publica: (Default)
( RES ) PUBLICA. ([personal profile] publica) wrote2016-11-29 04:44 pm
Entry tags:

— OPEN


pick a muse — 1
leave a prompt/starter — 2
texts, ships, smut, &c — 3

power_ful: (sideways (pb))

accidental hookup text! for Mon-El! for great awkward!

[personal profile] power_ful 2016-11-29 04:09 pm (UTC)(link)
Hey, babe. I could use a little sugar tonight. You free?
partiers: (007)

[personal profile] partiers 2016-11-29 05:39 pm (UTC)(link)
i can make myself be free

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kochany: (Default)

[personal profile] kochany 2016-11-29 05:33 pm (UTC)(link)
"There are two basic motivating forces: fear and love."

omnicides: (055)

[personal profile] omnicides 2016-11-29 06:49 pm (UTC)(link)
[ they should talk. charlie had said as much in the class room earlier and matteusz agreed, but now that they're home, miss quill off somewhere else with her gun and the ability to fire it, charlie doesn't know what to say or where to start. he feels — he feels hurt, but at least the walls are no longer closing in around him. he's no longer trapped, but his chest still feels too tight, like there is a band around it that squeezes and squeezes, making it difficult to take a deep breath.

they should talk. so charlie opens his mouth and says the first thing that comes to mind, which is ]
Matteusz — [ and he doesn't know how to continue. he knows that he is showing far more weakness and emotion than befitting a prince, but this is not rhodia and he is not prince here, at least not if his friends are to be believed. he is too princely for them still, and too stupid, not knowing how things work on this planet.

that hurts, too, but not as much as knowing that matteusz is afraid of him. ]

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advena: all icons © brilliance. dnt. (spg103_0667)

ugly laughs to infinity

[personal profile] advena 2016-12-01 08:23 pm (UTC)(link)
[ the first time kara lets him take her out for drinks — or, rather, the second time, because the first time had simply given her the giggles and a strong need for a nap. the second time, she'd kissed him, laughing and red-faced, with her hair coming out of her braided crown. it had been fun; the music had been loud; mon-el's hands had been insistent but polite, remembering her requests for public decency and politeness even if she hadn't.

tonight, though, kara finds herself on the angry side of less-than-sober. two drinks in, her face is flushed, attention focused on the way that mon-el leans over, flashes a smile at the waitress, casually touches her back. it twists her gut in a way she doesn't quite understand.

her grip is tight on his shirt, tugging hard enough to yank him off the barstool, dragging him through the bar. mon-el's flailing arms leave a trail of broken glasses on the ground, though for once, kara doesn't stop to pick it up. she doesn't stop until they're outside, in the darkest part of the alley outside, where she can push him against the wall and slam her hands against it, trapping him between. ]


No. [ it comes out rough, raspy; kara's eyes narrow as she glares at him, chest rising and falling with each bitter breath. ] Absolutely not.
partiers: (013)

high-pitched noises!!!

[personal profile] partiers 2016-12-01 08:36 pm (UTC)(link)
[ mon-el knows he's flirting, but it's what comes naturally to him and it doesn't mean anything. it's a harmless bit of fun, like joking with a friend or slinging an arm around winn's shoulders, and he wouldn't actually go further with anyone looking to take him up on the offer while he's with kara because, well, kara. she's beautiful and strong and carries the weight of the world on her shoulders, and she expects so much from him that it seems like too much sometimes, but he wants to be better. he wants to be good for her, the kind of man she deserves instead of the kind of man that he is.

anyway, the flirting is fun and unthinking and mon-el hardly even realises that he's doing it, and then suddenly he's being walked out of the bar forcibly by a kara who looks angry, face flushed and her eyes narrowed. it's — it's a really good look on her, is what it is.

mon-el tips his head back against the wall. he's trapped, and she's angry. he probably shouldn't be feeling quite as breathless or lightheaded as he is, but here they are. ]


No, what? [ he forces his voice into a light tone that doesn't betray just how turned on he is all of the sudden. but whoa. ]

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warriorborn: (005)

i'm too impatient

[personal profile] warriorborn 2016-12-14 07:16 pm (UTC)(link)
1 & 2 & 3
khreia: (☾ THINK)

idk idk idk

[personal profile] khreia 2016-12-14 07:24 pm (UTC)(link)
[ there are moments when elena still cannot believe that this is real, that she has a pack now, that she has a partner, someone who does not ask her to kill in exchange for affection but who offers it freely and gladly, who wants to share it as much as she does. there are moments when she's convinced that this must all be some dream and she'll wake up back at the orphanage, too late for breakfast and forced to go without, to the sneers of the guards, to being ignored unless commanded to kill.

benedict doesn't like it when she doubts that this is real, that she can deserve this, she knows, and so she tries not to let it show when she's dumbstruck and doubtful again. somehow, he always knows. somehow, he always knows just how to snap her out of it, too — like now, with a firm hand on the back of her neck, pushing her head down, his body pressed against her back, covering all of her until she's surrounded by him.

how can she doubt that this is real when he's right there? and so elena arches her back, pressing herself against him with a wordless noise that's acquiescence and gratefulness both at once. ]

YELLS ABOUT THIS SOME MORE

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high-pitched noises!!!

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warriorborn: (014)

idek what i'm doing here, man

[personal profile] warriorborn 2016-12-15 09:48 pm (UTC)(link)
[Benedict's cousin Gwen is only a few years younger than him, which means that they were often thrown together as children — or rather, Gwen would insist on playing with him, despite what her mother might say about it — and so he's always viewed her as something closer to a sister than a cousin. It means he's had to suffer through quite a few incredibly boring shopping trips when he otherwise might have managed to escape them, but considering that Gwen has never treated him any differently for being what he is, he's always considered it a small price to pay for her loyalty and love.

It has also prepared him for this moment, although he never thought it would.]


Just try it on. [He pushes the dress back into Elena's arms, giving her his best charm smile, the one where his eyebrows peak together and he tilts his head a little to appear even more endearing.] I'd like you to come with me, and you can't wear...that [ — he gestures to the loose trousers and sleeveless top combination that she seems to favor — ] To one of my aunt's holiday parties.
khreia: (☾ LOYAL)

gloriousness

[personal profile] khreia 2016-12-17 10:03 am (UTC)(link)
[ elena has never been to a ball, or to any kind of societal event — at least not in any function that resembles "invited guest" instead of "unwelcome assassin ruining the event entirely". as an unwelcome assassin, it had hardly mattered what she wore so long as she could move easily and freely in it. loose trousers are easy, sleeveless tops are, too, and wearing only black is even easier. elena has never had cause to care about her clothing, and the orphanage had never given her much choice about what to wear. she may have rebelled in the most important way when she'd run, but elena has continued wearing the same things she's worn all her life, or replacing them by similar things to wear.

this dress is colourful, and it looks tight, and she's not sure she wants to wear it. but she does want to go to the event with benedict, mostly because he wants to go and wants her to go, but also because she's curious. he speaks warmly of his family, when he speaks of them. ]


All right. [ the store has changing rooms, but elena has not spotted them, and so she moves to pull her top over her head right where they are standing. ]

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mistmaw: (— 004)

[personal profile] mistmaw 2016-12-19 08:56 pm (UTC)(link)
[ gwen started it. of course she did — benedict is far too sweet and too reserved to ever suggest such a thing, and so it had been gwen who suggested that they should practice kissing, so that when the time comes that they will want to impress someone, they're able to. benedict is two years older than her and already handsome and she thinks practising with him will prepare her for any man she'll have to take as her husband one day. she only hopes that any future husband of hers would be as circumspect as she is and ensure that he is already well-skilled before they meet. and besides, benedict won't ever approach any woman on his own, too deep run the internalized prejudices against the warriorborn. gwen already understands that at fourteen, and she still understands it now, a year later.

so she started it, and neither one of them have stopped it since: they've practiced kissing in between practicing martial arts, benedict teaching gwen how to throw someone, how to use someone else's speed and weight and momentum against them, how to block a punch and how to punch someone without breaking her thumb or wrist or anything else, how to fire a weapon, how to defend herself and how to attack. they've kissed, and they've touched each other above their clothing, just to see what it feels like, so i'll know what i enjoy and what i don't, benny.

she hasn't told him how much of an effect it has on her when she can feel him harden against her, but he's warriorborn. probably he can smell her arousal when she can only feel it, wet and sticky between her legs. she's touched herself, pebbling her nipples and rubbing a finger between her legs, and she's thought of benedict while doing it instead of any future husband she might (will) have.

they're good at kissing each other, these days. they're very good at it, but instead of deciding that the time for practice is over, gwen has come to realise that there are more important things she needs to learn. more than that, she's come to realise that she wants to learn them with benedict and not anyone else. it's fortunate, then, that he's returned home from the temple, that he's decided that becoming a monk is not for him after all, though he believes in the way. she's missed him terribly.

so tonight, when they're hidden away in one of her rooms to practice — she'd asked for a fighting practice, but after he'd pinned her to the mat for the third time she'd leaned up, straining her neck, and kissed him — when they're both a little out of breath already and she can tell by the way he holds his hips away from hers that he's not unaffected, gwen gathers her courage. ]


I want you to sleep with me.
warriorborn: (013)

[personal profile] warriorborn 2016-12-19 09:17 pm (UTC)(link)
[Benedict is two years older than his cousin, but if asked, absolutely anyone in House Lancaster would immediately label Gwen as the leader of their little two-person gang. She's always been the one coming up with harebrained schemes that get them into trouble, she's always been the one to talk them out of said trouble, and she's always been the one who decided what was going to happen and then bullied the world around her into seeing that it does.

Benedict has always been happy to follow along in her wake, soothing bruised egos and doling out thanks and apologies as warranted, supporting her as best he can.

When she first suggested it, kissing seemed logical. He already has a handicap, being warriorborn, and many proper high society ladies would balk at the idea of kissing him period, let alone kissing him when he didn't know what he was doing. And Gwen was going to have to marry more or less for the good of the House, which meant that she wouldn't get much chance to practice before she was betrothed to someone. Doing it together just made sense.

He hadn't expected to like it as much as he did. He certainly hadn't expected to feel his body stirring one day after they'd been kissing for almost half an hour, his blood slowly pooling in his groin and making his cock plump up. He'd been mortified at first, nearly ran away from her in his shame, but she'd assured him she didn't mind, she wasn't offended, he hadn't done anything wrong. She hadn't pushed, for which he was grateful, and after a few minutes things quieted down, but now more often than not, all it takes is a few minutes of lazy kissing for his trousers to start to feel tight. (The fact that they don't need to practice any longer is something that goes unsaid between them; they obviously both know what they're doing now, but as long as neither of them acknowledge it, they don't have to stop.)

Joining the Temple of the Way had been a hopeful effort on his part to break this thing between them. He knows it's wrong, knows that they shouldn't do these things, feel these things for each other, but he can't help it. He had thought that removing himself from her orbit would make it easier, but the opposite had proven to be true.

He'd been miserable without her.

Now, with her slender body pinned beneath his on the thick practice mats in the training rooms, he can't imagine why he ever thought leaving was a good idea. Her mouth is sweet, like she's been sucking on candy, and her hands are sure and steady as they grip his shoulders, her body yielding so nicely beneath him that of course his cock stiffens eagerly in his loose trousers. He's about to open his mouth to apologize when she pulls back to look him in the eye, her words rendering him speechless.

He gapes at her in silence for a moment, and then:]
What?

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warriorborn: (012)

so this happened

[personal profile] warriorborn 2016-12-28 06:36 pm (UTC)(link)
[When Addison came to him and said that he needed Benedict to do another mission for him, Benedict didn't think twice about saying yes. He has always gladly served the Spirearch, and been proud to do so, and he's known the man long enough to know that there is virtually nothing Addison could ask of him that he would refuse to do.

When Addison came to him and said that he needed Benedict to pretend to have a wife for said mission, Benedict balked a little.

Nobody knows — that is, nobody who isn't warriorborn knows; Esterbrook has figured it out, much to Benedict's eternal mortification — that he and his firecracker of a cousin are more than simply good friends, and the thought of having to pretend to be married to someone else makes his hackles stand up. He doesn't want to hold hands with another young lady, he doesn't want to have to kiss her, he doesn't want to sleep beside her at night. He only wants Gwen. He's only ever wanted Gwen, and just the thought of participating in this charade makes him feel already like he's betraying her, somehow.

He reluctance must have shown on his face, for Addison gave him a very sympathetic look and apologized. Benedict had been about to ask what for, when Addison continued and told him that the only female trainee he felt was suitable for the position of Benedict's pretend wife was, indeed, his cousin.

It had taken real effort to keep the naked relief he felt from shining through his expression.

The little house they'd been given to set up shop in is remarkably similar to Benedict's up in Habble Morning, and he instantly felt comfortable there when he let himself through the doors. It's very close to the vattery they have procured employment in, and close also to the tavern they're going to need to make themselves known in, and if he wasn't acutely aware of his duty to the Spirearch, Benedict might even be able to fool himself into thinking that this is his real life, that his little fantasy about running away with Gwen has come to fruition.]
mistmaw: (— 010)

[personal profile] mistmaw 2016-12-29 02:57 pm (UTC)(link)
[ gwen hasn't been in the guard nearly as long as benedict, but what little experience she has has been intense and feels longer because of that. she's developed bonds with the others and she's had parts of her world view challenged and others confirmed. her bond with benedict has strengthened, too, she thinks. it's why she's pleased when benedict comes to her and tells her that they have a mission even before she knows what it is.

she laughs when he tells her.

they're given a little house in habble morning and gwen sees the relief and sense of contentment that benedict feels when they open the door and step into the house that is going to be theirs for the duration of this mission. it feels like a fantasy, though it has always been benedict's more than hers. gwen doesn't dream of sharing a small house with benedict; she dreams of changing the world so that no one would think it strange that the sole heir of one of the most influential houses of spire albion would marry a warriorborn man, would marry her cousin. ]


It's nice. [ she finally proclaims after a quick look around. ]

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mund: (3)

[personal profile] mund 2017-02-01 03:32 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Graves has terrible nights, sometimes -- often -- the things that he keeps carefully compartmentalized and shut out, buried by the rigors of the day, the incredible demands of his position in MACUSA. The monsters in the crevices of memory, the ones wrought by the violence of war and blood that flowed like water, accompanied by the screams and groans of the dying. Magic can only do so much, and even the most powerful of them cannot stay death's hand, cannot erase the horror and brutality of a battlefield.

He does his best with them, but the second onslaught of Grindelwald's torture, the captivity and the near-constant taunting -- what does not bend, breaks, and Graves had surely, in the months of madness and overwhelming agony, held on for as long as he could. He's one of the strongest wizards this side of the Atlantic but Grindelwald was stronger, and the things he could do, the creativity of torture visited upon him -- imposed and ground into his psyche. Graves is a man built to withstand the harshest of punishments, but even one like him has a breaking point.

He dreams of that tonight, that the safety of this apartment is an illusion, the lover in his arms, asleep and pale, near-luminous in the light of the full moon through the window could slip through his fingers like silver smoke. His mind is still caught in those moments when he jerks awake, too far gone to compose himself the way he usually could, before Newt can wake and catch a glimpse of the damage he keeps concealed from everyone else. The monsters refuse to be banished, now, rearing in his mind's eye, another reminder of his helplessness, the terror of being at another's mercy.

He jerks awake violently, a scream lodged in his throat; rage and anger and powerlessness, that it was all his own fault. He's breathing hard, burying his face in his hands. He's fraying at the ends, his mind racing, replaying the memories, over and over as if exacting some sort of vengeance on Grindelwald's behalf, and he swears he can taste copper and bile in his mouth all over again.

Shit. He has to get it together. ]
manuscriptum: (— 021)

[personal profile] manuscriptum 2017-02-02 06:11 pm (UTC)(link)
[ newt is not a light sleeper, but he has learned to be aware of changes in his environment even while asleep, to subconsciously classify them as safe or not so. it's come in handy once or twice during his travels, both with regard to wild beasts and to traders or poachers. sleeping next to graves is never a threat despite the fact that the man wears the face of someone who had, for all intents and purposes, tortured newt by means of magic, however briefly. he hasn't forgotten the pain of it, but he knows viscerally that it hadn't been the man he now sleeps next to.

and yet, something wakes him tonight. perhaps it's the violence with which graves jerks away or the harshness of his breathing, loud in the still of the night. one way or another, newt wakes, with a start that drags him most of the way to wakefulness and then more slowly when no threat immediately materialises. his eyes open a long moment later, blinking in the darkness. ]


Mh? [ is his very articulate first reaction, before the obvious signs of distress from his bed partner begin to sink in. ] Percival?

[ he reaches out in the darkness, fingertips barely brushing against graves' arm, the hint of a touch and the offer of it more than a real touch. it doesn't do, does it, to startle a wounded beast. ]

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mund: DO NOT TAKE. (Default)

[personal profile] mund 2017-02-01 04:24 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Nearly four months into whatever this is, Graves is already intimately aware of Newt's daily patterns. It's seven in the morning, and a rare day where Graves is not needed at the office, nor can he find any reason to park himself there. It's been a slow week, as if the stars have aligned somehow and allowed MACUSA some reprieve; there has been no major incidents reported, and the Threat Level Measurer has stayed steadily on green.

A welcome change, for once, and Graves finds himself in need of unwinding. He finishes up the reports and proposals he had been sent at the crack of dawn this morning -- a longtime habit to keep himself apprised of everything that goes on in his absence -- and it's obvious that Newt has gone into the case to tend to his animals. It's a regular schedule, and Newt can be trusted not to deviate from it, not even when they'd spent the majority of the night tangled in each other, warm mouths and warmer hands. They had gone slow last night, tender and exploring, rich with potent desire and need and underscored with an affection that's grown in the weeks they've spent with each other. Graves is still flush with the warmth and sweetness of their time together, the memory of their hands threaded together as Graves moved inside of him a sensuously intimate one that still makes his breath catch, just a little.

This morning is one for sweetly mundane tasks. Graves made tea the way Newt likes it, and he finds his way into the suitcase (without spilling a drop of tea); the morning is progressing, and he's very sure that Newt's forgotten all about breakfast again, and he comes in with a mind to urge him upstairs before all that he plans to say slips rapidly away. Newt might not be working facing him, but even from his vantage form, he recognizes the long-sleeved shirt that's just a little too large for him in the shoulders, and the leather boots that Graves had purchased for him a week or so back. Now, this would be fine if Newt has opted to wear something more; perhaps a pair of pants, but it seems like he's eschewed that option and went straight to being the star at the forefront of Graves' filthiest dreams and fantasies.

Newt Scamander in his boyfriend's shirt, wearing nothing else but boots, hard at work on something or other -- it's hard for Graves to figure out what Newt is doing, especially when he's just confirmed for himself that the man is definitely not wearing underwear.

He comes up behind him then, quietly fond and more than a little turned on (don't ask, it really is a thing). Setting the mug of tea beside what Newt is doing, he steps close, close, lips brushing against his ear in greeting. He's even more captivating up close, and Newt still smells deliciously like sex, it's a wonder he doesn't trigger off mating season in his creatures just from his scent alone. ]


There's a whole world up there as well, in case you've forgotten. [ He kisses his earlobe briefly, a gentle overture. Newt cares so tirelessly for his animals, but who cares for him in turn? ] A world where breakfast exists.
manuscriptum: (— 076)

[personal profile] manuscriptum 2017-02-02 06:20 pm (UTC)(link)
[ newt has never been particularly concerned with his attire, choosing functionality over style, though he has invested in a lovely coat in a colour that he's quite taken with, an indulgence of sorts that is easily justified by the fact that the coat has plenty of functionality to offer, certainly after newt has charmed some of its pockets to suit his needs. he generally favours clothing that is suited for his tasks over clothing as society prescribes it or as is fashionable. today, admittedly, he's made some allowances also with regard to functionality: he is wearing the boots that graves has presented him with, soft yet sturdy leather with enchantments that make them resistant to all sorts of things that his feet might encounter within and outside of his suitcase, and he is wearing a shirt, but not much else. he's only gone into the case to jot down an idea he's had, and now that he's done that, he'll feed some of the animals, and they won't mind what he looks like. it'l be a quick thing, just a short round of it, and his pants have landed elsewhere last night. he hadn't been inclined to search for them.

so here he is in nothing but boots and a shirt that he probably should have realised is not his own. he'd just grabbed the closest piece of clothing when the idea had hit him, a particular phrasing that will surely convince his fellow wizards of the foolishness of continuing to fear these beasts when it is so much better to understand them, to love them.

but it seems that perhaps he has forgotten the time. there's a cup of tea by his side suddenly and the warm weight of percival graves at his back, lips against his ear and the promise of breakfast. ]


Oh. Is it late already? [ newt finishes what he'd been doing, throwing the last of the pallets he'd been distributing, and then turns his head to smile a little lopsidedly at graves. ] I've not forgotten. I've just been. I suppose I've gotten a little distracted?

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manuscriptum: (— 025)

[personal profile] manuscriptum 2017-02-02 06:45 pm (UTC)(link)
[ newt pulls the suitcase closed behind him and walks down the stairs and into the first of the habitats he's created for his beasts through countless spells. it's a path he's walked so often that he knows it by heart now, that he could walk it blind. that's a good thing, likely, because newt is not particularly observant right now, more caught up in his mind and replaying the events he'd observed at macusa while there to consult on a case. he'd brought lunch from jacob's bakery for both himself and graves', too, but had left graves' part of it on his desk for lack of finding the man in his office. he'd found him in the end, after he'd said all that needed to be said on the matter of the rampant pixies on the outskirts of new york. they'd refused to let him join the party, but macusa has been quite good about listening to him in these matters as of late, so newt hadn't been too worried about the pixies, so he hasn't insisted. instead, he'd wandered through the building, taking a meandering path back to the exit in the hopes of finding graves after all.

and he had, but graves hadn't been alone and newt hadn't wanted to disturb, but he hadn't been able to keep from overhearing some of the compliments paid, from seeing how graves had looked at the woman he'd been speaking to, how his hand had landed on her upper arm and stayed there.

newt is not a jealous man; it isn't anger that's driven him into the suitcase, but the bitter thought that he'd known this day would come. the woman had been beautiful and even more beautifully dressed, her accent and clothing and jewellery had all spoken of wealth and class to rival graves' own. the kind of person graves should be with, really, instead of a magizoologist more content with the company of beasts than the company of people.

he tells himself that it's quite all right, that he's content with his beasts after all, that alone does not mean lonely at all. newt knows how to be without other humans around him; he's done it before and enjoyed it. he tells himself all this, yet it doesn't ring as true as it used to. ]
mund: (13)

[personal profile] mund 2017-02-03 06:11 am (UTC)(link)
[ In the course of their time together, Graves has come to be accustomed to Newt’s usual greetings -- most of said greetings don’t actually happen until hours after he’s home, when the man comes back out of his suitcase, or when it pops open and a hand gestures him in. Distracted ‘hellos’, or bright, curious green eyes peering up at him from behind one of his books are a few of the things Graves has come to expect; but not quite like this.

It's not like they have the most normal of relationships, but Newt doesn't usually look this down, or is this quiet when Graves comes around into the suitcase, bringing dinner. He had finished up the lunch Newt had left for him, warmed by the gesture. This evening, of course, it's his turn to return the favor.

The suitcase has been apparated back to his apartment, with Graves done for the day. Setting down the plate of roast and potatoes on the nearest workbench, he goes to look for him. Today had been a productive day, his counterpart from the ICW had been willing to pull some strings for a few policies and agendas, and Graves has never been more pleased with the outcome.

He sheds his coat and removes his tie and vest, folding up his sleeves to prepare to help him, reaching for the nearby bucket of chopped meat. ]


You missed dinner, I brought you some.

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fujita: (— 005)

[personal profile] fujita 2017-02-03 08:22 pm (UTC)(link)
[ sylvie is taken by the wizardguard. they don't know why, but they do know where they've taken her. lucas says they'll probably move her again in the morning and that's the best opportunity they'll have to get her back, that they need to be strategic about this and rest or they'll be of no use to sylvie. dorothy understands that, she even knows he's right, but the urge to do something, to save sylvie right now still burns hotly under her skin. ]

Fine. [ she finally says, more harshly than she means to. lucas is only looking at her steadily, quietly, the way he gets sometimes. it makes dorothy uncomfortable, how she's all he really knows, or it should make her uncomfortable. instead, it steadies something inside her. in this world, he's the only one she really knows, too, isn't he? and there's some magnetic pull to him.

she rescued him. she named him. there's responsibility in that, but it doesn't feel like a burden. after a moment, jaw still clenched and shoulders still tense, dorothty unclenches her fists and rubs a hand over her face. ]
Sorry. I know you're right. We can rest here, right?
wizardguard: (Default)

[personal profile] wizardguard 2017-02-03 10:14 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Dorothy doesn't know why Sylvie has been taken but Lucas does - she's being used as a bait. The guards saw the girl with them last time they encountered each other, they saw she mattered to them. It's a clever move to take her and they'll expect Lucas and Dorothy to try and be noble and get her back as quickly as possible. They need to bide their time and not fall into a trap, or at least not fall into it stupidly. They'll probably be walking into a trap either way but Lucas can't let Dorothy follow her impulses right now. He knows she means well but her complete lack of self-preservation sometimes will get her killed, and she can't save Sylvie as a corpse.

He doesn't take offense to the harshness of her tone, he knows she's just angry at what's happened, not at him. He watches her until she calms down, letting out a weary breath before stepping closer to her. For someone who wanted to abandon the girl in the beginning, he feels a tremendous sense of guilt for letting his guard down enough for Sylvie to be taken, which only worsens when he sees how upset Dorothy is. He's upset too, but he hides it better. ]


We should before we make our next move.

[ He starts with his hands on her shoulders, trying to squeeze the tension out of them before they move up her neck and settle on her cheeks. With her face cupped in his hands, he tilts her head up to look at him, because for some reason she can't quite meet his stare right now. ]

We'll bring her back, Dorothy. I promise you. [ There's undying loyalty in his voice - I would do anything for you - but not just that, he knows it's the right thing to do. He wants to be the type of man who saves an innocent girl because she doesn't deserve to be locked up, even if she's dangerous. She's a child and she's scared - she deserves nothing but love. ] Her magic will protect her.

[ He can only hope she's suppressing her magical urges and pretending to be normal until Dorothy and Lucas come to her rescue because any sign of magic in her, she could be killed on sight. ]

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fujita: (— 051)

[personal profile] fujita 2017-03-02 09:36 am (UTC)(link)
[ dorothy runs from glinda's fortress, leaving lucas and sylvie behind. they're not lucas and sylvie anymore, though, are they? they've both chosen glinda over her, and so dorothy runs. she's done with oz, done with all this — but she still doesn't have a way home unless she helps the wizard, and he isn't a good man, he doesn't deserve her help, either.

she returns to the farmhouse where things had been simpler, better. happier, with lucas' arms around her, and as she stays there, thinking about her next steps, one thing becomes abundantly clear to dorothy: their night here wasn't without consequence. it's something she's suspected, something she'd wished for in the moment that they'd delivered the baby, it's something she really should have thought about because now it feels like damnation. and yet, dorothy already knows that she'll never give up this baby the way her mother had given up her. she won't do that to a child.

lucas comes after her in the end, not because he's chosen her over glinda after all, not because he's come to understand that war with the wizard is going to hurt children, but to kill her. and maybe without the life growing inside her, dorothy would have let him. maybe she would have egged him on, looked him in the eyes and told him to do it.

now, she doesn't. ]
You can't, [ she sobs, and ] Lucas, stop. [ and when she can barely breathe anymore, his hands around her neck, she forces out the words: ]

I'm pregnant.
wizardguard: (pic#11037403)

[personal profile] wizardguard 2017-03-02 10:38 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Life was so much simpler back when Lucas had no memory. Now everything is too complicated for words, Dorothy making him question everything he stood for and believed in before the woman from Kansas came along. Had it ever really been his and Glinda's mission? Or had it always been hers and he'd simply got caught up in it? Had Glinda been manipulating him all this time or was Dorothy the one not to be trusted? Lucas doesn't know anymore.

What he wants? Is for everything to stop. He's convinced himself Dorothy has put a spell on him because he can't stop thinking about her, caring for her, wanting to protect her - even knowing now he has a wife. He has a wife he should be loyal to, not Dorothy. He's begged Glinda to make him forget her but she offers an alternative solution. At first he thought she meant take his own life, but it's much worse...

He's not Lucas anymore, he can't be, not when he kills Dorothy. He's Roan. He was never Lucas. It has to be done - Glinda said so. Glinda knew best. She'd always said as long as he was faithful to her, she would protect him. It's not the first time he's killed for her, but it's different this time. He's never killed someone he's loved before.

He's practically in tears when his hands are around her neck, wishing she'd use the gauntlets to stop him - more than stop him, kill him so he doesn't have to live with the memory of this, having to look her in the eyes while he watches the life fade from them...

And then she delivers a blow in three syllables so powerful you'd think she used magic on him by watching him stumble back with such force, releasing her neck so she can breathe and watching her cough for air, looking like her words were the last he'd ever expected her to say. ]


You can't - [ He believes her, he knows it isn't a trick to keep herself alive, the pain is too evident in her face, and not just from his hands on her throat. But maybe if he says the words aloud, they'll come to be. ] You can't be. [ He knows it's possible after they're night together - probable in fact without protection - but this can't be happening on top of everything else.

He really is crying now - because after marrying Glinda, he wanted a child, only to find out she couldn't bear any. So although he protected the young witches living in her castle, he made sure never to get close to them, like he did with Sylvie. They would never be his children. That's why he instinctively wanted to abandon Sylvie in the woods - because he couldn't allow himself to get close to a child when it would only make him want his own, which he couldn't have with Glinda. It was better to distance himself and not get attached...

And now Dorothy is pregnant and it should be a happy moment, except for the fact that he almost killed the mother of his child five seconds ago and he wants to be sick. In fact, despite barely eating anything the past few days, he manages to throw up whatever's in his stomach - mostly bile - at the thought of almost killing Dorothy and their child inside her, clutching at the sides of the sink in the room. ]

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modcloth: (15)

the american B(

[personal profile] modcloth 2017-03-07 08:16 pm (UTC)(link)
[ The mission had gone — badly? Poorly, maybe, but not a total disaster. They had salvaged it, to the satisfaction of all their handlers but most importantly Waverly's. This team exists because of him and his faith in them and for all that their methods veer on the edge of unconventional, there's no denying they get results. The trick comes in making sure those results outweigh the headache that follows in cleaning them up (only fifty percent of the time, maybe less, they might argue).

But this one could have gone better. Gaby's cover had been blown by no mistake on her part, she'd been kidnapped — and not intentionally this time! — and the shit, as they say, had hit the fan. They'd escaped with the information they'd been seeking but the mission slightly compromised so Illya had remained behind to wipe all traces of their presence in the city (and possibly to let his temper simmer to a low heat; best to take it out on the men responsible and be productive about it). Solo and Gaby had escaped to the rendezvous point on the outskirts to await him and, later, extraction.

She could be upset, even embarrassed, by the turn of events. But instead, she's furious. ]


I didn't need to be rescued, [ she snaps as soon as they're in the safe house, door slamming behind them and curtains drawn shut. Both of them are rumpled, dirty, mussed. Her wrists bear angry red welts from the rope used to bind them and she rubs at them with irritation, whirling away from Solo and towards the ancient, overstuffed sofa. When she throws herself onto it, it erupts in a cloud of dust and it tickles her nose. She scowls to stave off the sneeze. ] I had it under control until you two came barging in like you always do.

[ A beat to let that land. Then: an abrupt, delayed, sneeze. ]
hedone: (037)

[personal profile] hedone 2017-03-14 08:03 pm (UTC)(link)
[ it's a curious thing, working in a team. solo would still argue that he prefers to work alone if asked, but no one has asked him and while that is a bit of a recurring theme in his life as of late, he doesn't mind it terribly this time. they're effective, and solo enjoys getting results. he likes gaby's spirit, too, and illya's temperament. they're interesting people, the both of them.

solo just isn't sure that he trusts them very much yet. correction: he trusts illya to be himself, without question, and he trusts gaby to do what the mission requires, but he isn't quite able to predict all of illya's reactions yet and he doesn't trust that gaby's mission is always the same as his own, not after the entire vinciguerra affair. so it's a precarious balance, and he's sure they have their own misgivings about working with him, too.

they still get results. ]


No, of course not. [ he says, without a trace of sarcasm in his voice. he's not entirely sure that he actually agrees, but he has no interest in poking an angry bear with a stick, which is just what she is at times.

and yet— ]
But have you considered that Peril and I were doing our jobs?

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modcloth: (14)

forgive my rust

[personal profile] modcloth 2017-03-24 06:49 pm (UTC)(link)
[ They're in Santorini — a little pitstop on the way back to London after a mission completed. Waverly would sigh, roll his eyes, consider this taking the scenic route to headquarters or, even worse, a premature holiday. But they are a team that likes their own ideas just as much if not more than their handlers' and who are they to pass up a Grecian summer? Just for an extra few days. For her part, Gaby considers this an exercise in getting to know her team better. It's curious that she can read their stoic Russian friend like an open book but perhaps it's because he's written in a language meant for her. But Solo — he's the mystery, all easy smiles and shuttered eyes. More than that: she doesn't know where they stand. Not after Rome, not after Turkey. Not even the mission after that or the one after that. It's been a few months.

So... Santorini.

Their villa overlooks the water, now a deep midnight blue shot through with the last rays of the blazing sunset. Gaby had spent the oppressively hot afternoon stretched out by the pool and she's only just now coming back in — bold yellow bikini, overlarge sunglasses on top of her forehead, and complexion a glowing bronze with sunburned cheeks. She's smiling as she passes the radio to turn up the volume on the song, feeling almost drunk on sun and the cool cocktails she'd been nursing at the poolside. She skips over to Solo on bare feet and slides her arms down his shoulders from behind, leaning in to whisper, ]


Dance with me.

[ Because she may not know where they stand, but now's a good time to try and figure it out. ]
hedone: (048)

what rust

[personal profile] hedone 2017-03-26 07:10 pm (UTC)(link)
[ they're in santorini. it's just as lovely as solo knew it would be, all blue skies and bluer sea, gorgeous women and tan men showing off miles and miles of skin, curves and hard planes of muscles, music and drink and a villa all of their own. it's for a few days only, but solo thinks perhaps the break is precisely what they need.

it's been mission after mission and he, at least, was feeling distinctly harrowed. he has been saying so for a while now, but he hadn't actually expected his teammates to take him up on the suggestion to take the scenic route back. illya had grumbled, of course, but gaby can manage him all too well.

she's a firecracker, that one. beautiful and smart, and solo knows by now that she isn't all hardened steel, but he hasn't forgotten what happened in rome, either. she's—something.

right now, she's smiling, all but glowing in the sun, her arms over his shoulders and her mouth near his ear, and solo doesn't need to force a smile when he turns; he's already wearing one. ]
Your request is my command.

the rust of smut to come

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breaks out the oil

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wardrum: (15)

text ][

[personal profile] wardrum 2017-05-25 09:41 am (UTC)(link)
It's been a while.
ettersberg: (ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇɴᴛɪᴄᴇs.)

[personal profile] ettersberg 2017-05-25 09:46 am (UTC)(link)
It has. [ and perhaps with someone less extraordinary, he would be content to leave it at that.

with her, he adds: ]
I read the news about Gotham.

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HAHAHA I WONDERED

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MY BAD

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ALL GOOD all good

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<3

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wardrum: (Default)

this is just for later

[personal profile] wardrum 2017-05-27 12:56 am (UTC)(link)

ettersberg: (ʀᴏɢᴜᴇs.)

[personal profile] ettersberg 2017-05-28 10:51 am (UTC)(link)
[ they do not see each other frequently, but even when they do, this is not a regular or even common occurrence. they are both not looking for it, most of the time, and their friendship is built on mutual respect rather than any physical connection. a late dinner and a drink do not need to lead to more, and nightingale appreciates the lack of expectation from her side, just as he thinks she appreciates the same in him.

some days, however, the shadows of the past are darker and the ghosts of fallen friends (not literal ghosts, fortunately) haunt one or the both of them. those days, it is an easy thing to let his hand linger a little when he hands her a newly-filled glass of whiskey, or for her to catch his gaze, offer and acceptance. they do not need to speak before retiring to her hotel room or his rooms in the folly.

tonight is one such night. they leave the hotel lobby, her hand on his arm in a way that is wholly innocent, thumb exerting a gentle pressure that he can feel through the material of his shirtsleeves and jacket both, and that is anything but innocent: a precursor for what's to come. once the door to her room is closed behind them, he leans in to kiss her and she meets him halfway. it's always like that between them, a give and a take. ]

me either tbh

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we got this

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WHOOPS

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mindtricks: (⚖ B L E E D)

[personal profile] mindtricks 2017-06-27 03:28 pm (UTC)(link)
[ the hut is small -- and it isn't really a hut, is it? when anderson thinks of huts, she thinks of straw and clay or other natural materials, she thinks of history lessons and a time when people did not live in mega-blocks. their place (for lack of a better word) is not constructed from natural materials so much as it is made from the remains of the ship they were in when they crash-landed on this planet. it isn't a mega-block, either: it's only them, at least as far as human beings are concerned.

there's a lot of wildlife surrounding them, though. anderson has never seen as much green before in her whole life; the gardens aboard the ship don't compare.

it could be lonely. it is, sometimes, and anderson feels more adrift than she ever has. how can she make a difference when there's no one to make a difference for? of course, there's the soldier (james, she gets to call him now, or even bucky), but she can't put all that on him.

they survive. they live together and they thrive together, both suited for survival out here. they sleep together, too, and that's still a new development, but it isn't something anderson would ever want to take back or give up. not when his kisses leave her breathless, the weight of his body over hers a comfort instead of a threat, not when she can feel how hard he is, how much he wants her -- both when she wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him closer, their clothing doing little to hide his erection, and because his mind is right there, his pleasure urging her own on. ]
modcloth: (13)

well then

[personal profile] modcloth 2017-08-06 04:21 pm (UTC)(link)
[ It was probably meant to poison them, whatever it was. But just because they're professionals doesn't always mean the people coming after them are of the same caliber — in other words, someone fucked up. Solo and Gaby had come back from a day's shopping trip to a gift basket in their shared suite with an exceptional bottle of Italian red and a note from the concierge: with their compliments. Their mistake, perhaps, was not suspecting it. Drinking it.

It doesn't feel too much like a mistake now.

Gaby had felt it, first. The warm flush to her cheeks, the electricity under her skin, the fluttering of her stomach. Makes sense, she's much smaller than Solo's broad form — one she'd practically climbed onto on the sofa with her dress hiking up her thighs in the process. Or maybe her dress is riding up because Solo's hands are helping it along. Either way, she's got this insatiable burning for him and she's kissing him before she even realises it, fingers threaded in his hair and knees bracketing his hips. ]
hemispheres: <user name=harlem> (i'm a wreck what i love most)

for nightingale (ㆁᴗㆁ)

[personal profile] hemispheres 2017-08-17 09:57 pm (UTC)(link)










ettersberg: (004)

[personal profile] ettersberg 2017-09-10 06:26 pm (UTC)(link)
[ nightingale isn't quite sure what jens maxner is. he isn't a practitioner and he isn't any particular brand of supernatural that nightingale knows or has been able to find information about by consulting any of the libraries in the folly. he isn't an average human being, either. if nightingale were a more inquisitive man, perhaps not knowing would bother him more than it does.

initially, he was quite certain jens was attempting to scam him. he still thinks (knows) that not all of jens' actions are entirely above board and legal. he should ask and pursue, but there are murders committed by magical means that require his attention and he is a department of one. jens' crimes, whatever they may be, will have to wait. and wait they do. nightingale investigates other cases, solving some and not others. jens brings him chinese, sometimes, or they meet in a small gastropub near the folly.

jens is impossibly handsome and nightingale knows that he isn't ugly, but he's grown used to the reflection of an old man, even if the mirror image looking back at him these days looks no older than forty. he still feels at odds with this time, heavy with losses that are a distant ache except when they're not, heavier with the knowledge of the atrocities that have been committed, that he hadn't been able to stop.

kissing jens on the steps of the folly after two pints and a warming curry is foolish, certainly, but it also makes him feel alive in a way he hasn't in a while. in a way he isn't so certain he deserves but wants to grasp and hold on to, regardless. ]

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