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mysteriesmuse · 11 months

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Princess Reader x Royal Guard Katsuki Bakugo

Bakugou Katsuki’s job is literally to stand by you day and night. You promoted him to being your personal guard and now he follows you around the castle like a dog. Katsuki thought he would hate it. Thought he would have to do something to get himself fired. Something that would make you dislike him because everytime he was around you his skin definitely felt red hot and he had a slight nauseating sensation in his stomach. It’s only when steam started pouring out his ears with him clenching his teeth and palms that he was able to pinpoint that feeling. Oh yes that previous feeling was jealously and Katsuki Bakugou apparently didn’t hate you. Because he really felt jealous about this stupid suitor that was attempting to woo you. He liked you. He had a crush on the princess he was in charge of protecting with his life. Not that, that would change. But now he had a reason to get to know you more. To make the same impression that the other elite guards made with small talk that put you at ease during any shift changes.

BECOME THE BEST GUARD IN THE CASTLE: CHECK

MAKE SMALL TALK & GET IN GOOD GRACES WITH THE PRINCESS: IN PROGRESS

WOO THE PRINCESS: ??? So Katsuki really freaking struggled with small talk. Plus, I mean the guy knows practically everything about you. How is he supposed to make small talk if he can’t just ask the questions? Trick question he still can. In reality he doesn’t really have to. He’s supposed to be a rather stoic and sentient figurine that guards you. His first few attempts were meet with startled eyes and strange looks for the next few weeks. You’re known to be fairly cordial and friendly with the guards, but his reputation proceeded him. Big Scary Guard Dog Bakugou. That’s who you were told was your new guard. And that’s what you expected for the most part. A quiet guy who may or may not be a piece of eye candy following you around like a shadow. Oh boy, were you wrong. He was definitely a piece of eye candy. Actually he was the piece of eye candy that was apart of your elite protection group. A very silent man Bakugou. And after the first couple of weeks of him assigned as you personal guard your opinion on that changed. Bakugou grunts out a G’mornin’ and a G’night to you every day. Almost looks strained, but it’s pleasant nonetheless. And he’s incredibly observant too. You catch him in the hall to your corridors arguing with a servant about the bouquet of flowers she’s attempting to bring in to replace the last bouquet on your writing desk. “Shitty - ahem - her majesty prefers another variety of flower. Go back and procure some of the blue snowball looking ones.” After that you noticed that the vase continually held varieties of flowers that you’d complimented on in the royal gardens. And from then on your awkward guard/royalty relationship bloomed like a hillside. A cascading flurry of one beautiful thing after another. ——— When you’re cozied up in the quiet royal library to enjoy a good book you pause and peek over the top of the novel in your lap. Almost out of curiosity or disbelief that Bakugou is the one asking a question. He blinks out of genuine curiosity and you open your mouth and start to turn the book around so that he can see the words of the story you’re gesturing at. He gets you to go on and on that way. Nothing but a few affirmational vocals from him that he’s still listening. And he loves watching your expressions almost more than when you insist that he do something. Read his own book, after all it is a library. He dismisses it all. And yes your highness he can read and write just fine. This is just his job. Well not the secretly pinning over you while you read, but the watching part. And He learns that you actually know a lot more about kingdom politics than he previously gave you credit for. You’re smoothing over diplomatic matters with a carefully inked letter and secretly keeping promises about exports and materials your kingdom has pledged.

All while you sit and hum at your writing desk. The way you gently tease off your shoes with your toes at the heels when you’ve decided you’re going to be in for a long while. And Katsuki knows then that you’ll idly wave for him to sit instead of standing at his post the whole while. Except he starts to develop the nasty happen of staring and when you catch him looking he’ll chose between grumbling and turning away as his ears turn pink or blink unyielding and say “just doing my job, princess”

Katsuki likes the suave of the second one, but it really ends up being 50/50 with it. ————

But 100% of the time your strolls through the royal garden have him itching to take some armor off as the sunny warmth makes him sweat buckets underneath the layers of his uniform. Not to mention you walking this close already has his skin hot enough. The way you walk shoulder to shoulder just has him practically drooling at the thought of holding your hand. - Exhibits extreme self-control every stroll. Oh and when the fruit and vegetables are ready to be harvested you like to take teasing strolls into the royal orchards and gardens to taste the first ripe fruit of the season. Always curtesying as you point and ask him to grab a mandarin, or plum, or peach, or nectarine, or lemon, or apple, or whatever it is. And you’ve usually tried just before hand. On you tip-toes waggling your decorated fingers into the air. The sunlight bouncing off your jewels that adorn your skin and cascade daggers of rainbowed light upon your face. And it’s always just out of reach. A fresh shiny pout on your face when you turn and ask him to pluck one. And Katsuki usually just has to stand and put his arm up to grab one as you patiently wait and watch. But you’re admiring him just as much as he admired you. Staring up at his chiseled jawline. The wheaty stubble that decorates his face. You long to feel it prickle underneath your fingertips. Wonder how it would feel tickling the edges of your kiss when you finally set your mouth against his plush lips. You admire his impeccable physique. His staggering size as he barely stretches his shoulder to reach the fruit. And the way his golden tan glistens underneath the dappled light of the sun; glistens from the profuse sweat elicited from his layers and layers of chainmail and armor. All brushing over his adams apple before he gulps and turned to hand it to you. And Katsuki loves to hold it in his palm in the way that you have to pick it up. Feel your fingers gently prod and caress the skin of his palm as you turn the fruit over. Mulling over its quality before wordlessly holding it back out. He huffs and grabs the fruit as you take him to the stone wall. You sit and pull out a handkerchief from between your breasts if he’s not swift enough in supplying you with his. And Katsuki will grab his dagger and slice up the fruit, setting the pieces down onto the handkerchief before you plop one into your mouth. His hands will still and his eyes flick to your face watching as you chew and make a satisfied moan. The rest of your stroll will include these snack breaks. Taking “samples” as you call them of the seasons fruit. And the royal gardners have since decided to ignore the two figurines of their princess and the royal guardsmen sitting on the stone walls chattering and pressing handkerchiefs into sticky thieving fingers. ————

In the royal kitchens he accompanies you as you excitedly follow behind a kitchen maid who’s sent for you to do a testing of the new desserts the chef has been working on. Despite your official look of composure he knows that you’re excited by the little bounce in your hair from your steps. Katsuki always clunks down to the table when you beckon him to sit. Frantically patting the chair next to you after he’s been a right gentleman and pushed your chair in. You always think he looks rather scared with the way his carmine eyes dart around the empty dinning hall before the procession of maids and chef come out into the hall and display a plethora of desserts in front of you. They always wave you on with glee before retreating to the kitchen to finish the next batch. Your mouth practically waters as you pick up your fork and spear the perfect first bite. Only to turn to Katsuki with your other hand under the utensil holding it up to his plush pink lips which immediately turn into a defensive scowl. You’re always muttering something about your safety to “taste test for me? Make sure there’s nothing poisoned?” Except Katsuki’s never been sure that’s your real agenda here because you always gently spoon the first bite of your special taste testing into his mouth and if its something chocolate it always taste like Heaven despite it being a brand new recipe. (You’ve got the best chocolatier in the kingdom) and he always a little groan slip out. His face melting as he chews and swallows. (he’s going to be doing a lot more of that)

Before he nods muttering it’s safe. Not that your food would be poisoned because the staff and kingdom are all pretty loyal here and him and the elite guards are way to fricken scary to have on your tail. But he humors you anyway because technically that’s protecting and you’re right it’s in his job description. And then you, without changing forks, without doing anything else immediately set the fork he just used between your own lips and lick off the icing residue between your pink lips and hum before taking a real first bite yourself. And you do it all while maintaining perfect eye contact with him. And he can feel blood rushing to weird places all over his body. And it goes on like this for every single plate they offer. HAVE THE PRINCESS FLIRT WITH YOU: yes? maybe ?? At this rate he’s not sure why the kitchen staff haven’t mandated you with a royal poison taste tester with your insistence of him having a bite of every one of your plates. Seriously what are these people thinking! They’re thinking that there’s some real true love blooming in the castle and who are they to get in the way! Plus, it’s a good practice for any wedding cake samples they do in the future. Of course they won’t ever tell y’all whose wedding they’re preparing to cater. ———— While you delight in that. Katsuki delights in nothing more than your dance lessons. He likes to watch you glide, or try to, across the floor with every step. Definitely feels a weird blooming of secondhand pride when you practice a new step a few times and smooth it out with practice. Overall he finds it very peaceful and relaxing watching you laugh and groan and be belittled by this ancient teacher they have for you. Stands at the door tapping his toe in his boot to the beat. When this ancient woman that he just loves comes over and insists that he mustn’t “just stand there and look handsome. Make yourself useful she needs a partner” which always causes your head to swivel like a chicken as he detaches a few layers of pure metal off his body to make the dancing “easier and more realistic for her highness”

So now he gets to stand bare of any occluding armor and he can feel your e/c gaze washing over his body and the ripping muscles that he’s always had hidden under that armor. Adores the chance to hold you in his arms and practice doing the steps that you’re working on. And he’s attended enough of these things and the balls to be able to pick up on his part pretty quickly. Katsuki, not to toot his own horn because he would never, has to say he’s pretty darn good at dancing. Stupidly good for a royal guard which he’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be clunky and clumsy, but as soon as the armor is off he’s as graceful as any one of the princes or dukes you’ve danced with ball after ball and gala after gala. He’s humongous. Practically a head taller than you and his shoulders are stupidly wide and it’s like you’re in a cocoon of just him. His stupid minty breath whenever he’s mumbling something snarky or whispering the counts just loud enough for your teacher to know he’s actually helping. The flopping bangs that fall into his face whenever he needs to look down and see what your feet are doing. Usually because you’ve accidentally skipped a step or done something that messes with his leading because how can you not! Except this only fuels Bakugou’s ego more because he’s never seen you mess up with any partner at any of these balls you attend. The logical part of his brain says it’s because this is your dance room and you’re practicing. But the other hopeful part of his heart says it’s because maybe you’re flustered. Maybe you feel something too. And you definitely do. The oddly warm, but searing heat of his hand on the small of your back makes you stand up. His shoulder and bicep and forearm all a fluttering mass of muscle that languidly stretches and twitches underneath your arm. His meaty and calloused hand that holds yours, which is incredibly clamy except you’re not sure if it’s you or him! And your annoying dance teacher who constantly whacks your limbs and buttocks whenever you do something wrong, which only makes your guards impeccable poker face quirk into a smirk before she starts the music again. And unfortunately the old crone has caught on. Because your lessons after having danced with Katsuki are immensely improved. And your performance at balls is flawless at best, so she’s going to keep asking the young rugged handsome guard of yours to keep stepping in as your partner for dancing because he seems to be the only one where you actually have to work for that composure. ————

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hopeymchope · 3 years

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Wonder Egg Priority finale thoughts

My Tumblr has a lot of anti-bully content, so it was probably no surprise when I began to watch and enjoy Wonder Egg Project this past spring. The series famously hit production delays that forced them to put out a mid-series recap episode, and that decision in turn forced them to push the final episode until late June. But now that the series (or at least season 1) is out there and complete, I thought I’d talk about how it all shook out in the end as well as the questions it left me sitting with.

For the uninitiated, here’s a bit of the context: Wonder Egg Project deals with four middle-school teen girls who’ve undergone hardships either at home or at school or both. They all lose someone they care about to tragic suicides, and then they discover the titular wonder eggs. They get these eggs from a vending machine and then, when they fall asleep, they enter a dreamworld where these eggs hatch to reveal a young person who recently committed suicide. For that night, it is the duty of the girl who got that egg to fight and defend that suicide victim from monstrous enemies that represent their abusers and oppressors. The girls are told that if they protect enough of these victims over many nights, they will be able to resurrect the specific person they lost to suicide. But of course, if you get injured or killed in the dreamworld, it affects your body in reality as well.

The squad: Ai, Neiru, Rika, and Momoe.

Obviously, bullying is among the topics most frequently explored here, but we also deal with so many other terrible things that people might experience during childhood and adolescence. Physical, verbal, and sexual abuse are all on the table. Coming to terms with one’s gender identity is raised. It’s a show that manages to tackle a lot of heavy subjects through the lens of what’s essentially magical girl combat. I mean, there are no outfit transformations or any of that stuff, but still.

With THAT out of the way, let me talk about how the series wrapped up.

It’s clear to the viewers that there’s a lot that doesn’t make sense during the show — it’s intentionally very trippy and ethereal at times — and there’s also a lot that raises obvious questions even if you grasp it. Where do the eggs and their connection to the recently deceased come from? How do the psychological traumas of the various egg-children manifest as monsters that can literally kill you? What’s the deal with Acca and Ura-Acca and their freaky dummy bodies? What are they getting out of this whole deal with the eggs and the girls? What do the repeated references to the “temptation of death” mean? How does access to the Egg Garden even work? Is it really possible to resurrect their dead friends? Is Mr. Sawaki a predator or a chill guy or what? Why did Neiru’s sister stab her? And so on.

The writers could’ve opted to keep things mysterious and hazy and metaphysical for the entire run or they could’ve provided lots of explanations and tried to ground this weird story in some sort of strange logic, but I’m actually pleased that they opted to go down the middle. There are answers for many things, but not for all. And when those answers come, they typically just raise more questions as well as doubts to their validity.

SPOILERS for the finale/”special episode” below the cut.

So, obviously the answers for Acca and Ura-Acca are centered around Frill. Frill is this interesting fusion between the artificial and the organic; her body can be injured like any regular physical body, but she’s actually an A.I. on the inside. Acca and Ura-Acca are the exact reverse of this — they’re human minds inside of completely artificial bodies. Exactly how Frill started invading girls’ minds to lure them towards suicide is kept incredibly vague, but she serves as the embodiment of the “temptation of death” that was so-often referenced in the show. Frill doesn’t really appreciate life or care about the finality of death, making her a pretty natural foe for the heroes who have spent the entire series learning to appreciate their lives and bemoaning painful losses.

Can you even believe this bitch?

Acca and Ura-Acca also have documents talking about how warriors of Eros need to battle against Thanatos, the embodiment of death, but what’s that all about? We don’t really get into it. Is Frill somehow Thanatos herself? I mean... I guess maybe you could go that route, but I sincerely don’t think that’s meant to be the case. I assume she’s just another player in the game, and she happens to have taken Thanatos’ side in things. Her artificial existence and resentment of her fathers leads her to treat death flippantly. She was programmed to be selfish sometimes, and that selfishness has ultimately manifested itself in the worst possible ways. Intriguingly, we see Acca and Ura-Acca act similarly selfish in how they drive our four heroes to risk their lives just to battle Frill. Acca in particular shows that he’ll risk anyone’s life to get to Frill, who killed both his wife and daughter. But Acca never has to risk his own life. He’s just risking other people. Both sides of the equation are treating human lives like disposable pawns in some kind of war game.

Y’all are SUPER-SKETCH.

It’s never really clear how these eggs work. We’re told that the Accas created the eggs, and honestly, I could’ve figured as much on my own. But they don’t try to explain how the eggs can contain the souls of suicide victims or how they manifest those people into dreams, and frankly, it’s probably better not to try.

I was really shocked that the girls actually manage to resurrect their dead friends. I was 100% certain that was going to be a scam and the point was going to be about learning to move on and live for the moment and appreciate those bonds while you had them, etc. And there is some of that. Alas, the price of resurrecting those people they care about is that the people in question no longer know them or remember them. That was pretty brutal... having our heroes nearly die over and over in service of people who ultimately will no longer care about them at all. Although they did the impossible and brought someone back to life, they had to lose those people all over again. I suppose this, like much fo the finale, emphasizes that we should appreciate our relationships while they last, because you can lose them for so many reasons. Regardless, I’m not surprised that Momoe just wanted to quit and avoid getting hurt after that. It’s understandable.

There’s a lot of discussion around parallels in the last two episodes. Parallel worlds with alternate versions of the self are raised multiple times, Ai gets an awesome encounter with a parallel version of herself that really brought her emotional journey to a head, and we even have to deal with a doppleganger of Neiru at the end. This leads to the revelation that Neiru looks exactly like her formerly deceased sister... a fact that presumably was part of what drove the sister to attack Neiru in the first place. Given that we’ve already been told that they were both genetically engineered, their identical appearances don’ seem that strange. But then the finale tells us that Neiru’s one dream is “to be human,” and suddenly the characters assume Neiru was an A.I. just like Frill. That... seems like a leap to me. I mean, she was genetically engineered to lead her company and never had a family of her own; no wonder she feels inhuman! So I’m not sure if I should take this at face value.

Neiru real or fake challenge

Another thing that I don’t think we can take at face value is Mr. Sawaki’s explanation of Koito’s death. In episode 12, we meet a parallel version of Ai who actually killed herself. The big boss monster for Ai to fight while protecting Alt-Ai? It’s a dark, abusive version of Sawaki. And our Ai inexplicably assumes this monster was made from her own fears. A very bizarre conclusion to jump to when you remember that every single boss monster has been the abuser of the victim that the girls were defending in that episode. By all available evidence, the Sawaki monster should be a parallel-world Sawaki who is very much exactly the scumbag he appears to be! Notice how Alt-Ai never says a damn word about the Sawaki Monster - never asks who he is or why he’s like this, etc? She’s not even surprised. That just lends further credence to my belief. FOLLOW THE EVIDENCE.

So in the finale, when our version of Mr. Sawaki claims (via a VERY awkwardly inserted voiceover) that Koito’s death was an accident after she tried to ruin his reputation because she fell in love with him, why should I believe any of it?! The previous episode introduced me to Abusive Sawaki! Sure, we don’t have any reason to assume our Sawaki is That Dick, but we JUST learned that he’s certainly capable. Furthermore, how could Koito suddenly be the ONLY accidental death among all of the available suicide victims in the dreamworld? She shouldn’t have even appeared there if it was just an accident! Although I’d like to believe that Sawaki was someone who Ai and the girls were jumping to conclusions about based on nothing... but it sure doesn’t look that way from here. And given how the show ends things, I fear we may have a hard time learning anything else about Sawaki. Ai changes schools and runs away, there is zero comment on what happened to Sawaki’s relationship with her mom... he’s just gone now.

As the final episode winds down, we see Rika and Ai fall back into bad habits, as they all treat Neiru just like they treated the girls they tried so hard to save. Rika acts disgusted by a friend and abandons her, treating Neiru the same way she treated Cheimi. When Neiru finally reaches out to Ai and calls her, Ai ignores the call and throws her phone away, thereby ignoring her friend’s needs in the same way she ignored Koito’s when she failed to record the bullying Koito was experiencing. You might even be able to connect Momoe’s choice to walk away for the sake of self-preservation to her decision to reject Haruka and walk away, honestly. And to compound the bad news that the show gives us near the end, we skip forward months to learn that Ai, Rika and Momoe have all drifted apart. Ai is in a new school, but we don’t see her with any new friends. She’s back where she started the show.

The difference, however, is that she doesn’t seem hopeless and lonely. She seems wistful, sure, but she never seems beaten down. She still treasures the friendships she built even if they wind up fading away. So there’s still a message in here about moving on, because even if you lose a person or a connection, it will forever matter.

*insert engine rev-up noises*

In the final moments, we see Ai preparing to run in the exact same pose she used back in episode 1 when she first stood up to the abusers within the dreamworld. This time, she runs to grab her chance to reunite with a dear friend. She takes charge of her own future and her own self-worth, somehow gets back into the Egg Garden (even though Rika wasn’t even allowed to enter after she rescued her specified victim, so uh... how did Ai get back in exactly... ?), and insists she’s going to use the eggs to see Neiru... even though the eggs only let you see the dead up to this point, so uh, that doesn’t really make any sense either. Consistency, motherfucker — DO YOU USE IT?

Amidst all the uncertainty that the finale left us with, at least we can see Ai find herself in a more confident place. She spends much of the series learning to stop running from her problems in the real world. Even after she gains confidence in the battles of her dreams, she struggles to face reality. It’s a huge step when she returns to school. Yet even in the very last episode, she opts to run away to a new school rather than cope with seeing Koito each day. But at last, she decides to take charge of her reality and try to reunite with her new best friend, Neiru. She’s wavered on her path, but ultimately, she’s grown. Although you could simultaneously argue that she’s failing to learn the lesson that rescuing Koito should’ve taught her...

“Ai Ohto is BACK!”

I don’t think any of us expected this finale to be a cliffhanger coming into it. And unfortunately, we don’t know if there will ever be another season or a movie or anything. Given how people reacted to this finale with such overt hate, I really don’t expect anything more. And I think that would be a goddamn shame. Even with a finale that doesn’t quite stick the landing, I still found it fascinating and engaging. The series is more than worth the trip for the characters, for the themes and topics it explores, and even for the fluid action scenes and music. And this is a series that was made by first-time writers and a first-time director! Yet I’d easily call it one of the best animes from the past couple of years. For total newcomers, that’s a goddamn TRIUMPH.

So I hope we reunite with these girls again. I hope Ai manages to get the band back together, find out exactly what’s going on with Neiru, and face down Frill. Even if they never wind up in some ultimate battle with Thanatos, I don’t know that that’s the point. All of us are in a battle with Thanatos every single day, after all. They just need to show how they’ve all gotten stronger together and truly overcome the “Temptation of Death” by beating back Frill (and her ridiculously powerful dreamworld bug-people) as a unit.

But maybe that’s too obvious and simplistic of a message for a show like this one. Maybe this complex ending centered on the main protagonist’s self-actualization and the value of fleeing relationships is more in keeping with the melancholy nature of the series.

... I still really want to see the more obvious happy ending, though. I think they deserve it.

#wonder egg priority #ai ohto #wep #anime #anime reviews #wonder egg special episode #wonder egg priority special episode #wonder egg priority finale #wonder egg finale #wonder egg

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lizardkingeliot · 3 years

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So, do those of you currently reading time cast a spell on you (but you won’t forget me) remember that scene in chapter 4 where Quentin shows up for his tutoring session and Eliot says he wants to go to the edge of the campus and manipulate the magic of the wards so they can fly? You know... this one:

Only they never end up making it there because they start bickering the second they leave the library? Well, in the rough draft of this chapter I initially had this scene... ending very differently. And they also weren’t going to fly, they were going to... well. I think I’ll just let y’all read it for yourselves lmao. I think I talked about this a bit on twitter when I was working on the chapter so if it sounds familiar that’s probably why. ANYWAY. I have a ton of deleted scenes from this fic, most of which will never see the light of day, but I woke up this morning with the urge to share at least part of this one so... I guess that’s what I’m going to do.

This is super rough and unedited and honestly not up to my usual standards, but... you know. Rough drafts tend to be that way. It’s also all over the place in terms of tone and where they were at this point in the fic lmao. This might be bordering on crack honestly. Which is why I just scrapped the whole thing and went a different route in the final draft. Anyway. Shutting up now. This is about 2k words so I’m putting most of it under a cut...

—

Trudging across campus two paces behind Eliot, Quentin was stricken by the overwhelming feeling that he was trapped inside a dream. The eerie, quiet campus, lit only by the waning moon and a few dots of light spilling from the various student houses. He looked back over his shoulder, spotting the Cottage in the distance, the dim orange glow of the front bay window swimming in his vision like a boat lost at sea.

As they approached the outer edge of the grounds, Quentin could feel the magic of the wards, buzzing on the air like insects. Bone-deep reverberations, strains of music swelling from within. He’d never been out this far before. The line where Brakebills ended and the real world began. Where there was nothing but the boat house and the wind. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He breathed in deep, the scent of the Hudson rushing nearby filling his senses as Eliot came to a sudden halt in the dark.

“Here,” Eliot said. Quentin could only just barely make out the shape of his elegant fingers pointing just ahead. “Can you feel the energy? I guess the Naturalists come out here sometimes and use it to light their bongs.” He laughed, a sound that warmed Quentin underneath his jacket at once. “And occasionally singe their own eyebrows off in the process.”

Quentin looked back. They’d come out to a place that the light from the Cottage couldn’t reach. Eliot formed an orb between his hands and pinned it overhead, a grapefruit sized pendant of magic swaying gently in the breeze. He stepped into Quentin’s personal space, giving him the once over. Head-to-toe and back again, settling at last on Quentin’s eyes.

“So,” he said with a smirk. “Cavaleri Animation. My memory of the First Year curriculum is a little hazy, but they’ve dazzled you all with that one already, yes? Turning your marbles into little glass animals, you know the one.”

Quentin nodded. “Yeah, um… but Alice was the only one who could actually get hers to work.”

Swift and warm as a pulse, Eliot’s hand curled around the nape of Quentin’s neck. Heat spreading down the column of his spine like a flame catching a wick. Thumb teasing over burning flesh. Eliot’s lips ghosted over his ear, not quite touching. Still, Quentin swore he could feel his smile. “Well,” he said, soft and dark, “I’m here now. And you’re going to do it. And it’s going to work.”

Quentin’s hand was bunching up the back of Eliot’s cardigan. He didn’t know when that had happened. The hum of the magic was making him dizzy. For a moment, it was impossible to breathe. His body a tight line of tension and desire. Eliot pulled away and Quentin released his hold, staggering a little as he tried to regain some semblance of control.

“Um, okay…” Quentin ran a hand through his hair in a half-hearted attempt at centering himself. “Why, uh—why do we have to do that here? We could have just done that spell in the library.”

“Because,” Eliot said with a tip of his head, “I have a theory.”

“A theory?” Quentin frowned. “You brought me out here for a theory?”

“More of a hypothesis really,” Eliot said with a wave of his hand. “But I think it’s going to work.”

“Great,” Quentin said with an exasperated sigh. “Dicking around with unstable magic in the middle of the night. What could possibly go wrong.”

“Look, it’s going to be fun,” Eliot said with that casual little air of his. “And we probably won’t explode even if I’m wrong. So we really don’t have very much to lose.”

“Okay, I’m—” Quentin threw his hands up. “For fuck’s sake, El, can you just tell me what we’re actually doing out here?”

“We,” Eliot said very slowly, reaching inside his cardigan, pulling a sliver of magenta colored glass out of the pocket of his vest, and looking through it, “are going to tap into all that crazy energy and make your little glass marble friend into a very big animal friend and take it for a spin.” He passed the sliver of glass over to Quentin. “Take a look.”

Quentin stared at Eliot for a very long time before relenting. “You’re actually a crazy person, you know that?”

“I think you mean certified sorcerer genius, but I’ll take it.” He gestured with a nod of his head. “Go on. It’s balls to the wall out here. So much energy we could power a fucking nuclear reactor and I doubt Henry would notice.”

Quentin looked through the glass, moving it from one eye over to the other. At first, it was impossible to make sense of what he was actually seeing. A latticework of stars. Billions of them it seemed, all bumping up against one another in a wild, cosmic dance. A galaxy of intersecting lines and patchwork patterns shimmering like the wings of a dragonfly. And every now and then, a spark. Popping off into the dark like fingers desperate for the night. Quentin handed the glass back to Eliot with a shake of his head.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Don’t be boring, Quentin,” Eliot said. It made Quentin’s chest ache with its normalcy. Like their past couldn’t touch them out here. Like out here with their bad ideas and their wild magic, maybe they could have some hope to start again. “But maybe… maybe don’t make anything that wants to bite our heads off.”

“Okay, so…” Quentin sighed with his whole chest. “To recap: you want to steal unstable magic from the wards of the school where we’re both currently students to make a giant glass animal that hopefully doesn’t swallow us whole so we can… take it for a ride?”

“Yes,” Eliot said, like it was the most obviously brilliant thing in the world. “Don’t make that face with your face. Tell me you’ve never wanted to ride a rhinoceros.”

“We are not riding a rhinoceros, Eliot. Absolutely not.”

“Well, okay…” Eliot’s hand on his nape again. Heat, fire, a five alarm blaze encircling his neck like a collar. “If you could ride on any animal, real or imaginary—”

“The Cozy Horse,” Quentin said without thinking, heart pounding like hoofbeats trapped inside his chest. “Um… it’s from the Fillory books, uh…”

Eliot laughed softly. “Okay.” His hand slid down to Quentin’s shoulder, gripping it possessively. “Tell me about... the Cozy Horse.”

“Um…” Quentin squeezed his eyes shut, took a breath, shook his head. Eliot’s hand was stroking up and down the expanse of his upper arm and shoulder, making everything go all fuzzy in his brain. “It’s just, uh… it’s this horse that Jane rode on. It’s, uh… really tall. Like a hundred feet. Like a clydesdale on steroids.”

“You won’t ride a rhinoceros but you’re perfectly fine with a horse that’s a hundred feet tall?”

Quentin turned his face upward, trapping himself in Eliot’s gaze. Sinking, flying, falling. Close enough to kiss if he only went up on his toes a little. Tucked inside the safety of his warmth. Quentin wanted to burn, to melt into a puddle at Eliot’s feet and slosh around like muck. “I…” Quentin swallowed. “I don’t think the Cozy Horse would hurt us. It’s basically a giant stuffed animal.”

Eliot grinned, gazing down at Quentin for a long beat before pulling away. “Okay then,” he said, taking a few steps down the path under their feet. “Show me Cozy Horse.”

Quentin reached into his pocket, knelt down, set the marble on the path. “I don’t understand how I’m supposed to… harness the magic of the wards.”

Eliot made a circle with his thumb and forefinger, peering through it with one eye. “Just leave that part to me,” he said absently. “Go on. Make your horse. And don’t say you can’t do it. We both know that you can.”

Quentin gazed up the long line of Eliot’s body. Eliot was fully focused on the wards. The sound of night, the crackle of magic. Quentin shivered under his jacket. His hands hovered over the marble, focusing his energy on prepping the glass for transformation with Dempsey's Silent Thermogenesis. Once molten, the marble could be manipulated into almost any shape he could imagine. For the Cozy Horse, Quentin didn’t have much to go on but the memory of a single illustration, and a few lines from The Wandering Dune, but he figured it would probably be simple enough. How hard could it be to imagine a draft horse the size of something straight out of the Cretaceous period?

Quentin twisted the glass under his fingers, so fully focused on his task he almost didn’t notice when Eliot began to move. When, suddenly, through the loop of Eliot’s fingers, a beam of sharp, frenzied magic began to focus on the animal he had half-formed with laser precision.

“You might wanna hurry,” Eliot said. “I don’t know how long I can hold this here.”

Quentin scowled in his direction, looping a bit of the molten glass into the shape of a tail. “You’re shit at communicating, you know that,” he spit, letting the gentle rage rising in his belly fuel his magic. “I thought cooperative magic was supposed to be, I don’t know… cooperative?”

Legs, hooves, the gentle slope of a hulking animal’s back. The wispy tendrils of a mane. Eliot was saying something that might have been a warning. Quentin was too focused on his creation to parse a single one of his words. The magic of the wards cracked like lightning. He could feel it in his hands. Quickly, almost as an afterthought, Quentin gave the beast that had come to life beneath his fingers a shimmering loop around the back of the neck that might have passed for reins if he squinted.

A single hoofbeat on the soft ground. The beam of magic stuttering through Eliot’s fingers died away, and he let out a tremendous sigh.

“Okay so... “ Quentin frowned, eyes flitting from the tiny glass horse up to Eliot’s face. “I don’t think this is going to—”

A flash, a pop, a tremendous wave of heat knocking the air from his lungs. Quentin shoved his body backward off the path and into the grass just as Eliot was running over. Kneeling down, using himself as a makeshift shield as he pushed Quentin further back away from the molten monstrosity shifting and morphing and doubling, tripling, quadrupling in size. A deep rumble, the tinkling of glass. Quentin peered over Eliot’s shoulder, his eyes moving up, up, up, trying to take in what it was he was actually seeing.

The glass horse shook out its mane, rearing up on its hind legs and down again with an earth-trembling thud. The distance from the ground to its shoulder must have been twenty feet. It had no eyes and no mouth, but Quentin swore he could feel its glassy stare boring into him. The light of the orb dangling overhead passed right through the center of its body. For a long moment, everything went perfectly still.

And then Eliot started to laugh. “Holy shit,” he said, his eyes wide as dinner plates when he turned his face to Quentin. “That is a big fucking horse.”

A laugh sputtered out from between Quentin’s lips. “Yeah, um… yeah. Fuck. It really is.”

Eliot’s body pressed right up against Quentin’s body when he turned, and leaned in, so close they were almost kissing. A pulse of heat passed between them. Quentin felt it in his chest like a second heart. “So,” Eliot said, a hand curling around Quentin’s cheek for a fleeting moment before pulling away. “You wanna take her for a spin?”

Quentin felt absolutely out of his mind. Hazy, his body a liminal space. “Yeah,” he said with a short, stuttering burst of laughter. “Yeah, why the fuck not.”

Unreality set in hard as they stood and cautiously approached. Up close, they might as well have been gazing upward at the hulking glass back of a dinosaur. The haphazard reins Quentin had created looped around the beast’s neck like a string of fairy lights.

“Um…” Quentin laughed, tucking a tuft of hair behind his ear. “How the fuck are we even going to get on this thing?”

Eliot took his hand suddenly, threading their blood-warm fingers together. “Oh, Q,” he said with a full-faced grin, “we’re gonna fucking fly.”

#the magicians #queliot #otp: proof of concept #myfic #*margo hanson voice* that's not tonally consistent with the fic

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tearsofgrace · 4 years

Text

written for suptober day 16: switch it up

so i decided to switch it up (heh) and do something i never do... go back to an old work and make it have a happy ending!

enough of y’all talked me into this soooo here’s my part two to my piece for suptober day 5: daydream [you don’t need to have read the first part]

word count: 3.7k (total), 1.8k (this chapter), tags: angst with a happy ending, fluff, angst, djinn world, love confessions

this work is also on archive

It had been a few weeks since the case. Sam hadn’t mentioned it once, true to his wishes, but he knew it couldn’t last long. Every time he and Cas were in a room together Sam looked at him with a soft glance that almost always turned pained. Sam’s words echoed in his head, You could have that, you know.

He was wrong. The djinn had created a nearly perfect world, but it wasn’t possible. He couldn’t let it be possible. And it wasn’t even because he knew Cas didn’t feel the same, it was because he didn’t deserve that. Didn’t deserve to be happy.

Cas’ voice replaced Sam’s in his head. You don’t think you deserve to be saved, and he pushed it away.

They were working. He needed to focus.

He slid the book in front of him across the table to Sam and tapped on a section. “What about this?

Sam looked over it, sliding his finger along the text and shrugged. “Could be,” he said thoughtfully, reading further down. “No. These only hunt on the Summer Solstice.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

Dean let out a frustrated sigh and pulled the book back toward him. “Man, we been looking for this thing for days. It probably isn’t even our kind of thing.”

“I know. But we got no other leads, so,” Sam said with a shrug.

Dean slammed his book shut, dust flying in the air. “Why don’t we go on a vacation or something?”

Sam snorted. “A vacation?”

“We always talk about it. Why don’t we just go for it?”

Sam finally looked up from his book, running a hand through his hair. “We got a case.”

“So we call in Jodi and Donna. They’ve been looking for something anyway.”

“Okay,” Sam said, confusion still painted across his face. “So, what you and I just-”

“And Cas,” Dean immediately interrupted. Inwardly, he cursed, but outwardly he held Sam’s gaze with what he hoped was a blank expression. Sam slowly raised one eyebrow, but it wasn’t snarky. It was full of pity.

“One weekend, Sammy.”

Something on Sam’s face changed and Dean immediately regretted this. It was a stupid idea. Founded in a daydream he would never get. But now Sam had that look on his face he got when he was planning something, when he knew something Dean didn’t.

“Fine. We’ll go on vacation, leave this hunt behind,” he paused, but he left something unspoken in the air.

“What?”

“If,” Sam continued with a smirk, “You talk to Cas about the djinn world.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed and he looked down at the table to harden his face before Sam could see his reaction. When he looked back up, Sam’s smirk had disappeared to be replaced with that stupid soft puppy dog look. “No.”

“Dean-”

“Sam, I told you, okay? We aren’t talking about that ever again.”

“Don’t you want that?” Sam said quietly.

Dean could see himself in Cas’ arms again, his head pressed into his shoulder, firm arms holding him tightly. He could taste Cas’ lips against his own, could feel his steady weight and warmth, his scent filling his nose. He could see Sam’s eyes widen in understanding when he stepped into the room.

“No,” he said finally. “He’s my best friend, man. The djinn got it wrong.”

He knew Sam wouldn’t believe him. Knew that as much as he didn’t like talking about his emotions, his feelings, he wore them on his sleeve whether he wanted to or not. Sam had probably known about Cas for a long time. But this stupid dream, it gave him the opportunity to force a conversation.

“You know it would be okay with me, right?”

“Yeah, well, there’s no “it,” okay? Please drop it,” Dean said, trying to control his voice, to not sound like he was begging.

Sam just ignored him. “And I’d be okay if it wasn’t just Cas too.”

Dean froze. This… they didn’t talk about this. They didn’t talk about the time Sam had come back to the motel early to find a man leaving. They didn’t talk about the boyfriend he’d had in high school that had lasted until John beat the shit out of both of them. They didn’t talk about it because it wasn’t a part of himself Dean wanted in the open. John was right. He was wrong, broken, useless.

The silence that blanketed the room was heavy, suffocating, but Sam didn’t break it. He just kept looking at him, his eyes sincere but devoid of pity. Just ready to take whatever he said next and move on with it. And he was grateful for it.

“Sam,” he started before stopping again. The silence had lifted and he could breath, could think. Then something inside him pushed him, decided to stop being a coward. “It wasn’t just Cas. For a long time. But now… it’s just him, Sam. He’s it for me.” The words caught in his throat, clawing their way past all his guilt, all his fear, all his years of self-hatred. But they made it out all the same.

Sam smiled a little but dropped his eyes to the table to give Dean space. His eyes stayed down, and he left them there when he answered. Dean expected a speech. Countless empty words about acceptance and love and equality and support. But Sam just said two words. “Tell him.”

Dean gulped and laughed bitterly. “Why? What’s the point?”

Sam finally raised his eyes and smiled gently into Dean’s veiled panic. “Just tell him. It’s time.”

Before Dean could answer, Cas entered the room and Dean closed his mouth firmly, blush spreading across his cheeks.

Cas walked over to them and sat at the table, pulling up a book from the large stack in between them.

“Have you figured out what we’re hunting?” he said, his eyes flicking between the two of them. If he picked up on the tension in the room, he didn’t say it.

“Not yet,” Dean answered. His throat had gone dry and he gulped to fix it but that just sent him into a coughing fit. When he was done, Sam laughed and gestured to their closed books.

“Dean actually wants to go on a vacation,” he said. Dean shot him a death glare, but he just shrugged.

“Why?”

Dean barked a short laugh. The answer was so purely, painfully Cas.

“For fun,” he said with a smile. He ignored Sam’s eye roll. So what if Cas made him smile? The angel didn’t feel the same and that was final.

“Oh,” Cas said solemnly, nodding. “I assume we’ll give the case to some other hunters.” Sam nodded and Cas slid his book back toward the stack.

“Where will we go?”

“Well, nowhere until Dean helps me with something,” Sam said pointedly.

“Helps you with what?” Cas said. And Dean wanted to bury his head in his hands, or better yet, sink underneath the floorboards to a world far away from this conversation.

“There’s this case we were on a couple weeks ago,” Sam started, “I could really use his help remembering the details.”

Dean rolled his eyes, trying to get rid of the panic crushing his chest. At least Sam was going to be smooth about this.

“Why don’t you fill Cas in while I pack?” he said before standing. Dean watched him as he left. His hands had started to tremor a little, and he was sure his face was bright red. But at least Sam had given him the chance to say no. To fuck it all and live in misery for the rest of his life.

Yeah, that’s the way to go, Winchester, a voice in his head whispered.

“What was the case?” Cas said innocently, his eyes crinkled with concern.

“A djinn,” Dean said. Those two words, he could do those. He could tell Cas a little bit more, too. He didn’t have to tell him what he’d dreamed. “I got caught. Got put under the djinn’s poison, and Sam saved me.”

“What did you see?”

Great. Of course that was where Cas jumped. Maybe it was his conversation with Sam, the quiet acceptance that still beat quietly in the room, but he considered it. If it went terribly, he wouldn’t lose Cas. He knew that. No matter how much he’d fucked up before, the angel had stuck by his side. So he wouldn’t lose him. But he would make things different.

“You,” he said before he could change his mind.

Cas tilted his head and folded his hands on the table in front of him. “Me?” he asked slowly.

“You,” Dean said with a gulp. He’d run out of words.

Cas just stared at him, his face blank. But he could see behind Cas’ eyes, could see his wheels spinning, could feel him trying to understand, to read between the lines.

“What about me?” he asked finally.

Dean sought for the words to describe it. To tell Cas that they’d been happy. That they’d had everything. That they’d been everything to each other. But he couldn’t.

After a minute of silence, Cas leaned forward. “Can I look?” he asked.

Before Dean could back out--he was too far in--he nodded. Cas gently rested two fingers on his forehead, sending a shiver down his spine. And then the djinn world, hazy and dreamy, was playing again in his mind. He hadn’t been there long. Less than 24 hours. But even rewatching it play quickly before his eyes brought a small smile to his face. Brought the smell of Cas pressed closely to him back.

When Cas removed his fingers, he stood up and walked to stand next to where Dean stood.

HIs heart was pounding in his chest, crawling up toward his throat. His body told him to run, to get far away while he was safe. But instead, he stood to meet Cas chest to chest.

“Is that what you want?”

Words spun rapidly in his head and he couldn’t grasp any of them, couldn’t string them together in a way that would tell Cas how badly he wanted it. So he just nodded again, waves of shame already crashing over him.

Then Cas reached up and rested a hand on his face and ocean of guilt, of fear disappeared, fading away until it was just a dull presence in the back of his mind. He looked into Cas’ eyes, trying to read the softness there, but he got lost before he could.

Without another word, Cas closed the gap between them.

It was so much better than the daydream. So much better than a fake poison-induced existence. He felt like he was soaring, flying above the Earth and all it’s beauty. Cas tasted sweet against him, and the warmth radiating off him could have kept Dean warm in the middle of a snowstorm.

He kissed softly, letting himself revel in every feeling, every emotion that overwhelmed him.

When they pulled apart, he was still speechless. But this time it was because of the happiness filling his entire body. Cas pressed one more gentle kiss against his lips then pressed their foreheads together, his hand coming up to rest on the back of Dean’s neck.

They stayed there, just breathing together. Then Cas smiled and ran a thumb over Dean’s lip.

“We can have that.”

tag list below: (ask to be added or removed)

@fandomstuff67 @menjiiii @witchyanaels @starlightcastiel @chaoticdean @larryforeveralways @samhainsam @ghostsforcas @tlakhtwritesdestiel @wanderingcas @hallowena @spooky-things-do-happen-dean @jayus-fandom-writer @cas-you-assbutt-dean-needs-you @starrynightdeancas @radiantdean @piemaker-from-gallifrey @on-a-bender @eshaninjer @trasherasswood @dreadful-delight @feraladoration @trenchcas @contemplativepancakes

#suptober20 #happy ending #love confessions #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #spn fan fiction #destiel fanfic #deancas fic #destiel fic #destiel ficlet #my writing

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hajimesh · 5 years

Text

lokasenna pt. 16

word count: 2.9k

pairing: jötunn!loki x healer!reader

summary: #drama #drama #drama

a/n: this is what y’all have been waiting for lmao masterlist can be found in my bio!

- Sextán -

It was midnight.

Loki had tried to fall asleep with no success. All he could think of was you and the skin of your cheek under his lips which eventually led him to think about how your lips would feel against his. He knew how good your body fitted in his arms from all those times you had fallen asleep together but he wanted needed more.

And that led him to your chambers in the middle of the night.

You heard the knocks on your door as you lied on your bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. You weren’t sleepy either, the touch of Loki’s lips against your cheek sending your mind into a frenzy every time you recalled the feeling.

Standing up from your bed, your bare feet padded against the cold floor until you reached the door and opened it, revealing the person you wanted to see the most.

“Loki?”

He looked a bit disheveled but before you could think of something else his hands flew straight to your cheeks, cupping your face between them as he walked inside, closing the door with his foot and pinning you against the wall.

“Tell me you don’t want this and I will stop.” His green eyes shone thanks to the moonlight, easily captivating you.

“W-what?” You barely managed to say, your mind hazy as the sudden closeness between your lips clouded it.

“I want to kiss you so badly.” His voice was hoarse, his throat dry from the sudden change in the atmosphere around you. “I’ve been wanting to for the longest time.” His eyes never left yours, wanting to show you what was he feeling through them. “May I?”

Your mind worked a thousand miles per second trying to grasp what the Hel was happening but with one look at his lips you immediately stopped it and whispered a very faint “Yes.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Loki’s lips captured your upper lip, sending jolts all over your body as your heart threatened to burst out of your chest. He lightly sucked on it before parting his lips so he could close them again but this time on your lower lip.

His mouth felt wonderfully against yours, his rapid breaths fanning over your mouth intoxicating you with his scent. You felt the tip of his tongue curiously wander between your parted lips and you opened them a bit more, granting him more access.

Your hands traveled from the side of his neck to the back of it, lightly scratching his scalp earning you a low moan from him which only managed to encourage you to deepen the kiss, your teeth grazing his lower lip.

Eventually, you had to part from each other but your faces remained close. He pecked your lips twice before fully separating himself from you.

“Darling,” his voice had gone down a few octaves, sounding deeper and raspier than before. “I like you.” The sight of his swollen lips made your chest fill with pride but when you heard what he said you couldn’t believe it. “A lot.”

You gulped, your mind was still foggy from the kiss and his presence. “A-are you serious?”

At this he frowned, creases appearing on his forehead and between his brows. “Why would I lie?”

You shook your head and then lowered it, crossing your arms in front of you and adopting a defensive posture.

“Hey,” grasping your chin he lifted it until he could look at your eyes, reading the truth in them. “You don’t believe me.”

He sounded defeated, the statement taking the excitement from the kiss away from his body and leaving an emptiness he didn’t like.

Raking your fingers through your hair you walked past him wanting to put a bit of distance between you. “I don’t even know what I am feeling, Loki.”

He would be lying if he said that your statement didn’t hurt him. “I cannot tell you what or what not to feel,” he said slowly, making sure you heard the truth in his words. “But if that kiss meant anything for you, then I will gladly wait until you’re ready.”

You dared to look at him and the intensity of his eyes caught you off guard, almost sending your heart into cardiac arrest as you tried to come up with something.

“I will let you rest,” he smiled, taking a hesitant step towards you. “Goodnight, dear.” Placing a kiss on your forehead, he said goodbye and turned on his heel, leaving the room.

And leaving a hole in your heart.

* * * *

The next morning you woke up tired.

It had taken you a while to fall asleep, your mind replaying the kiss over and over again. You had no idea why you said those things when you knew you craved him. It was foolish from your part to try to deny the feelings you had been harboring for the past weeks and it didn’t help you had had a small crush on Loki during your younger years. Even then, you knew it was impossible so you had resigned yourself to admire from afar as he became a Prince.

Trying to erase Loki form your mind, you thought it was best to get out of the bed and take a bath and that was when you noticed it.

Your sight was still a bit blurry from sleep but once you rubbed it away there was no way of not noticing the multiple bouquets and arrangements of flowers covering every surface in your room.

Your heart rate increased, slightly frightened as to why they were there and who had sent them. Once you were on your feet you walked slowly until you reached the closest bouquet which sat on the floor by the end of your bed. The flowers were incredibly beautiful, you had to admit it. Deep green leafs contrasted beautifully against the pale blue, almost lilac, flowers; and then you noticed the white envelope encrusted between them.

Wasting no time, you snatched it open and stared at the handwriting, your heart about to burst out of your chest.

One word was written on the envelope with cursive handwriting and it was enough to take your breath away.

Darling.

Your shaky fingers struggled to open the envelope and unfold the sheet of paper. Your eyes ran fast across the letter, swallowing every word before you even had time to process them and make out their meaning.

I don’t mean to impress you with these words but to show you my truth and honesty through them. I am very thankful for having you with me in this realm. I must admit, I wasn’t very fond of you at the beginning. My ego forbade me of it but as the days went by and I realized how foolish I had been, a sudden need to get to know you grew in my heart. Now I can say I long to be with you, you seem to run through my mind every hour of the day and our talks showed me how similar our brains work, you understand me as no one has done before. I owe you many apologies for my behavior; I was being ignorant and all I can do now is ask for your forgiveness and hopefully, you’ll allow me to make it up to you. You are a wonderful woman; you have saved me in ways I never thought possible and for that, I am forever grateful. Know that my heart belongs to you.

With love, Loki.

Your body gave up, falling on the mattress as the letter in your hand seemed to burn against your fingers. Reading it again, again and again; you waited for the words to dissolve, a mere trick of your imagination. Perhaps you were still dreaming?

But you knew it was very real and your mind was still trying to figure out how in Valhalla those words came out of Loki’s mind and decided to plaster them on paper for you to read.

If his words were true, if he was being honest as he had stated in the letter, then this might be your chance. This might be the proof you needed to take a step forward and admit your feelings without fearing rejection. But what would you do then? His place was on that throne and he was destined to marry Angrboda and even if it wasn’t her, some other giantess would take her place.

Either way, there was no place for you to be with him. Not in Utgard. If only you were in Asgard maybe things would be different.

You combed your fingers through your hair, trying to decide what to do next. Should you confront him? Or act as if nothing happened?

But you already knew what you wanted to do.

* * * *

“May I speak with His Majesty?” you asked the guard that stood at the gates of the throne room.

You quickly bathed and dressed after deciding it was best to talk things out with Loki. The yellow Asgardian dress you wore under the big coat of furs swished on the floor as you rocked on your heels, waiting for permission to go in.

“You may enter.”

Nodding your head at the guard, you thanked him before walking past the gates and entering the room. Your eyes immediately saw Loki’s figure sitting on his throne, his posture relaxed as he played with the fabrics of his

Once he noticed you, his eyes lit up and his posture straightened, the ghost of a smile appearing on his lips.

“Your Majesty.” You bowed before him under the gazes of a few Lords that lingered around the room, there was no sight of Angrboda, thankfully.

Loki signaled you to raise and with a flick of his hand dismissed everyone but you. “Leave us.”

The Lords curtsied and left and once the room had cleared, Loki descended the steps until he stood a few steps away from you.

“Hello, darling.” His smooth voice graced your ears as a bashful smile appeared on his mouth.

You mirrored his smile, your posture a bit stiff as you felt awkward around him after knowing the extent of his feelings for you. “H-hi.”

“You wished to speak with me?”

His tone almost sounded clueless, almost, which made the shyness you were feeling fade away to make room for annoyance.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

Tilting his head to the side, he faked confusion. “Don’t know what?” But the glare you sent him made him break his façade and his once confused face turned into a grin. “All right, all right!” Your glare softened but you remained silent, waiting for him to say something. “Did you like the flowers?”

“They are very pretty, thank you,” you sighed, mentally preparing yourself for what was coming. “The letter,” you paused, fleetingly looking at Loki before switching your eyes to the wall behind him. “Do you really mean all of that?”

His mouth opened but he said nothing. His brows furrowed, examining you before letting out a breath and smiling softly.

“I do.”

Before any of you knew what was happening, you threw your arms around his neck, enveloping him in a hug. Your eyes closed once you felt him encircle his own arms around your waist and draw a deep breath.

Once you realized the boldness of your actions, you released your hold on him as quick as you could and you felt the familiar warmth burning on your face.

Shaking your head you started to apologize, the embarrassment turning into despair. “Apologies, I-”

But his lips collided against yours, successfully shutting you up. Your hand immediately grabbed him from the back of his head, your fingers curling around the hairs on his nape while his arms encased you and pulled your body against his.

You felt drunk, the kiss gentle yet passionate at the same time. His scent drowned your lungs and you could hear the inhales coming from his nose as he kept kissing you with such feverish you though you might pass out.

Pulling away softly, your eyes traveled to his eyes and saw nothing but affection, making your heart rate fly to the skies. His hands left your waist and enclosed around your hands, placing them on his chest.

Loki was smiling so big, crinkling eyes and his heart pounding wildly on his chest you could feel it. The thought of you reciprocating his feelings only added to his excitement and suddenly he found himself wanting to spend every minute of the day with you.

“Eat with me,” he said out of nowhere, clutching your hands closer to his chest. ”I will ask the cooks for an Asgardian breakfast and then we can spend the rest of the day in the library, there’s a book I’ve been meaning to show you and I know you will–“

“What is the meaning of this!?”

In the midst of his rambling, you missed the sound of the gates opening and heeled steps making their way towards you until it was too late. Angrboda looked furious, utterly livid as her eyes switched from you to Loki.

“Your Majesty!” The guard who had been standing outside scrambled to get up from the ground. By the looks of it, she had kicked him in a very unpleasant place.

But what surprised you was that as soon as she noticed the guard, she raised her hand and a second later the gates closed with a loud thud, leaving the guard outside pounding on the door and trying to open it.

Both you and Loki were caught off guard. The Jötnar are not very fond nor wield magic, a trait mostly reserved for the Aesir. You felt Loki’s posture stiffen as he took a step forward and placed you behind him.

Angrboda’s smile looked wicked. Her stormy eyes burning with something unrecognizable. “You are not the only one with access to magic, Loki Laufeyson.”

Her hand opened and a dagger materialized on it before lifting it and aiming it at you. She took a few steps closer and Loki took a step back, keeping you behind his form and preventing you from ending hurt.

The movement was not missed by the princess who growled in response. “It’s her,” she took more steps closer to you and Loki seemed ready to attack in case she tried something. “You want to marry her.”

“Put that down, immediately!” Not paying attention to her words, Loki yelled at her, wanting to avoid any fatal outcomes.

“No!” Her eyes glowed and her hair flew back, the veins on her neck protruding and the hand that held the dagger, which was still aimed at you, now trembled. “Not until you promise to marry me! It is my birthright to be Queen.”

The words were too familiar for Loki.

“Put the dagger down.”

Her breaths were ragged, the previously very good looking Princess now looked more like she had lost her mind. Her hair fell on her face, her eyes sunken and her skin had turned into a grey tone. She growled but you could see her hand slowly dropping and you felt yourself relax slightly.

Until she started running at you.

Loki easily intercepted her but she had collided with so much force against him he was left breathless. Angrboda wriggled around his arms, the dagger still in her hand and now aimed at his neck.

“I am the Queen!” She snarled and drew the dagger closer to Loki’s neck.

You felt helpless. You had nothing around you that could be of help, your magic was not powerful enough to use it as a weapon and as much as you knew the basics of combat your mind betrayed you. You thought you could help by walking around them, placing yourself behind her and hitting her from the back.

Unluckily she noticed and flew the dagger behind her, almost hurting you.

“Step away!” Loki yelled at you as he kept struggling to keep Angrboda still.

She lifted her hand again and Loki managed to stop her, his hand grabbing her by her forearm as the dagger now hovered over his head. He kneeled her on the stomach which was enough to distract her and take the dagger from her hands.

“Don’t you dare come closer.” He threatened, aiming the weapon towards her but she smiled in response.

She took a few steps closer and then tried to snatch the dagger from Loki’s hands but her hand ended up encircling itself around the blade, cutting her fingers and drawing blood all over the blade. She seemed unbothered, the mad look on her face startling enough to let you know she was taking this until someone ended up dead.

She charged at him again, materializing another dagger on her free hand but Loki vanished from her sight, teleporting himself right behind her and stabbing the dagger on her back.

Angrboda started to turn around when Loki stabbed her again, this time on her side and twisted the knife. Her mouth was agape and suddenly the veins around her body bulged and turned black, looking similar to the way Loki’s veins around his wound looked.

Her body grew limp and heavy under his arms as she took her last breaths before her eyes glazed over. Loki immediately took a step back, her body falling to the ground as blood flowed out of her wounds.

Angrboda was dead.

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

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thesillygoose3000 · 4 years

Text

Going to California oneshot

Just thought I’d share this fanfic I wrote of Robert/Jimmy. I previously posted it on rockfic.com. It takes place when Jimmy and Robert were in the Yardbirds. WARNING: 18+.

Enjoy this trash, y’all.

Robert put the bowl to his lips and breathed in. He held it for a moment, then breathed it out the open windowsill into the warm night air. That was the last of his ganja. He sighed, and opened the cabinet where he kept his liquor. Nothing. Not even a drop of wine left. Robert had forgotten that he had already drank everything in sight last night. Here it was, the night before he was supposed to leave, and he couldn’t even have a good time.

California was a long way away from England. Robert walked over to the kitchen table where he last placed his wallet, and noticed his plane ticket sticking out of it, ready and waiting to go. He pulled it out of his wallet, and looked over it. His flight left bright and early tomorrow at a modest 7:30 in the morning. Robert slid it back into the billfold, and sat down on the flowered couch. His mind hummed with a steady stream of thoughts.

He still hadn’t told his band mates that he was leaving yet. The blond decided that it would be best that way. He knew they would try to talk him out of it, and he didn’t want that. He had made up his mind, and that’s that. California would be good for him, Robert thought. Half way across the world, in the hazy fever dream known as America. A fresh place where nobody knows his name, his problems, his dreams, his fears…

There was a knock on the door of his apartment. Who the bloody hell could it be at this hour? Robert peered through the peephole and saw a young man standing there with shoulder-length tresses of black waves, with one bagged eye covered.

“What is it now, Jimmy?” Robert said with a sigh, opening the door. “Telly go out on you again?”

“Yeah.” Jimmy pushed his way past Robert and turned the knob on the television. The dark haired man flipped through the channels until Dark Shadows appeared on screen in gritty black and white.

Robert snorted. “You actually like this show?”

Jimmy shrugged. “I’ve taken the piss for a lot worse.”

“Right…”

“Got anything to eat in here?”

Robert rolled his eyes. “I’m not a chef. Jesus.”

“But do you?”

Robert sighed. “I’m sure there’s something in there.”

Jimmy went to the kitchen and began rifling through it. Robert shook his head and sat down on the couch again. Jimmy returned with a bag of prawn crisps.

“Want some?” He gestured the bag to Robert, who shook his head. “What’s the matter with you? You’re acting different.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Robert blurted out.

Jimmy stopped shoveling crisps into his mouth. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“You’re leaving the Yardbirds?”

“Sort of.” Robert avoided eye contact with his friend.

Jimmy’s green eyes widened. “Why the hell would you do that? We’re just getting started for God’s sakes.”

Robert exhaled heavily through his nose. This is exactly why he didn’t want to tell his bandmates that he was leaving; they wouldn’t understand. “Jim, listen to me. I just think that I need a change of pace. I need to make something of myself. So I’m going to California to start anew.”

“I don’t buy that load of shit for one minute,” Jimmy said. Robert did a double take, and blinked his eyes a couple of times.

“Don’t believe me? Take a look at this.” Robert got up and retrieved the plane ticket, waving it in front of his friend’s face.

“Gimme that.” Jimmy snatched the ticket out of Robert’s hand. His uncovered eye quickly scanned the piece of paper. He bit his lip, and handed it back to the blond.

“I see.”

“Yup.” Robert flopped down onto the couch again, resting his crossed legs on Jimmy’s lap. “Tomorrow, I’ll be gone.”

Jimmy’s face softened. “Are you excited?”

Robert put a tasseled pillow behind his head. “Not really.”

Jimmy turned his head to face Robert, one heavy set green eye looking at two alert ice blue ones. “What’s the real reason you’re going to California?”

“Pardon?”

“What’s the real reason you’re leaving?”

“That, I can’t tell you.”

Jimmy looked hurt. “I’m your best friend. You can tell me anything.”

Robert shifted his head towards the telly. “Some things are better left unsaid.”

“Well,” Jimmy started to say, “I’m going to miss you.”

“As will I miss you.” Robert thought for a moment as the two of them sat in silence, the only sounds being the softly spoken dialogue of the soap opera. He nudged Jimmy in the ribs with his knee.

“What?”

Robert sat up, and faced Jimmy again. The guitarist’s one visible eyebrow was furrowed with concern, and his plush lips were slightly parted. Robert brushed a lock of curly gold out of his face. “Tell you what. If you can give me one good reason to stay, I will stay.”

“Cross your heart?”

Robert chuckled at the grade school promise. “Cross my heart.”

Jimmy gently put his hand behind Robert’s mass of golden curls, and smushed his lips against his friend’s. Robert felt a tinge of pleasure go through his body; he didn’t want it to stop. Jimmy took the lead once again and gently pulled Robert’s bottom lip with his two front teeth.

Was it getting hotter than the Devil in church in here, or was it just him? A smattering of red spread across Robert’s face as Jimmy slid his tongue into his mouth. It felt so different than the kiss of a woman; no, this was more powerful, more demanding, more assertive. Robert found himself welcoming Jimmy’s tongue inside, embracing its warm, silky, slick feeling against his own. The singer’s hands wanted to wrap themselves around Jimmy’s long and lanky form, but they hesitated until the two men realized they were falling off the couch and onto the shag carpeted floor.

They both landed with a soft thud, and they clunked heads together, Jimmy on top of Robert. Jimmy sat up, his thighs on either side of Robert’s small hips. Robert’s breathing quickened, taking in the sight of his friend. He towered over the singer, his t-shirt starting to cling to his skinny body from both of their sweat from the unprecedented encounter. Jimmy’s chest heaved up and down, breathing heavily. He looked off to the side, and flipped his hair out of his face.

“I’m so sorry. I’ll stop now,” he said.

Robert sat up and grabbed Jimmy by the collar of his soaked white t-shirt. “I didn’t say stop.” He peeled off Jimmy’s shirt and pushed him to the floor. They started to roll around on the floor, making out like teens that have just discovered that the opposite (or even same) sex isn’t gross.

“C’mon, Jim,” Robert said, pulling away from Jimmy’s lip, a string of saliva going with it like cheese on a pizza.

“C’mon, what?”

“Aren’t you going to fuck me?”

Jimmy’s eyes went wide. “Fuck you? Are you sure?”

“If that is what you wish,” Robert said, sweat dripping down his face, and rolling down his chin.

“Well, then, Roberto, of course I will.”

Roberto. Oh, God, yes. Jimmy snaked Robert’s trousers off of his legs, and pulled off his boxers right after. What was left was a naked Robert, his porcelain skin and elegant locks of gold shining in the low light.

“Roberto the cherub,” Jimmy said with a teasing smile.

“Bloody hell, Jim,” Robert replied, his eyes looking to the ceiling for guidance.

“Bend over.” Jimmy grabbed Robert by the curls and shoved him down to all fours. Jimmy shed himself of his own clothes, exposing a quite large member hidden beneath those bellbottoms.

“Shit,” Robert muttered.

“Oh, shut up. I’ve seen girls take it better than you.”

“Try me.”

“Alright then.” Jimmy spit on his hands and rubbed them together, then rubbed them on his dick. He grabbed Robert’s hips, and shoved himself inside. Robert groaned, the pain of being stretched out mixed with the pleasure of being filled. He ground his teeth together, and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Ohhhh,” was all he could say. Jimmy smiled. He grabbed onto the blond’s hips and pushed in and out slowly, almost rhythmic. Robert’s fingers curled into the shag carpet, hanging on for the ride of his life. So this is how it feels, Robert thought. No wonder the ladies were lining up.

“Harder,” the blond said.

“Alright.” Jimmy pumped harder and faster. Robert’s glass pendant that he wore around his neck thumped on his chest with each thrust, like a heartbeat. Jimmy’s hands dug into Robert’s soft flesh, then his nails.

“Augh, what’re you doing, mate?” Robert said.

“I can’t ride you if I can’t hold on somehow,” Jimmy whispered in Robert’s ear. His soft voice almost tickled, sending pins and needles down the singer’s spine.

“Fine.” Robert shoved his ass against Jimmy’s member.

“Roberto,” Jimmy cried out as he came. Robert felt Jimmy’s cock contract and relax inside of him. He felt a trickle of something warm run out and down the inside of his thigh. It was too much.

“Jim,” Robert shoved his forehead into the carpet and ground his teeth together. Jimmy’s hand grabbed the blond’s dick, and smoothly glided his hand up and down until it quickly released a steady stream of white all over the gray carpet. After that, the two of them collapsed on the floor.

“Gross,” Robert said. “I just lay down in it.” Jimmy laughed. He gently turned Robert over onto his back, and pushed some curls out of his face. Robert lay there, semen all over his stomach, and glass pendant resting in the hollow of his collar bone. His blue eyes were not looking at Jimmy; they were looking past him. Wondering, and thinking.

Jimmy looked worried. “What is it?”

Robert smiled. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” He got up, and went to the bathroom to wash himself. “Be out in a minute,” he said.

Cold water ran down his slight back. Cum was still slowly trickling down his legs. What a strange feeling. He washed his hair, a lather of soap fluff on top of his head. He thought about what he just did with his best friend. God. He turned the knob all the way to the right. Ice cold water rinsed out his hair, sending the shampoo and conditioner down the drain. He dried himself off with a fluffy white towel, and went back out to join Jimmy.

“Where’d you go?” Robert yelled.

“In here,” Jimmy called back from the bedroom.

“Really, Jim?” Robert crossed his arms over his chest at the sight of a naked Jimmy in his bed.

“Yeah. I’m tired as hell.” Jimmy pulled down the country quilt. “Plus, you have to leave tomorrow. You need some sleep.”

Robert climbed into the four-poster bed, and pulled the warm covers over his naked body. “Yeah, tomorrow.”

The summer night breeze blew the curtains around, and tousled Robert’s wet hair. Jimmy put his arm around Robert’s waist, and pulled him close.

“Your hair smells like flowers,” Jimmy mumbled. He nuzzled Robert’s cheek with his nose.

“Jimmy.”

“What?”

Robert turned to face his best friend. “I think I found a reason to stay.”

The End.

#classic rock #classic rock fanfiction #classic rock fanfic #jimmy page #the yardbirds #led zeppelin #robert plant #roberto #jimbert #classic rock fandom #fanfiction #fanfic #oneshot

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lemon-writings · 4 years

Text

Hamish Update Pt. III

Genre: Literary fiction // Word count: 77,037

Here we are! Chapters VII-IX! I’ve written these chapters really recently, so I can go a little more in-depth with the process. The second half of this book (and specifically this particular trio of chapters, for some reason) is definitely the part I’m most proud of. Writing everything coming to fruition is just so satisfying. Is this what people who write books with actual plot feel like? Because it makes me consider writing books with real plot.

But in all honesty, I really enjoy writing this part of Hamish. I’m super happy with how everything’s turning out. One problem I do have with the latter half is that it is super depressing to write all the time, especially with the amount of rain we’ve been getting in Ohio right now (we love depression), so it is taking me a little longer to write than normal, since I keep sidetracking with random projects to try taking my mind off the deeper things. But when I am working on it, the words just flow. It’s beautiful.

Chapter VII

Epitaph: “I’m a strange new kind of inbetween thing aren’t I? Not at home with the dead nor with the living.”-Anne Carson, Antigone

Here is what’s been building this entire time: the funeral. That, and everything funerals entail, with the Celebration of Life and whatnot. The first time I wrote this, I read the funeral scene to my mom in full detail, and she started crying, because it reminded her of her father’s funeral. I, personally, loathe funerals, for what boils down to the fact that I am greatly horrified by being in the same room as someone who I once knew to be alive. That, and the crippling fear of death most people experience at least once in their lives.

There’s also a lot of Horacio’s... fantasies. There’s something deeply personal about the way I write him, sometimes, that makes rereading certain parts difficult. Horacio, in his darkest moments, feels he deserves bad things happening to him, nearly craves them, and he hates himself for it. The amount of self-loathing in this work is high.

Excerpts:

Horacio, as always, is concerned about Hamish’s state of being alive, because that man always looks halfway dead, and at times, he’s more ghost than living person

The question of if you were dead or alive laid on my tongue, begging to be asked. Maybe I should’ve asked you. Maybe I should’ve checked your pulse. Maybe I should’ve laid my head on your chest and listened to your heartbeat. Maybe I should’ve left with you then and there and avoided the trap Leon kept guiding us to.

Hot take from a Farm Child: broken machinery is one of the most haunting things you can ever see. I could probably wax poetic about how terrible their beauty is, but I really don’t think anyone wants to hear about farm machines for three hours. (On a completely serious note, my uncle’s coat got tangled in a grain auger yesterday, and he could have died. Be safe around farm machinery. Please. It can be really dangerous, even if you’ve been around it for 60+ years.)

Leon’s descriptions are always some variant of men thinking being tall is intimidating.

Leon bared his teeth once more, the animalistic beauty of it all making me wonder where Leon ended and his rage began. Primal is often used as a way to pull down others, to say you are not advanced the way I am, but Leon’s rage seemed like an advancement of humanity, a way of saying I have advanced my own humanity through my anger. He was gorgeous in the same way broken tractors on the side of the road are, monolithic kings taken over by the passage of time, their steel teeth rusty and eternal.

Did I reference “Father” by Warsan Shire? Yes. Yes, I did. Hamish is a huge Warsan Shire fan, because, like, it has his vibes.

You recited a poem about fathers, about death, about life, speaking it as if it were scripture. When you finished, you began again. Or perhaps you never ended, speaking this poem forwards, then backwards, then repeating cyclically.

Yeet.

Chapter VIII

Epitaph: “I could be a wolf for you. I could put my teeth on your throat. I could growl. I could eat you whole. I could wait for you in the dark. I could howl against your hair.”-Catherynne M. Valente, “The Red Girl”, The Bread We Eat in Dreams

There’s a lot of plot stuff that happens in this chapter, so unfortunately, I do have to be a little shorter when it comes to this summary, but let it be said that I am not meant to be a thriller/action author. Do I enjoy watching Indiana Jones and Star Wars? Yes, I do. Should I be writing anything close to that? Absolutely not. It takes a lot of effort to do, and even with that, I would say that any sort of action scene I write is... not exactly “half-baked”, but most certainly not up to par with the rest of my writing. I’ll need to edit this chapter heavily the next time I go through Hamish.

That being said, there are moments in this chapter that I am proud of. Horacio and Ofelia’s interactions in this chapter are some of my favorites, just because they’re some of the only characters in this book who don’t violently hate/distrust each other.

Excerpts:

When I mentioned kudzu to my mother, she mentioned it was an invasive species she’d seen a lot of during her time in the south, which just confirmed that it was a great metaphor to use. That’s always a sign, right?

I looked down at the flowers, then at her, wiser than anyone I’d ever met, the freedom ripping open her seams like something terrible and sharp, the parts of her that were so carefully cultivated spilling out of her like kudzu.

Horacio feels like he’s the only real person in a world of ghosts. The disconnect between Horacio and the people around him is heavily based upon the first time I disassociated. We watched the Blue Man Group in Chicago on a music/Spanish department trip, and the second I walked out of the building, I thought I was a freaking ghost. I had my first panic attack at 14 because I didn’t know if I was actually experiencing life. It was a wild experience.

Next to Ofelia, I looked out of place. Ofelia was hazy and magical in her presence, looking more like a dreamy memory than a real person, as if I touched her, my hand would touch only air. I was the solid type of real, unfortunately. Tall and unnaturally skinny, with a gritty, starving look to myself, the two of us next to each other were like a pastel-covered, out-of-focus impressionist painting next to a photograph of childhood labor in Industrial Revolution-era factories.

There’s also a confrontation with Leon that has some, um, spoilery moments. Leon is an asshole. I kind of love him.

Chapter IX

Epitaph: “[Grief is pain internalized, abscess of the soul. Anger is pain as energy, sudden explosion.]”-Lauren Groff, Fates and Furies

Again, there’s a lot going on in this chapter. A lot. Marcus the bodyguard makes another appearance (underappreciated character of the book) and acts as a guardian angel. Bless Marcus. Seriously.

This chapter is more introspective than the last, so I enjoyed writing it a bit more. Or... a lot more, actually. I was not created to write action scenes, and I accept my fate. Horacio’s musings on fate are long-winded and beautiful and what I’m meant to write. It’s just a chapter of him reflecting, pining, and wishing he was in a different situation. Which. Fair.

Moments like this make me realize I am a cruel god who treats her characters terribly.

Excerpts:

Starting this chapter strong with the true weighted blanket: death.

Death cloaked me like your blanket.

As I said before, Marcus? Underutilized character. I use him as much as I can, but the plot makes it difficult to use him as much as I wish. He’s the man we deserve.

Marcus was smart, was good at playing the game we all played without making it apparent that he was playing it. He knew what he was doing. “I want the best for Hamish,” Marcus said. He looked into my eyes. “You do, too.”

Horacio takes a moment to think awful, rage-colored thoughts about the people around him, which are, of course, one of my favorite things to wax poetic about. He’s a salty man, and he has all rights to be, because this entire work is just “things to be salty about, the novel”. Poor Horace. He just wants to live in a gay daydream, but he’s stuck in a nightmare.

(Not to sound too Midwestern, but OPE, the shade.)

These people played their sick, twisted games like gods, forcing everyone to play along for their survival while they watched and knew exactly what they were doing to the rest of us mortals around them. In that moment, I was filled with the type of righteous anger that made me understand why people were drawn to religion. I wanted a higher power to strike them down, to make an example of them all, to say don’t do this, or you’ll end up like them.

I sounded like my parents, like all the religious nuts I’d ever met, the ones who said that those who didn’t fall their doctrine were inferior, were going to die, and suffer for being different. Is that how it begins? Is anger the true root of all cruelty?

That last line, is anger the true root of all cruelty? was probably my favorite line when I first wrote Hamish. It’s sort of become a thesis statement for Horacio’s past and the way he sees the world.

Lastly, of course, we have

The Jams

We have a fine selection of songs here, a lot from my Lucy playlist (Lucy has one of my favorite playlists I’d ever made).

Oh No!!! - grandson

Temple Priest (feat. Paul Wall & Kota the Friend) - MISSIO

Destroy Me - grandson

BTSTU - Jai Paul

Seven Devils - Florence + The Machine

Pretty Little Head - Eliza Rickman

That’s the tea, y’all. If you’re interested in this and hearing writing updates for Hamish, then ask to be added to the tags list!

#wip: hamish #writing update #amwriting #writeblr #writers on tumblr #ayyy we're in the home stretch y'all!!!

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eleanorfenyxwrites · 5 years

Text

I Hear You Callin’ Me pt. 2

Jack couldn’t help but watch in longing fascination as his neighbor moved around the kitchen. He could see goosebumps on his arms and legs from his perch at the kitchen island, the cool dry air wrapping around them and leaving their sweat behind as nothing more than a thin layer of dried salt on the skin. He was thirsty, but somehow the glass of water the man poured for him when he said so did very little to satisfy him. He drank it slowly as he watched the man’s muscles shift gracefully under his skin, each movement fluid and purposeful in a way that Jack interpreted as dancing even though it was hardly anything of the sort.

“What’s your name, hon?” The guy asked as he slid a cup of iced coffee across the island to him to swap out with his empty water glass.

“Jack,” he answered and he hoped this beautiful man didn’t judge him for the way it came out sounding breathless.

“I’m Eric,” was his reply and Jack murmured a soft, ‘it’s nice to meet you’ before devoting his attention to the iced drink in his hand. “You’re not much of a talker are ya, hon?” Eric asked after a few long moments. Jack could only smile at him a little ruefully.

“Euh..no, I’m afraid not. Euh..thanks for the coffee, though.”

Eric laughed at that for some reason Jack didn’t understand, but it didn’t feel malicious. It felt more like Eric was just the kind of person who laughed, whether there was much of a reason or not.

“You’re welcome, honey. And don’t you worry too much about not bein’ a talker. Lord knows there are plenty of people in this world who never know when to shut their mouths even when there’s nothin’ of use comin’ out of those flappin’ jaws. I bet you’re a real good listener then, huh?”

Jack, still trying to wrap his head around the vivid mental image Eric painted with his uh..interesting turn of phrase, shrugged a little as he took another sip of his coffee. He might’ve been imagining it but it seemed like Eric’s eyes tracked the line of his throat for a moment before flickering back up to his face.

“I guess you’d have to ask the people who talk to me, eh? Maybe I’m not a talker or a listener, just a robot.”

Eric laughed again and Jack decided he liked doing that, making him laugh. “Well honey if all robots look as good as you I think I won’t be havin’ any complaints when y’all finally take over this god forsaken planet.”

Jack actually laughed aloud at that. Eric’s quick wit (and brazen flirting) was oddly refreshing and this time Jack was sure he wasn’t imagining the appreciative glance Eric shot his way. He took another long sip of his coffee without breaking eye contact with Eric over the rim of the glass.

“How’s that coffee workin’ out for ya, hon?” Eric asked after a moment as he propped his elbows up on the counter, leaning his chin in his hand to watch him through his lashes.

“Good, thanks. Though - and don’t take this the wrong way - it’s not quite hitting the spot.”

“Oh is that so? Well what would hit the spot, do you think? I personally have a few different ways I like to start my day..”

Jack tapped a fingertip on Eric’s countertop and finished off his coffee in one final gulp. “Well...I was already feeling pretty alert. So now I have all this extra energy that I’m not quite sure what to do with…”

Jack laid in Eric’s bed panting softly, his arms still wrapped around Eric’s small frame as they recovered. He turned his head after a moment to press a hazy kiss to Eric’s temple and traced gentle circles into his hip with the tip of one finger.

“You’ve definitely got energy, sweetheart, I’ll give ya that,” Eric finally mumbled with a sleepy laugh that had Jack hiding a smile in his skin.

“Me? I wasn’t the one sprinting up the stairs to get things started,” Jack chirped, purposely leaving out the fact that he had, however, followed close behind.

“Sassy,” Eric accused with a sleepy laugh and a kiss to Jack’s shoulder. “Lord I’ve been wantin’ to do that since the day you moved in,” he sighed and Jack pulled back just enough to look down at him with a raised eyebrow and a slightly bemused smile.

“Really? Why?”

Eric didn’t reply at first, instead taking a few moments to skim his hands over Jack’s arms and chest, obviously appreciating the definition hockey gave him. “Are you really gonna ask me that when you’re layin’ here lookin’ like this?” he finally asked and Jack chuckled quietly.

“Looking like what, Eric? I see myself every day, you’re going to have to be specific.”

“Oh, so we’re fishin’ for compliments now? Well fine.” With no further warning, Jack suddenly found himself on his back with Eric perched above him, straddling his waist. Jack grinned up at him and rested his hands on Eric’s thighs as the other man ran his fingertips through the hair on his chest. “I mean, Jack, that you look like the kinda man I could barely even dream about when I was a sad little gay boy in high school in small-town Georgia. You showed up wearin’ a ratty t-shirt so thin I swear I could see your abs through it and proceeded to show off every muscle you have movin’ your stuff in and..well honestly, what’s a man to do?” Eric sighed and Jack reached up to pull him down for a kiss.

“Well...for starters a man could ask me out instead of saying nothing but good morning for two months from his porch,” Jack chirped against Eric’s lips and grinned when he was rewarded for that with a firm swat to his chest. He fell obediently back into Eric’s soft sheets and ran his hands gently up and down the tops of his legs as Eric studied him with an expression he couldn’t quite read.

“Ask you out, huh? Does this fit the bill or were you thinkin’ somethin’ more like an actual date?”

Jack cupped his hands carefully around Bitty’s hips and studied him for long enough that Eric started fidgeting a little with a blush on his cheeks.

“A date, Eric. Dinner? Cuddling on the sofa? Ringing any bells?”

Technically speaking, the kiss Eric gave him was clumsy and their teeth clacked together and they couldn’t stop grinning. Jack loved every second of it.

#zimbits #if this generates enough interest I might do an epilogue type thing #nsfw-ish

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thesmollostbean3 · 7 years

Text

Neptune-Klance

(Heyo everyone!! OK...so like other stuff I am doing this is gonna have multiple parts. I promise it will be fluffy!! While this is...extreme angst. It was needed, as this was based off of the Sleeping at Last song ‘Neptune’ which I thought really fit them. I mean, this is only half the song so...more angst to come! I may be doing something with this a lil bit surprising or weird...y’all shall see (a mystery!) Anyway, I hope this was good for you guys!! Big warning on season 4 spoilers, and profanity. Like...a lot of them. A small note is that I call them both teenagers, despite Keith nearly being nineteen. In my definition, I think of a teenager as an age with ‘teen’ at the end, and when you do turn 18 you don't magically become an adult so...yeah...this was fun to write! And here we go!!)

Everything felt hazy. Like...almost a dream. After everything that had happened with the blade of marmora...and now returning to find himself without a lion, Keith felt...surprisingly calm. He wasn't supposed to be a paladin. He didn't think so at least. With all that had happened...he still wondered why he was back. We he was physically standing there, waiting for the others to come running in and having a group hug once again.

Because he didn't belong with team Voltron. Or at least, that is what he thought. Yet here he was standing, in the lounging area wondering when the others would notice that he has returned.

God he felt like a fucking idiot. What was he even doing here? Why did he want to even try to return to the team. They didn't need him anymore, he should really have stayed with the Blade of Marmora...but he missed the others. And he felt selfish for it. He felt even selfish for leaving in in first place.

“Keith...what the-”

Keith jumped and turned around to find Lance in his bed robes, rubbing his eyes and slowly coming to terms with what stood in front of him.

“Lance please be a bit more quiet, god I already regret coming back I shouldn't have done this…”

It was tense in the room. Keith started to pace around the room while Lance stood in shock. Keith was back, but not with the BOM...why weren't they there with him? What was he even there for. Gosh he had missed having Keith around more than ever, and finally he was here but Lance couldn't truly believe it.

Lance was angry, and maybe it was at Keith, or maybe even at just the situation, but he was going to let it out for once, because if he didn't talk he might explode.

“God nope, you aren't leaving. Jesus Keith what the hell? Why you are here I don't know but...fuck you Keith.”

“Lance I-”

“No, fuck you. You know why? Because you... You know the time you nearly sacrificed yourself? Like you nearly died and guess what. You didn't even say goodbye. Matt had to tell us after, and when we mentioned it you brushed us off. You acted as if our concerns were for nothing and continued being with the blade. God…”

There was so much more, because Lance cared so much. He did and he had missed Keith yet here he was, and Lance didn't even run and hug him. He felt like Shit but he couldn't stop, because Keith and left him a mess. It wasn't excusable, but it was easier than trying to figure out what's he was feeling towards him. Because everything felt like it was crashing down and Lance was not going to be able to spring back.

“Do you know how much I pretended to support you? How I thought that hey, it is what he wants and I should be happy with that. I should be happy with what you choose because you know why, that is what a good friend does. But I wasn't Keith...I wasn't I goddamned wasn't fine with it I wanted to scream at you to come back when you left. I wanted to run out there and beg of you to not go but dammit I don't why I did. And Shiro didn't even stop you, and I assumed since he knew you the most he knew best. Because...he was suddenly leader again.”

Keith found himself frozen suddenly. Because...he was in a way angry too. This is what Lance and the others wanted! Okay, no matter whether they knew it because He didn't belong there. He didn't. Shiro was now the black paladin again and Lance was in red, and he couldn't imagine to take someone else's place and he was not good with the team. Despite what he, or the others tried to convince him. This was what they had wanted!! and yet Lance was yelling at him.

You let me set sail

With cheap wood.

So I patched up

Every leak that I could,

'Til the blame grew too heavy.

“It isn't my fault that Shiro can pilot black again! And I left for my own reasons that I thought you would understand, but I guess not...Lance I can't control YOUR feelings. Dammit I didn't even want to leave! I did but in the end I really wanted to stay! I-”

“Then why did you?!”

…

“Lance it...there are a lot of reasons and I can't say them. OK? I wanted to find out about what I was. And I didn't belong in the team. I needed...time. I...I don't even know anymore.”

Stitch by stitch I tear apart.

If brokenness is a form of art,

I must be a poster child prodigy.

The last sentence seemed to float in the air, as both stayed silent, while Keith looked at the ground and Lance looked at Keith. They...they were both messes. And in a way it was both but neither of their faults.

Lance wanted to say sorry...because he knew how much Keith must be hurting, and to him that was more important than he, himself could ever feel. But he...he couldn't. Lance was so sick of this. Gosh he should've been the one to leave, not Keith. Why did Keith have to? Why did he nearly get himself fucking killed, and didn't let them at least see him until two months after. He didn't even say goodbye.

And Keith...well he didn't know what to think. His head hurt and he was feeling angry. At himself actually. Because he caused this mess, and he couldn't even fix it. He was confused because in a way...he wanted Lance to have run after him. He wanted him to stop him from leaving and he wanted him to try and keep on being against the idea to maybe make Keith stay.maybe...he was the only one who could've...or maybe he couldn't even do that.

“Keith...I...I don't know either...I...I guess I…”

“...”

It felt like Lance was falling apart. Because he didn't understand anything anymore. He couldn't control the situation and he couldn't control what he let out to Keith in those moments and it scared him. Because he was being irrational and stupid and was hurting someone who he deeply cared about. But HE was hurting too. Because he wants to just run into Keith's arms and pretend that everything would be good again but it wasn't.

It wasn't, and it scared them.

Everything felt so much more real, more dangerous, and if Lance would make one wrong move, everything would come crashing down.

Thread by thread I come apart.

If brokenness is a work of art,

Surely this must be my masterpiece.

Keith concentrated on his breathing. In, and out. But to hell if it ever fucking worked. As if. He needed...he needed to just be alone. But he needed someone there. God this was fucked over. And Lance was there and...and furious with him. Rightfully. And Keith was angry as well. Because he wants to scream out that Lance was one of the reasons among many others, that he wanted Lance to feel like a part of the team because he was, but Keith didn't feel like part of the team anyway. Because Lance kept him calm, and helped him. He helped him and Keith didn't know how to deal with it.

Because with Shiro...it was in a way easier. They had known each other longer, but even that felt distant and more hard to deal with...Shiro was acting different. Nothing seemed ‘easy’ anymore.

Maybe it never was.

I'm only honest when it rains.

An open book with a torn out page,

And my ink's run out.

I want to love you but I don't know how.

Keith turned the other way as well, kicking the couch and then trying to walk to Lance. He cared...he wanted to help but he hesitated. He was never good with comforting and then bedroom thing probably a one time thing anyway. Keith didn't want to keep on pushing people away. He wanted to open up and he wanted Lance to open up to him but maybe he would never get there. He didn't even know how to deal with his own emotions. And neither did Lance.

I don't know how,

No I don't know how.

I don't know how.

I want to love you but I don't know how.

Lance turned around, and mumbled sorry, not out of disrespect, but because he knew if he talked any louder he would break down again.

“Lance, I wanted...to...I just…” "I know"

Lance hesitated, before walking towards Keith, hoping he would at least hug...something…but he had said a lot of bullshit...Lance had been an ass, so it was unlikely. Keith turned away and held back his own tears. He couldn't deal with this right now. He was feeling overwhelmed.

And then Lance left. And god did he want to turn back himself, but he knew that it wouldn't work. He had Keith back...but he didn't know how they could fix this. With everything going on, maybe fixing them was impossible. At least to them it seemed that way.

And they didn't know how to deal with anything anymore. Maybe Keith could never be close to someone. Because he couldn't let them see who he was. He couldn't open up.

And neither could Lance

I want to love you...

-Ana

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