmightily during S2, constantly worrying that for as much as she loves Brittany,Brittany doesn’t love her back. She experiences a similar emotional crisisduring S4 and early S5, when she and Brittany are broken up and she can’t besure that they’ll ever get back together, even though she wants nothing more inthe world than for them to do so.

Where things get complicated with Santana is that she sometimesresponds to the anxiety she feels in her relationships by putting on anavoidant façade.

Early on, Santana is so scared of the immensity of her feelingsfor Brittany and their implications that she literally cannot deal with them,so she pushes them down and represses them. She wants Brittany so much, butshe’s so scared that she’ll never be able to have her because society won’tallow them to have a happy ending together, because Brittany perhaps doesn’treciprocate her feelings, because she is somehow patently unlovable, etc. Beingfearful in that way causes Santana to feel powerless. And no one likes to feeltruly powerless, especially in a high stakes situation. So Santana tries totake control of the situation by pretending to herself and the world that, inactuality, she doesn’t need or want Brittany, and she isn’t afraid of herfeelings because she doesn’t have any.

Simply put, being in love causes Santana to feel vulnerable, soshe tries to pretend she’s not in love.

She avoids true intimacy with Brittany—refusing to maintain eyecontact with her during sex, verbally downplaying the significance of theirrelationship and denying the depth of their feelings for each other, stubbornlyinsisting that they both have “side dish” sexual relationships with boys inorder to offset their primary sexual relationship with each other, etc.,etc.—so that she doesn’t have to cop to what she feels or reckon with heranxiety.

When Brittany tries to push the issue, she reacts by ridiculingBrittany’s “neediness” and claiming that she has no interest in a romancebetween them, as she’s only interested in sex.

It’s a classic case of “Methinks she doth protest too much.”

She keeps loudly insisting that she doesn’t need Brittany forthe very reason that she does need her so much, and the depth of her needscares her to death.

She keeps saying that she has no interest in love because, deepdown, she is terrified that she is unlovable.

Santana’s avoidance is all an act, and we can tell that it isbecause the second she starts to feel validated and secure in both who she isand how much Brittany loves her, it vanishes.

In situations where she and Brittany are physically oremotionally separated from each other—like during S2, when Brittany datesArtie, and S4, when Brittany dates Sam—Santana reverts to her flailing,quasi-avoidant tendencies.

(See, for example, herbehavior during episode 4x13, where she pretends to have a collegegirlfriend and be completely over Brittany in order to mask how scared she is thatBrittany has replaced her with Sam.)

However, whenever Santana is in a stable relationship withBrittany and feels assured of Brittany’s love for and commitment to her, sheflourishes. She is able to face outside pressures. She never once pretends thatshe doesn’t need or want love.

To me, the fact that Santana only does her “I don’t need anyone;I am a heartless bitch” song and dance during times when she is afraid that shewill end up alone speaks to that behavior being a defense mechanism on her part,as opposed to a legitimate attachment type.

In reality, she wants nothing morethan to love and be loved—and as long as she receives consistent assurancesfrom Brittany that those wants are being filled, she’s good, to the point whereeven though her natural attachment type is anxious, she can function securelywithin her and Brittany’s relationship.

This phenomenon is most evident in S6, whereSantana maintains a level head and repeatedly cites the unshakable nature ofher and Brittany’s bond as they prepare for their wedding. Come Kurt harping ontheir engagement, Abuela’s stubborn bigotry, or even Brittany’s prenuptialjitters, Santana is able to remain calm and say again and again, “I love you,Brittany, and you love me, and because of that, nothing else matters. We canget through everything together.”

Anyway, jabbering now. Thanks for the question!

#Crazy Brittanalyst answers #lydiagravy

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kakunamatatq · 6 years

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Voltron Ask Meme

Tagged by @kalluraicedcoffee, @n-trace, and @teamsincline (tumblr is shit with notifs more than usual lately but I think I got everyone? thanks y’all!)

How did you discover the show?

Through tumblr, although special mention goes to this particular ML AU piece because two months before I got into Voltron, ML was my default go-to interest.

Was it love at first sight or did it take you a while to get into the show?

Pretty much. I watched A:TLA and LoK before it, so combined with all the talk about it on here I decided to give it a go.

I think I binged half of it in a day before stopping myself and thinking I had to tell my sister about it so we could watch it together lol. The first few episodes are kind of heavy on the set-up, but “Fall of the Castle of Lions” and “Tears of the Balmera” solidified my love for starting to explore Hunk’s and Pidge’s characters more.

Do you have a favorite episode?

I’ll just do one* for each season because there’s just so many episodes to love.

s1: “Crystal Venom” s2: tie between “The Ark of Taujeer”, “Space Mall”, and “The Blade of Marmora” s3: “Tailing a Comet” s4: tie between “Reunion” and “Black Site” s5: tie between “Blood Duel” and “Kral Zera” s6: tie between “Razor’s Edge” and “The Black Paladins”

*I tried and failed. Horribly.

Rest under a Read More because I’m long winded:

Do you have a favorite Paladin?

Do not...do not ask me to choose between my children (if you base if off of the “frequently tagged” suggestions on my blog it’s Keith lol. But for what it’s worth, I own these Garrison trio shirts, and the tradition is that I wear my Lance one and my sister wears her Shiro one whenever we sit down to watch the latest season drop)

Do you have a favorite Lion? (If it’s different from your fav paladin, why?)

Black because of her history with Zarkon and how it parallels Shiro’s history of trauma. Also, as Abby put it, Black “is the biggest Shiro stan & I respect her for it.”

Do you have a favorite Villain?

Haggar. Even if some things don’t entirely make sense (yet...?), I absolutely love the slow build-up we’ve been getting for her. She’s been in the thick of things since the first episode/10000 years ago, and we’ve slowly seen her piece together her own past (one of the biggest reasons “Blood Duel” is a favorite, her flashback was great) and manipulate things to her own advantage; I’m so happy she’s going to be the final boss of the series (or co-final boss if Zarkon and Lotor are going to come back in some shape or form, though maybe merely as her puppets).

Do you have a favorite Alien Race? (recurring and/or minor)

Galra for their species diversity and history (not entirely fair since they’re given a disproportionate amount of focus but still lol.)

Favorite side / other character(s)- Rebels, General, Blade of Mamora, Garrison, etc?

Hira, Kolivan, Romelle, Thace, Varkon, all of Sincline, and all of the Holt family (we’ve only glimpsed Colleen in a flashback but Ihave a feeling I’m going to love her too)

How/Why did you join the fandom?

Wanted to chat with other fans of the show because I’d already bored my friends who were either casual about it or indifferent to it to death lmao. I’ve been relatively on the outskirts since I first watched it in July 2016 because I’d rather avoid fandom drama, but I’m a bit more active now and hope to write a bit for it, as rusty as my skills are.

Care to share a favorite headcanon?

Um I like a couple of popular ones like TransGirl!Pidge, past Alforan, and Yorak for Cosmic Wolf’s name. Was really big on Acxa and Keith being siblings too until s6 seemingly disproved it. 💔 Some others: - Kolivan is Krolia’s dad. (thanks @aaawunder now I’m going to be sad if this doesn’t pan out)

- Coran knew Keith was Galra ever since the Castle scanned everyone in the first episode and he had to look at the human medical data when he stuck Lance in a pod in “Tears of the Balmera”. (keeping in line with how he knew Pidge was a girl; guy is up-to-date on everything going on on his grandfather’s Castleship)

- Hunk either got his current headband from a relative who has since passed away or it was a gift from Lance after the original one he got was wrecked somehow, and that’s how they became BFFs. - Keith’s jacket and gloves were gifts from Shiro. - Lance’s jacket was a hand-me-down from one of his older brothers.

- Shiro grew up with either a grandparent to explain his “old soul” tendencies/perspectives or was raised by distant relatives that he didn’t connect with much (basically adopting @bosstoaster‘s backstory from her Spectrum series for him because it’s amazing). It kills me that Josh was able to mention the former at a panel because that means we’re probably not going to get to see much of his backstory in canon, and I’d really like to see from his perspective what his and Keith’s friendship means to him. If he was in a similar situation of isolation growing up, if he saw that in Keith, etc.

- Alteans aren’t really hung up on gender due to their shapeshifiting abilities. Alfor’s referring to Allura as a princess when she was still so young was due to personal preference whereas the majority of Alteans would refer to their kids with gender neutral pronouns until they’re roughly the Earth equivalent of eight.

What do you think is the best part of the show?

The characters and the genre.

For me, characters frequently make shows of this nature.There can be an interesting plot, but if I don’t care about at least some of the characters to some degree, I’m not as inclined to watch. As many complaints as I have about certain aspects of this series, I’ve been endeared to these characters since s1. There could always be more content (what I would give for more filler episodes for the team to just bond and chill), but with what we have been given, there’s enough there for me to find enjoyment in.

The genre acts as a supplement to that. For me, one of the best things about space-faring adventures is seeing these characters placed in (literal) alien settings and watching how they react to all the possible scenarios the incomprehensible infinite of space has to offer. (And I’m a sucker for such things, being simultaneously made to feel so cosmically huge in one’s consciousness and so incredibly small in the vastness of a universe largely unknown to us.) There’s so much you can do with that. Any hopes and wishes for future episodes / seasons?

Holy shit do I!

- Tying into the previous question, one of the things that sort of made me sad about s3-s6/the second production season is how we didn’t get to do a lot of planet exploring. There’s an entire universe to play around with, and I know it’s impossible to show everything, but with s7 effectively being a road trip season, I’m ecstatic, largely because this provides us with the chance to see civilian Galra. I’m super interested in seeing how those dynamics play out between those not involved with the Empire and all the people who suffer under Galra oppression (we see this touched upon in s3e01 with Kolivan and the BoM, and at the time I was disappointed that it wasn’t explored more, but if they’re saving it for this season I can forgive them).

- Going further, how do mixed people fare under these circumstances? I’m really excited about this because I feel like this would be the perfect opportunity not only to expand upon the VLD universe as whole, but specifically dive into the backstories of Sincline. We know at least the upper echelons of the empire wanted nothing to do with them — how many Galra outside of that hierarchy feel the same way? People of their parents’ species?

Likewise, we could see if Keith being part Galra and Krolia being around gets the team into any sort of trouble. Since Keith’s bigger on actions than words, seeing him in a situation he can’t physically fight his way out of and having to rely on his team is a scenario of continued interest to me.

This is already way too long, but I’ll end it by saying I’m so stoked about all the potential road trip shenanigans the team could get into and for them visiting Earth again. I figured we’d be going back there around the end of s4 or s5 back when seasons were still 13-episodes long, and finally getting to see that play out after two years of waiting is again, very exciting for me.

And, uh, ships. I have my preferences. If they play out, I can die happy. If they don’t, I’ll always have the quality fanon content that keeps me involved with the fandom (all you creators are great 💜)

Do you think you’ll stick it out until the end of the show?

Barring unforeseen circumstances, most definitely. Been with it since a month after s1 dropped and it became my default fandom obsession, will be here when s10 drops in the fourth quarter of 2019.

Tag your friends or someone you want to get to know better

@grandraconteur @guegetheassassin @honestlyprettychill @mischiefandspirits @nixthelapin @pipedreamprayer @purpleneutrino @spacemare @sparklingdisneyprincess @tomodachi-to-koibito @winry7

And @ any else I didn’t mention but would like to try it too (Apologies if any of you have been tagged for this already. Hmu with your answers, I’d love to read them)

#for if you're bored #Long Post #Voltron #KM Komments #VLD S7 #Tagged #Questionaire

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ghostbustermelanieking · 6 years

Text

the fountain chapter six

chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

s6 fic: post milagro, tithonus and detour casefile, immortal scully, part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files

warning for kidnapping and some violence

chapter six

may, 1999

He blinked in surprise when Samuel Barclay said that the Fountain didn't exist. He'd been expecting this a little, from someone, but it was a bit of a surprise coming from these people, for some reason. He didn't know why, but it was. “What, you don't believe?” he asked, shrugging it off.

“I don't believe. My brother has the good sense not to believe,” Samuel said, turning half-towards the river. He seemed almost bored. “As for my father, he gives it the benefit of the doubt.”

Peter shrugged, running a hand over his silvery head. “I suppose I have something of a romantic in me.”

“So you've never come across anything that looks a little suspicious?” Mulder asked. “Anything to make you believe?”

Andrew laughed, as if Mulder was an amusing child. “I've come across several tourists looking for exactly what you were,” he said. “And I've all told them the same thing: you're probably looking for St. Augustine.”

Mulder laughed too, a little irritably, said, “Well, I suppose if you can't help me, I should probably be on my way.” He bent over and hoisted the heavy backpack off of the ground. His shoulders groaned in protest, but he ignored them.

“Well, good luck with your fruitless pursuit, Mr. Mueller,” Andrew said, eyes towards the river like his brother.

“It's Mulder, actually,” Mulder said shortly.

“Good luck, Mr. Mulder,” Peter said, deadly serious. “Sometimes you find things where you least expect them.”

He reached out to shake Mulder's hand, and Mulder accepted, watching the man carefully. He couldn't read Peter’s expression. “Thank you,” he said, and turned to leave.

Something else occurred to him after he took a few steps. Barclay. Virginia Barclay, who had no records.

There had to be more than one set of Barclays in the Tallahassee area, but it was worth a try. He turned around and said, “Hey, do you guys have a relative named Virginia? Virginia Barclay?”

Andrew raised his eyebrows in surprise, like he couldn't believe Mulder was asking. Samuel snorted, turning back to the river. “I'm afraid not,” Peter said. “Do you know a Virginia Barclay?”

Mulder shrugged. Reading over her file didn't seem like a synonym for knowing her. “Once,” he said. He wiped his dirty hands on his jeans and added, “Good talking to you gentlemen.” And then he turned and left.

---

He walked as the sun sunk low in the sky, as blue-black touched the edges of the horizon. The ache in his back from the weight started to become routine. The boredom almost became a bit routine. He considered turning back around and going the way he came, but the truth was that he had no idea where he'd come from. What was it Michele had used to mark their path through the forest last time? Pebbles or something. Like Hansel and Gretel. He should've remembered that before coming in here. Or maybe he should've waited and talked to Scully, explained what was going on after she'd cooled down a bit and waited to see if she wanted to come with him. Definitely shouldn't have tramped into the woods by himself. It wasn't dark, not yet, but as the day gave way to dusk, the jumpiness came back. He couldn't fall asleep. He wouldn't fall asleep. If he did and the mothmen came, he really would be helpless. He tonelessly whistled Joy to the World to break the silence.

It happened all of a sudden: he was walking, and then he was falling. The ground gave way beneath him and he plunged into darkness. He let out a pained grunt as he picked himself up off the dirt. What was it Scully had said a couple of years ago? Soft dirt, kind of? It was not soft at all. He groaned, picking himself up off the ground and shifting on the hard dirt. The backpack scraped against his spine. He sat back on his haunches and looked around. He was in some dirt cavern, dark and dank. It seemed to be a tunnel, an underground tunnel.

He'd found it. The caverns he and Scully had fallen into. Maybe it wasn't the same one, but a similar one. And definitely worth checking out, seeing as how he'd fallen at least seven feet and, looking above him, he could see no easy way out.

Smiling a little to himself, Mulder stood on stiff legs and unzipped his backpack, took out a flashlight and one of his water bottles and chugged half of it before tucking it back inside. The least he could do was keep going. He turned on the flashlight and started walking.

There were bones in the tunnel. He wasn't surprised, considering what he'd seen of the mothmen a couple of years ago, but it still came as a bit of a fear-inducer. He was relieved to notice that none of the remains looked very recent, but it still spooked him. If the mothmen were still there…

He fumbled anxiously for his gun and held it in his free hand as he walked through the tunnel. Not for the first time, he wished Scully was there.

After at least another hour of walking in the dark, occasionally under holes to the above that were way too high to reach, Mulder got to the end of the tunnel. It was styled like some sort of rotunda, with other tunnels spiraling out like a pinwheel. And at the center was a tree.

Somewhere between a sapling and a full-grown, it was set up in the middle of the rotunda, directly underneath a circle that let in sunlight. It was about as high as Mulder, a thick and round trunk. It looked young, near new, but he noticed a carving that looked older in the bark. At least as old as the Ad Noctum post they'd found in the tunnels two years ago.

Mulder drew closer, shedding the backpack on the ground, and the words became more visible to him: Fuente de la juventud. His high school Spanish was a tad rusty, but he guessed that meant Fountain of Youth. He reached out and touched the carvings: they were deep, engraved into the wood. Definitely old.

I always thought if it was real that it wouldn't be made of water, Peter Barclay had said of the Fountain.

Was this is? Had he known? Was this sad little tree what Mulder had been looking for all this time? He traced the letters absently with one finger, looking up and down the tree. It was possible, he thought. This could be the key to Scully never being alone. All he'd need to do was show her where it was, and she could do whatever she wanted.

But what if it didn't work? What if he was wrong? If he was going to offer Scully a solution, then he had to be certain it was one, and it seemed that the only way to do that was to test it.

The deciding factor was what Andrew had said about the Fountain being temporary. If he tried something from this tree, and if it worked, he wouldn't be trapped in immortality forever if Scully didn't want him to be. But he might as well make sure it worked. He could just slice his hand open or something and see if it healed. If it didn't, Scully never had to know his intentions. If it did, well.

Mulder debated for several minutes how, exactly, the Fountain-tree-whatever worked. He considered boring a hole in the tree and drinking the sap, but that seemed too complicated and he didn't have anything to do that with, anyway. He considered the bark for a moment before finally giving up and grabbing a handful of leaves from the trees. He inserted a couple in his mouth and chewed, wincing at the bitter taste. It tasted horrible. “One must really want immortality to eat this shit on a regular basis,” he cracked, in an attempt to lighten his own mood. It didn't work. It was a heavy thing, what he was doing. If this worked, for some indeterminate amount of time, he wouldn't be able to age or die.

And if it didn't? His hand was really gonna fucking hurt.

Mulder chewed every one of the leaves, only retching a couple of times. He hoped to God they weren't poisonous. It would be ironic if he was poisoned by the Fountain of Youth. His joints groaned in relief as he sat down beside his backpack, leaning against the dirt wall behind him. He wiped the sweat off of his forehead and drank the last of a water bottle to rid his mouth of the bitter taste. He leaned his head back, wiped sweat out of his eyes, and rummaged for the pocket knife in his pack. And then his phone rang.

His phone, shoved somewhere deep inside his backpack. “I didn't even know I had a signal,” he said out loud, blinking in surprise. He abandoned the pocket knife pursuit and searched for his phone, whipped it out and managed to press Answer just before it went to voicemail. “Mulder,” he said, shoving the phone into the sweaty space between his cheek and his shoulder.

“Mulder, it's me,” Scully said. She sounded tired and pissy. “I got your note.”

The note. He'd almost forgotten the note. His mouth still bitter from the leaves, he swallowed, said, “Yeah, Scully, I…”

“Obviously there's a lot for us to discuss, but I wanted to call and ask where it is you went.” The tension was audible in her voice, tight and sharp. “I know I kicked you out, and I'm sorry for that, but Mulder, I need to know that you did not run off to that forest and out yourself in danger…”

He caught a glimpse of the Fountain-tree out of the corner of his eye, and couldn't help grinning. He'd found it, he'd actually found it. He didn't know if she'd be happy about it, but he wanted to tell Scully that he found it. “I actually did, Scully, uh,” he said, laughing a little to himself. “I found it. I found the fucking Fountain of Youth. I'm looking at it right now.”

Silence on the other end. “Scully?” Mulder finally ventured gingerly. He probably should have lead with an apology.

“Jesus Christ, Mulder,” she said in a weary exhale. “You went into those woods alone? After we almost died last time? What the hell?”

He rubbed at his forehead. “Scully, I've been careful,” he sighed. “I haven't even seen those things…”

“Why did you ditch me?” she demanded. “Why the hell did you ditch me? Why would you come to Florida and pretend to help me for a stupid case like this?”

“Scully, I didn't ditch you. You kicked me out,” he said, a little irritated now.

“Yes, because I was angry, and I didn't really think you'd leave, and if you did, I thought you'd go home. I didn't think you'd run off to chase the very thing we'd just fought about!”

“You don't understand,” he tried, “if you'd just let me explain…”

“How selfish can you be, Mulder, that you absolutely ignore everything I said this morning? Ignore the important case in favor of this, this stupid, nonexistent legend? Why does it matter so much, Mulder? What do you care?” He grimaced, closing his eyes; he didn't make any effort to answer, his hands leaving sweaty prints on the back of his phone. He didn't know what to say. She just kept going, plowing through him like a freight train. “What the hell is so important about tracking down something that had supposedly been around for thousands of years, if it even exists? Why do you have to look right this very second? Why can't it wait?"

“It's because of you,” he said softly, on an impulse. He hadn't planned on doing this, not like this, but he needed her to know. To understand. “I'm doing this for you. So you won't have to be alone.”

There was a silence on the other end, one that indicated Scully's surprise. For a minute, he thought maybe she was furious, raging at his presumption. He was about to apologize when she said, “Oh,” in a voice that was soft and almost near tearful. “Oh, Mulder,” she said.

He softened a little, ready to explain further, to apologize as many times as he needed to, when he heard a thunk on the other end, and then a clattering sound. “Scully?” he called, a little nervous. “Scully, are you there? What happened?” Nothing on the end but a faint moaning sound. What may have been scratching. “Scully!” he shouted, truly frightened now, stumbling to his feet.

He heard Scully's voice, wobbly and faint through the speakers. “Mulder,” she rasped weakly. And then another smacking sound. She went quiet.

“Scully?” He clutched the phone hard in his hand, some part of him chanting frantically, Not again, not again, not again. It hadn't even been that long since fucking Padgett. “Scully!” he shouted. Why the hell did he leave her? He never should've left her side, never should've yelled at her, should've apologized right away… “Scully, are there? Can you hear me? Scully, answer me, please…”

The phone clattered as someone picked it up. “Scully?” he asked, eagerly. Please please please be okay.

“I'm afraid not,” said a strange woman's voice on the other end.

Fury boiled up inside of him. “What did you do to her?” he snarled, pressing a hand hard against the dirt wall so he wouldn't punch something. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Nothing much yet,” the woman said pleasantly, like they were just making conversation. “Is this Mulder? Special Agent Fox Mulder? Agent Scully's partner?”

“Fuck you,” he hissed, hitting the wall with his hand. Chunks of dirt fell to the floor. “Leave her alone! Let her go right now, or so help me God..."

“I don't think I can,” said the woman. “Very sorry about that. I've been watching the both of you, and I've noted how close you two are. Very close. It's almost intriguing.”

Fury bubbled up inside him, and he was about to say more, hiss furious things into the phone, bargain for her life, but something happened before he could. Someone grabbed him from behind, an arm around his neck, and a sweet-smelling cloth came down over his nose and mouth. He struggled, grabbed for the arm that had him in a chokehold, gasped for air, but a sense of drowsiness came over him like a descending fog. He had no idea who was attacking him, or why. He hadn't even heard them coming. How could he not have heard them coming?

He thrashed, but he was growing weaker. The phone dropped from his hand. The arms released him, and he fell facedown into the dirt. Scully, he thought, but he couldn't speak. His lips were stuck together. He tried to reach for the phone, but he couldn't move. His eyelids drooped.

Just before he drifted off, he heard a familiar voice: “Well, then. This is an interesting turn of events.” It was the voice of Peter Barclay.

---

october, 1999

Scully's palms pressed hard into the bark. It bit into her hands, but she ignored the sting, zeroing in on the man. He locked the door behind him, shrugging under his jacket and walking towards the house. She fumbled for her gun, curling her hand around the butt of it as she watched him, fury building. She had found the man who tried to kill her, who had taken Mulder. He could have Mulder inside. She held her breath, watching the man carefully. Considering him. She could go up and arrest him now, but that didn't seem to be a wise idea. What if he had more weapons on him? What if there was someone inside the house with Mulder, who would kill him as soon as she had the man in her custody? She couldn't risk it.

The man went slowly up the front walk, unlock and open the door and enter the house. Scully let out a breath of relief. She clenched her teeth and pulled her gun out of her holster.

She followed the line of trees around the house in an attempt to stay out of sight. When she reached the side of the house, she ran towards the most windowless spot in a crouch. When the flat of her palm hit the bricks, she crouched, pressing her shoulder against the wall. Keep breathing, she instructed. The adrenaline was so high that it pounded in her ears, and she couldn't tell if it was excitement or fear. Likely both. She could find Mulder in there, but she was terrified of what she'd find. Maybe she'd get the chance to see him again, or maybe she'd find out that he'd been dead for months, ever since that night in the woods. Or worse, maybe worse: that he'd started out alive, had survived that night in the woods and had died sometime in the six month period where she hadn't found him. Maybe she couldn't save him anymore because she hadn't looked hard enough before. Or maybe she'd been wrong all along, maybe he hadn't survived and she was an idiot for doubting what she'd seen, for believing in something as trivial as immortality and the Fountain of Youth.

Scully's breaths were coming more rapidly now; she wiped her forehead, pulled her hair back away from her face. You don't know what you're going to find in there, she told herself. But this was the closest she'd ever been. She had to go inside and find out.

She reached into her pocket where she had slipped the photo, touched its glossy front. Took a deep slow breath and rounded the side of the house.

She found a back door and tried it gingerly. It swung open, creaking a little, and she grabbed it to stop it before it could creak too much. She stepped inside, winced as a floorboard creaked under her foot. She curled her hands around the butt of her gun, holding it out in front of her. She started through the house.

It was nearly empty, she was surprised to find. Outside of a dusty, ripped, old fashioned couch, she found no furniture in the house, no pictures. There was a layer of dust over everything: thin, not a layer that indicated that it'd been left standing untouched for years, but she estimated that no one had been to the house in a couple of months, at least. No signs of life. No Mulder.

She cleared the first floor, gun held out in front of her. No sign of the man, either. She nudged the closets open with one finger and found them empty, too. No cupboards. The basement had a lock on it; she'd have the man unlock it when she found him. She turned away and headed for the stairs.

She had crept over halfway up without attracting attention when a step creaked horribly under her foot. Scully stepped off immediately, but to her horror, she heard footsteps in the hall upstairs. She acted on instinct, holding her gun up with both hands and clumping the rest of the way up the stairs. As soon as she rounded the bannister, she saw the man, and roared, “FBI, keep your hands where I can see them!”

The man raised his hands, an amused grin on his face, and if Scully hadn't already known that it was the man who tried to kill them, this confirmed it. The smugness. “I remember you,” he said. “The feisty FBI agent.”

Blood roared in her ears, and it took every ounce of her strength not to shoot him where he stood. “Shut the hell up,” she snapped, holding the gun on him with one hand while she reached for her handcuffs with the other. She pointed the barrel of the gun directly at his head as she rounded him, until she was behind him. Dutifully enough, the man didn't move. She kept the gun up as she grabbed one of his hands, pinning it behind his back. This is how it feels, you fucking bastard, she thought furiously, and was sliding her gun back into her holster so she could handcuff him when he threw his head backwards, directly into her nose. She swore, pain shooting through her face, and yanked his arm further up behind him. The man yelped in pain and tried to yank away, and he might’ve succeeded if she hadn't had such a hard grip on his wrist. She shoved him forward, spinning him around and pushing him so the bannister hit him in the ribs. He came terribly close to tumbling over. She wouldn't have minded one bit, except for the fact that he wouldn't be able to lead her to Mulder.

“You have the right to remain silent,” she said, pulling the man's other hand behind his back and securing them with the handcuffs. She sniffed back the blood dripping from her nose, but it still sounded like she was speaking through tissues, her words muffled. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

“Are you going to arrest me, Agent Scully?” the man asked, the same amusement in his voice.

She wiped the blood off of her face and yanked him away from the railing. “You deserve worse than that,” she hissed through clenched teeth. "But you will be going to prison. I'll make sure of that."

She could've questioned him right there, but she wanted to look him in the face. She pulled her gun out of her holster before dragging him towards one of the rooms by his elbow. She thought of the way he had dragged her around, like this, and she wanted to throw up. The man was still talking, saying things she wasn't listening to. She shoved him into the first room she saw and threw him down on a chair that was still left in there. Dust flew up from the cushion when he landed. She wiped the blood off her face again. “Looks like I gave you a little nosebleed, Agent,” the man said, in an almost polite way that reminded her of the fucking smoker and made her skin crawl.

She did the one thing she always wanted to do to the smoker and pressed the barrel of the gun to his forehead. “Where's Mulder?” she hissed.

To her ever-growing fury, the man just smiled. “Go ahead and shoot me,” he said.

She cocked the gun and pressed it harder into his head. “I am not playing games with you,” she snapped. "You need to tell me, right now. Where the hell is Mulder?”

“Was Mulder your friend? The one whose throat I slit?” the man replied pleasantly. “My goodness, that was months ago.”

She hit him across the face with the heel of her hand. If anyone had asked, she wouldn't have been able to tell them why she did it, because she was the one who had asked for life for a serial killer who was going to bathe her and kill her, and she knew it was wrong to do this, to let personal grudges get in the way and harm a criminal she had in her custody, but the anger boiling inside her was too much. This man had stabbed her and laughed at her in the same breath; she'd felt the physical pain of what he'd done to her for months after. He still haunted her fucking dreams. This man had killed Mulder or taken Mulder, and she wanted to know why. She wanted to know what had happened to Mulder. She'd waited months without knowing, had nightmare after nightmare, people giving her pitying looks and his mother planning his funeral, and she'd watched this man order her partner's throat slit. He could very well be dead, and it would be this man's fault. Tears burned at the back of her eyes, her nose stinging like crazy. She blinked hard and spoke. “I'm not going to ask again,” she said evenly. She pressed the gun into the side of his face. “Where is he? Where is my partner? What the hell did you do to him?”

“I hardly know what to tell you, my dear,” the man said innocently. “You were there the night it happened. You know what we did to him; you watched it happen.”

She was close to hitting him again, but she forced herself to remain calm. She took a deep breath and said, “I was there. I survived. But when I woke up, he was gone. What did you do to him? Where did you take him?”

The man shrugged. “I'm sorry, Agent, but I'm afraid your partner is dead.”

Scully's breath caught unevenly in her throat. It was what she had feared all along, Mulder being dead, but something in her just wouldn't accept it. I would know, she told herself, that old cliché, as tears pricked her eyes. I would've known. He was her partner. She'd saved his life a million times. She'd helped him play dead once. She might have been in love with him. She would've known. She would have. Wouldn't she?

She felt like she was going to vomit.

The weight of the ocean roaring in her ears, she barely heard what the man said next. “We buried him in the woods that night, after he passed.” He cocked his head at her, disbelief. “You didn't know your partner was dead?”

#xf fanfic #i wrote this #xf rewatch

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