#BUT! insufferable lessons when its in the morning first thing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

xatsperesso · 1 year ago

Note

Ahhh I really love your Kalego content!!! Best dad 😍

Are you still open to prompts? Wonder how Dadlego will react when seeing/smelling Iruma’s human blood for the first time

Put yourself first

Kalego was tired.

He was once again roped into sacrificing his weekend for the chairman's whims, and once again Opera teased him in front of the kids like he hasn't spent years trying to build his reputation. Then he goes to teach the school but ever since the secret got out the abnormal class has become insufferable!

They no longer listen to him when he teaches, instead they keep asking Iruma about anything and literally e v e r y t h i n g. From schooling to fashion to why he doesnt have horns, and while some questions are intiguing and worth looking into (Is their food really healthy for humans?) ignoring his lessons for a week to ask iruma all the questions they've been suppressing because they didn't have the courage to ask him beforehand is just unaceptable!

So of course, Kalego thought the best way to punish them for not listening to him would be to double their homework, but that didn't deter them from getting their answers.

So Kalego tripled their homework, and it all snowballed from their to where he is now, correcting 80 assignments per student each day, having regular meetings with Balam (whom he beleives to be his..friend, according to human culture) Opera and sometimes Iruma to figure out what needs to be changed to provide him with the best learning environment they could, and trying to figure out exactly how many people who knows of the brat's nature without tipping them off.

So, of course, Kalego is tired, and while some will blame it on him (He really should stop doubling the kids' homework) he beleives that he deserves to re-

A pencil, long left by a brat who Kalego swears he will find, caused Kalego's leg to slip and him to fall. Now, Kalego could've easily caught himself, but poor, tired Kalego thought that it'd be alright to let himself just fall. There are no kids around, no one to see this embarassing scene of himself.

And it would have been fine, except that he slipped and fell off the third floor

on a very beautiful fence that gaurds Balam's new blue fire flowers, the amaryllis.

said fence happened to have very skillfuly carved spikes.

why is his life like this? Why did he wake up this morning? To be impaled on the fence and be seen by anyone who happens to be in the garden? To be the laughing stock of his colleagues once they find out about this humiliating moment?

Kalego sighed a very tired, sad sigh. He'll get up. He'll heal himself. He'll stop by Beur to make sure that everything in its place, and he'll go to Shichirou's office to see what else needs to be changed and he'll finish grading the 1040 assignments he's got to grade (how do they even finish them all in one day??)

He just, just needs a minute, or five. Just five minutes, and he promises he'll do all of these things. Just a five minutes break.

Kalego closes his eyes, and takes as deep of a breath as the pole allows him to, and just-

"S-Sensei!" Opens his eyes again because the universe refuses to give him a break

"Sensei y-you're hurt!"

"Yeah, no shit" he says, and immediately regrets once he saw the very teary eyes that looks just a second away from full on bawling.

"Iruma, I'm fine" he tries to reassure the kid who started shaking all over. Shit, would it be better to put his hand on the kids shoulder? No, no, his hand is covered in blood.

"Bu, but you, you" and the tears are falling. Fuck, Opera will hang him for traumatising his kid, but why is he so shaken up? Is this his first time seeing anyone hurt? Oh shit he's a human what if it is the first time-

Iruma starts to very shakily recite a spell under his breath, and kalego thinks he knows which spell he's using-

"Sonuvabitch!" Kalego winced as he tried to muffle the curse. The brat used the damn floating spell to get him off the spikes, and Kalego was so not ready for this. He was not ready for pain that is resembled being used as cerberus's chewing toy.

"I'm sorry, you're ok, you're going to be fine, everything is going to be fine" is Iruma trying to assure Kalego or himself? Kalego has no idea, but he kept repeating those words like a mantra as he lowered him down to the ground.

"I am fi-" a metallic smell, so strong it felt nauseating hit Kalego so hard, and something was dripping on his wound. Kalego opened his eyes to look at the wound as it fizzled closed before his eyes.

"What the," Kalego didn't know of any potion that healed so quickly. He looked up to see what potion in the name of Delkira could Iruma have-

He saw a knife. He saw crimson liquid that fell from Iruma’s hand, and he saw a shaky smile painted on Iruma’s face.

He's ashamed that it took him a long moment to process what Iruma just did, but by the time it fully clicked, Iruma was already talking out a piece of cloth to wrap around the wound. The wound that he just inflicted on himself, to heal Kalego who was not healing himself because he was lazy.

"Iruma," Kalego watched as Iruma's smile started to dim at his tone and immediately stopped. Wound first, scolding later.

"Give me your hand" he streched his arm, waiting for Iruma to give him his injured arm, and he watched as Iruma relaxed slightly and did as he said.

He unwrapped the cloth, and the metallic smell was so strong he almost choked, but he took a deep breath and casted the spell, making sure that the wound was healed completely, leavinv not a mark or a bruise behind.

"..Does human blood always smell like this?" He asked as he kept poking his hand and seeing if Iruma gives any reaction.

"Demon blood doesn't?" He asked as he tilted his head to the side. So his blood is supposed to smell like that.

"No, it doesn't smell so metallic" he paused for a second, before looking into Iruma’s eyes.

"Why did you hurt yourself?" He asked, and watched as Iruma averted his eyes and started to look guilty and self conscious (Good. This means he knows that this was wrong)

"Well, human blood heals demons, so," he trailed off and started to play with his fingers

"Yes, I saw that" Kalego nodded "but why did you hurt yourself?" Iruma started to fidget in his place, and he looked like he was trying to force the tears down.

"You were hurt, sensei" he finally looked up at Kalego, and his mouth started to quiver

"I, I didn't want to lose you" he averted his gaze immediately after whispering those words, and shit how should Kalego proceed from there?

"...you wouldn't have lost me" he started with reassuring his kid "all of the teachers here know high level healing spells, and we have Beur-sensei on campus for a reason"

"Oh" the tears started falling, but other than that Iruma looked overall calm

"Then, why were you just laying there?" Kalego sighed. He needs to word this correctly so that Iruma wouldn't come out of it with any wormg ideas.

"I," he started, hating the sentence that was forming in his head but knowing that it is the safest one for someone as reckless as Iruma

"I was doing the very stupid act of overworking myself, and when I was on the pole instead of prioritising my health and well-being, I took it as an opportunity to rest. I was going to go to Beur, but then you caught me and didn't listen when I said that I was fine"

And now Iruma is looking embarrassed. Good, because he really should listen to him more.

He started fidgeting again, but this time out of embarrassment "I thought you were lying, or just trying to reassure me"

"Lying," he leaned forward and poked Iruma’s to really drive the point across "is for dumbasses who think everyone around them is too weak to help. And hurting yourself," he picked up the newly healed hand "to help someone should not be your first response. To anything. Period"

"Bu-but what if someone is dying! What if there's no other choice!" And Kalego really, really wants to tell him that there's always another choice. He wants to tell him that he's safe, that he would never be in a situation that he would ever need to use his own blood to save someone's life.

But Iruma has already been in these situations. He’s been in these situations five times, and he's extremely lucky to come out of them alive, let alone uninjured.

"Then you consult an adult, and if there’re no adults you use as a last resort" he really wishes his kid, all the kids could be safe. He wishes he could give Iruma another answer

But the world they live in is an unfair one (maybe it'd be safer to just send him back)

"Yes, sensei" He nods very determinantly, and Kalego, not for the last time, sighs as he knows that Iruma will most likely ignore his words.

He needs to give those kids first aid lessons. They've been through a lot, and judging from recent incidents, they'll be through even more. He's surprised they didn't teach them these lessons yet.

Kalego gets up, totally ignoring his knees that pops louder than those works of fire, and picks up Iruma from the scruff of his uniform, completely taking him by surprise.

"I will be report what just happened to Opera-sen, Opera-san" he said sternly as he started walking towards the chairman's office

"Yes, sensei"

"What were you even doing after school hours?"

"Grandpa (the old ground keeper) asked for help in the garden"

"Ah"

Ifrit was drinking a juice box

Orias was eating a bag of chips

Murmur was roast marshmallows on Ifrit's tail

They were all standing around a big puddle of blood under a very bloodied fence

"Mmm, where do you think that came from?" Orias asked, before stuffing his face with more chips

"I don't know, but what is that smell?" Murmur started assembling s'mores as discretely as he could so Ifrit won't extinguish his fire

"That's the smell of a human blood, probably Iruma’s but the smell is too faint so all of that probably isn't from him" Ifrit noticed the melted s'mores in Murmur's hands, and snatched as he extinguished his tail

"Oh damn, didn't know we were a boarding school. That explains were Iruma came from" Orias ate more chips and watched as Murmur tried and failed to take his s'mores back before Ifrit ate it in one bite

"No, Iruma is Sullivan’s grandson. Legally. Sullivan showed off his adoption papers to me when I tried asking him about the new semester's schedul-Hey! Put me down!"

Murmur started angrily shaking Ifrit in the air "You took my s'mores!"

"*munch munch munch* you guysh shink we should report shis blood to shome one?" Orias tilted hus head to eat the cheeze dust and immediately started choking as some went down the wrong pipe

"Nah, someone will do it eventually-Ow ow ow ow ow too hot too hot too hot-"

"Put. Me. Down"

Orias took one last look at the blood puddle and wiped away the tears that were starting to form

"You guys wanna play some video games?"

"Heck yeah," Murmur let go of Ifrit and totally ignored the thud and the 'oof' that followed "I'm playing as Gyari!"

"Then I'll play as Kuromu, and I'm kicking your ass"

"...you guys don't even know which game I'm talking about"

-------------------------------------------------------

Anyway, kalego keeps doubling and tripling their hw (the bastard) and i just think that he does it without thinking of the fact that he would have to correct it

And what if demon blood doesnt have red blood cells, thus doesn't have haemoglobin, the thing that gives blood it's metallic smell/taste (i think) what if there blood doesn't need it and it can hold oxygen efficiently? Do i know what im talking about? Not really, it's been 2 months I've last read my bio books but anyways im pretty sure(not sure at all) insects dont have red blood cells so ya know biologically it is possible and could be an easy and definitive way to identify humans from demons since there are a lot of diversity in demons.

Also just because there are books on human world (books that balam have memorised) doesn't mean that they cover all the info needed to grow your own info, and seriously, is the food good in the long run?

#Boi how long this was in my asks and i knew what i was going to write but i just couldn't write it #anyways this was fun #thanks anon for the ask!#mairimashita fanfic #mairimashita iruma kun #iruma kun #kalego sensei #orias oswell #murmur tsumuru #ifrit djinn eito #naberius kalego

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uramichislefttiddie · 3 years ago

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Life Lessons With Uramichi Oniisan Angst Hc’s

||Contains: Uramichi Omota, Iketeru Daga, Tobikichi Usahara, Mitsuo Kumatani||

||Warnings: Angst, Mentions of suicidal thoughts, Abuse, Drug Abuse||

Reminder! If your uncomfortable with mentions of suicide, self harm, drug abuse, abuse etc please don’t continue reading on for your own safety/health (: If your struggling with mental health please reach out to someone! I’m always here if anyone needs to just rant to someone, I’m all ears!

THESE ARE NOT CANNON!

Uramichi Omota

He’s had many periods of time in life where he was very close to be doing with life completely, memories re emerging from his childhood, ones like where his father would verbally and physically abuse him for something very minor, especially during practise, Uramichi can still see some scars that’s been left on his body however over the years they have become faint which have slowly helped him. He no longer has contact with his dad however his elderly neighbour he does see as a father figure to him, the one he never had but always dreamt of having, his neighbour knows this too and does his best for Uramichi by being that someome that supports him no matter what even when he does things wrong, the one who teachers him simple things but them simple things are what truly means a lot of Uramichi. The first time his neighbour saw him was when he was coming back home from work, eyes stained red and head hung low, no hope nearby. He remembers clearly his neighbour coming round to his house that day with freshly baked pickled mackerel and eating with him, it may not have seemed much but to Uramichi he couldn’t be more thankful he finally had someone he could talk to and get everything out without being judged or be seen as weak compared to everyone else. On Uramichis free days he takes his neighbour to places that he’s always wanted to see before he dies and they both just spend the day with each other’s company, and that’s all either of them need, making the best memories.

Iketeru Daga

Throughout his whole childhood his parents were always too busy with work not having time to spend with him and his sister, or that’s what he thought, in reality they were staying at casinos wasting money, the money that should’ve been used on the siblings for basic care, every night they’d be back early hours in the morning, drunk and high, always ignoring their two children leaving them to get on with their lives. Iketeru had to learn a lot of things at such a young age because otherwise he wouldn’t be able to survive in the real world. As soon as both him and his sister were able to move out they both looked for a place of their own to which they now reside at, neither of them talk about their childhood though anymore not wanting to re live the neglect they were put through, not receiving the things like other children, like hugs and kisses before sleep. Instead they both got shouted at endlessly and told they were a waste of space and accidents. Now In his adult hood sometimes Iketeru’s behaviour can be seen as childish and this probably comes from the fact he never really had a childhood and doesn’t know different, he hardly remembers his childhood however with his sister it’s opposite she remembers everything but she’s vowed to never tell Iketeru everything just wanting him to live the rest of his life as best as possible no matter how he chooses to act, but there’s been endless nights where she’s cried herself to sleep knowing Iketeru doesn’t truly know what used to happen to him and yet anyone would think he had the perfect life.

Tobikichi Usahara

His mother, the one who cared for him even when times got rough, the one protected him with everything she had, the one who taught him from right to wrongs, the one that loved him the most and would do anything for him. He always had been more of a mother’s boy than fathers boy, it was just the way it had always been. Imagine that one fateful day where Tobikichis phone clashed to the ground, tears cascading down his face upon hearing the news he never wished to have heard anytime soon or ever. He ran out of the gyms doors making his way to the infirmary leaving everyone with surprised faces from the sudden outburst, there she led the one women that stayed by his side since day one, the one who was normally full of joy was now weak, in a fragile state barely able to speak full sentences. Tobikichi ran as fast as he could going to hug his mum from sheer fright and shock, they said she was getting better? So why was she here in intensive care fighting for her life? He remembers that night clear as day, being told at such a young age your own mother has little chance of making it through the night. Imagine waking up the next minute with a hand still in yours but this time cold to the touch. He never thought this day would be so soon, he never even got to do the rest of her bucket list with her. Sometimes he’s late to work and the reason being is he brings flowers to her grave where he tells her how much he misses her touch and voice and what’s been going on lately, luckily no one questions why he is always mostly late. Despite as much as Uramichi may get annoyed with him, Uramichi was one of the closest people to Tobikichi during this time period in his life with his mother dying and more, he was always there for him no matter what. Only that secret was kept between the two and he couldn’t thank him more than enough for what he had done for him.

Mitsuo Kumatani

During his teenage years, Mitsuo had been diagnosed with depression, causing life to drain from him and endless pain everyday, it had gotten to the point he was close to ending it all, hands trembling with pills of all different kinds that even him, himself had no idea of what they were. However he had felt a weight on his lap and there laid his dog looking up at him almost begging him to not go through with this plan and to keep on living his life. That night he never ended up taking them and instead endured more days of insufferable pain. Shortly soon he had became addicted to alcohol the only relief he could consume from this endless nightmare, every night he was there in his usual spot, leaning against the balcony liquor in one hand and a cigarette in another staring off into the distance waiting for something new to come his way. His eyes told a millions stories, even the darkest ones that had been crammed into the depths. Each day he was sinking more and more into despair now not caring what happens, until one night in the bar had changed the rest of his life, there he had met Tobikichi, Iketeru and Uramichi who never gave up on him, going every single step with him to recovery, vowing to fight this endless nightmare that had been growing with Mitsuo every day. After years and months of hard work he finally quit smoking and was now taking the needed medication, Mitsuo was now someone who was unrecognisable, he had regained his life, living it to its fullest. He couldn’t be more than thankful for that one night that ended up changing his whole life.

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mymegumi · 4 years ago

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SUNRISE OVER TOKYO

pairing: kuroo tetsuro x gn!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 5.3k words

warnings: nekomata!reader, minor character death and post timeskip

summary: as nekomata’s only grandchild, you’d always felt indebted to him in a way and found time to meet him almost everyday. through the years, you’d heard all the stories he’d wanted to tell of his favorite volleyball team and his travails as a younger man. by chance, you meet the captain of his glory day team who’s everything you didn’t know that you needed.

note: thank you to cass ( @misutv ) for the plot and for basically the whole idea, you’re a real one and ik daddy shemar would be proud of you

↬ back to nav.

The morning air was crisp, and there were still drops of dew hanging onto the blades of grass in the sitting area of the retirement home. The sun had barely risen over the horizon, and yet the sky was already vibrantly cerulean, pale white clouds blotting out the golden rays.

“It’s lovely out today,” you murmured softly, as if speaking any louder would disturb the calm of the early morning, “I’m glad you convinced me to take you out.”

“Of course!” Your grandfather, unlike yourself, had a booming voice, one he’d used to carve his presence into the minds of everyone around him. His smile was infectious and warm, like the feeling of drinking a cup of hot chocolate on a chilling winter day. “I’m not sure how often you’re let out of your little office to soak up the rays; people forget how often we are like plants, needing the warm summer sun to help us grow and expand into our fullest potentials.”

You loved your grandpa, you really did. He had been the one who had raised you when your parents passed away, taken too soon from you and yet never failing to make sure you had everything you needed in life. Even despite all of the hardships, like money and worrying about your education, he had made sure you always felt the love that children had gotten from their parents.

He tended to ramble a lot, though, and sometimes you just didn’t listen to him all the way. He was, as many old people were, a talker and you were sure that he could chat with you all day if you let him.

“Mhm,” you gripped the handles of his wheelchair a bit harder, pushing him along the pathway of the retirement home, concrete underneath your shoes hard, “they don’t really let us take breaks and take in the air.”

He tutted, tongue hitting the roof of his mouth in annoyance when you said it, and the action of it had you rolling your eyes because you knew he couldn’t see you from where you were standing. “It’s just like corporations these days to be preventing our youth from going outside. When my volleyball team was at its peak, we spent every summer day in the gym with the doors open and the breeze flitting through like a dancer.”

This was usually where you started to tune back into what he was saying, hoping that you could catch glimpses of his self-proclaimed glory days. The volleyball team had been his pride and joy when he was still coaching high schoolers, kids who worked their butts off to get to the national stage and play their rivals.

“Tell me about the team again, grandpa,” you requested, holding the door open to the retirement home as another pair of people left. He gave you a glance over his shoulder, eyes bright with amusement as you flushed, feeling the heat crawl along the nape of your neck.

“Anything for you, sweet one.”

Yasufumi was always kind to your requests, taking each one in step despite the embarrassment they seemed to bring you. You had been at Nekoma when the golden era of his volleyball team was still in action, but you had been going through a rebellious phase, often trying to turn away from the interests and endeavors of your older guardian.

It had only been when he retired from coaching and you had entered into the workforce that you truly had begun to listen to his words of wisdom, each one carried in your heart to serve as a lesson or a purpose for the things you did everyday. He only ever told you those stories when you asked for them—to pull out the fact that you enjoyed listening to him talk about volleyball, or to embarrass you over the fact that you had missed out on meeting many of the young men he was talking about, you wouldn’t know. Instead, he would talk about things that had happened at the retirement center, each one more confusing than the last and the list of unbelievable things that happened never ending.

Yasufumi watched you settle into the chair nearest to one of the windows, shifting uncomfortably in the small wooden chair that the retirement home gave to visitors in the common area, which was now a bit busier since it was later in the morning. People were walking around and talking amongst each other, and somewhere in the distance, you saw a pair of people playing chess at one of the tables outside.

“When the third years were just first years,” he starts, hands folded over themselves and sitting in his lap, “they argued almost constantly. The youngest of the bunch seemed to have a grudge against the shortest of the group that had lasted until they hit my gym floor; listening to them argue was just about the only other noise you’d hear in the gym besides the oldest of the group trying to mediate them.”

Yasufumi leaned back a bit in his wheelchair, joints in his leg creaking and moaning as he adjusted himself. His legs weren’t completely gone, but it was bad enough that you had sought out a doctor to prescribe him a wheelchair.

“Those boys were at each other’s throats for as long as I can remember, and it’s honestly a surprise that they had ended up working out their differences long enough to make anything of themselves.” His smile was filled with warmth and reminded you of your youth with him, every day filled with laughter. “My fondest memories of the team was during their third year, and they put in the best work during that era.”

Your grandfather’s face talking of this era brought feelings of melancholy for you, filled with a regret that you had missed out on his favorite remembrance of high school. If you had only been less filled with a need to rebel and push away, not knowing the value of being by his side until it was almost too late.

He talked to you for hours, retelling the stories of his volleyball team and the things that they had endured when they finally ended up going to nationals to meet their rivals for the first time in what had seemed like years. When you watched him talk, your heart clenched tightly in your chest the way his face portrayed the emotions of an insufferably saccharine past, as if he knew that his age was finally catching up to him.

In your own self loathing, you wished you had met the men that had shaped your grandfather’s glory days and that you had put in more of an effort to become friends with them because they seemed like people that you could have been friends with. You knew that Yasufumi would have appreciated seeing more than just you at the retirement home, but you didn’t have any contact information for you to reach out and see if they would like to come visit.

You had a feeling they would, though, because bonds forged through the trials of sports seemed to run deeper than any others. Giving your grandfather a brief goodbye, you tucked the visit into the part of your heart that each visit went into, for safekeeping on days you wouldn’t be able to see him again.

The next time you visited Nekomata Yasufumi, you were mildly surprised when the receptionist told you that there were already a group of three young men visiting him out in the recreation area. When you signed your name, the three signatures above yours were in a messy scrawl of young adults that were still adjusting to having to sign their name on legal documents; Nobuyuki Kai, Yaku Morisuke and Kuroo Tetsuro.

Despite being prepared for more people when you enter into the common area, you were taken aback by the sheer noise that was coming from the group gathered nearest to your grandfather—a group that was laughing happily over something you couldn’t understand while the tallest of them had a volleyball tucked underneath his arm.

“Oh! There’s the fifth of our group.” Your grandpa called out to you after he spotted you walking in, bag set on one of the hooks at the front for coats and bags. His smile was infectious and before you knew it, there was a smile spreading across your lips. “Let’s move outside, now, we can do introductions on the lawn.”

Your laughter was soft as you made your way to your grandfather’s wheelchair, hands reaching for the grips out of instinct before the tallest of the group, someone you vaguely remember from high school since his hair was so distinguishable, stopped you.

He looked at you with an air of lightness around him, as if he were carefree. “Hey, I got it.”

“Thanks.” You nodded your head to him, lips pulling into a slight smile as you walked around to your grandfather’s side, giving the taller man—whose hair was absolutely atrocious—one last curious glance.

“Kuroo,” your grandfather’s tone was chiding, “you didn’t even introduce yourself.”

“You said we were doing introductions on the lawn!” The man’s tone was light and joking, looking down at the older man before lightly patting down on his shoulder, “I know you’re old, but your memory isn’t going, now is it?”

“You wish it was,” Yasufumi retorted with an eyeroll, arms crossing over his chest, “that way I’d forget about that time you’d flubbed a receive you had claimed would be so easy to get.”

Kuroo, as you had just recently learned was his name, made a noise of distress that landed somewhere in the back of his throat, face twisted in distaste with blotches of pink dusting across his cheekbones and bridge of his nose. “I thought you had forgotten about that, that was so long ago!”

“I’d never forget things that embarrass you,” he joked breezily, wrinkly hand reaching up to grab your hand in his, “because you were insufferable in high school!”

Kuroo turned to you, then, making sure you were looking at him before dipping his head low in a simple greeting. His hair fell a bit, ends drooping and covering up more of his eyes from your gaze. “I’m Kuroo Tetsuro. It’s lovely to meet you, Mx. Nekomata.”

“Ah,” you started, hand coming up to wave him off as you felt a rush of heat crawl along the back of your neck at his sudden attention, “my name actually isn’t Nekomata. My mother took her husband’s last name.”

You gave him your name, body heating up just a bit too much when he repeated it—you loved the way his mouth rolled over the vowels and consonants of your name. When you gave him a nod of confirmation after he got it right, the grin he gave you back was almost blinding.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you!”

Now on the front lawn and standing just in front of the pair of other men that were talking amongst themselves, you bowed quickly after offering the both of them your name. Mixed between their smiles and the contagious energy that was Yaku and Kuroo, the energy was nowhere near as awkward as you had feared upon meeting your grandfather’s golden era third years.

Before you know it, the four of you were coerced into playing a few rounds of volleyball—nothing serious and almost incredibly competitive.

Paired together with Kuroo, the man was heartwarmingly kind in a way that you hadn’t been expecting from a man of his nature. In the few interactions you had had with him, you had expected more teasing, almost like you were expecting to have been poked and prodded until he figured out the way your cogs turned. In a nice turn of events, he was simply just the type of man that liked to provoke his friends to get them out of a funk if they were to experience any sort of failure; as often Kuroo would make some sort of misconstrued comment about Nobuyuki if he missed an easy to block to spike.

In between lifting the mood should it turn sour, Kuroo was also effortlessly teaching you the sport you’d avoided all throughout your youth. In avoiding your caretaker, you’d also managed to put learning volleyball on the back burner of things you wanted to do in high school and you’d never learned a lick of it.

Yaku was shouting encouraging words from across the way to you, but after a few minutes you’d ended up tapping out for a quick break. Nobuyuki had offered to step out too, and that left the blond to play a game of volley with Kuroo, the two bantering off handedly while your grandfather was laughing.

It wasn’t often that you saw his expression as bright as you did then, as you were often only met with a sage face when he told you anecdotes to not waste away your early years. There was something in your chest that ached seeing his expression so freely filled with joy, since you knew that some days he wasn’t even capable of getting to his wheelchair. Those days seemed to be making more frequent appearances as of late.

Pushing that thought to the back of your mind, instead you called out to the pair of boys that you wanted to go back to playing a two-on-two. At Nobuyuki’s protests, you had teased him that he would be beat out by a person who didn’t even exercise regularly, which had brought out a whole other slew of arguments. It took your grandfather’s chiding to get the mini game back on track again.

With Kuroo as your teammate, and your grandfather barking out orders to you that you took with a grain of salt, you were only marginally better at the sport by the end of their visit.

Yaku and Nobuyuki had left only minutes earlier, both giving you their well wishes and offering to come visit Yasufumi again when they got the chance. He had only waved them off, telling them to get a significant other before coming back to him.

Kuroo had ended up staying for a bit longer, citing that the game had winded him more now that he was no longer playing volleyball, instead working for the entire association as a whole. You just barely missed the nod of approval your grandpa gave him at his career choice, as if giving him approval for something else.

The three of you had settled into a trio of seats in the common area. By now, most of the people that were visiting loved ones had continued on, leaving the space almost empty. That was in your favor, however, as it meant your grandfather could establish a little spot for himself by one of the love seats, meaning you’d been at Kuroo’s side while the two of them reminisced of days of old.

The stories they swapped with each other ranged from Kuroo’s earliest volleyball days, to Yasufumi’s days playing against Karasuno’s now departed oldest coach. The thought had soured the mood, and despite Kuroo’s best efforts to return it back to normal, your grandfather had instead insisted that the pair of you go back to your normal lives, as opposed to entertaining an old man’s memories. It had been a clear time for the two of you to leave, which found you both walking to the parking lot.

“Do you often visit your grandfather?” Kuroo had his hands intertwined behind his back, walking casually as he glanced at you.

You nodded, looking back at him with a warmth somewhere in your chest developing. “Yeah, as often as I can. I’m usually here when I have days off, since I’m the only grandkid he had.”

Coughing into his hand, he spun his keyring around his finger as he started to slow his pace to match yours. You had a feeling he didn’t want to leave your side yet, and just the thought made you smile to yourself.

“You were really good with him, do you have a good relationship with your grandparents?”

Kuroo laughed, a loud one that came from the deep parts of his chest, like you had just told one of the funniest jokes he had ever heard. “Oh, you don’t know the half of it. I had a pretty shitty relationship with my parents, so my grandparents practically raised me. You learn how to deal with older people after a while, and Coach Nekomata had always been like a father figure to me growing up.”

“I get that,” you admitted, turning your head to try and remember where you had parked your car, “it’s hard, sometimes. I love my grandpa, though, and I don’t think I’d trade this experience for anything.”

Kuroo’s smile held a note of forbearance, as if he wanted to tell you something but bit his tongue at the last second. Instead of questioning it, as you normally would if you had more confidence, you just hit the unlock button on your car keys—the car just next to the two of you lighting up and beeping happily.

“This must be you.” He rubbed a hand over the nape of his neck anxiously, and you could have sworn he had something else to say. Instead, you got, “I’ll see you later then, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Nodding your head, you watched him walk further into the parking lot, head shaking slightly.

You had some sort of intuition that wouldn’t be the last you’d see of him, and on your third visit to see your grandfather after the Nekoma third years visited, your premonition of another meeting had been granted.

Signing your name into the guest book, you recognized Kuroo’s looping scrawl a few lines above where you were going to sign. Seeing it in there, you unconsciously straightened your back up a bit, shoulders pushing back to adjust your posture into something a bit more sightly. The receptionist just gave you a warm smile that made the tips of your ears burn.

With that bit of forewarning, walking into the common area to see your grandfather talking to Kuroo wasn’t a surprise.

“Darling!” Your grandfather’s voice rose above the din of the common area, his normal booming voice all you can hear adverse to the polite chatter of others in the general vicinity. A few heads turned to look at him, but his beaming face is enough to have them turning back to their own conversations without a second thought.

“Hey, funny running into you here.” Kuroo patted the seat cushion closest to him on the couch when you arrived, and you gave him a quick nod as thanks. “I was just telling him about the time a friend of mine tried to convince me to sell him a stock in the volleyball association just because he wanted to say he owned volleyball in Japan.”

“It sounds like you’ve got interesting friends,” your murmured, eyes scaling across the slants of his face and down the slope of his nose—you were trying your best to avoid looking at his hair and be seen as rude, “was it one of the ones that was here the last time you were here?”

He shook his head, and it was almost instinct the way your eyes drew to his hair, which seemed to be moving on a mind of its own. You’re pretty sure your grandpa was laughing at the way you were watching, but you weren’t one hundred percent sure. “Nah, those guys are actually sane, it’s a friend named Kenma. He’s a year younger than me, but he’s made a pretty good name for himself.”

Conversation between the three of you flowed easily, since if Kuroo ran out of things to say, your grandfather would find an anecdote to throw around that would cause Kuroo to think of something his own grandparents would try and tell him, before it would end up a battle of philosophies from two different families. Kuroo often lost those discussions, however, because you were Yasufumi’s kin and there wasn’t a battle you wouldn’t fight for him.

The day seemed to pass in almost slow motion, each conversation longer and filled with laughter. There was something about the fact that Kuroo could handle your grandfather so well that sat well with you, and it helped that Yasufumi had already liked Kuroo to begin with that made you unreasonably happy.

You thought, somewhat briefly at one point when your grandfather is laughing at a dumb joke that Kuroo made about the state of taxes in Japan, that you wouldn’t mind seeing more of this man.

“I really enjoyed seeing you,” Kuroo divulged to you later on when your grandfather had had his fill of interacting with people for the day, ��and Coach Nekomata, of course.”

The way he added on the second part of the conversation made heat crawl across your face, and the meaning of his words seemed to dawn on Kuroo, as well, if the deep pink flush that creeped along the tips of his ears and at the sides of his neck are any indication. There was a deep satisfaction of making a grown man blush so hard that settled along you, and it made you more confident than you normally were.

“Well, I think that seeing you there was a nice surprise,” you commented, looking at him with what you hoped was a sincere expression painted on your features, “and I definitely won’t mind if it were to happen more often.”

That was the right thing to say, you decided as you watched a bright beam spread across Kuroo’s lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling at the statement. “Of course, I’ll make sure to stop by more frequently. Maybe I could get your number, so we can coordinate our visits?”

You pulled out your phone to exchange numbers with him, and as he entered his number into your phone, and subsequently called himself from your phone, you just took a minute to admire him.

You’ve only met him a few times, but from what you could tell, he wasn’t a bad guy. Sure his hair was a bit on the obscure side, but you had dated far worse guys than that. He seemed to be a family oriented man, if his relationship with his grandparents and older sisters were any indication from the stories he told you and your own grandfather. He worked as a representative of the Japanese Volleyball Association, so that meant he had put in the work to get where he was and had an eye for things that others might have overlooked.

You saw yourself falling for him very easily, and watching his retreating figure wave to you as he walked to his car, you realized that maybe you already were.

Nekomata Yasufumi passed away on a cool Tuesday evening in the middle of summer.

From what the nurses had told you, he had passed painlessly in his sleep, without so much as a warning that his health was declining to this point. You were just grateful that it wasn’t long, because the thought of him suffering was worse than any hardship you had faced thus far in life.

Your friends had called you and texted you, asking you were okay and if there was anything they could do for you, and yet, there wasn’t a thing that their words said to you that could soothe the ache in your heart. Yasufumi was the only person in your life that had been there steadily, and now that he’s gone, you were a bit lost in where you were meant to go next.

The only person that you had even allowed by your side throughout the entire process of the funeral was Kuroo.

After the day you had exchanged numbers, the two of you texted often—about your grandfather, about his grandparents, and sometimes just about whatever he had seen that had reminded him of you. You weren’t anything more than friends, but you liked to think that Kuroo was just taking it slow, trying to court you like you were something to be valued, rather than doing it in a more modern way.

When he heard that Yasufumi had passed away, he had been a bit distraught at the news. In what would usually be near nightly texts, you had gotten radio silence for a good few days.

You understood, though, because this was another father figure to him, and you didn’t hold his silent treatment against him. When he texted you a few days before the funeral, asking if he could drive you there and stand with you, you agreed almost immediately.

“Nekomata Yasufumi was one of the most carefree men I had ever had the pleasure of meeting,” he read from a paper in his hands, shaking slightly at the top because of the wind, and perhaps a bit because of the shake in his hands, “and he brought joy wherever he went. Working with him, and working as one of his athletes had been one of the most amazing moments in my life. I wouldn’t have traded that experience for anything in the world.”

There were a few more people that shared their stories of your grandfather before they buried his casket, each one tearfilled and sentimental in their own rights. There was a deep pain in your chest that dulls a bit more with each joyful memory that others had of the only man in your life for so long.

Kuroo stood by your side throughout the entire process, an arm wrapped around you protectively, and you could feel the warmth of his hand on your upper bicep. When you felt as if the whole situation was too much, and that the tears that you had been shedding throughout the week would make an appearance in front of all these people, you just looked at Kuroo. He offered you a gentle smile each time, a sea of emotions swimming hazel eyes that you understood more than anyone.

After the ceremony, no one faulted you for leaving early.

“I’m sorry.”

Blinking at him, you tilted your head to the side as you wiped at your salt-stained cheeks. “Why? He passed painlessly, and I think he’d be having fun wherever he ended up.”

“I know,” Kuroo amended, chin tilted down towards his chest so you can’t see his expression, “but I’m just sorry that he was the last of your family.”

You made a noise, a bit of a hum and just a noise to let him know that you had heard him. You thought about it for a minute, hands pressed firmly in flat fists, fingers digging crescents into your palms to avoid crying again at the mention of it. You didn’t want to be sad, because you liked to think that your grandfather was somewhere playing volleyball with the coach of Karasuno again, as they should be.

“I think that, I think that I’m going to miss him,” you had started, drawing Kuroo’s attention to you, “but also, I know that I’ll never be alone, because he’s always with me.”

Kuroo chuckled a bit at that. “Yeah, definitely. He cared for you a lot, that’s for sure.”

When the man at your side rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, you inquired softly about what was on his mind. He sighed lightly, leaning a shoulder against the wall the two of you were standing by.

“He had even given me advice on how to ask you out,” he looked away from you, but still you could see the bits of red spreading across the tops of his ears, “and he kept telling me I was waiting too long to ask you out, and that you would get snatched up before I could get a chance. But I just wanted to do it a bit slower.”

“I get it,” you smiled up at him, “but if you asked me out now, I’d say yes.”

“Oh.” Kuroo’s face erupted in a gorgeous shade of rosy pink. “Well, I was going to wait. I thought it might be inappropriate to ask you at Nekomata’s funeral.”

“Mm, well,” you mused, hand reaching towards his, “I get the feeling, he’d just be happy we got together at all.”

Kuroo met you halfway, his hand enveloping yours in a firm grasp. Despite the hole in your life that was oddly Nekomata Yasufumi sized, you thought that maybe there’d be someone who could patch over the wounds that were developing.

“Do you want some time alone?” You looked up at Kuroo with a blink, hand curled in his warmth. “I don’t mind, I can go sit in the car for a bit.”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t really have anything to say to him that I can’t say in front of you.”

He leaned down, knee pressing against soft soil with a hand tracing along the stone of a gravestone, Nekomata Yasufumi written in elegant script with the year he was born and the year he passed on it.

“Hey, Coach,” he started, thumb brushing against the granite in smooth, slow strokes, “we just wanted to let you know about how life has been going.”

You crouched down, the side of your thigh pressed against the denim of his jeans. “Gramps, we, uh, we visited Mori and Lev in Russia for a couple of days, which was really lovely.”

The elder of the two was seemingly more successful, despite the modeling career Lev had gotten with his sister. He was doing what he loved in a foreign country, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been a bit impressed when he had ordered for you and Kuroo at a restaurant in fluent Russian.

Lev was in the process of learning his third language, English, and had tried to show off in front of the two of you. Morisuke had laughed at him mercilessly, and corrected him in anything that he had gotten wrong, showing off another hidden talent the former libero had kept tucked away.

“The best part of the trip, though,” Kuroo knocked the side of his head against yours gently, in what was nothing more than a love tap, “was putting a ring on their finger.”

He pulled over the hands that were intertwined with yours, tugging the fingers down to show off the golden band adorning your ring finger that rested snugly. After showing it off, the sunlight reflecting off of it in straight lines, Kuroo ghosted his lips over the engagement band he had presented to you.

“We’re gonna keep a seat open for you,” you murmured, reaching out to trace your hand along the engravings of your grandfather’s name, “and I know you’re gonna watch us with a stupid story about Tetsuro that’ll have everyone laughing wherever you ended up.”

Kuroo pulled you closer with an arm winding around your shoulders, lips resting against the crown of your head as you pressed a palm against your chest. Despite the fact that the loss of your grandfather had opened a cavity in your chest, with each passing day the ache seemed to dull just a bit more. You didn’t think it would ever go away fully, but just carrying it with you would mean that it would become bearable.

Kuroo stood without another word, hand resting on your head and shaking a bit to mess up your hair. Before you had come in, you had already agreed that you would get a few minutes alone with your grandfather, and you appreciated the fact that Kuroo understood.

It was early in the morning. The morning dew was clinging to the green blades that curved and bent underneath every step that your fiancé took, each one a soothing contrast to the sun that was peeking up over the Japanese horizon. As the clouds floated through the sky, you sat and talked with your grandfather of all the things that he had missed in the last few months that you had been unable to visit him—your lover, and his former protégé, waiting for you in your car.

t.list :: @nekomabvc @shadowkunoichi @duhsies @iwaizoom @hikariakaashi @kyotarou

#hqcorenet #hanimehub #kuroo tetsuro #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo tetsuro x y/n #kuroo tetsurou x y/n #kuroo tetsurou x you #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo tetsuro fluff #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader #kuroo x y/n #kuroo x you #haikyuu!! kuroo #grind for the wealth

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asmodeusbby · 4 years ago

Text

I’m so happy that you liked my fic enough to want to read more! Since I wasn’t planning on writing a part 2, I’m not sure where I’m going with this story but I have some interesting ideas so I’ve left this chapter on a cliffhanger. I know you asked for closure but it will have to wait. Anyway, thank you so much!

Bad boy — Asmodeus x GN!MC

Read part 1 here

NSFW 18+. Do not read/interact if you’re a minor.

Trigger warnings: Dubcon, toxic relationship, rough sex, blood, humiliation kink, mentions of cheating.

Please, do not read this work if you’re sensitive to dark themes.

Asmodeus moaned softly, a pleased smile forming on his lips as you thrust into him.

It was hard to believe he had finally agreed to an exclusive relationship with you. And yet there he was, his body trembling under your control, sweet promises leaving his lips with every thrust.

"I have only one condition, dear. You must satisfy my needs at all times. Do you think you can keep up with me?" He had said. "You have my absolute consent to use our pact to prevent me from seeing other people, that way you'll know I'm not cheating!"

He was now completely bound to you. You leaned down and peppered his face with kisses, making his smile widen. It almost made you forget the way he bared his fangs when he laughed at you; the malicious sparkle in his eyes when he played his mind games. Now he was kissing your skin like he worshipped you and his touch was so gentle you would have believed you were making love to an angel.

“Nobody else fucks me like you do... You're the only one I need.” He crooned, looking deep into your eyes before capturing your mouth in a passionate kiss.

His hands searched for yours and held them, linking his fingers with yours.

“You love me, right? Say that you adore me, please.” He breathed, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears. “I love you above all things."

"I adore you.” You whispered, burying your face in his hair, breathing in his scent.

You pleasured him over and over that night, in every way possible, a reward for having given you the best gift you could have imagined. When you collapsed on his bed in the end, body too worn out and skin sore from the friction, Asmodeus wrapped his arms around you and pressed sleepy kisses on your neck.

✧

You checked your D.D.D for the hundredth time that morning as you endured an exceedingly boring lesson. You were lucky Asmo always sat next to you in the back of the classroom. He usually made classes more entertaining, since he was unable to shut up for more than five minutes. That day, however, Asmo seemed quieter than usual. You kicked his foot a little.

"Are you okay?" You asked him.

"My human is hungry for some attention?" He smiled lazily.

You felt Asmo's fingers touching your hand, then wrapping around your wrist before guiding your hand between his legs.

"Asmo, not here!" You whispered.

He pouted for a moment, then winked at you, his tongue darting between his teeth.

"Come on, this class is insufferable. Entertain Asmo a little, pretty please?"

He pressed your hand against the crotch of his pants, making you palm his erection. You couldn't help but squeeze him, his cock hardening even more at the pressure.

"Good, just like that."

You rubbed him down there as he returned his attention to the lesson. He looked completely unfazed, head resting in his hand, disinterest written all over his features as his eyes followed the teacher.

"Why don't you get your hand inside my pants?" He said without looking at you.

"People will see us."

"Don't worry, darling. No one is noticing. Just do as I say. Don't you want to please me?" He undid the knot in his belt to give you access to the front of his pants.

You slid your hand inside and touched his warm skin clumsily.

"I can't move my hand, your pants are too tight."

"Try to touch the tip a little, that'll be enough." He mumbled, his gaze glued to the blackboard.

The moment your fingers moved to the head of his cock, you felt him twitch, his hot load spurting out against your palm. Your first impulse was to try to gather all of it in your hand so as to not stain his uniform, but you could feel it spilling down your hand.

"For fuck's sake, Asmo." You muttered.

"Will you help me clean myself up?" He asked, cheeks slightly flushed. "Let's get out of here."

Both of you ran out of the class, knowing well that your audacity would earn you a harsh punishment from Lucifer if he found out that you were skipping classes again. Asmodeus led you to a restroom, a mischievous smirk on his face.

"Get down on your knees." He ordered once you were inside the stall. "And lick your hand clean, I want to see how you do it."

"Why don't you lick my hand instead, pet?" You teased as you pressed two fingers against his lips. He sucked on them obediently, then pulled them out of his mouth and ran his tongue across your hand, his eyes never leaving your own.

"Since now we're exclusive, you have to give me some control too." He cooed, his brow slightly furrowed. "I love being your plaything, but… Can you please get down on your knees and lick my cock clean like the dirty kitten that you are?"

You snorted in disbelief but did as he commanded, arousal beginning to swell between your legs as he pulled his glistening cock out.

"You caused this mess in the first place, so it's only right that you fix it." Asmodeus rubbed the tip against your lips. You placed a hand on his hip, the other grabbing his cock as you ran your tongue from the tip down to his sack, then up again to wrap your lips around the head. Asmodeus' fingers gripped your hair firmly before thrusting into you.

"Make me cum in your mouth, okay? Breathe through your nose. Just like that, you're doing so well."

He fucked your face so hard tears were stinging your eyes. Slick sounds and soft moans filled the cubicle but you were too lost in your desire for him to care about getting caught.

"When we were in class all I could think about was ripping your clothes off and ravaging you right in front of everyone. Imagine the teacher's reaction if I rammed my cock into you right there as you screamed and writhed in pleasure." He chuckled. "Doesn't it turn you on when I'm a bad boy?"

You slid a hand between your legs to touch yourself a little as you tried to focus on breathing through your nose, Asmodeus' cock hitting the back of your throat relentlessly.

"Oh, you get off on that? I guess you're a slut like me."

After making him cum several times with your mouth and hands, Asmodeus fucked you until your legs gave out. His cock was so wet with cum it slid into you easily. He fucked you three or four times in the stall, you couldn't remember exactly how many. His thrusts were rough and needy and he seemed to only seek his own pleasure as he penetrated your abused hole without mercy. And yet, you only wanted more and more, the thought of being a cum dump for him to use however he pleased awakening something primal in you.

"Good human. Who would have thought it'd be so easy to tame you?" He whispered when he was done, his cock still buried inside you. "You take my love so well, dear. I'll make it up to you every single day from now on."

✧

Asmo showed up in your room wearing nothing but a set of lace underwear, his erection barely restrained under silk panties.

"Asmo, just let me do this task, I'll be with you in a second."

Asmodeus whined and threw himself onto your bed.

"Please, I really need to cum again. It hurts." He said, his hand toying lazily with his barely clothed erection. "Look, I'm already so wet." He pulled it out completely and gave it a tug, spreading precum along its length.

"Just touch yourself while I finish this."

"Why are you like this?!" Asmodeus moaned as he lifted his camisole to play with his nipples, his other hand stroking his cock slowly. "You're so cruel. Didn't you say you'd satisfy me? There are a lot of beautiful people out there who would kill to get a taste of this."

That night you fucked him until he bled. And he wanted more.

✧

"MC, I've finally bought that game you told me about." Levi said, his eyes glowing with excitement. "If you come to my room later, we can try it together."

You felt Asmodeus' leg rubbing against your calf under the table insistently, his fingers creeping along your thigh.

"What do you say, darling?" He rested his cheek on his fist as he eyed you fondly, a soft smirk on his lips. "Will you play with him?"

"I'm sorry, Levi. I have a lot of things to do today. Maybe some other time."

✧

"My big brother wants you to fuck him." Asmodeus spoke against your sex, his warm breath tickling your swollen flesh. He pulled back a little to continue speaking. "I see it in his pitiful eyes. He wants you to stretch his virgin asshole until he can't take it anymore, the poor thing."

"Why are you telling me this right now?" You groaned.

"Because I've seen the way you look at him." Asmodeus swirled his tongue then sucked, making you moan. "I'm giving you permission to satisfy his dirty little fantasies."

You grabbed his hair and forced him to look at you, his face scrunching up with discomfort.

"I see what you're trying to do. You're giving me carte blanche, hoping I'll do the same. My answer is no."

"Nonsense, dear. I just want you to be happy, that's all."

He made you cum several times that night.

✧

"Please, master! Fuck me harder!" He screamed, mascara tears rolling down his face. "Hit me again, please!"

You gripped the back of his neck and pushed his head down into the mattress, then slapped his reddened ass one more time as you pounded harder into him.

"You never let me leave marks before." You groaned. "Why do you want me to beat you up now?"

Asmodeus trembled under your weight, a loud moan leaving his swollen lips as he spilled his release onto the sheets.

"I-I just want to please you…" He breathed, his hand traveling down to touch himself. "Keep fucking me, I'm still so hard."

You were exhausted and secretly angry at him and you kept fucking his asshole as hard as you could until a small pool of cum had formed on the sheets. You had always known that he didn't experience refractory periods and that his sin required him to cum frequently, yet you had never imagined to what extent. Asmodeus was smiling smugly at you, face dampened by tears and red from the slaps. It was as if he wanted to say "You should have known better! I am lust after all. Relentless and insatiable."

✧

"Asmodeus..." You moaned as he fucked you hard in the stall, your back against the door, his hands under your knees. He kept you in that position effortlessly while his cock entered you again and again.

"You love the risk of getting caught when I fuck your little hole in this disgusting stall, don't you?" You looked down to see how his cock disappeared into you, slick with cum and blood. He moved so fast, pounding against you with desperation. He grunted as you clawed at his scalp, pulling his face closer to yours. He kissed you sending you over the edge, your whole body trembling with your own release. He sighed softly.

"All this time acting like you're so dominant… but I've always known you're just a human pet begging for a demon like me to tame you." He licked the corner of your lips, then chuckled against your cheek. "Is this position uncomfortable? Don't worry, I'm going to cum again soon. You'll have to walk around all morning soaked with my delicious juices and we'll come back here right after every class so that I can refill this filthy hole of yours with my cum. Isn't it exciting?"

✧

"MC… hurt me!" He pleaded. "Spit on me!"

You slapped him again and he moaned. His neck was bruised, lips stained with his own blood. He clung onto the sheets as you tortured him with a huge dildo he had insisted on trying.

"Master, it's too big!" He cried out, tears streaming down his face. "Fuck! I'm going to die if you keep stretching my ass like that!"

"Just say your damn safe word if you want me to stop and cut the act." You said as you buried the toy deeper into his asshole.

"You're no fun." He bit on one of his fingers playfully. "Oh, I'm so full! Keep fucking my ass like I'm the nastiest slut in the Devildom."

"Next time I'll put this thing into your disgusting asshole without lube." You threatened. "We'll see how you handle that."

"Ugh, master is so evil." He whined as he pinched one of his nipples between two fingers. "Keep saying those things to me."

"Of course you like being humiliated. It's because you know you're a worthless slut whose only purpose in life is fucking and being fucked. You brainless airhead."

Asmodeus bared his little fangs, the yellow gleam in his eyes telling you things were about to get dangerous.

✧

“Ahh, darling. Why aren't you moving anymore?" He whined as he entered you, still in his demon form, his blood-stained glitter nails digging into your skin. "I might as well be fucking a corpse. Roll your hips a little at least."

You weren't sure where the blood had come from, but there was some on his mouth and chin.

"Stop complaining, you know I'm exhausted."

You felt your eyes close on their own, drowsiness invading your senses in spite of Asmo's thrusts.

"What?! You're going to fall asleep?! I thought you said you could keep up with me.”

"Let's call it a day." You muttered pressing your hands against his chest as if to push him away.

"Oh, I guess I've been too rough on you, haven't I?" Asmodeus pulled out of you and sat back, an unreadable expression on his face.

You watched him touch himself through heavy lashes. His yellow eyes looked so malicious as he glared at you, tongue licking your blood off his fingers while he pleasured himself with his other hand. It was at moments like these when you realised you were playing with fire. And you were bound to get burned at some point.

When you woke up the next day, your neck hurt. You felt the bite marks with your fingers, dry blood on your skin.

"This was never about you loving me, was it? You just want to prove a point."

Asmodeus didn't say anything, but you could hear slick noises behind you as well as weak moans.

"You may think you have the upper hand but I won't cave in." You said before rolling over to face him. As expected, he was still touching himself, but something wasn't right. There was cum on the sheets, and on his legs and stomach.

"Asmodeus, what the fuck?"

He looked at you as if he couldn't see you.

"I'm not feeling well. I need my beauty sleep."

"Then stop beating your meat and get some sleep, you sick fuck."

Asmodeus chuckled weakly, but kept stroking himself silently. He looked pale, your blood strikingly dark on his complexion.

"Are you feeling ill?" You asked.

He nodded slightly.

"My sin requires me to taint as many souls as I can with my lust. I haven't done that in days, since I'm bound to you and can't go to the human world to have my way with my worshipers."

You stared at him vacantly without saying a word.

"Honestly, I thought you'd get tired and give up this nonsense before I got to this point, but turns out you're a sex freak too." He giggled softly. "You'll take anything I throw at you as long as I don't leave your side, you fucking psycho."

"Just tell me what I'm supposed to do to make you feel better and I'll do it."

"A threesome with two virgins would be ideal." He bared his fangs when he smiled mockingly. "I'll let you watch."

You kept silent again, looking away from him.

"Suck me off, please, it'll make me feel better. I'm too weak to make myself cum again. Then go find me a pure soul I can corrupt." He paused dramatically. "Unless you want me to die, that is. I'm willing to die for you if that's what you want."

"You have some fucking nerve telling me you'll die unless you cheat on me." You snapped. "I'm not falling for this one, it's ridiculous."

"You can use our pact to know whether I'm lying or not. But that would mean you don't trust me with my word." Asmodeus looked away briefly, brow furrowed in frustration, then gave you a long, cold glare. "You really think I'd lie about something like this? Why are we in a relationship if you don't even trust my word?"

"Just shut up. I'll suck you off if that's what you want, but cut the bullshit already. You're mine and I'm not letting you fuck someone else."

You felt your body shake in angry impotence as you dug your nails into his hips with all your might before taking him into your mouth. Asmodeus hissed a little but didn't complain. You sucked him off roughly and he trembled and panted pitifully the whole time, his hands too weak to hold onto you. When he twitched inside your mouth, spilling his release, he passed out.

You waved a hand in front of his face, half expecting him to be pretending. When he didn't react, you started to panic. You yelled at him and tried to shake him awake, but nothing worked. So you took a sheet and tried to clean his body up a little, then covered him with a clean one and got dressed hurriedly before running out of the room to go look for Lucifer. Since he was the eldest and acted like a father figure for everyone in the House, you assumed he'd know what to do. Thankfully, you found him in his study. He gave you a displeased glare the second you showed up.

"What is it?" He looked you up and down with arrogance, clearly wondering what your current state of dishevelment was due to.

You explained the situation to him, trying your best to spare him the sexual details as much as you could. Lucifer shook his head in disapproval but agreed to follow you to Asmo's room. He seemed more curious than worried.

As soon as he entered the room, Lucifer scrunched up his nose in disgust.

"Did my dear brother finally fuck himself to death?" He said nonchalantly as he walked up to the bed. "What an annoyance you are." He whispered to him as he forced one of Asmo's eyes open, his other hand searching for his pulse.

"Is he…?" The words got caught up in your throat.

"He's alive." Lucifer assured. "But his vital energy is probably low. Just let him rest. And make sure you break that exclusivity nonsense you've forced him into."

You nodded hesitantly.

"Did you know this could happen to him?" You dared to ask.

Lucifer shook his head slightly, a gloved hand resting on his chest.

"Despite his being so open about his flings, he's rather reserved when it comes to the implications of his sin. I had my suspicions that his vital energy depended on the corruption of the souls. But I wasn't certain. I'd suggest doing as he says. He should be fine after tainting as many virgin souls as he needs." Lucifer paused for a moment. "Although bringing him a pure soul should prove more effective."

"What do you mean by a pure soul?"

Lucifer eyed you for a moment as if you were a dim-witted child, then said:

"An angel."

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Yes, Simeon may appear in chapter 3 👀 Let me know if you guys want me to continue.

Masterlist

#obey me #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo x mc #obey me asmodeus x reader #obey me asmodeus x mc #obey me asmo x reader #n/sfw #my writing

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rocknrollsalad-moved · 4 years ago

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“Halloween costume party meeting a blind date but oh it's my high school squeeze who broke my heart and is only back in town to shut down the candy factory”

Thanks to a lovely conversation with @moongoddess2k4 we are now blessed with this amazing, amazing prompt, if you will, for a Halloween Hallmark story if they did them like the Christmas ones.

Read on to see how I ran with that idea and created a quick little something for the season. It was super fun to write and I wish I could have done a whole thing with it but there’s too much on my plate right now.

Word Count: 3400 Triggers: some mentions of drinking/being drunk, loss of jobs, and implied future money struggles

Halloween wasn’t going to be the same this year. Decorations still adorn most doors, yards, and windows. Costumes seemed to disappear from shelves along with bags of candy. The traditions carried on as neighbors helped neighbors, a silent thing to keep a town that was built around Halloween in the spirit.

Hanging over the head of every resident, a joint burden, was the knowledge that this was the last Halloween for them. Stark Sweets and Treats would be closing its doors on November first. In those storm clouds not chased away by the sun was the reality that many of the people living here would be out of a job. Generations of candy makers, sorters, and wrappers now left on their own, without a severance package, one last bonus, or even a thank you card.

There was no future in candy anymore. Processed sugars were falling out of fashion and while no child wanted a box of raisins or an apple, parents wanted to hand out sustainably grown, sugar-free alternatives. Buzzwords, Bruce knew as much as people online spouted recycled rhetoric about saving the planet with their shift to these different treats. He’d argue with each post. Typing his nights away about the jobs they were taking, about the fallacy of that sustainable or organic sticker. GMOs weren’t what people were saying they were.

But no one listened.

What did a small-town high school science teacher know about genetically modified anythings? Never mind the multiple doctorates he held. Never mind the qualifications he had to speak on the subject. People couldn’t be reasoned with on the internet. Bruce was shouting into the void and doing nothing more than boiling his own blood.

It was mad worse by everyone pointing out he didn’t have a horse in this race. Not directly. There would still be children to teach. Year after year of the same projects and battling against boring lesson plans. He wasn’t losing anything. Instead, he’d be left to watch. Left to stand in front of his classroom trying to teach kids who carried the same weight as the adults, without the ability to bear such a thing. That’s who he fought for. These children didn’t need to know this level of hardship while trying to navigate their way to adulthood.

Most of their parents, their baby sitters, and classmates were putting on a brave face, though. Halloween kept this town afloat and while it was their last, they weren’t going to roll over and let it pass. Every annual event went just like they had for decades. Some people had done so well at pretending they weren’t waiting for the hammer to drop that they were actually having fun. And for it a moment that normalcy and false happiness rubbed off on the cranky science teacher who was never one for holidays of any sort. Even in a town built around Halloween.

As an outsider, Bruce wasn’t born with the Halloween spirit. It was gifted to him, though, year after year. Townsfolk who took pity on his pathetic attempts at decorating. Neighbors who baked treats and desserts left on his doorstep. Coworkers who brainstormed costume ideas and dragged him to parties. Each year that passed it got easier and easier for everyone to twist Bruce’s arm until they didn’t have to.

For the past few years, he’d been leaving cookies for his neighbors. A little charred on the bottom, decorated simply, but not a single house complained. The change must have emboldened some of his coworkers though as they recruited him for a night of costumed speed dating. It was the last time the town was doing something like this. They laid the guilt on thick.

Bruce was among four other staffers who weren’t married, even one of the teachers who was dating someone went to witness it all. Many emails were exchanged for days leading up to the event. Who would wear what, despite Bruce’s numerous protests that knowing that would ruin the event. How they’d get there and which bar they were meeting at to discuss all the details. A never-ending stream of planning by people who should have been teaching their classes but everyone coasted around the holidays.

The night would be simple enough. Bruce would go dressed in a ruined bed sheet, make sure that no one was interested in him, skip the gossipy drinks, and then two nights later at the big Halloween bash everyone would get to see their matches without obstruction.

In reality, this was a smart idea. Everyone was given a fair chance. Not to be judged on the superficial, with the exception of those few distasteful costumes that tried to sneak in, but on their personality. Answers to questions, conversational skills, it was what dates should be founded on. Not that Bruce thought he’d find a date here, no matter how ideal it was. Tagging along, instead, because his social circle was going. Because participating and being a part of the events was better than hearing about them the next day.

So he sat through a grueling two hours of three-minute dates. Listening to people both mock him for not trying and appreciating his classic callback sheet-ghost costume. Having insufferable conversations with people who didn’t understand how to listen or have the spotlight off of them. The worst was the number of Scream villains that were there, leaving a few to accessorize just to stand out. Which should have made Bruce’s costumes one of the better ones, at least he was unique.

There was a particularly sweet Jason Voorhees that Bruce could have stood to have another three minutes with and that was far more than he’d expected to happen. He gave her favorable marks but, again, didn’t expect them to be returned.

In the last fifteen minutes, though, when Bruce was eyeing the door and thinking there was no way the last five people were going to be better than anyone before them, a werewolf sat down at the table. Promptly explaining that he wasn’t any werewolf but the Teen Wolf, hence the basketball shorts. Teen wolves were apparently very crucial to the basketball team. It was a reference Bruce didn’t get and the man seemed used to hearing that, if not still a little dejected. Running through the basic questions got them to Bruce’s job, to his doctorates, his expertise, and somehow to an argument about the merits of various alternative energy forms. A solid two minutes was spent citing facts and studies, managing to get heated enough that the host had wandered over to stand by their table.

What the host didn’t know was it was the most exciting conversation Bruce had had all night. An unnecessary argument that neither needed but both wanted. They were both right and though he couldn’t explain how, he knew they both understood the pointlessness of their argument. Both sides were right but the conversation was well informed, the Teen Wolf didn’t back down, and if Bruce thought he wanted to talk to Jason for three more minutes, he could have fought with this werewolf for three hours.

The few dates that followed were a blur, Bruce wasn’t sure he even spoke to the one. More than once he caught the werewolf looking back at his table. Whether the spirit of Halloween was watching over the town or it was fate, Bruce left the event with an unexpected feeling of success and far too many thoughts in his head. The one thing he didn’t count on had happened. He found a match.

He’d gone home, as he’d planned, but his coworkers brought the gossip to him the next morning. Waiting in his classroom with coffee. Everyone gushed (quietly as there was more than one hangover in the room) about the people they spoke with and Bruce made sure to wait until just before the first bell to say he found a werewolf who caught his interest.

Never before had his computer chimed with so many alerts. He had to mute it in order to teach but he was distracted and the kids weren’t any better. They dissolved various Halloween candy staples, carved pumpkins because someone donated their overflow and no other teacher wanted to deal with the mess, and Bruce kept the day easy. Everyone’s mind was on the party quickly approaching. And for the first time since moving here, Bruce found himself wishing it would come just a little faster. Not just so it’d be done and life could go back to normal until Christmas break.

For those few days, it seemed like no one talked about the factory closing. It wasn’t who was out of a job anymore but who was driving the tractor for the hayrides. Collectively a town decided to ignore their impending doom and had Bruce not been so wrapped up in it himself it would have been an interesting study.

Though underneath the excitement were murmurings that a Stark was in town. No one knew what for. Some hoped for the best, that’d they had seen things clearly and were going to announce that the factory would remain open. Others didn’t even try to mask their threats. The rest used logic, the town hall meeting on the first day of November was likely going to be led by Tony Stark as he thanked the community for their years of loyal service, offered nothing, and made himself feel good before going back to one of his many mansions to never think about them again. Comments that passed as quickly as they came, replaced by where to find a recipe or if the grocery store had taken eggs off the shelf yet.

Eventually all the gossiping and planning came to it’s natural conclusion. Halloween arrived and without sight or word from Stark. Bruce thought he must have some sense if he’s staying out of the way. Yet another thing to add to their list of Halloween blessings. Had Stark not been doing what he was, Bruce would have given him a bit of credit for allowing the festivities to carry on without him.

For most of the day’s events, Bruce stayed at home. He graded papers, watched a few shows, and kept things on an even keel. Not because he didn’t want to go out, he had no reason to since he didn’t have any children. He stayed home for his sanity. Crowds were never his thing and because he’d decided last night to attend the big dance in hopes of a speed date match, Bruce needed all the energy he could store. Though it did afford him far too much time to think about what it would feel like to learn no one wanted the reveal.

Staying home until he couldn’t handle the busy work anymore, Bruce made his way to the center of town. Talking to kids he currently taught, kids he’d taught in the past who were carrying children of their own, and running into a couple of people from work all helped to wrap the event in a warm feeling of welcome. The brisk air mixed with the food and blew around leaves, creating something nothing short of picturesque. As he took it all in, Bruce’s heart broke with the knowledge that the town would never feel like this again.

He bought popcorn balls from some grade school kids, drank what felt like a gallon of apple cider, and stocked up on candies for the rest of the fall. Bruce found a greater sense of peace and calm out among the crowd than he did at home but slowly families started to make their way home. Children were left with babysitters, teenagers went off to their parties deep in the woods that they thought no one knew about, and left the adults to their barn dance.

The nerves Bruce had been trying to avoid found their way to him as he wrote his name on a sticker, drew a little ghost and pressed it over the pocket of his flannel shirt. When the matches were posted right at center stage, Bruce held back. Maybe if everyone else paired up he wouldn’t even need to see. Except he needed to know. Before he could force his legs to carry him up to his fate someone stood in front of him.

“You? You were under that sheet?” the man asked

“I was. You were, uh? I don’t see your name tag.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think it went with my outfit.”

“Who says stuff like that?”

“I don’t know, me I guess.”

“I feel like I know you,” Bruce said, squinting in hopes it would help him figure it out.

The man stood there, watching Bruce with a single arched eyebrow, holding his breath in waiting. It took a minute, far too long if you asked either of them, but Bruce’s eyes went wide.

“Tony? Tony Carbonell? No! It can’t be. What are you doing here?”

“Business,” Tony said. Not exactly lying.

“God, I haven’t seen you since high school.”

“Science High. Home of the best or something like that.”

“Only if you applied yourself,” Bruce laughed at his own joke and it didn’t feel like it was his voice. He’d not laughed like that since...high school.

Repressed feelings came flooding back. The memory of how badly he wanted to talk to Tony when they were fifteen. They were from two different worlds but in constant competition for the top of their class. Bruce would have let Tony win if it meant they got to talk though. He hadn’t pinned for anyone as much or as hard since. Now he was standing face to face, talking to him like they were long-lost friends.

If that realization wasn’t enough, Tony decided to pile on when he said “If I’d have known it was a classmate under that sheet, I’m not sure I would have marked you down as my match.”

Bruce almost dropped his drink. “What?”

“Yeah, you were the only interesting conversation the entire night. I was just bummed we didn’t have another minute. We could have got ourselves kicked out.”

“Wh-” before Bruce could finish repeating himself he sucked in a hefty breath. “The werewolf?”

“Teen Wolf. I told you, man. C’mon, I thought you were smart enough to hold a thought for a day.”

“It’s been two and a half.”

“That’s still not that long.”

Scanning the room, Bruce desperately tried to find a familiar face. Anyone to help out with this situation. He was in over his head and had forgotten why this was a good idea. He wanted to bolt for the door. Not even the door, if he could break through the nearest wall and just run home it’d be preferred.

None of that happened. He was left to stand there with his first crush and talk about flirting with each other. In the course of the conversation, Bruce had fully regressed to his teenage self. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know where to put his arms. Why didn’t he have something stronger than cider to drink? Of which he needed another gallon because his throat had never been this dry.

“Who was your pick?” Tony asked.

“Huh?”

“Who did you write down on the form? Who’d you wanna meet?”

“Um, you. The Teen Wolf.”

“Really?”

Bruce nodded to the stage, nearly clear now as everyone had found out whether or not a match had been made, silently telling Tony to go check if he didn’t believe him. Which Tony did. Walking away without a word. As soon as his back was turned, Bruce doubled over, hands on his knees, and breathing like he’d finished a marathon. Now was his chance to run. Yet, again, his feet didn’t want to move. Glued to the spot, waiting for Tony to come back and confirm what Bruce knew to be true. After all these years they’d finally matched.

Before he could coordinate his mind and body, make a swift but likely clumsy exit, Bruce stood up to find himself staring at one of his coworkers. She thought she’d put down a guy she had great chemistry with but they didn’t match and she was distraught. Not that she knew which of the men in the room were the one she was looking for so they were all suspect. Each of them awful in a randomly assigned way.

She’d made the assumption that Bruce hadn’t made a love connection either given he was standing alone and Bruce could have used this as an out. Escort her to the bar, drowning her sorrows, and lay low. Yet those words didn’t come out. Instead, he explained the situation. That he was waiting on confirmation from the tall, dark, and handsome man walking towards them. They had both written down each other’s disguise. Though he did leave out the part that they’d gone to high school together.

Tony came in just in time, nipping the protests and cries of how unfair it was that bordered on insulting. A charming grin that Bruce did not remember him having in school. In fact, Tony had little in common with his high school version. Whereas Bruce wanted desperately to grow another foot, Tony had. He looked like he worked out. Not in a lab, like Bruce, but a gym like people were supposed to. Everything was immaculate, his hair, clothes, smile, all of it. A far cry from just another one of the nerds. If Bruce didn’t know better, Tony almost looked like the kind of person to shove nerds in lockers.

But that couldn’t be true. Tony extended a hand towards Bruce. The slow music, a room full of people swaying back and forth as they excitedly talked about the speed dating and its outcome, Bruce knew what that meant. He’d watched enough movies. Trying to hide wiping his hand on his shirt before putting it in Tony’s, he accepted the dance. Gliding through this dream. So many other places boasted the magic of Christmas but in this moment, it didn’t hold a evergreen scented candle to Halloween.

The last time Bruce had danced with anyone, he’d been a child playing pretend with family. And yet it came easy, his hand in Tony’s, their arms around each other, and just enough distance to talk as they moved around. Like everyone around them, they talked endlessly. The conversation came easy, as unusual as that was for Bruce.

Somewhere between memories brought up by the songs the DJ played, what they’d done since high school, and watching as the dance floor emptied, the sun had gone down. Replacing that warm autumn light with string after string of lights above their head. The perfect glow as the smell of popcorn and funnel cakes had burnt off and bonfires had taken over.

“So what brings you here?” Bruce finally asked. The question had been sitting behind everything else they’d discussed. “It’s pretty far from where we met and I know my path here but you...you don’t live here, I’d have seen you before.”

“I don’t, I live in New York. Would you buy that I came for the spirit of Halloween?”

“Plausible. It is why most visitors come but you strike me as more of an Amityville Horror Halloween than caramel apples and corn mazes.”

“You’re not wrong,” Tony laughed. “Have you been there?”

“No, and you’re changing the subject.”

“And you’re too smart to fall for it. What if I told you no one has called me Carbonell in so long I almost forgot it was me?”

Bruce stopped the lazy circle they were shuffling in. “What do you mean?”

“It’s my mom’s maiden name. I went by it in school because my dad’s last name is, uh, recognizable and I didn’t want to be recognized. I mean, I still don’t want to be recognized as his but I’ve got his company, I’m trying to make it better. Make the name better.”

Facts were connecting for Bruce and he didn’t like where they were going. The data made sense but he needed to hear it. “What’s your last name then.”

Around them, the world seemed to stop and slowly fade away. Without the music, Bruce had come to a complete stop, staring at Tony and daring him to give the answer they both knew he would. The answer that would ruin Halloween.

“Stark.”

#science bros #hallmark halloween #one shot

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nauseateddrive · 4 years ago

Text

4 POEMS by Jake Sheff

Elegy for Dog I: A Failed Acrostic

January was tired when it became king. Apples here love being red in the spring, Casting shadows against the stone architraves our Kapellmeister will never live down. You Stole Apollo’s cows, and let them graze to show me Heaven’s template. Where do failed heroes go? Eucalyptus cupolas and polar icecaps Frame the downtrodden gods. But you weren’t Freakishly wrong, as I so often am, on your

Joyride through nearly twice eight years, Á la someone far from beauty’s stepmom. Copper coin or grimacing sun? I’ve got 20,000 Kor of crushed grief on this threshing floor. Shark-sparks of sadness flood the impetiginous air… How, and why, do clouds cobblestone Entire days, and lakes, when you’re not here? Fixing every broken thing, poets go where Ferns and geraniums baptize the morning.

“Jur-any-oms,” is how you’d spell it; After all, a dog’s a dog, and wisdom knows futility. Cassations make a rusty brew, to drink the truth of truths, and Kill whatever ceases wanting to be new. Stewardship, the color of gravity’s silence, naturally Houses every “glur” (a glittery blur); go chase what plays Eternal games. I hear the swans by Rooster Rock. Your handsome Face, its happy handsomeness, in memory’s eye, goes in and out of Focus; in love’s better eye: your goodness neath its everblooming ficus.

Gravity and Grace on SW Murray Scholls Drive

“Impatience has ruined many excellent men who, rejecting the slow, sure way, court destruction by rising too quickly.” Tacitus, The Annals of Imperial Rome

The traffic lights control the people’s actions, but Not their feelings, as the limits of philosophy Collide head on with the nose of a Dalmatian.

I tell you, the day is stress-testing itself, and these Sidewalks wish that it’d just gone straight. Geese Take this sky-hairing wind for granted, as they

Land on the lake like memorable speech on The sensitive soul. Time is never sharp, but it’s Cutting something in the credit union. Maybe

It’s dancing a back Corte for the woman in line Thinking about the taste of limes from Temecula As she waits for the teller. Air Alaska and that

Haunted pie in the sky are not the only reasons For all the volatility in the air today. Rushing And perfectionism both produce a loss; behind

The Safeway Pharmacy, you’ll see the small Smells of both, sloshing around to the ticking- Sound of the ocean’s tides. I must admit, I am

Frozen in place by the sight of steam from Joe’s Burgers; it is poetry’s pale tongue, rising in And arousing the air. This neighborhood’s street-

Lights are more serious than kokeshi dolls. Lights From its windows outshine poison dart frogs. Maybe to forget about life for awhile, the lamps

Are focused on The Population Bomb? ‘Easy Tiger,’ all these incidents whisper. Each day’s A sign twirler’s dais; each corner a promise

Of something more in a different direction: it isn’t A marriageable daughter or impoverishment, But inguinal ingenuity plays a part, and that isn’t

Bad at all. What oaths and paths went here Before Walmart? What voices were voided by The liquor store? What are vague’s values

When the library shares a parking lot with a 24- Hour gym and a cargo cult? Gas stations satirize The Queen of Hearts; I tell you, it makes every

Question seem incidental. Treaty-breakers in Pajamas swing on the swing sets. Was August That full of angst? It feels like autumn went too

Far on accident. Desertification, in a sugar tong Splint, takes a shot of ouzo and talks shit About the death of Brutus, but my Bible-thumping

Memory – on a ski hill in Duluth – is also too busy Watching some ducks on the lake to notice; and Desertification makes a face at me like a Swedish

Film. Poets make for poorly picked men to Familiarity’s paymaster-general. The Calvinistic Rain is an ill-starred attempt to make mayonnaise-

Fries just for me, but I must admit, it all seems – You know – cybernetic. And step-motherly as all Get out, if you ask the trees. They prefer “You

Can’t Hurry Love,” by The Supremes, to any Changes that take effect in one to two pay periods. Pretext ricochets; a perfect reverse promenade.

At Summer Lake, When the Vegetables are Sleeping

Cruelty drinks all the wine, and never gets drunk On these shores. When Summer Lake speaks, In every word, an introduction to the world. I am

Easily duped. The greatest duper duplicates my pride, Which always lingers, in the hallways of my heart And beneath the surface of Summer Lake. The sky is

Supplicating, it’s literally shaking. An hour passes Faster here, the hour always held too dearly dear In paranoid and ivied walls. The ducks can do

An unwise thing correctly, and it sounds more like Dusty than Buffalo Springfield to the enokitake Sold in Springfield, Illinois, which is the opposite

Effect it has on the wild mushrooms on these shores. On cables capable of love, the geese convince The weather to taste like kvass today. Basically,

Another Cuban Missile Crisis drowned itself just Now. The clouds might ask themselves, ‘Is lowliness Allowed here?’ To which the crows might ask,

‘Does omertà sound like lightning?’ The answer’s Oubliette is ten times worse than impotence. Summer Lake isn’t smart, but it stays quiet, like

Someone too smart to say all they know. ‘Whoa, Sweet potato,’ the capital gains tax mutters To itself, knowing that what matters doesn’t mean

A thing. Some say the lake bottom’s sands receive Commands from Hearst Castle, others say Its hands are King City’s hands, and still others

Maintain more sins have been than grains of sand Times secondary gains, and that explains The beauty and industry that none can see but

All can feel on these shores. (Some possibilities Play possum, or get opsonized by hate; this one snores Like Rip Van Winkle.) This orb-weaver spider is

The Milton Friedman of Summer Lake, the wind On her web is Grenache from The Rocks District Of Milton-Freewater AVA for the eyes. The day is

Stereotypical, although it feels like three days In one…But for the lake’s good counterfactual Questions, I would forget that some die young,

But most die wrong. I’ve tried to pick up Summer Lake’s reflections in three lines or less, but The hardest truth is your own impotence. Oh,

It’s hard to hand your power over to a thing No one can see. Hopped up on distinctions – not The obvious distinctions – Summer Lake is pretty;

Cold, but pretty! In the distance, with so many Intercessory prayers, hot air balloons are rising; Shaped like teardrops, upside down and rising.

This lake re-something-or-anothered me. Are first Impressions wrong sometimes? I am a season’s Golden calf, according to the sunlight, doing

A prospector’s jig on the surface of Summer Lake. If not for the Weimar Republic’s wooden- Headedness, I’d set down my heart-song and

Listen to reason on these shores. I never trust An activist guitar, if the weather is socially clumsy. The future is reflected on the lake: it always

Laughs at us – between its math and gratitude Lessons – and never thinks of (or gives thanks to) Us enough. The presence in the lake juniors

My ears. The day is not too baffling, nor is it Jane Eyre. Space-themed and spiritual, some autumn Leaves are swimming in the rain. The ducks arrest

My attention in the mardy weather, even though they Must know my attention is dying. The barbed wire Around my stated goal is an outcome out of

Their control. Picnickers picnic with acorns and apricots, On blankets covering Holy Schnikey’s death mask. My unsandaled thoughts thrive and increase on these,

And no other shores. They are pets for the days less Important than love, when Summer Lake says it’s Humble, because it knows the right thing to say.

Summer Lake gives the comfort of commonly held And seriously absurd beliefs to the blue heron. Nothing is wrong with this lake or anything in it,

Not even the ghost of Amerigo Vespucci. It’s all so Simple to the stiff-necked molecules of water, made out Of frogs and snails and puppy-dog’s tails. These thoughts

Are fine manna in a fine ditch. Post-structuralist squirrels Can tell my heart’s in Italy, and I’m in the intellectual Laity. Chivalry’s technician sees my shovel, and they say,

‘You’ve got to hand it to him.’ Neurocysticercosis Sets the bar high; it looks at this park, and thinks The smartest monkey drew the perfect landscape.

That’s this maple tree’s previous disease, its precious One. It unfurls the ferns of my firm and foremost Beliefs, I’m told, to partialize insufferable vastidity.

We Install a Sump Pump on (What Used To Be) a Holiday (Take 2)

The oppressive heat was born a fully grown Man. I admire the result of its effort, but Despise the means of achieving it. My wife Asserts her individuality in the gunk; her Body’s allegations aren’t too soft or hard today. Her self-interest seems to have drowned in the vortex.

Our little garden knows flippancy with regards To privacy is unwise. The stepping stones can Only blather, as slugs draw nomograms on Their faces. My wife’s body speaks Proto-Indo- European in the vortex and denim overalls. Marc Chagall��s The Poet studies her. He calls her

‘Innocence: The opposite of life! A criminal with A badge!’ I hand her the tools of a crude and Rudimentary faith, and she says, ‘Jill, great books Make fine shackles.’ Her arms only have An administrative objective in the vortex, but They are where good things come from.

Jake Sheff is a pediatrician in Oregon and veteran of the US Air Force. He's married with a daughter and whole lot of pets. Poems of Jake’s are in Radius, The Ekphrastic Review, Crab Orchard Review, The Cossack Review and elsewhere. He won 1st place in the 2017 SFPA speculative poetry contest and a Laureate's Choice prize in the 2019 Maria W. Faust Sonnet Contest. Past poems and short stories have been nominated for the Best of the Net Anthology and the Pushcart Prize. His chapbook is “Looting Versailles” (Alabaster Leaves Publishing).

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scribeofmorpheus · 4 years ago

Text

Chasing Tornadoes {4/6}

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader

Series Warnings: poorly written medical procedural, mild delving into spirituality, language, overbearing egos, graphic descriptions of medical procedures. more warnings to be added. 18+ Generally, like my blog.

A/N: no warnings...alcohol?

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3

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During the entire walk from the hospital to one of your regular haunts, you had taken every chance you could to vet your frustrations and admonish Stephen on every single little thing that had gotten under your skin in the time since he’d arrived. He said nothing the entire time, a look of exhaustion out of place on his usually professional demeanour.

“And to think I always thought Christine was exaggerating about how—” You realised Stephen was no longer beside you when you reached the bar entrance. Instead he was stopped two feet from you, looking up at the weathered bar sign. The bar itself wasn’t anything special—no flashy lights or thematic décor—a hole in the wall would be the best description. Its neighbourhood fairly quiet and unexciting.

“Why am I not surprised that this is where you chose to bring me?” Stephen sounded humoured.

“First my town’s too predictable and now…what, you don’t like my bars too?” You scoffed. “Unbelievable.”

You opened the door and waited for Stephen to enter first, “Come on, drinks aren’t going to bring themselves to you.” You waved him along.

Stephen smirked and then traded places holding the door, “Ladies firs—”

You had already marched in before he could finish his line.

“Tiny, two drinks, one vodka lime and a beer. Make sure it’s warm, from the crate,” you shrugged off your coat as the bartender got working on your order. Stephen followed after you, quizzical brow pulling down at the mention of warm beer, but he didn’t question it.

When the drinks were ready, you collected them from the bar counter and plopped the warm beer in front of Stephen. Sipping on the vodka like it was a fine wine. Stephen cocked a brow and then chuckled to himself, swirling the beer bottle.

“Is this you teaching me a lesson?”

You hummed as you took another sip, “Yup. Drink up Dr Specialist Neurosurgeon From Metro Gen. It’s on me.”

Stephen took a sip and frowned. You laughed to yourself. Wanting to humour you, Stephen took another sip.

“Have you always been so high strung?” You asked him.

He looked you over as if he’d seen something new, “You tell me.” He leaned in across the table.

“See that,” you circled tour finger around his smirk. “Being all coy and avoiding my question by asking another one, that tells me yes.”

“You have me all figured out then?”

“About as figured out as you had me on the first day we met.”

“Ahh,” he took another swig, “this little conversation’s been brewing a while now, I see.”

“You bet it has,” you downed your drink and ordered another.

Four more drinks in, more than a mouthful of opinionated words to throw at Stephen, and you were slurring your words. He was still nursing that first beer.

“See, one egotistical narcissist I could handle. Mike s brilliant but at least he knows his limitations, but you,” you pointed your finger at Stephen, he simply batted his eyes in response. “You come here and throw everything upside down. On its head. A big mess. With your quaffed hair and designer watch and…and—”

You shut your eyes for a second, words slipping from the tip of your tongue.

“Narcissist?” He still had that trademark smirk on. “I thought I was a pompous ass two seconds ago, and an insufferable jerk before that?”

“Yes, well, they’re versatile—you’re versatile. Narcissists I mean.”

You lifted a finger, feeling the loss of the bitter lemon and alcohol blend in your mouth. Stephen held your finger as if shielding the room from the devastation of a finger wiggle.

You laughed, feeling the warmth of Stephen’s palm to be all too comforting. Intimate. He smiled at you and said, “I think it’s time we got you home.”

“Why?” You challenged, yanking your finger away. “It’s not like I have work in the morning.”

Stephen put the bottle down, “Yes, but I do.”

Anger flashed hot in your belly; or maybe it was the booze, “God! Every time I think I can stand you—understand you—you say something like that.”

“I’m an acquired taste,” he winked.

You snorted, “Tell me something I don’t know.”

You scooched out of your sear and stumbled to the door. Stephen righted you and draped an arm around your shoulder. You told him you didn’t need his help, called him a few extra choice words, and he just smiled as though he were sitting through a medical seminar. You had the strong urge to elbow him in the gut and wipe the smile off his face.

“Easy now,” Stephen held your back as you got a spell of vertigo going up the stairs.

“I got it, I got it,” you shoved with no grip.

You fumbled around for your keys, then after a minute of checking and rechecking pockets, a clinking noise sounded out behind you.

Stephen held the keys, “Looking for these?”

“Yes,” you slurred your S’s.

Stephen dangled the keys next to your nose and swooped them away when you reached out. He laughed as you collided with his chest on clumsy feet. You elbowed him weakly, but to the expected result. It was your turn to laugh as you stole your keys away.

Once you got the door open, Stephen said: “Goodnight.”

“Wait,” you spun around. “Seeing as how I don’t have work tomorrow, I have one more thing to get out of my system.”¨

You crooked your finger and Stephen complied and took the two steps between you in one step.

“Another lecture?” He tilted his head to the side.

“Nope,” you popped your P’s as you stood on tippy toes. “This.”

You braced his face, palms running almost as hot as your chest, as kissed him. Lightly, nothing hungry or feverish about the kiss itself, but a spark tickled you’re the nape of your neck. Bristling as if with a cushion of static.

Stephen was taken aback but some of the stiffness in how he held himself loosened up. That rigidity of his posture and character chipped away the faintest bit. You leaned in deeper, taken with the sensation. You’d kissed countless times, but not like this. It wasn’t simply physical, it ran stronger than that. Something told you it wasn’t just an inkling of the connection you could grow to share if you saw eye to eye, but also of him.

In all your years, you’d always had a knack of feeling the spaces between the mind and what you could only describe as the soul. In a handshake, a graze of the fingertips, a glance…a kiss.

Stephen sparked different than his mind. He was methodical, yet…luminously fluid. Powerful of current, but bound behind the shackles of his dogma: logic.

To put it simply, Stephen’s touch—his mind, his spirit, the very heat of his breath against your lips between the pauses of the kiss—radiated like fireflies in the moonlight. Like magic.

When the kiss broke, you gasped. Stephen looked dumbfounded, a marvellously hilarious look if the feeling running through you wasn’t so strong.

Stephen touched the tips of his fingers to his lips. You did too. There was electricity there.

“Wow,” you whispered.

“That—” Stephen tried to regain composure. “That wasn’t what I thought you needed to get out of your system.”

You wished you could say you were surprised by your actions, that it was the alcohol and midnight air full of heady promise, but it wasn’t. Not entirely. Stephen may have been a pompous ass with a brilliant mind and a swagger to how he walked, but god damn if that wasn’t also what drew you to him.

Oh, you thought. So that is what Christine saw in him.

Stephen’s feet moved an inch closer to you, but his hands were balled by his sides now. He looked down at you with that expression he had in the bar—eyes filled with the realisation of discovery.

You held your breath, hoping he’d be the one to lean in and reinitiate the kiss. He didn’t. You were surprisingly disappointed.

“I—goodnight…” he cleared his throat and walked away as if someone was following after him.

You giggled, the tingling on your neck now tickling your lips, “Strange.”

Whether you were calling after him on impulse or simply noting the weird energy about the kiss, you couldn’t tell. Cool air stinging your flush cheeks.

And then your stomach turned.

To be continued...

#stephen strange #stephan strange imagine #doctor strange imagine #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange x reader #reader insert #marvel #mcu #mcu imagine

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stiltonbasket · 4 years ago

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chancellor of the morning sun: first meeting, xichen (childhood)

In which Lan Xichen stages a rescue and meets her intended husband; or, part 3 of the nielan au that has completely taken over my brain.

Part 1 | Part 2: Lesson (Youth) | Part 3: First Meeting, Mingjue (Childhood) | AO3

“Where are we going, A-Jie?”

“We’re just walking, A-Zhan.”

Her little brother looks doubtfully up at the sky and clutches her hand a little tighter.

“Jie, wasn’t the leisure hall that way?”

“No,” she says gloomily. “That’s the building where Wen-zongzhu keeps his biting lizards.”

In a manner that rather forebodes ill for the rest of her stay in Qishan, eleven-year-old Lan Huan, first heir to the Gusu Lan clan and courtesy name Xichen, is completely and utterly lost in the immense gardens of the Nightless City’s Sun Palace. She hadn’t meant to get lost, of course; Shufu went off to join the day’s more important audiences with all the rest of the sect leaders, so Xichen and A-Zhan were supposed to stay with the women and children in the leisure wing and enjoy the entertainment Sect Leader Wen had provided for them.

But then one of the boys from the Jiang clan decided to steal the flowers from the vases standing about the room and throw them at A-Zhan, which bothered her poor baby brother so much—both at the sheer shamelessness of it and because the flowers were being wasted—that Xichen led the child back to his mother and bundled A-Zhan off for a walk in the grounds to settle him. And then the two young masters of the Wen sect appeared out of nowhere, offering to show Lan Huan and Lan Zhan around the palace, but Shufu drilled the importance of never being alone with a man she didn’t know or trust into her head so many times that Lan Huan said she was going to join Madam Jin outside and fled as fast as she could.

She would have suffered the invitation if it had been just Wen Chao, but Wen Xu is past sixteen and nearly as tall as her uncle, and the thought of being alone with him put her on edge.

Shuoyue is not and never has been for show, even if Lan Huan is only eleven, but it has never been proper for a young master older than fourteen or so to invite a strange young maiden to accompany him somewhere without a chaperone. Wen Xu certainly knows that, even if Wen Chao might not have been told just yet, which means the boy is probably untrustworthy in some way or other.

“Will we go see Madam Jin?” A-Zhan asks, tugging at her hand again. “That’s what you told Wen Xu.”

“We can’t,” Lan Huan says regretfully. She met Jin Zixuan briefly at a banquet in the Cloud Recesses last year, and the boy asked his father if he could “marry Maiden Lan instead, since she is prettier than Jiang-guniang,” the moment he thought Lan Huan was out of earshot—which she wasn’t, since all she had done was walk into the next room to have tea with Madam Qin and her daughter, Qin Su.

Jin Guangshan remarked that it wasn’t a bad idea (which would have stopped Lan Huan’s heart in its tracks, were she not already betrothed to the unknown but not yet insufferable Nie Mingjue, and not fully aware that Shufu only let the engagement stand because he knows her intended’s father is a good man) and asked Jin-furen if they might talk to her uncle about a future courtship. But then, Jin-furen snapped at her son for chasing the first pair of pretty eyes he saw—whatever that meant—and gave Lan Huan nothing but dark looks until the banquet was over.

So Madam Jin is out of the question, and for a very good, if unfortunate reason.

“As if I would ever marry Jin Zixuan,” she mutters to herself. The boy isn’t a bad sort, exactly, but very sure that he is the most important person in every room that doesn’t already have his father in it, and Lan Huan has had far too much of that in her time—especially for a girl who refuses to live and cultivate on the women’s side of the Cloud Recesses, and ends up in front of a panel of concerned elders every other month to discuss her unmaidenly behavior, Young Mistress.

It is at this juncture—when Lan Huan is revisiting the memory of Jin-furen’s determination to keep Jin Zixuan away from her and close to Jiang Yanli while they were all still together in Wen Ruohan’s leisure hall, and seething a little at the thought that Madam Jin seems to believe Lan Huan might fall prey to her son’s nonexistent charms—that A-Zhan tugs at her arm for a third time, and points to a suspicious-looking disturbance on the surface of a nearby pool.

“Someone fell in, A-Jie,” he says, staring intently at the splashing water before gazing up at her in distress. “Someone small, like me.”

She squints, and then cries out in horrified surprise when a tiny hand flails above the side of the pond before sinking back down again. “Stay here, A-Zhan!”

Lan Huan throws off the outer two layers of her robes and runs towards the tiled pond so quickly that she nearly trips over her own feet, vaulting over the short stone wall and tumbling into the water just in time to hoist a little bundle of grey and white cloth up against her chest so it can breathe properly again. The pond is less than a foot deeper than she is tall, but the tiny child in her arms can hardly swim, and clings to her neck in terror as she paddles them slowly back towards the water’s edge—Shufu taught her never to cling if someone tried to rescue her from the water when she was very small, but no one seems to have told this baby that, so she fights for breath as best she can before splashing back to the tiled wall and hauling herself and the child out.

“Don’t cry,” she rasps, vaguely aware that her little charge is wailing into her wet clothes, and that a pair of older boys seem to be running towards them from the far end of the gardens, while also wailing at the top of their lungs. “Can you get your breath, little one?”

“There was a frog!” the small boy sobs, shoving his face against her stomach and hiding it there. “And I chased it, and then I slipped and fell in!”

At least he can breathe, if he’s crying so much, Lan Huan thinks wryly, before sitting up and peeling the child out of his sodden gown.

“A-Zhan, bring my clothes here,” she instructs, as her brother picks up her fallen white robes and hurries over to her side. Between the two of them, they manage to get the little frog-hunter dry with one of her gowns and warmly wrapped up with the other one, which is when the shrieking boys from earlier—one wearing black and silver, and one in Lanling gold—finally dash down the path and skid to a halt in front of them.

“Huaisang!” the older one chokes, almost crying himself as he reaches her. “A-Sang, you—”

“I fell in, Gege!” Huaisang squeaks (Nie Huaisang, Xichen realizes) before bursting into tears again as the tall youth falls to his knees in the grass and cuffs him around the ears. “Gege! You’re so mean! I almost died before this jiejie pulled me out, and now you’re hitting me!”

“I’ll hit you again in a minute, just wait!” the boy screeches. “What did you think you were doing, wandering off on your own when I told you not to let go of my hand unless we were back with Father? You could have drowned, A-Sang!”

“That was very foolish, Huaisang,” the second boy says, and Lan Xichen stifles a sigh of despair when she realizes that the new young master’s companion is none other than Jin Zixuan—because today hasn’t been bad enough, apparently. “Nie-da-gongzi was ready to tear the gardens apart when he realized you were gone.”

Nie-da-gongzi.

This shouting, trembling youth in front of her, clutching his little brother to his heart and berating him at every other breath, is none other than Lan Xichen’s intended, the person Xichen will bow to earth and heaven beside when she comes of age.

(How strange it is that they have met in such a way rather than at the banquet scheduled to take place later tonight, as Shufu and Nie-zongzhu both planned.)

“Maiden Lan,” Jin Zixuan blurts out, going a little pink in the cheeks as she spares him a cool, disinterested glance. At her side, A-Zhan squeezes her hand and glares up at the older boy, who takes a few involuntary steps backward before remembering that her brother is only seven years old and wouldn’t hurt a fly. “That was a very brave thing you just did.”

The older Nie-gongzi freezes on the ground, finally looking at her and A-Zhan for long enough to register the blue silk ribbons on their foreheads, and then at the delicate beaded clouds sewn onto the lace-trimmed gown bundled around Nie Huaisang’s shoulders.

And then, after his mind catches up with his eyes, he looks up at Lan Xichen and prostrates himself at her feet so forcefully that he strikes her damp shoes with his forehead. “Maiden Lan!” he gasps. “Forgive me, I did not see your ribbon, but—I cannot be grateful enough, Lan-guniang, that you saved Huaisang! I and my clan are forever in your debt, a debt that can never be repaid if we tried for a thousand years, but—”

“Give.”

All three of the older children assembled (and Nie Huaisang, now suspiciously cheerful again as he snuggles into his borrowed robe) look around for the source of the reproof before realizing that Lan Zhan had spoken, pointing straight at Nie Mingjue with his tiny forefinger outstretched in threat like one of Shufu’s discipline rulers.

“Ah, what?” Young Master Nie says gently. “What should I give, Lan-xiao-gongzi?”

“Give Jie your robe. She’ll freeze if you don’t.”

The weather—yet another nail in the coffin of Lan Xichen’s afternoon, though coming face to face with her betrothed has been one of the few tolerable things about it—chooses that moment to send a frigid wind over the gardens, making Xichen shiver despite herself as Nie-gongzi straightens up and takes off his outer gown. Jin Zixuan seems to realize then that Lan Xichen is only in her inner garments, turning his face away in embarrassment while Lan Zhan takes the robe from Nie Mingjue and helps his sister into it.

“Thank you, Nie-gongzi,” she says, tying the wide sash securely around her waist. “It would have been strange to walk all the way back to the guest quarters without my overgown. Shall I return this to you in the morning, after I have the time to have it washed?”

“Oh, there’s no need!” Nie Mingjue cries, waving his hands in the air as Jin Zixuan turns to stare at him in disbelief. “That’s a talisman robe, so it’ll be fine even if your inner robe isn’t clean after the pond water. And it’ll dry your inner robes off too in a minute, so you can be warm on your way back to the palace.”

He dithers on the spot for a moment, and then bows low at the waist. “May I see you and the little young master safely back to your uncle, Maiden Lan?”

“You may,” Lan Xichen agrees, moving to take her brother’s hand before running back to fetch Shuoyue, which she dropped into a flowerbed some thirty feet away when she removed her two outer garments. “There, I’m ready. Come along, A-Zhan.”

“That’s a beautiful jian,” Nie Mingjue remarks as they set off down one of the garden paths—he seems to know where he’s going, to Lan Xichen’s relief, which will hopefully squash their chances of having another unfortunate adventure between here and the Sun Palace’s guest wing. “I like the jade stripe down the middle of the scabbard. Did you choose it yourself?”

“Yes, I did,” she smiles, rather glad at the prospect of someone liking Shuoyue. The elders insisted that eleven was too young to carry a sword in public, even though her core was so advanced that she had gained enough control over it to fly on a jian by the time she was six—so wearing it to gatherings often feels like an act of defiance, and one she wishes she never had to perform. “It has a white-jade handle too, see?”

“Marvelous,” Nie-gongzi agrees, sounding a little breathless as he gazes at the weapon with stars in his eyes. “You know, all of the swords I’ve seen from the Lan clan are decorated with white and silver finishings, but the green jade on yours looks wonderful. It’s like—like a pine tree, and the white jade at the handle looks like snow.”

He takes in a breath and gathers himself up, and then—

“Do you like sabers? I have a very good one. She’s called Baxia.”

“Baxia, like the sihai longwang’s eighth son?” Lan Xichen frowns, trying to remember exactly which son of the dragon god of the four seas shared the saber’s name. “Or was it the sixth, the turtle-dragon?”

“Baxia’s name is split between them both, actually,” Nie Mingjue says shyly. “The sixth one is called Bixi, too. It’s about the only piece of legend I know by heart, since I don’t read very much, but of course I had to learn the story behind my dao’s name so I could tell people about it.”

“It’s a very strong name. And fitting, since the figure of the eighth son guards bridges, and the Unclean Realm is said to be a great fortress with many raised terraces over the lower courts for archers.”

“That’s exactly why I chose it!” he exclaims. “We have statues of Lord Baxia all over the stronghold, but no one’s ever called their saber that before.”

The conversation proceeds in much the same vein all the way back to Shufu’s rooms, and by the end of it Lan Xichen has learned more about the Nie clan’s cultivation than she thought she would ever have the chance to, since none of the five great sects like to share their secrets with outsiders. In return, she tells Nie Mingjue about the chord assassination path, and how likes cultivating with Liebing better because the xiao is useful even outside combat—and the boy’s eyes go even rounder as she plays a few notes meant to relieve sore muscles and cure headaches, wiping away the little furrow between his brows as his shoulders finally relax.

“Our clan prefers an honorable battle to settle matters,” Nie-gongzi admits, as they reach her uncle’s door. “But healers are far superior, because they must mend the hurts that warriors leave behind.”

Shufu throws the door open before Lan Xichen can reply, ushering her and A-Zhan over the threshold before realizing that Xichen is dressed in the colors of a young master from Qinghe instead of Lan blue and white; and then he notices that Nie Mingjue is missing his fourth layer, and that the child in his arms is wearing Lan Xichen’s outer robe, and then that Lan Zhan is carrying her second one, since they used it as a towel to dry Nie Huaisang.

“Xichen,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Would you care to tell me what happened here, and why you are over an hour late back to our quarters?”

“A-Zhan and I got lost on our way back to the leisure hall, and we found Young Master Nie after he fell into one of the pools in the garden,” she says, studiously ignoring the puzzled glances Jin Zixuan and Nie Mingjue exchange behind her back at the mention of her courtesy name. “I pulled him out and gave him one of my robes to keep him warm, and so Nie-da-gongzi gave me his. This niece is most sorry for worrying you, Shufu.”

Her uncle frowns and opens his mouth—probably to scold someone, though she can’t be sure just who yet—but then Nie Huaisang’s stomach rumbles from his perch against his brother’s shoulder, and Lan Xichen (trained by over half a lifetime of looking after A-Zhan, since she had to be his mother in A-Niang’s place because A-Niang couldn’t) finds herself reaching for one of the qiankun pouches in A-Zhan’s sleeve before passing it to Nie Mingjue.

“Thank you, Maiden Lan,” he says, confused. “I will...I mean, this gift...uh, what is it?”

“I baked a batch of red-bean pastries for the trip, since Shufu and A-Zhan like them,” Xichen replies, watching with a warm glow in her stomach as Nie Huaisang reaches over to undo the drawstring and squeals in delight when his hands close around a pile of fresh buns. “A-Sang should eat as many as he likes—he just fell into cold water, after all, and I always carry food in talisman pouches to keep it warm.”

“Lan-guniang,” Nie Mingjue gasps. “This is too much, we couldn’t possibly—”

“You five missed the lunch banquet, and there will be no more food for any of you until dinner,” Shufu snaps at him. “Take it, Young Master Nie, since my niece has offered, and get that child into a hot bath before he catches his death of cold. Now, I bid you good afternoon, for heaven’s sake try to come to the evening feast with the full four layers of robes on your shoulders.”

And then he slides the door shut in Nie Mingjue’s face, turning on Xichen and Lan Zhan with a scowl that melts into a thoughtful sort of look before either of them have time to do much more than wilt in resignation for the lecture ahead.

But then he sighs, and tucks his hands behind his back before smiling at Lan Xichen.

“So you have met your betrothed, A-Huan,” he says, sounding as if he might laugh, for some reason. “What do you think? Do you like him?”

Lan Xichen would have liked to say something along the lines of yes, he seems all right, Shufu, or I’m sure he and I will get along well when we’re older—but her tongue betrays her, in the end, and all Xichen can find words for is this:

“I do like Nie-gongzi, Shufu,” she confesses. “I like him very much.”

#nielan #lan xichen #nie mingjue #chancellor of the morning sun #nielan arranged marriage au #the untamed #my fic #mo dao zu shi

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bbrandy2002 · 5 years ago

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My Love

Chapter Three: Yesterday

A/N: Want to give proper credit to @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore whose thoughtful comments on the previous chapter inspired some of the sentiments and title of this chapter (even though she killed Liam this week and I had to declare war against her).

*One day I will create a moodboard, but, today is not that day.

Warnings: Language and brief mention of infant loss THAT HAS NOTHING to do with this chapter. I was asked by several people how Ellie will be able to continue feeding and it will be explained. Just wanted to be on the safe side there.

Series Summary: After losing the love of his life, Liam is forced to endure another social season. Not wanting to move on, he finds help from an unlikely ally...his late wife

__________________________________

Hana squinted as her car drove through the crowded gates of the palace; the sun hadn’t fully risen above the horizon yet and its rays were projecting a blinding glare. She slammed her brakes to a halt when she pulled into her usual spot, causing the car's tires to slightly squeal. The car door swung open wildly and she walked with purpose at a quick step, hastily swiping at the tears on her cheeks -- a woman determined to fulfill a promise she made months ago.

She had received the call from Drake only an hour ago, and without hesitation, threw on a pair of white jeans, a tank, and flats. She sobbed as she brushed her hair and tossed it up into a loose ponytail, knowing she had more to do than just grieving the loss of her best friend. Hana, never one to shirk from her duties, had an obligation, one that meant more to her than her own life.

Approaching the rear landing of the palace, she ignored the chatter and bellows that could still be heard from a great distance outside of the gates. For a split second earlier, as she drove in through the seemingly hundreds of mourners and press crowded at the entrance, she contemplated running them down. It was one thing to offer their support and want answers, however at what cost? Did they even know Riley Brooks? The real Riley Brooks? The American behind the Cordonian Crown who befriended a woman from Shanghai and helped her see she was more than some object -- a show-thing -- her parent’s means to success and notoriety. When Constantine was killed during the Costume Ball, she thought, she didn’t recall him receiving this much outpouring of sympathy and heartache. Riley’s death has yet to be officially announced and yet there they were, waiting anxiously for any word on their beloved queen.

Maybe, they did know her after all.

A Royal Guardswoman watched Hana ascend the stairs rapidly with a fierce look. She was quite familiar with Her Majesties, best friend, and didn’t hesitate to open the door for her knowing if she didn’t comply quickly, Hana just may bust through it herself.

The atmosphere inside was somber as Hana continued her quest through familiar passageways; she disregarded the greetings and condolences that were offered to her. Even at a time like this, her mind was sharp and clear. She’d be damned if anyone was going to stop her right now.

When she neared closer to Riley’s office and slowed her quickened pace -- not wanting to make a lot of sounds. Hana had not planned to knock, however what she heard from inside stopped her before her hand could reach the knob.

The voice was gruff but soothing and the song melted her shattered heart. Drake.

“Baby mine, don’t you cry. Baby mine, dry your eyes. Rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine ...”.

Hana had heard Riley sing it to the baby more times than she could count. It was obvious, Drake did as well.

She twisted the knob and eased the door open and closed it softly behind her. Riley had her office completely remodeled weeks ago to accommodate Ellie spending the majority of her time with her when she returned from maternity leave. In the corner of the room, next to a large, open window, Drake sat in an old wooden rocking chair that he refurbished as a baby gift for her office, gently rocking Ellie in his arms.

With Ellie’s tiny fingers wrapped around his large, calloused thumb, he sensed Hana’s presence and began to blush, “I...uhhh...was just..”.

She smiles softly, “I know.”

She walked over to Drake and the baby and crouched down beside them. As her hands glided lovingly over the fine hairs on the top of Ellie’s head, knowing she was fulfilling the promise she made to Riley, she looked up at Drake, both with small tears in their eyes.

“Mind if I sing with you?” She asked; her voice cracked and wispy.

Drake pondered for a moment, not really wanting to in front of Hana, but, nodded..

______

Within the hour, Maxwell and Bertrand made the two-hour drive from Ramsford to the Capitol. The limo was subdued for most of the drive; Maxwell glanced at old photos of he and Riley on his phone while a dismayed Bertrand stared out the window, not saying a word.

Maxwell had wept from the time he found out, that was just the kind of man he was. He is and has always been a very emotional person and shows no fear nor remorse in that fact. Bertrand, on the other hand, accepted the news like a Duke learning his monarch had lost any random member; he had work to do.

After arriving at the palace, Maxwell knew Drake was in Riley’s office, having received the text from Hana several minutes ago. As he headed in that direction, Bertrand moved towards the grand staircase, causing Maxwell to take notice in what appeared to be insensitive behavior on his brother’s part.

“Bertrand, where the hell are you going? I told Hana we would meet them in Riley’s office”.

Bertrand turned to his brother just as he climbed the first step, “Yes, yes...please offer up my sincerest condolences to your friends. I will be in the press office should I be needed...and Maxwell...don’t need me”.

“But the press office is on the first floor”, Maxwell shot back.

Bertrand straightened his jacket and his posture, “Indeed it is”, before turning away and continuing up the stairs.

The eldest Beaumont, weaved his way through the corridor he had walked literally hundreds of times, stopping in front of one particularly large, wooden door. He peered down both ends of the hallway, ensuring no one was the wiser to his presence.

Knowing there would be no one inside, he pushed the door open and entered. Everything was exactly the same as he remembered.

He took a deep breath, the scent of lavender and rosewood painting a clear picture in his mind, one that haunted him deeply.

“This is the girl you’ve chosen to represent House Beaumont?”

Bertrand notices the large closet across from the bed and is surprised to find it still full of familiar clothing and accessories; every single piece he remembers fondly as he trails his fingers over each one. The pink derby dress and flashy hat that nearly bankrupted him to purchase and the white gown she wore in Lythikos that showed entirely too much cleavage.

His eyes narrowed as he thumbed across the Applewood peasant costume and removed it with a growl, “Those two nitwits”.

Riley and Maxwell had sworn to him they had returned it to that stage production company he borrowed it from -- quite convincingly so. Bertrand spent nearly a week on the phone defending the two of them and insisted the production company must have misplaced this one-of-a-kind piece of Cordonian history. After losing the battle and his temper, he set up a payment plan to pay off the 35000 Euros the heirloom cost.

He rolled his eyes thinking about how insufferable those two were during the social season: staying up all hours of the night giggling like two schoolgirls, the never-ending jokes at his expense, and those god-forsaken, drunken duets as they traveled from one event to the next. If he never heard, ‘We Will Rock You’, while stomping on the floor of the limo, it would be a day too soon.

Riley and Maxwell caused him more anxiety and agitation than any two people have since, yet at that moment, he would do anything to go back and relive every annoying minute of it.

He held the costume up, looking over it for rips and stains, thinking maybe he could still get his money back, yet that thought quickly dissipated.

“Long live the Apple Queen.” He smiled, then held it close to himself briefly before placing it back on the hook and shutting the door.

He took in the entire room, recalling all those early mornings: their arguments over propriety and cutlery, her backtalk, and lessons upon lessons that somehow the waitress from New York aced each time. Riley knew he was proud of her, Bertrand was confident in that fact.

He glanced down at his watch, contemplating whether or not he should meet up with the others. He opted instead to stay longer, to be alone in this room, with the thoughts and memories of his sister, fresh on his mind and heart. As he sat on the corner of her old bed, he let the pain that had festered within him since leaving Ramsford finally break him down.

His face fell into his palms as he let out a painful sob.

____________

Liam was still curled in the same spot on the floor in front of the sofa; still clinging to her throw blanket and still wondering what the hell happened just a few hours ago. His eyes were dry, having nothing left to secrete from them. He needed to get up because there is so much to do: arrangements needed to be made, meet with Madeleine to make an announcement to the public, and accept phone calls and messages from international leaders expressing their condolences.

He pushed himself up from the floor, still holding on tightly to her blanket, and turned to take in the vast living quarters that had become their home.

On the table in front of Liam were the purple lilies he sent her yesterday -- just like the ones he sent her every week for over a year.

The flowers he would never send again.

Yesterday, everything was fine. Yesterday, he was a happily married man that was more in love with his wife than he thought was possible. Yesterday, he woke up with his arms around her and she taunted him about the plans she had for him that evening. Yesterday, life was normal, happy, and everything he ever envisioned a life with Riley would be like.

Liam tossed her blanket on the couch and wondered: if all those things were true yesterday, how can it not be today?

Their home seemed so empty without her and he shuddered thinking about the finality of that thought: she wouldn’t be home again. He wouldn’t hear that laugh again, dance with her in the kitchen, or arrive late to another ball because he just couldn’t keep his hands off her. Those thoughts grew, and the anger that it manifested took root in the pit of his stomach and was now pushing on every nerve ending in his body. Liam could feel his face redden with heat and scorn. His heart surged, and his mind became muddled with rage. He lurched to the vase full of flowers and threw them across the room. The shattering of glass against the wall only propelled him further as he turned to the sofa table and flipped it over.

“You said you would never leave!" he yelled towards the heavens, “after everything we went through to be together: the scandal, the assassination attempts!!".

He swiped a lamp and book off a nearby end table, "Was it all a fucking lie Riley? .Answer me, goddammit!!! Liam shouted.

Liam shoved the couch corner into the glass cabinet and continued to push and slam again with each remark, “We had a life..We had a marriage. We have a baby!".

He reached for the fireplace poker and didn’t hesitate to bust out the glass covering of the stone hearth, "Damn you for leaving me, Riley Brooks! DAMN YOU!"

He swung furiously over and over at anything and everything in his path while continuing his emphatic curses of damnation against his wife. The glass of picture frames broke, wood splintered, walls pelted with tiny holes, fabrics stripped.

In all of his rage, he didn’t hear the footsteps that were quickly approaching him from behind, Suddenly, there were two strong arms wrapped around him with a tightened grip and pulled him down to the floor.

“Get the fuck off of me, Drake.” Liam struggled to loosen himself as he laid face down on the floor with his best friend holding him in place.

Drake jerked the poker from his hand and tossed it away, “This isn’t the way, Li. She wouldn’t want --”

“Fuck what she would have wanted and your self-righteous indignation, Drake Walker.” Liam continued to fight his way out of the constraints Drake had on him, “I remember the looks you would give her, I bet the two of you were going at it behind my back the entire time. Did you enjoy my wife Drake? Did she fuck you and ...”

“STOP IT!”

As much as Drake wanted to punch him, he knew his friend well enough to ignore his gibes; Maxwell, on the other hand, had enough.

Liam and Drake both snapped their heads back to Maxwell, never seeing him that furious or hearing his voice that raised. “You will never, ever speak of her like that again, treason be damned. Do you understand me?”

A dispirited look crossed Liam’s face, replacing the rage and adrenaline he felt. His face lowered and rested on the floor, having nothing more to give. “I...I just miss her so damn much.”

Drake quickly moved off and Maxwell closed in on them; the two comforting their lifelong friend as he draped his arms over his head and wept.

“Is it okay to come in now?” Hana asked as she peeked around the corner, holding the baby in her arms.

“Yeah...we’re good,” Drake shouted back.

Liam lowered his arms and looked to Hana when he saw his daughter, “Ellie”, he whispered.

Maxwell and Drake helped Liam up and watched as he crossed through the carnage in the living room to retrieve his baby.

Hana asked if he was okay, wanting to be sure he was calm enough to hold her; he assured her he was.

He held Ellie close to him, taking in Riley’s features, feeling ashamed of the words he never meant to say about her mother.

Drake, Maxwell, and Hana spent the rest of the day with Liam and Ellie, joined later by Bertrand.

Riley had pumped enough breastmilk to last several days and Miss Talbert, Riley’s personal assistant, found that bereaved mothers who lost their babies after birth, donated their breast milk to help deal with the loss. Liam gave her the go-ahead to look into that option further and get back with him.

Liam informed Madeleine to release the news to the press and public, but insisted on privacy, although he knew not only the Cordonian press would be all of this, but the American’s, as well.

As Ellie slept in Maxwell’s arms, the group picked and prodded at their lunch, not one of them feeling like eating, when the doorbell rang.

Liam answered the door and stepped aside to let Bastien in.

“Your Majesty.” He bowed.

“Bastien.”

Bastien handed him an envelope. “I received this moments ago. You’ll want to see this, sir.”

Liam turned it over, studying the large, yellowish envelop skeptically, His brows knitted. “What is this?”

The head guard stiffened his postured and let out a heavy breath. “It's the results of Her Majesty's autopsy.. You may want to sit".

#the royal heir #the royal romance #liam x riley #king Liam x mc #trr fanfic #trr drake #maxwell beaumont #hana lee #my love #liam x mc #bbrandy2002

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adrischrv · 4 years ago

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REGNUM [L.H] - Chapter 3

Author´s note: Hi! Here´s the third chapter! English is not my first language so lemme know if there are any mistakes.

Word count: 2,902

Introduction. C1. C2.

The morning after the ball was quiet. The lack of Queen Susan’s joyful life was as strange as the King’s laughter and everyone in the palace could feel it. Even, though I only knew them for a short time. I remembered finding my mother talking on the phone with the Queen about nonsense to serious business matters, I was infinitely grateful to the Queen for taking my mother away from a couple of lessons.

Gardenstone has a particular way of saying goodbye to its loved ones: people would write a word describing such people on an acorn, they would gather and water them all over the forest. A nice old lady explained to me that different trees sprouted like the oak tree and when they grew up a person was also born with the written word in a way that reflected the impact you have on the world even after you die. She could assure me that people with good intentions would come out of the words of Queen Susan, King Robert, and Prince Jake.

“Fifty delivered and about… sixty more arrived.”

Luke nodded, tired. I left the piles of papers on the big desk in front of him and took a seat on the other side.

After he had been appointed King and after the farewell, thousands of petitions from citizens and nobles had arrived in the early hours waiting to be authorized. Seeing the load of papers, I offered to help Luke and avoid the collapse of my neighboring country. My mother decided to do the same on her own by talking to the dukes and duchesses who feared for the future of Gardenstone as it was justly uncertain.

“I slept for two hours… and everyone wants me to approve petitions, I don’t understand why.”

Luke had spoken more to himself, but that didn’t stop me from laughing a little.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, paying attention for the first time all morning.

“Of course they want you to approve petitions. They’re taking advantage. Since your father, may he rest in peace, is no longer the king, they expect you to approve everything he didn’t. But I hope you have not approved many, parliament will have a lot to discuss and it will probably be exhausting.”

Luke was stunned, looking for the right way to hide his inexperience.

“It’s parliament’s job, exhausting or not.”

“They wouldn’t give the same importance to every role and something important might be disapproved of or something unimportant might be approved, it’s risky.”

“If you know so much, why don’t you do it?”

Clearly, the regulation of his tone had a flaw causing it to come out more aggressively than planned.

“It would be a pleasure. I firmly believe that I can do it better than you, Your Majesty.”

Luke let go of the pen in his hand and crossed his arms. If I didn’t think it was funny I’d say he was trying to be intimidating but suddenly he relaxed his gaze.

“I’d like to check that out. Oh, and also about approving petitions, princess.”

I clenched my fists but like him I relaxed my gaze, ready to give an intelligent answer.

“I’m sorry I dared to think I was talking to a king, when it is clear the long road you have to be considered one.”

The slamming of the door interrupted Luke from saying - surely - something stupid.

“Busy, Your Majesty?”

Calum’s brown hair peeked out, smiling at the sight of me.

“Go ahead, did you get any sleep, Cal?”

Calum snorted at Luke’s question, taking a seat next to me at the desk, and took an exhausted stance, dropping his hands down his pants.

“Are you kidding? Mom keeps calling, I had to turn off my Jhin just like Dad. Who, by the way, sent me to find out if you had authorized his request.”

The “Jhin”, modern devices from cell phones that had the option to call among other things, and characterized by a function that allowed an easy finding of information about any individual, in the past there were social networks that were eliminated in the International Revolution and changed by the Jhin.

“You find it in this rubble and I’ll authorize all the requests you want” Luke sighed leaning back in his seat and pointing to the papers in front of him.

Calum looked at him sorrowfully, none of them in the mood. Said and done, Calum managed to find the petition he recognized by the notorious “H” for “Hood” in one corner of the paper, leaving it on top of all the others.

Luke took it, signed it without hesitation, and took a second to read.

“You should read it and then sign it, you know?” Calum mentioned, gaining the satisfaction I hoped to get from correcting Luke.

“You have my absolute trust, you know?” Luke replied in the same tone without taking his eyes off the document, opened his big eyes, and handed it to Calum who accepted it immediately. “Are you my Diplomatic Adviser? What about your father?”

“After what happened last night, he thinks it’s time for me to take his place. I would eventually, but it seems to him that I need to be by your side now to support you and test my training,“ Calum replied, noting the anguish in his friend’s expression.

I had nothing to say so I got up and directed my interest to the books on the shelves pretending not to pay attention.

“I suppose your father went with your mother to his village…”

“You guess right,” Calum paused for a moment. “Hey, I know you’re not well. It must be hard to lose your family… I can’t imagine waking up without my parents and my sister… but you’re not alone, I’m here if you need to talk.”

Luke smiled sideways, quietly accepting his proposal.

“You need to take a break, it’s all happening so fast,“ Calum said, almost reading his mind. “The kingdom needs you to be in good shape.”

Frustrated Luke rose from his seat to sit in the corner of the desk.

“I don’t know what else the kingdom needs, and that will be your first task. Also, stop sending in paperwork, close down the possibility of sending in a petition until further notice.”

I was going to tell him how reckless it was to shut down the arrival of petitions but I finally stopped to think about the matter I had provisionally ignored: I had no power in Gardestone and I didn’t know what was going to happen to the alliance.

“His Majesty, His Highness, young Hood” A guard appeared at the door with cards in hand which he dealt to the three of them. “Their Majesties King Ashton and Queen Lauren of Lauxwell would like you to attend a dinner they have arranged for themselves tonight.“

“Are those harpies still in my palace?” Luke raised an eyebrow. The poor guard did nothing but nod. “Get rid of them. I want them out.”

“Are you crazy?” exclaimed Calum, clearing his throat as he realized the mistake he had just made. “I mean, are you sure you want the Irwins out? As your royal advisor, I don’t think it’s true to your word, your majesty. King Ashton won the duel and the terms-”

Luke raised a hand to stop Calum from talking.

“Guard, I need privacy, if it’s not too much trouble…”

The Guard bade farewell with a bow.

“You too, Princess,” said Luke, “you can request as many maids as you need for tonight, but that’s no reason for you to stay here another second.”

I blinked uncertainly as to how to respond to his insinuation… or insult. I was still debating what was most appropriate.

“Did I not make myself clear? -Or would you rather stay here and stare at me a little longer?”

“I can’t ask my eyes to meet this turtle,” I answered, in the most pleasant tone I could find and advanced to the door.

“Are you sure? I can turn around if you need to,“ I heard him scream from the hall.

Halfway down the hall, I decided that I had to set certain limits for “his majesty” if I was going to live with him and his insufferable attitude for one more second. With that in mind, I changed my direction back to the office and stopped short when I heard my name in the conversation.

“-I’m serious, Cal Amberly is unbearable!”

Eavesdropping had never been something I enjoyed, much less needed. I knew there was nothing good about it�� and yet I stuck my back to the wall outside the office.

“-the whole kingdom is depressed. Just by spreading the word about Princess of Maredale’s temporary stay they have begun to produce the best quality products, the children went out to play again” Calum debated. “Your people feel the comfort they have not received from their king.”

“Is that what they want? Miss “I got a lesson in something important” and “I can run a country on my own”?” Luke asked, trying to imitate my voice. “Nonsense! I bet she can’t choose which well-known book to read without help, so many classes have been useless if she can’t speak for herself and waits for her mother to do all the work for her. A babbler! that’s what she is. Even that Ashton idiot has more courage than she does.”

I thought I’d walk through that door to tell him how wrong he was. I could even make a scene and choose to tear all of his fine clothes into pieces that would be scattered all over the palace.

But I didn’t. Because deep down I knew he was right.

I spat cautiously. My eyes were threatening to drop the tears.

“Please, Luke. You don’t know what you’re saying,“ Calum replied. “Queen Elizabeth is going to be back any minute and I don’t think she’d like to hear the way you express about her daughter.“

“If the Queen does anything, it will only show what a coward the Princess is.”

Without realizing it, I was walking with a strong step to my room.

Luke was telling the truth, what was the point of taking classes and lectures if I couldn’t speak for myself?

Ashton had said it too, though much more subtly. He implied that I could take charge of my destiny and it must not be like my mother had planned all along.

Courage- I didn’t have it. I wanted to find it and show it off like a new toy, but that’s not how it works.

“Princess, I was looking for you.”

Lidia interrupted my walk into the room, looked into my eyes that were probably already a little red and wet. She gave me a warm smile and took my hands and led me into the room. I sat down on the edge of the bed and talked, holding back my sobbing.

“Lidia, I was about to do the same thing, but…”

She hissed as her hands were lost in the closet.

“Quiet, from the look of your beautiful face I can tell you heard something…”

Lidia stood in front of me with a bright ruby red dress in her hands, a golden ribbon, the colors of the Gardenstone, all around. The silk fabric adjusted perfectly to my body, falling to my feet with a discreet opening at the side of my right leg; the waves of my hair embraced me. Suddenly it did not seem that I had been crying for the fool that the King was.

“….and by the look of you in this dress, I can tell you will shut the same mouths that said something about you.”

The main dining room shone on its own even though the green decoration was quite noticeable, it looked like Christmas. The red walls looked soft, smooth, and warm, I liked to think that and the spruce chairs had been Queen Susan’s idea. In the center I expected a long table with food, a lot of exquisite food, I didn’t think I had seen those delicacies before, I assumed they were typical of Lauxwell. Around the table, the guests - mostly servants of the palace - had already begun to enjoy the food, while the nobles were talking and eating slowly.

I took a breath, looked up, and entered the dining room.

Lauren saw me first, smiled for a second, and went on with her meal. At her side, Ashton adjusted his tie and looked at me for a few seconds directly in the eyes as if he wanted to tell me something. My mother, who had returned from her talks, nodded approvingly. Calum took his attention off a plate, looked at me, and elbowed Luke. Luke did not flinch.

“Sorry I’m late, go on with your dinner.“

“Princess, please sit next to me.” Ashton stood up, offering a chair.

“No, sit next to me.” Luke did the same. “You are a guest in my kingdom, after all.“

They shared a challenging look, Luke just wanted to annoy Ashton and have the satisfaction of being able to ignore me all night.

Luke’s eyes were fixed on me, seeking a truce not to favor Ashton.

“I am flattered, your Majesties,” I smiled innocently, “but I find the company of King Ashton more… appropriate.”

I took a seat next to Ashton. He politely placed a glass of red wine in my hands, for a moment our fingers brushed and I felt my cheeks warm slightly.

“Your Majesty Luke,” called my mother, “I am proud to report that all the dukes and duchesses are now calm again in their respective states. I have said some flattering things about you…”

“Thank you, your maje-”

“I hope I’m not wrong…”

I looked for my mother’s look on the other side of the table along with the opportunity to tell her that she was wrong, so wrong…

“I hope my daughter has contributed something today.”

Too late to talk about Luke.

I alerted the blond man’s intentions, as dirty as mine a few seconds ago. He had the luxury of taking a sip of red wine before responding.

“I found the company of Princess Amberly a bit… “ He looked me straight in the eye “…Comfortable.”

I took a bite of my food, waiting for him to cut off eye contact. He didn’t. The urge to stick something into those blue eyes increased with every second…

“If you find it so comfortable I can suggest that you keep it with you for a while longer.”

My mother’s words not only interrupted the discreet discussion between our eyes but also took us both by surprise.

“What do you mean by that, Mother?” I asked.

“I am going back to Maredale, and seeing first-hand the opportunities you have at Gardenstone to demonstrate your potential, I think it is necessary for you to stay here. If His Majesty Luke approves, of course.”

“Of course I approve, Queen Elizabeth. It will be a real… pleasure.”

I didn’t look at Luke, I didn’t look at anyone. I released all frustration of such a decision at the plate in front of me.

Lauren told a story about a night she had decided to stand guard at a volcano on the Lauxwell border near a funeral home. She described it as a bleak, lifeless place too cold for even the heat of the lava to drive away. A giant beast with big legs and a wet muzzle with traces of blood was found, a wolf big enough for her to have faced it alone… but she had done it, she had hunted the beast and divided the skin among her friends in her kingdom. There was something so horrific about her story that made it interesting and kept us all at the table expectant and eager to hear more.

Throughout the dinner I felt an extra pair of eyes on me, I had the luxury of finding the owner, and the simple fact that they belonged to a certain self-centered brat brought a smile to my face.

“-that’s how I took my father to the bandits who threatened the kingdom. They will rot forever, end.” She took her cup up and drank it to the bottom. Everyone around her applauded, sighs of relief and fear sounded as well.

“Thank you, sister. With these stories full of courage, we thank you for attending this dinner.”

Ashton extended a hand indicating to the servants to leave the dining room nicely, some stopped and thanked him, others took leftovers from the table mistakenly hidden between napkins and took them away.

“Ridiculous, we have never forbidden them to eat. I guess we’ll have to start.“

Luke mumbled to Calum, he laughed but his face was afraid, he thought Luke was capable of it.

Seconds later the two left the dining room followed by Lauren who walked with her head held high despite being under the influence of alcohol. I admired her in silence.

A black hair stood in my way, accompanied by a wide smile.

“Amberly, would you accompany me on a night walk in the gardens?”

“Of course.”

Our arms intertwined, I tried not to blush at the sudden closeness as we got lost in the garden with the moon guiding our every step.

#5SOS #5 seconds of summer #5sosfanfic #luke hemmings #luke hemmings fanfiction #luke hemmings fic #luke hemmings imagine #luke hemmings series #luke fanfic #king!luke #readregnum #ashton irwin #ashton irwin fanfic #michael clifford fanfic #calum hood fic #michael clifford #calum hood #5sosfam

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fangirlshrewt97 · 4 years ago

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Geralt Whump Week Day 2 Submission

TITLE: Scars From A Lioness

SHIPS: Geralt of Rivia / Jaskier|Dandelion

PROMPT DAY: Potions

MEDIUM (Netflix, Books, Games, Hexer): Netflix

WARNINGS: NA

SUMMARY: Ciri was up with the sun, bouncing with excitement for the day. Finally, after weeks of begging, Geralt had said she could learn how to make a Witcher potion. A.K.A: Ciri learns how to make potions, there is family bonding, and Geralt gets hurt but its ok, he gets better. Ciri feels awful though.

WORD COUNT: 5737 words

AUTHOR’S NOTES: Additional tags include Prompt: Potions, Whump, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Family Bonding, Kaer Morhen, Cirilla is adopted by all the Witchers, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Soft, Soft Witchers, Established Relationship, Established Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, I wanted to write a fic where we get to see Cirilla learning stuff from the witchers, This fic is really cute I promise, more fluff than whump, And so much softness

AUTHOR: Fangirlshrewt97

CHARACTERS: Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Rhiannon, Jaskier, Lambert, Eskel, Vesemir

LINK TO AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25035172

/////

Ciri was up with the sun, bouncing with excitement for the day. Finally, after weeks of begging, Geralt had said she could learn how to make a Witcher potion. If Jaskier had been with them, Ciri was sure she could have gotten the Witcher to cave in sooner, but the bard had had a request to play at the Kaedwanian court, and having allies would only help them. Nilfgaard was still looking for her, which meant it had been nearing a year since she had arrived at Kaer Morhen and not left. She didn’t mind, she liked the castle, the ruins were a little scary but they also reminded her of Grandfather Eist’s bedtime stories of heroes and monsters. And if she behaved really well, Vesemir would tell her a story of one of his hunts that rivaled any of her grandfather’s stories.

Uncle Eskel and Lambert had also been helpful, teaching her all about fighting with a sword and hand-to-hand, though she thought they did that more as an excuse to tackle each other to the ground than to teach her anything. Ciri didn’t mind, it was fun to watch men the size of small mountains fling each other into walls like rag dolls and then get up and walk around as if that hadn’t just happened. They were never rough with her, but they also didn’t go easy, each day ended with more muscles aching than she knew she had. But the one thing that all four had been adamantly reluctant to budge on was Witcher potions. Or potions in general.

“It is too dangerous for you, Princess.” Uncle Eskel had explained.

“Those things could kill you Ciri, or give you a scar like knucklehead over there, and while his face might have been bad before the accident, yours is too pretty to risk damaging.” Lambert had advised before running out of the hall being chased by Eskel.

“Witcher potions are poisonous to humans Cirilla, and for many, the smoke alone is deadly. It is too great a risk.” Vesemir had stated with a finality to the discussion.

And of course, there was Geralt’s very eloquent “No.”

Ciri sighed. So many weeks of badgering, begging, and, even bartering for more chores had resulted in the reluctant agreement that all four Witchers would be in the room with her when she brewed the potion, Vesemir instructing and the other three as bodyguards to get her out of there is something started to go wrong. And that she would first start with human-friendly potions to understand the basics of brewing. Three Witchers seemed excessive for said job but they wouldn’t be dissuaded.

Ciri took off her clothes, using the nearby cloth to dip into the basin of water in her room and ran it across her body, wiping off the nightly sweat. All four had mentioned that potions were brewed beneath the keep, and it could get really hot in there, so it was better to soak in the hot springs after. Washing herself thoroughly, Ciri put on an old shirt of Uncle Lambert’s and the pants Uncle Eskel had sewn for her. She was plaiting her hair in a simple braid as she made her way down to the breakfast hall, finishing it right as she arrived.

The others were already there, Uncle Eskel and Grandfather Vesemir finishing with toasting the bread as Geralt and Lambert were eating. Skipping down to the area where they were sitting, she pressed a kiss to Geralt’s cheek before burrowing herself into Uncle Eskel’s side, an arm around his waist to steady herself.

“Morning cub, excited for the lesson are we?” Eskel said, amusement making his eyes twinkle. Ciri giggled and nodded her head.

“Well then Eskel, you better give the girl her food so we may all head down together. Don’t you think, cub?” Vesemir winked as he presented her a small bowl filled with dried fruits. Making a happy noise, Ciri took the offerings and gave her pseudo-grandfather a hug before going and settling next to Lambert. The youngest wolf just opened his arm so she could press herself into his side before starting to munch on her breakfast. All of them had learned early on the lion cub loved to cuddle, and while it had taken a bit to get used to so much physical affection, they had learned to treasure it.

Ciri was focused on her food and so completely missed the fond looks all four wolves sent her way.

Having spent decades being rejected and treated as beasts, here was this girl who through Destiny had found herself tied to a Witcher, and decided to embrace them all as her family. She had all of them wrapped around her little finger, ready to draw steel or silver at the slightest hint of sadness from the child. She had been afraid when she had arrived at the keep near the beginning of winter, escorted between Geralt and Jaskier. But it had only taken one extremely inappropriate joke from Lambert that all the others yelled at him for, for Ciri to giggle and relax. After that, it had been pathetically simple to see that these men were not the monsters everyone was convinced they were.

Eskel and Vesemir finished with the food and brought the rest of it to the table, Eskel sitting next to Geralt while Vesemir settled at the head of the table. The small family enjoyed the breakfast in silence, basking in the simple instance of each other’s company.

“Careful pup, you look ready to fall into your plate.” Geralt said as he gently nudged her leg with his. Ciri shook her head, a strand of hair coming loose.

“’M not.” Ciri said, punctuating it with a contradictory yawn.

Eskel and Vesemir smiled, whereas Lambert laughed.

“Sure about that menace?”

Ciri elbowed him in his side, turning her nose up in the perfect imitation of the obnoxious princess she had played so many times in court when dealing with insufferable nobles.

This got the other three to chuckle, and when Ciri peeked one eye open from where she had them closed, she saw even Geralt had a smile on his face, making her own grin grow.

“Vesemir she is abusing me.” Lambert complained, deadpan.

Eskel snorted. “That isn’t her abusing you. Her abusing you is her managing to throw a Witcher four times her age and size straight into the pile of hay for the horses. In one day.”

As they all laughed at Lambert’s indignation, Ciri settled contently into her food, joining in to the teasing. Uncle Lambert was so very easy to tease. And Ciri always had at least one person to back her up in case he turned on her.

Finishing up breakfast and cleaning up was a quick job between the five of them, and soon they were all headed to the potion making room. When they entered, they let Ciri go in first, giving her time to explore the space she hadn’t been allowed in before as they each settled into their seats.

The room was larger than she expected, twice the size of her bedroom, but with a low roof that Geralt and Eskel nearly brushed against. There were small windows running all along the walls, which when she looked closer realized functioned as vents to make sure the smoke did not fill the room. But since they had yet to start brewing, the room was cold, and she wrapped her arms around her self.

Moving from the windows, Ciri next went through the largest wall of the room, which had deep shelves carved into it, pulling out bottles of ingredients lining the walls. Some had fresh labels, the ones that were commonly used. For others, the labels were faded and the bottles covered in what seemed like a decade’s worth of dust. She was able to identify most of the herbs, remembered helping Vesemir sort them and place them into these very bottles. The last bottle she grabbed was murky, and when she rubbed at some of the grime, she nearly dropped it in shock when she saw an eyeball floating in there. The bottle escaped her grasp, her sharp gasp alerting the Witchers. Geralt was behind her in an instant, catching the bottle in his hand, his other a solid weight on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, they’re from deer.”

“I don’t know whether to be relieved for that answer or horrified you thought I thought you were using human eyeballs.” Ciri said, injecting as much bravado into her words as possible.

Geralt replaced the bottle in its original place and led her to the benches. Eskel and Lambert were on the side benches, and Ciri saw that Vesemir had set out two stations in the center tables. Geralt guided her to her station and then sat next to her. At her questioning glance, he just shook his head. Shrugging, Ciri looked to Vesemir. The eldest Witcher smiled at her and set about explaining the different equipment in front of her, as well as the ingredients he had set out in front of her.

The day passed like that, Vesemir talking her through the compositions of some of the basic potions all Witchers always needed to have in stock, Lambert and Eskel piping in with practical observations from how they made potions on the road. Geralt took her through the potions of cutting up the ingredients and measuring them, and the five of them ended the day satisfied, a fresh batch of Swallow made between them.

The small group was happy with their day, and chatted as they made their way to the hot springs. Since Ciri, and sometimes Yennefer, had taken residence at Kaer Morhen, the wolves had put up a make shift cover of sorts to grant them some privacy.

Ciri personally loved the hot springs. She had never had anything like this in Cintra, and it still felt like magic to her. The warm waters felt like they unknotted muscles she didn’t realize she had knots in, and it was absolutely divine after a sword training session. She hummed happily as she sunk into the waters, leaning against the edge of the pool as she allowed her body to half float.

“Lion cub, wash up quickly, I don’t want to have to rescue a raisin from the spring.” Geralt called from the other side of the curtain. The other wolves were also being uncharacteristically quiet. But then again she could only recall one other instance when all of them had entered the spring at the same time.

“Ok Geralt!” Ciri replied before getting up and reaching for the soap, scrubbing herself down quickly. Another submersion and Ciri shook out her hair from her braid, washing it quickly. Picking up the towel someone had laid out for her, she wrapped it around herself and walked to the small box she had kept in here to store clothes for moments like this. Removing a pair of soft pants and an old shirt of Geralt’s they had modified for her size, Ciri dried herself and changed into the clothes.

The rest of the day passed quickly, a big lunch and a small break where Vesemir took her to the library and gave her lessons of maths and geography. Geralt came to collect her after two hours and the two made their way to the courtyard where Eskel and Lambert were waiting for her. The four of them practiced for an hour, then Ciri was allowed to just sit back and watch as the wolves sparred with each other, no holds barred. She always liked seeing them fight with their full abilities, it was a nice reminder of just who was guarding her. Dinner was a rambunctious affair as always, and all too soon it was time for bed. Ciri barely removed her pants and laid in bed before she was out like a light, satisfaction coursing through her.

///

The week passed in a similar manner, with a quick breakfast, a potions lesson with all the wolves, covering a mix of human and Witcher potions, training sessions with swords and hand to hand combat, and ending with a lovely dinner Geralt and Ciri prepared for the others.

That morning, Ciri woke up feeling jittery again, but she couldn’t remember why until she got to the dining hall and saw a familiar emerald-colored doublet.

“Jaskier!” she cried out, running towards the bard who stood up and caught her, swinging her around as she shrieked with glee.

“Ciri! Apple of my eye, lion cub of my heart, how are you doing?” Jaskier asked as he guided them both to sit at the bench.

“Jask, I’ve learned so much! Uncle Lambert showed me this cool trick where I kick off the wall and use that to kick at someone’s head with the other leg, and Uncle Eskel showed me a way to build a trap that will make sure that whatever gets stuck in it can only be released when I open it, and Grandfather Vesemir has been teaching me potions!”

Jaskier’s eye had been steadily twitching throughout the tirade, a mental laundry list of all the things he needed to scold the Witchers for considering appropriate to teach a child, but the potions thing gave him pause. Geralt had long refused to teach him the most basic Witcher potions, positing that it was too dangerous. Then again, there was no safer place to try out a potion than under the watchful eyes of four Witchers.

The lecture Jaskier was preparing was already lasting over half an hour in his mind though.

///

As promised, Ciri convinced the others to let Jaskier sit in on the potions lesson, with Jaskier sitting behind Eskel. The Wolves reluctantly agreed but then proceeded to unanimously boot him out of the room after one hour where his scent kept spiking with so much anxiety every time Ciri used her knife to cut an ingredient. It was setting all the Witchers on edge and so they collectively pushed Jaskier out of the room and slammed the door in his face claiming “You are more likely to cause an accident than she is.” Jaskier had huffed but let them be, retreating to his room, resigned to hearing about what his adopted daughter had learned from her daily recap.

///

Another week passed in a similar manner, and Ciri got used to the routine, the potions lessons becoming her favorite. But still, there was a war going on outside the mountains the Keep was hidden in, and Winter had been thankfully mild this year relatively speaking, so the pass down the mountain had reopened much earlier than usual. Lambert had also noticed a pair of griffins mating nearby, which could pose a problem if they decided to nest, so Vesemir had split them up.

He instructed Lambert to go deal with the griffins while he and Eskel ventured to the nearest town to restock their food stores. Jaskier had argued that Geralt should accompany Lambert on the hunt, but all four Witchers had been adamant of not leaving them alone in the keep.

The next day, the three Witchers departed early in the morning, hoping to return by night fall the next day, or the following day’s morning at the latest. Ciri, Jaskier, and Geralt bid them farewell, the two humans huddled in extra blankets and cloaks that nevertheless did nothing to stop the blast of cold wind that seemed to cut right through the fabric and settled in their bones. Geralt had herded them to bed, allowing them a few extra hours of rest, and a relaxing day to laze about the keep. After weeks of rigorous labour and lessons and chores, both Ciri and Jaskier had promptly returned to bed and slept until Geralt woke them up for lunch.

They passed the day in a similar manner, with Jaskier playing a new song he had been composing while Geralt taught Ciri how to play Gwent.

"Geralt can we have another potions lesson tomorrow?” Ciri asked as they packed the deck away.

“It will only take the others a day to get back cub, have patience.”

“But you all have been telling me I’ve been doing a really good job. Come on, a simple one. You will still be there with me. Please?” Ciri asked, deploying her puppy eyes.

“Oof, low blow Princess.” she heard Jaskier mutter from where he was sitting on the furs in front of the fire.

Geralt’s face was twisted the way it always was when he was conflicted, so Ciri gave it one last push. “Please Ger?” she whined. With a pout.

Hook, line, and sinker. The Witcher folded like a hut made of paper. “Fine, but a simple one. And you listen to me. Every word.”

Ciri nodded her head so hard Jaskier feared it would come rolling off. She grinned bright enough to rival the fire he was sitting in front of and leaped from her seat to hug Geralt tightly around his neck while singing a chorus of ‘Thank you’s. She merrily skipped out of the room. Jaskier was nice enough to wait for her to be out of earshot before he mentioned how pathetically easily it was for a thirteen year old girl to defeat the White Wolf.

Geralt gave him a look that conveyed all the curse words he wanted to say. Jaskier laughed.

///

Geralt was nervous, but he could never let it show. It was just a simple potion, what could go wrong?

///

The potions room felt larger with just Geralt and Ciri in it, the absence of the others obvious and heavy in the air. Shaking off the slight unease, Geralt prepped his and Ciri’s stations as he had seen Vesemir do so.

The lesson started and everything was going well.

And it continued to go well.

They successfully brewed the potion.

Ciri was not the only one who felt as if she had accomplished something after the lesson.

///

Geralt brought up the following day’s lesson on his own, to Ciri’s delight. Jaskier shook his head at the two of them, but let them be.

“Can we try a new potion today Geralt?”

“No.”

“Please.”

“Ciri. I am still not sure if it is ok for us to be doing potions on our own anyways. Let’s stick with what you already know?”

“But we’ve been doing the same potions for weeks. Just one new potion? Please?” Ciri asked, employing her best pout and puppy eyes.

Geralt growled. One of these days he would build an immunity to them. Today was not that day.

“Fine. But you-”

“-listen to your every word and letter. I know, thank you Geralt, you are the best!” Ciri said as she cheered, pressing a kiss to Geralt’s cheek before skipping to her room.

“Fuck.”

“You are woefully defenseless against her.”

“Fuck off bard.”

Jaskier continued to laugh at his torment. What else was new.

///

It had been going well. Ciri had behaved just as she promised, she had diligently listened to his every instruction and done only that. He wasn’t sure if he had gone wrong in his teaching, or if he hadn’t checked the ingredients properly, but he heard a crackling sound. One that didn’t belong. His body reacted before his mind could think it through, and he pushed Ciri to the ground, covering her with his body as the potion started to fizzle and shoot boiling hot droplets all over the room. Having forgone his armor when he wasn’t doing sword training, his tunic was quickly destroyed by the potion, which burned itself into his skin.

Geralt clenched his teeth as more and more of the potion exploded from the table, landing on his skin and causing a sensation of being branded. Below him Ciri was distressed, trying to push him off, screaming his name, and when he didn’t budge, Jaskier’s.

Geralt couldn’t tell how much time had passed before the fizzling finally stopped, but he came to when multiple moments passed by with no new burned patches of skin appeared. The room was filled with the overwhelming scent of fear and burned skin, and underneath it, a faint smell of sulphur and charcoal clung heavy in the air. He stayed crouched over Ciri.

“lt! Geralt! Please, Geralt!” Ciri’s cries finally penetrated through his haze, and he looked down to meet tear-filled blue eyes, and a blotched face. Ciri’s voice was hoarse, as if she had been screaming for some time.

“Ci-ri?” Geralt grunted before collapsing onto his side so as to not crush her.

“Geralt? Geralt! Wake up, wake up, wake up, Geralt, please!” Ciri screamed, panic racing through her veins as a primal fear gripped her. She could feel her power swirling like a storm inside her, begging to be let out, the lump in her throat their only obstacle.

“lt? Ciri? Oh Melitele, what?” suddenly two strong arms came around her, lifting her. She screamed and clawed at the grip, but they held true.

She finally quietened when she saw Vesemir enter her field of vision, passing her to crouch by Geralt. “Cub, it’s me, stop fighting, it’s just me.” Ciri went limp once she realized she was being held in Uncle Eskel’s arms.

///

Geralt recalled collapsing, hearing Vesemir and Eskel and Jaskier come in, hearing Ciri screaming out for him. But the world was underwater, or maybe he was, but suddenly Vesemir was right there and he waved his hand in front of him, and all he knew was sleep.

///

“Damn it, Jaskier get it here!” Vesemir called out as Geralt succumbed to his Axii. The bard rushed in, a look of fear clearly painted on his face.

“Can you carry Ciri?”

Jaskier nodded.

“Eskel give him the pup, we need to get Geralt up to the infirmary.”

“Yes Vesemir” Eskel said, passing on the girl to Jaskier, who took her in a bridal carry, and stood aside to let Eskel and Vesemir lift Geralt and carried him out. He followed as far as the infirmary before Vesemir shot him a pointed glare. He nodded and took Ciri back to her room. Once she was in bed, he let some of the panic he felt come in.

Fuck, he had been in the dining area, working in a new song when Eskel and Vesemir had arrived. They had been discussing their purchases when both Witchers stiffened simultaneously and took off out of the room, taking the stairs two at a time.

He had only heard Ciri’s screams when he reached the floor where the potions room was. It made him want to vomit. Or tear off his skin.

And Geralt, fuck, Geralt had been steaming, literal tendrils of smoke rising from him. His Witcher had too much tolerance to ever express his pain, but his gaze had been unfocused, and in some ways that scared him the most. Geralt rarely succumbed to pain so easily.

///

Geralt woke up to even more burning. He jerked, trying to get away from it, only to realize he had been shackled to the slab he was lying on. A strong pair of arms landed on his shoulders, holding his down.

“-alt, relax, you are alright. It’s us, come on.” Eskel’s urgent voice broke through the fog.

The sound of his brother was enough to calm Geralt, and the man collapsed on the slab. Vesemir appeared in his field of vision when he opened his eyes. “We will discuss what has happened when you are more coherent. Right now I am going to place a burn salve, let me know if it helps our worsens the pain.”

Geralt nodded, clenching his jaw to brace for the pain.

Vesemir’s touch made him jerk, but the eldest Witcher had an iron grip on his thigh. The salve to the burn on his ankle was mercifully cooling, and Geralt hissed in relief. “Itsss niceeeeee.”

“Hmmm.” Vesemir said as he internally sighed in relief. He had Eskel shift to hold different parts of Geralt as he applied the salve.

The worst of the burns had been to Geralt’s back, his arms and ankles receiving some long but superficial burns, where the acid had hit the skin but slid off. They turned him on his back, wincing in sympathy as they saw burn marks all over his back starting from just below his neck to the edge of his pants’ waistband.

Geralt fell asleep at some point while they were rubbing the salve, so they left him sleeping, wrapping bandages across the worst of the burns. Most wouldn’t scar, although a couple in his back had been severe, the flesh wrinkling and black.

Vesemir hummed. “Scars from a lioness. These are scars he can be proud of.”

Time to get the bard.

///

Lambert had returned to a seemingly empty keep, and when he went searching, he heard humming from the cub’s room, so he followed Jaskier’s voice.

Inside, Jaskier was listlessly strumming his lute. Ciri was sleeping, which worried Lambert, it was the middle of the day, why was she asleep. When Jaskier turned to see him, the worry only increased ten fold at the sight of a hunted look in his eyes.

“What’s wrong Jaskier?”

///

When next Ciri woke up, she groaned as her head gave a painful throb.

“At last, the sleeping lioness wakes up.” Uncle Lambert declared as he peered over her, face looming.

“Uncle Lambert?”

“One and only pup. Can you sit up?”

Ciri nodded, so Lambert place this hands beneath her armpits and helped her up until she was sitting up against the headboard. Her headboard. She was in her room, in her bed.

“What happened?” and then as memories fluttered in, “Where’s Geralt?”

The panic was immediate and overpowering, making her scramble to get out of bed, stopped only by Lambert using all his power to keep her there. “Slow down, pup, Geralt will be fine. He is being taken care of. As for what happened, that’s what we are all wondering. Care to explain?”

“First tell me where Geralt is.”

“You’re not in a position to negotiate pup.”

Ciri slumped back. Unconsciously, she started to chew on her bottom lip. “I asked Geralt to teach me a new potion today.”

Lambert sighed, rubbing his face with one hand as the other came to weave into one of hers. “Pup, I can’t believe you’re making me be an adult right now. There is a reason we told you we’d only teach you potions when we were all together.”

Ciri started crying, first a few tears, and then the sobs, and then her whole body trembling like it was trying to shake itself apart.

Lambert freaked out for a minute before pulling Ciri to him, and holding her as she clutched him too tightly.

Her sobs had slowed down to hiccuping sniffles when the door to the bedroom opened again, letting in a weary Jaskier who seemed to wear every year of his life for once. He tried to put on a smile at the sight of Ciri awake, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Darling! You are awake.”

“Jask…” was as far as Ciri got before she started blubbering again. Jaskier indicated for Lambert to switch places with him, and smoothly brought Ciri into his embrace, soothing her with practiced ease. The youngest Witcher slipped out of the room when Jaskier started to hum an old Cintran lullaby.

///

Ciri was clutching Jaskier’s doublet, walking behind him, body a coil of anxiety so strong, even Jaskier could smell it.

They stopped before Geralt’s bedroom, with Jaskier turning and going to his knees so he could look Ciri in the eyes.

“Darling, I promise you Geralt is not angry with you alright. But if you keep being so scared you will scare him too. Now you don’t want that right?”

Ciri shook her head. Jaskier smiled, rubbing his thumb against her cheek until she giggled once. Chuckling, he pressed a kiss to her other cheek before standing up. Holding out his hand for her to take, Jaskier knocked on the door. Eskel opened the door, amusement coloring his face.

“My good Witcher, Princess Cirilla and I are here to visit our most beloved White Wolf, if you would so graciously grant us admission.”

“Hmm, I don’t know, the wolf is feeling hungry, and I’m afraid peacocks don’t agree with him.”

Jaskier squawked, making Ciri giggle at their antics. When Uncle Eskel shifted to play more into his role of ‘sentry’, Ciri saw Geralt laying on the bed, looking even more entertained by their actions.

He caught her looking though, and a playful smirk appeared on his otherwise tired appearance, and he beckoned her with one finger.

Smiling softly, Ciri slipped from Jaskier’s grasp and went to Geralt’s side. Lambert and Vesemir were sitting on either side of the Witcher, and Lambert helped her up to sit by Geralt’s side. As soon as she was within touching distance she flung herself at Geralt, hugging him tightly and burying her face into his neck. Geralt hummed, the vibrations alleviating any lingering anxiety Ciri had had.

“My pup, are you alright?”

Ciri sniffled. She pulled back and wiped her eyes as tears gathered there. When she spoke, there was a wobble in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

Geralt brushed a few strands of her hair back. “For what?”

“For hurting you.”

Geralt huffed. “Ciri, look at me, it is going to take more than a single errant potion to hurt me.”

“But you are covered in bandages!” And that was true, Geralt’s entire chest and back, and most of his arms were wrapped in white linen bandages.

“That is mostly due to Jaskier being an overprotective mother hen. I actually only need about half of these according to Eskel and Vesemir.”

“Hey! Not fair.” Jaskier said as he approached them, an utterly fake offended out on his face as he sat by Geralt’s unoccupied side.

Ignoring him, Geralt looked back at his daughter. “I promise I am all right.”

“I gave you new scars.”

“I’ll wear these ones with pride.”

When Ciri looked at him confused, Geralt gave her a wolfish grin. “I earned these protecting my child.”

Ciri blushed before nestling into Geralt’s side.

“Now little pup, I have something I want to say too.” Came Vesemir’s voice, making Ciri wince. Slowly, she pushed away from Geralt and sat straight, looked at her pseudo-grandfather from down turned eyes.

The old Witcher was standing next to Jaskier, one hand on his hip. “I hope you learned your lesson on why we didn’t want to teach you potions alone?”

Ciri nodded her head as hard as she could. “I am so so so sorry Vesemir. Please don’t blame Geralt, it was my fault. I only suggested we continue-” She stopped when Vesemir held up his hand.

“Child, while it was unwise of you both to continue to do these lessons alone, I fear I am also to blame for this incident.”

At that Ciri exchanged a bewildered look with Geralt before both looked at him.

“What are you talking about Vesemir?” Geralt asked.

Vesemir sighed. The potion, you grabbed the mountain ash for it right?”

Ciri nodded. “Yes! Geralt told me which one, and I found the bottle labelled mountain ash.”

Vesemir grimaced before schooling his features. “And I assume you did not to think to check the bottle Geralt?”

Geralt shook his head. “It was labeled with your handwriting. It was kind of faded, but it definitely said mountain ash.”

“And there in lies my mistake. I apologize to both of you. We actually ran out of mountain ash last season, and I kept meaning to get more to restock our supply. The particular bottle that Ciri grabbed did not contain ash at all, I simply made the error of putting it in the wrong bottle.”

“What was in it then?”

“Black-powder. It was used mainly by the School of the Crane. Apparently when used in the correct mix it can be used as an explosive.”

“I’ve never heard of such a powder before.” Jaskier spoke.

“It is not common in our lands, though I think you can find it in Zerrikania and further East.”

The group descended into a moment of quiet.

“I don’t want to do any more potions.”

Geralt sighed. He wasn’t surprised by her new fear.

Eskel tried to argue with her, “Ciri, you cannot let one accident turn you away from them completely. There are many potions we can teach that are usable to humans as well.”

But Ciri shook her head, her mind made up.

Geralt indicated for his brothers to quiet, and tugged at Ciri. “Cub look at me.” He waited until her gaze was focused on him, “I know you were scared when the accident happened, but as Vesemir just explained, it was only an accident that was entirely not your fault. I should have gone over your ingredients too, so I am to blame as well. What do you say once I recovered, we resume the lessons, this time with all five of us?”

Ciri chewed on her lip as she thought before giving a tentative nod.

Geralt smiled at her. “That’s my pup.”

Ciri grinned back and burrowed herself into his side, throwing her arm around Geralt’s waist.

“I am not leaving your side until you get better.”

“Impractical, but I will be alright by tomorrow, so I suppose I can allow such a concession.” Geralt teased her.

“How come Vesemir never gave me concessions when I got hurt?” Lambert wondered aloud.

“Because when you got yourself hurt, it was absolutely your own damn fault.” Vesemir replied.

Everyone laughed, the comment serving to break any remaining tension.

The small family settled comfortably around the room and spent the night talking. Lambert took great joy sharing an embellished story regarding his griffin hunt, with the other three Witchers mercilessly calling him out on his exaggerations. Jaskier added fuel to all their arguments, egging them on. And Ciri?

Well Ciri laughed until her stomach hurt, happy once again at her Geralt’s side. And as she listened to Lambert argue that the griffin truly had a head the size of Lambert’s whole body, she settled into a deep sleep at her father’s side, a wide smile colouring her face.

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punkscowardschampions · 3 years ago

Text

James & Ava

James: Good morning

James: how are you, darling?

Ava: Sleepy 🥱

Ava: but all the better starting my day with you, of course

Ava: how about you? 😊

James: hopeful that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, because likewise

James: & my cautious optimism doesn’t extend to the viewing I’m currently heading to

Ava: Oh, how have they oversold this one, I wonder

Ava: the adverts are nothing short of epic fiction

Ava: there should be awards for how they can spin any - into like +++

Ava: Where are you headed?

James: it would be inspirational if I were solely doing research for the novel but alas I need a suitable study first

James: [somewhere that’s one of the places we discounted]

Ava: I can believe estate agents are all unfulfilled creatives, definitely

Ava: I’ll 🤞 all my fingers and toes that it’s the one

Ava: though I could tell you more pubs and clubs in that area than nurseries…

James: absolutely up there with the teaching profession in terms of both dashed dreams setting them on that path & a litany of thankless tasks once they get there

James: thank you though

James: I’ll let you know if it constitutes enough of a disaster to warrant theoretically drowning my sorrows, after all, there isn’t a huge difference between some of the clubs Teddy frequents & soft play so I’ve no doubt my aide for today would be thrilled to hear every suggestion

Ava: You cannot make me feel bad for teachers today

Ava: not when Mr Hawthorne has beat you to it with the against argument in the form of his 🥱 inducing lectures

Ava: 😅 I don’t think foam parties are safe for anyone, 1-year-olds especially so though

James: there’s an argument to be made that I possess the ability to do so, however, if I’m going to use my powers of persuasion for anything 😈 I would argue it is indeed wasted on Mr Hawthorne

James: oh well in that case, the hunt for my sister’s baby shower venue also continues

Ava: If you used your powers of persuasions on Mr Hawthorne, I might be a tiny bit jealous

Ava: not to mention almost as confused as he would undoubtedly be

Ava: Joy of joys

Ava: it would be typical for that to be added to your to-do list as well, but at least a place for grown women to eat chocolate bars out of nappies isn’t as much like gold dust as a decent place in central

James: I’m jealous that he’s spending time with you right now, despite your attention being less than rapt & therefore promise to do nothing that benefits him in any way whatsoever

James: including, but not limited to, refusing to assist you in the homework he intends to set by being as distracting as I can later as well as now

James: you’re not wrong, but she is her belief that to this day I remain blacklisted by an extremely high percentage of clubs, thus sparing me being delegated the role even in these hypothetical planning stages

Ava: That would be a wild rumour, even for this place

Ava: and what can I say? You’re more worthy of my time and attention

Ava: as you’ve just proved 😍

Ava: Definite blessing in disguise

Ava: Will it be a women-only event?

James: I’d be lying if I didn’t say I miss you & am always willing to prove how much at every given opportunity

James: god, I hope so, even a foam party isn’t enough of an incentive to get me there if I am expected

Ava: I miss you too

Ava: I can come see you tonight though, if you’re free

Ava: sadly, I don’t think I can make a soft-play date so that’ll have to be just you two

Ava: and you’re lucky, I’ve been to so many baby showers it’s not even funny

James: I’m supposed to work late to make up the time I’ve taken off this morning but I can do that when you’re busy

James: that’s a shame, I’ll have to throw myself in the ball pit

James: time will tell if you have an invite to Diana’s, what’s incredibly lucky is that she won’t expect you to actually attend regardless of how you RSVP

Ava: Only if you’re sure

Ava: my plans can always be more fluid than yours

Ava: Ugh 😞 I’d LOVE to push you into a ball pit right now, life is unfair

Ava: I don’t think she was impressed with my party-planning skills enough to put in that call

James: I am very sure that I want to spend tonight with you instead of at the office

James: & I’m also suddenly determined to create our very own ball pit in the new place

James: [pictures like which room do you think we should fill with plastic balls lol but let’s say it’s all really small]

James: having to forgo a traditional master bedroom isn’t at all unfair, I’ll obviously sleep like a baby among the balls

Ava: 🥰

Ava: An absolute must

Ava: why brag of a ‘cosy’ third bedroom when you can boast a gigantic ball pit

Ava: I bet the girls would be more than willing for you to do that too

Ava: Party house has a whole new meaning 🥳

James: indeed

Ava: I hope there’s not too many people there this time though, really

James: I think there are more people here than at the last viewing we went to, impossible as that sounds

Ava: 😫 How, where do all these people spring from?!

Ava: At least you’re far more eligible than most young professionals

Ava: If I was looking for a model renter

James: what a pity you aren't, your rooftop garden has much greater appeal for this particular young professional, not least because I've seen its existence with my own eyes

Ava: If my landlords weren’t so involved…

Ava: This place is far too big for us now

James: hopefully they won't drag you along on yet more insufferable viewings if, or when, they decide to downsize since you're an undeniable pro now, because for that, there would only so many apologies I can offer you

Ava: I’m sure mum’s already getting the planning permission sorted for if and when

Ava: Sadly their portfolio doesn’t extend to a reasonable price range, I did ask

Ava: but if it isn’t something that would get her in Architect Digest, or whatever, she’s not interested so

Ava: As you said, it would be fun in a way, if all this looking didn’t mean you were still without your perfect family home

Ava: It takes people watching to a new level, and seeing the landlord’s ‘decor’ choices is also as revealing

James: it's okay, being indebted to my own parents is quite enough

James: it's becoming clear if my father visualizes me living here it's because he's done a drastic rewrite of the type of young professional I am

James: I could see you here, for instance, in a draft where I don't exist as your love interest, but in terms of a family home, perfect of otherwise, where we'd put Frank & the children is anyone's guess

James: perhaps some of these people are imagining wild architecture projects the likes of which your mother would have to act undaunted by, who's to say

Ava: I don’t love that rewrite

Ava: Frank is particularly demanding with how much space he needs to recline, relax, snooze and sleep…

Ava: You’ll find somewhere soon, I know it

Ava: If nothing else, this dull lesson is giving me all the time to refresh and refresh and repeat every listing I can find

James: cautious optimism as ever for our 2nd attempt

James: [deets because I'm gonna say that this is one he ends up loving that falls through somehow at some stage because how real and frustrating and then she can be the one who finds their forever home and they can look at it together]

Ava: Okay, I can picture that one

Ava: light and airy isn’t actually a lie this time, what a concept

Ava: 😍

Ava: All the rooms are a good size so you wouldn’t feel as if either girl was getting the short straw, and you won’t have to settle for sleeping amongst the balls either

James: I do have a genuinely good feeling about it, terrifying as that is to admit in our present surroundings where it feels as though someone will sense it & immediately swoop in, but yes

Ava: I know

Ava: It’s one of those things

Ava: You have to be cautious, because so many roadblocks are between you and the end goal

Ava: but similarly, how can you be, when it’s such a big life thing

Ava: You can be as honest and optimistic as you like with me, it doesn’t need to go any further, shark-like buyers and the girls alike

James: we aren’t anywhere close to the stressful moving in stage & I’m already acutely aware that I wouldn’t have survived up until now without your help, so I will, as long as you know the continued support is appreciated beyond words or any other measure

Ava: Stressful, but fun

Ava: you get to pick what colour your new room is 😌

Ava: It’ll be reward enough, to see you get the fresh start you deserve

James: [whatever her fave colour is] of course

James: then you won’t mind seeing me covered from head to toe in it, potentially indefinitely, when we discover I can’t fit in the tub at the new place either

Ava: Oh, I don’t think I would mind that no matter the colour

Ava: but I also would not mind you having an amazing shower so we could take care of that

James: if there isn’t I won’t mind adding it to my renovations to-do list

Ava: As long as I’m on that list too I’m happy

James: the top of any list I write is where I’m happy to put you

Ava: If you put in a bid, you should do it at/even over asking price, so they’ll take attention of you and then you can make a list of repairs/quality checks etc you want done before you agree to move in, then if they do them, they’re done for you, but more likely, they’ll not want to, and you can say take that cost off my offer then

Ava: one of the 💡 tips I’ve picked up and you’d undoubtedly thought of yourself but there we go

James: here’s where I could nod & keep up the pretense to avoid giving away what a total novice I am, but there’s very little point given than you know I’ve never done this, & a list of countless other things as long as my arm, for myself before

James: instead I’ll just take your advice & thank you accordingly

Ava: There’s so much we don’t get prepared for

Ava: even under normal circumstances

Ava: It isn’t as if I was told that at school, or I get told anything vaguely useful on the day-to-day by Hawthorne or any of the others worse or marginally better than him

Ava: You shouldn’t feel like you’re alone in feeling unprepared, is what I’m failing to say

Ava: Lots of people feel it, that’s why I could never just stay here, in the bubble of SW forever

James: don’t worry, you aren’t failing at anything where this conversation is concerned & whilst it is somewhat overwhelming at times, I don’t feel alone because I’ve got you to talk it through with

James: what that school taught me, all that living here has taught me, was how to avoid facing up to situations by lying & name dropping, which probably would assist me in climbing the property ladder but I’d rather be honest, if the bubble bursts as a result, I’m prepared for that from now on

Ava: I’m proud of you

Ava: and the girls will be too

Ava: It can be fun, and there are some good people here, just as there are everywhere

Ava: but outside of the postcode, the currency of who you know and where you went to school, it’s just not real, irrelevant

Ava: I don’t want to rely on my parents’ hard work, let alone someone else’s father knowing the crest on my blazer, you know

James: yes, I know exactly what having to rely on my father feels like, it isn’t fun or something to be proud of & it definitely isn’t a precedent I’d like to keep setting for my daughters

James: the stark reality & contrast of this fresh start needs to happen soon, while I still have Jay here to teach

Ava: She’s not going anywhere

James: she’s going to have to meet him eventually even if that’s under the guise of him being one of my old friends or your brother

Ava: And I understand that that’s fair

Ava: to him, I don’t know how to feel about it in regards to Jay, and it’s not even my job to so I know how hard this must be for you

Ava: but that doesn’t mean he should get to ‘keep’ her, for God’s sake, she has had no idea who he is until now, you’re her dad

James: I have to hope that he’ll understand that too, he’s not the villain here, as much as it would make my life easier to paint him as such

Ava: I hope so too

James: it’ll be okay, for her, I don’t know if I can make the same promise for us but I want to be able to

Ava: Don’t put yourself down like that

Ava: It wouldn’t be okay if she lost you

James: she isn’t going to lose me whatever Buster decides to do next, things may have to change but never that drastically, I’ll always be in her life

Ava: Providing he plays that nicely

Ava: I’m just scared he’ll do something that drastic, and stupid

James: if he doesn’t I won’t, I’m not afraid to fight fire with fire should that be the only option he leaves me with

Ava: Good

Ava: I wish I could promise it won’t be

Ava: but I don’t know what he will be prepared to do, so you should be prepared for any and all eventualities too

James: I am, my marriage made sure I was equipped to anticipate the unexpected & not to expect rational responses

Ava: Yeah, of course

Ava: Still no word from Chloe?

James: no & no trace of a belated birthday card

Ava: Typical

Ava: Good thing Mattie got spoiled by you and had a great party already

James: Jay is devastated she has to wait so long for you to throw one for her though, maybe we can find a way to cater the housewarming party to her

Ava: Awh, bless her

Ava: If there’s one thing Chelsea HAS taught me, is that you only need a vague notion of an idea to have a party and celebrate

Ava: Does she like fireworks?

James: she LOVES fireworks, if you weren’t in Dublin she’d have insisted you come with us to [wherever we’re gonna go see some on the night]

Ava: I am pretty gutted I can’t

Ava: but I’ll have to get some sparklers, probably not Catherine Wheels or Roman Candles, and do a belated bonfire themed do for her

Ava: smores are a good idea any night

James: I wonder if she’ll expect us to dye her hair red, orange or yellow this time

Ava: 😬 accidentally set a precedent

Ava: thank god for washouts

James: I’ll do what I can to have her convinced that face paint is a much better idea by the time you get back but she’s no Mr Hawthorne so

Ava: I admire a girl who requires more than a persuasive essay

Ava: you’ll have a great time

Ava: 🤞 the endless family drama doesn’t get in the way of me having one too

James: no amount of Catherine Wheels or Roman Candles could prevent me from being on the end of the phone whether you aren’t having a great time or simply want to tell me how much fun it is

Ava: You’re the best ❤️

Ava: It should be fine

Ava: If anything, hopefully someone else is bringing more drama than my parents or siblings could accuse me of, then it’ll really give them a bit of perspective 🤫

James: if your family resembles the dynamic of mine even slightly I won’t have to keep anything crossed in order to make that happen for you, but of course I will nevertheless, just in case

Ava: How soon is too soon to clue you in on my mad family dynamic 🤔😅

Ava: Maybe when you’re in your new home, so you have a door to politely shut in my face

James: having never kept an air of mystery there I can understand why you’d want to, but I would never christen my new front door like that

Ava: It was like an unspoken rule, when Buster was here too

Ava: I don’t really care that much, and anyway, he broke it big time

Ava: Every family has struggles and secrets, or are long overdue their share if not

James: I couldn’t agree more, my mother acts as though nobody else has skeletons hung up next to their hideously expensive coats & we must stay silent come what may, but she’s the last person to feign shock when any of said secrets inevitably come out

Ava: It’s such a waste of time and energy

Ava: not to mention resolves precisely (0) of said troubles, if and when they can be

Ava: I’m so glad you don’t want to keep up pretenses together

Ava: wouldn’t make for a very interesting story

James: exactly, if I adhered to her code of silence I wouldn’t have gone to rehab or spent any time & energy on recovery, god knows what trouble I’d be in right now in that instance, but we certainly wouldn’t have this plotline to delight in

Ava: Being dubious about the potential results, maybe

Ava: but the idea your own mum would rather you suffer in silence, literally, is beyond me

James: it’s an attitude worthy of an outdated classic novel, for sure, that we can all take ourselves in hand & address our flaws with a firm word or two but she isn’t alone in her 'you don't need outside help, you just need to learn and then follow through with setting your own limits' mentality

James: in my parents' defence I was still young, despite the baby I wasn't looking after properly or the wedding I don't remember very much of at all, & I know they'd argue, if pressed, that was the main reason for their anti-rehab stance

James: therefore, I'd like to believe, however naively perhaps, on this occasion it isn't entirely about saving face with yet more pretense but rather a glimpse at some character development for both of them, if only so the novel isn't doomed by one dimensional subplots, naturally

Ava: I can see that too, again, a lot of people’s problems go unaddressed or at least are allowed to get worse because the person is ‘too young’ for it to either be a problem, or it is something they will ‘bounce back’ from once they ‘calm down’ and mature

Ava: It doesn’t make your parents the devil, I wouldn’t suggest as much, nor the first people to fall into that trap

Ava: There are definitely instances of the exact same mindset I can point to within my own family

Ava: We’d all like to see the best in people, and sometimes, that desire lets us down

James: regardless this viewing has yet to let me down unlike the previous

James: I wish you were here

Ava: With any luck, I’ll be able to come see it with you next time

Ava: The pictures look great, trying to keep the optimism at the cautious level still but 🤞🤞😌

James: need I remind you I like your optimism as unabashed as your excitement

Ava: You don’t need to

Ava: but I wouldn’t be opposed

James: [tell her about whatever cute and romantic plans you've sorted for you two tonight so she'll be happy and excited]

Ava: How have you managed to sort that whilst at these viewings and also with Mattie 😍

James: it appears I’m guilty of similarly high levels of enthusiasm & so the greater crime would be letting it go to waste

Ava: AND being an excellent multi-tasker AND AND an even greater romantic

James: Mattie can & will take full credit for the former but the romanticism is a newly acquired skill that I’m still trying to find my feet with, & entirely down to you

Ava: I should feel bad for keeping it all for myself

James: I disagree but I’ll happily rush through the book’s publication if sharing will make you feel better

Ava: Should doesn’t mean would or could

Ava: because I don’t

Ava: It’s nice not being secret, but I’m still happy keeping you to myself for a while longer

James: oh good, because I’d rather continue to multitask like this than on a novel deadline

Ava: Being anything but a reprieve from all the other drains on your time is not very romantic heroine of me, so never

Ava: what would the readers think

James: you’ve got me there, by evoking how fickle our readers are more than likely to prove themselves to be, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about

Ava: You either think the protagonist is ‘relatable’ or you hate her because you deserve the love interest far more than her

James: nobody deserves me more than you, they’ll have no choice but to appreciate you

Ava: James

James: Ava

Ava: I can’t wait to see you later

James: can I pick you up from school or do you need to go home first?

Ava: I don’t need to go home 😊

James: I’ll see you there then, unfortunately, I have work to get back to & I’ve kept you from yours for longer than I responsibly should have, lest you end up at Kings after all

Ava: 🙄 I’m sure my career’s officer would tell me they’re higher in the rankings or something else that isn’t going to change my mind more than your experience and my own, however brief

Ava: If I were rating them on chance, perfect meetings, however

Ava: A++

Ava: I’ll see you later then, try not to get TOO exhausted by soft play 😏❤️

James: I’ll be certain to tell them now that’s not a secret, it wouldn’t surprise me if they used us a ringing endorsement for some kind of meet-cute society to take place weekly in The Vault

James: the allure of soft play meanwhile needs no advertising, with or without any single mothers trying to engineer romantic entanglements of their own

Ava: I’ll square that with my conscience and you run that gauntlet, love

James: I’ll do my best

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bayern-moni · 5 years ago

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Ship Asks: El Cid x Mine

Author's little den: This is dedicated to @lamaquego that 4 months and 10 days ago asked me to write for her a fanfiction about these two characters and how their "love story" would unfold in a less unforgiving AU than canon. I have to say sorry to you because I'm not able to fulfill that promise, I tried but in this period just can't bring myself to write anything more than these posts, which are a sort of relief for me. So, this is for you, in exchange for that fanfiction that, like that love story, never was. I really hope you can like it 😁

For all the others who just read this post, enjoy it and spread word of this nice ship 👍

(AU: Mine lives after the Gaiden's events)

How would they describe each other to loved ones who haven’t met their partner yet?

El Cid: "She was a friend a long time ago. No, perhaps it was more than that. She was my favorite rival" (To Lacaille). Apart from that, don't be fooled by her elegant appearance, she was and still is an incorrigible pest.

Mine: The most stubborn man I have ever met! Although he seems quite intimidating at first sight with his sharp looks, he's quite funny to poke fun at. It was one of the few past times I had back then when the three of us lived together in that forest house.

(Don't trust if he says mean things about me, it's only envy)

How do they let their loved ones know they are dating?

They don't. Nobody cared if these two were comfortable enough to convey the news, because their "loved ones" just knew. Felser had called it since the very beginning and I mean it. Little Sasha had started sparkling with joy and didn't shut up about it for days, always trying (and failing) to stalk the couple. She was too happy that El Cid finally decided to have a life. Sisyphus became insufferable for the same reasons. Instead, the others never suspected anything: the doubt about capricorn having feelings at all was like a huge ham over their eyes.

Who still blushes when their partner compliments them?

You'd never guess it ;)

Who is most likely to check how their day is going?

When they were little kids training to reach the perfect blade, each in their own way, both often happened to forget about things like time etc... So the one that made sure nobody fainted from exhaustion was Felser. Then, growing up, the situation stayed the same got a little better. Now, Mine worked consistently less than him having left behind the obsession her dream had turned to, now she worked as sword-maker/sharpener in Rodorio -sometimes she even gave lessons to Lacaille-, but surprisingly El Cid is the one writing her more often asking for things like how the day at work is going, or just to hearing her complain about her clients. Mine writes more about the lines of "Did you remember to sleep this week between the trainings, you Spanish stakhanovite?"

(ok, the anachronism is necessary here)

Who gets jealous easiest?

None of them.

Who is the happy morning person and who is grumpy and just wants to go back to bed?

Starting from the fact that a "happy morning person" is more than not an aberration of nature (Kardia's words), the answer is that both are the grumpy type of morning people. Both Mine and El Cid are used to wake up to go and train at the crack of dawn since they were kids, but it doesn't mean they are happy about it. She is the one who complains loudly about it, but go ask Dohko what happens if he practices his new instrument at the early hours of the day. If you dare, I mean.

Who takes the longest to get ready and who is the most tidy and organised

Both are most tidy and organized, but El Cid reached a pathological level at it.

What annoys them the most about their partner? Would they change it if they could?

Mine is annoyed by his self destructive training schedule because she sees it is eating at him and plus they rarely get to spend a lot of time with each other because of it, but differently from Sysyphus and the others she does understand his motives and drive to become the holy blade himself. She literally consumed her whole soul for a similar goal, after all. She wouldn't change anything, though. Not even his emotional constipation.

El Cid could list a very long list of pranks that annoyed him. But nothing about her specifically. Only the fact that she let herself corrupt her noble dream in a demonic obsession. But he does not put it against her. It wasn't her fault, after all, she didn't want it, it just happened.

Who likes seeing the other wearing their t-shirt?

First of all, they don't even know what a t-shirt is. Secondly, she mostly wears women' kimonos (and quite revealing, now that we're at it), so I don't think it's a great mystery why they don't possibly exchange their clothes. Even if once Mine tried to bribe him during a bet, obviously, he vehemently refused and nothing could be done about it. Mine, instead, just doesn't like shirts.

Who plays pranks on the other?

Once, Mine used to sing in the shower with a very awfully shrieking voice with the sole goal of annoying his partner, who just happened to be a very light sleeper at the 3 am. Then, they were reported to the local police and she reluctantly stopped much to his relief.

Who says ‘I love you’ first?

El Cid. The trauma of seeing her revived as Phobetor's illusion and being forced to fight her to death broke every ounce of restraint left. As soon as they found each other again (because it's my AU and I can), that was the first thing he said. He couldn't take other blows on his too fragile heart. Risking waiting too much until she'd slip from his grasp again was out of question. By the way, he almost canonically said it in the end of the Gaiden so it's not too farfetched. She obviously understood this urgency and was delighted to declare that now they could really love and care for each other openly. In a real relationship. Then, she demanded a date, but this is another story.

Their reaction to the other beating them at something

Mine beats him at something: She gloats for the rest of the month, he's extremely annoyed and his pride battered, but he refuses to show it externally. If someone pokes him for it, though, he's met with a truly icy glare.

El Cid beats her at something: He looks like it couldn't go otherwise, Mine screams at him for a hour because he supposedly had cheated and then plans her revenge with Sasha. Because she embodies fair play.

Their favourite activity to do together

Talking about their shared dream and challenge each other at who reached the best results and showing their progresses.

The song that describes them the best

The Calling - Wherever you will go

Which one is most likely to get arrested?

Mine, definitely.

Who leaves notes written in fog on the bathroom mirror?

He's too mature for these things, she'd instead rather use more refined method of writing. Like a good old note written in bloodlike tomato sauce saying "Remember to go to the grocery store", or something like that, to make him have a heart attack in the morning. She says it wakes you up like nothing else. He just see them with a raised eyebrow.

One headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart

Reality

One headcanon about this OTP that mends it (or the plot of the fanfiction I should've written but couldn't)

Mine doesn't disappear when Phobetor is defeated and the mirage of Catalania turns out to be just that, an illusion. Instead, she finds herself to have been really revived by the dream god's power, much to both her and his breathtaking happiness. It's something none of them even dared to dream, the possibility of having a future, even if the prospect of the Holy War still stood as a Damocles's blade on their neck. Lacaille just becomes their self-proclaimed adopted son, no matter how much El Cid protested that it was ridiculous (she supported him, btw). They arrive at the Sanctuary where she is immediately welcomed with a mix of curiosity and respect by most of its saints. Curiosity because nobody ever saw a Japanese woman and she not even was a saint. Respect because nobody in their right mind had ever imagined El Cid of all people bring a woman between them, so she had to be really special. However, she is friendly with everyone and soon becomes friend of Sysyphus (their favorite topic of complain about El Cid's habits) and then, the little Sasha when she was brought there a couple of years later. The girl was delighted to be with another woman, just like she was with Calbera. After the war, El Cid survives, always because I can, but he's affected in daily life by the loss of his dominant arm and just doubles his training schedule for making up to his handicap, although Mine herself often berates him for it worried about him. Sasha is deeply saddened to see his inability to adjust to a life that doesn't involve war and death and orders to both of them to go and live their lives together in any place they want, like free and ordinary people who deserve to live happily after all they were put through. Like she did with Yuzuriha and Yato in Jamir. Both understood it and tried to do their best to fulfill the goddess's wish, even if life isn't always without problems. They did manage to get a happy life together and that's what is important.

Asks weird questions in the middle of the night

Sysyphus. If it were a modern AU, he'd be the typical insecure friend who phones you at ungodly hours of the night to ask you advice about his problems. And El Cid would be the friend who at first would answer it (because it could be something important) and then leaving the phone in the fridge until the call expires. Mine just would be amused at their antics and frustrated her sleep was interrupted.

Who can't keep their hands to themselves?

Phantaso

What is the most embarrassing thing they have done in front of each other?

Ask Felser if you really want to know. It's your only hope, because their lips are sealed shut on mutual accord.

First impression of each other? Was it love at first sight?

Absolutely not (they both nod). When they first met they had a strange impression of each other, like the other was an alien, staring with a confusingly fascinated air that made Felser to chuckle, amused.

She was a Japanese little girl, so lithe and short that made people doubt she was that age, with strange red eyes that he had never seen before (he'd see them again only when Tenma'll cross his way). But after the initial surprise, he descovered she was a mischievous little pest, who loved getting him exasperated only for the satisfaction of snatching a reaction out of him, with the complicity of the oldest of them. But her dedication to her work as a sword sharpener was truly something to look up to. He really believed she'd manage to create the perfect blade infusing her soul in it, like he was trying to do to his body.

To her, instead, he had seemed like a little crow. A scrawny vampire-like-pallid kid with eyes too sharp and old for his age, too responsible and silent, the perspective of spending years training together seemed boring at the time. But his accent was funny, like he tried very hard to get rid of it and learning their common language, just the way she did with hers (in the meanwhile it was Felser who translated for them). As it was his grumpiness in the morning or the fact he was so unused to gentleness that the moment he received a good word or gesture immediately clung to it like a lifeline. But still, he was too rigid, even for her who was the same. A perfect Nagagire who needed her to enliven his brutal training sessions. After all, she's sure the best holy sword would be hers, but who says she can't have some fun in the process?

No, it definitely wasn't love at first sight. But despite the beginning, they gradually recognized in each other such a determination, a desire to go beyond their maximum limit, the same burning, inextinguishable, complementary dream both lived to fulfill (together, possibly) that attracted them like a magnet. The very Catalania was the tangible proof of that.

Does their work ever interfere with the relationship?

Read: Why do they need to have a serious chat?

#saint seiya #lost canvas #the lost canvas #ask #ship asks #capricorn el cid #el cid #mine #character meme

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new-endings · 5 years ago

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The Nice and Accurate Guide to Courting

Was I supposed to go to church and find out myself that it’s World Marriage Day? yes again i know it’s a catholic thing but these two are V MARRIED and deserve to celebrate.

Anyways here’s a thing I posted on ao3

Summary: As Hell’s bastard prince, Crowley is expected to wed an Archangel of Heaven’s kingdom to bring peace between the two warring nations.

It really is too bad he only has eyes for his sweet, bastard of a Guide, the Principality Aziraphale, who is dead-set on making sure the engagement happens.

For the sake of their kingdoms, Aziraphale leads him through the long, arduous road of winning an Archangel’s favor and affections. However, Crowley would much rather use that romantic guidance to win him over instead.

-as Dictated By Anathema Device, Written in Full Detail By Newton Pulsifer

Step 1: Select the Target (of your Affections)

And thus sayeth the Lord of Heaven:

The wars are pointless. Might as well make a ceasefire. Hey, here’s an idea: bring your most expendable pawn to join in unholy matrimony with one of my elitist wankers to bolster this war-ruined economy.

Or rather, that’s how Crowley perceived the whole ordeal to have gone.

Perhaps a tad cruder than the grand scrolls with its elegant scripts, wriggly signatures and glorious crests and coat-of-arms adorning the designated treaty between their two kingdoms would lead others to believe. But in the end, that hardly mattered to Crowley.

Because spectacle and ceremony aside, Hell really did send their more expendable (but still Royal-Enough-to-Count) pawn to join in unholy matrimony with one of Heaven’s damned Divines. With the Archangels—anointed by the Queen herself as miniature de facto rulers of Heaven’s domains. Sneering, snobbish, stuffy and insufferable and this scheme—

Suicidal. This entire trip, the entire ordeal, and the very notion that the precariously perched balance of peace laid within Crowley, Bastard Prince of Hell’s, begrudging hands— is utterly stupid.

Crowley scowled as he eyed the Garden’s flora. The wisteria withered under his gaze, petal quivering in the face of the sour aura exuded from the sulking Prince. But could they really blame him? Flowers know nothing of having one’s whole life centered around the illegitimacy of one’s birth—constantly reminded of their position as the withered, rotting branch the imperial tree, and then all of a sudden being Granted this fine opportunity to bring honor and peace to his damned Kingdom with the underlying threat of You better not fuck this up looming over their heads—

He heard commotion from beyond the castle gates and the ominous barking of hellhounds beneath. He let a grin snake across his lips. Ah. So the search begins.

He knew galivanting off to make some trouble would earn him a proper reprimand now that they were actually trying to make nice with the Birds, but who did they have to blame it on but themselves? After all, Crowley spent many-a-year crafting his extensive history as a terrorizing nuisance, an intolerable annoyance, an antagonizing—

“Oh, dear…”

Angel?

Crowley peeked behind the archways, catching sight of cloud-puff hair and nervous, wringing hands.

Attached to, unsurprisingly, an Angel, looking down at the ensuing mad scatter below.

There was a curious pull; something that Crowley didn’t bother to question as he inched forward and leaned against the cool stone of the curtain wall. “That one went down like a lead balloon, eh?”

Rather than flinch, the Angel let out an absentminded laugh. “Yes, rather.” He paused, the realization that there was another presence dawning on him. He turned. “Err. Sorry, what was it that you were saying?”

Looking back at it, Crowley would have sworn up and down his breath caught at the sight of cherubic cheeks, sea-storm eyes, and worried-bitten lips. But in reality, the single word Pretty passed through his brain at such an alarming speed that Crowley barely had the attention-span to catch it as the Pretty Angel looked to him expectantly to answer.

Crowley stepped forth from the cool shade of the trees and joined the curious Angel at his perch. “I said that one went down like a lead balloon.”

“Oh. I suppose you’re right.” His eyes flickered down and he brought his hands together. There that nervous habit was again.

Crowley cleared his throat, eyes overlooking the bailey to the dots of villages over the horizon. “I think it was a bit of an overreaction, to be honest.”

The Angel beside him shrugged, an uneasiness in his voice. “He’s a Prince.”

Ah. So that’s what this Angel was concerned about. He tried to keep the mirth from his voice. “And shouldn’t his footmen have been keeping a better eye on him because of that?” Hats off to Hastur and Ligur for being the best of the worst—Crowley knew he did well in selecting them. “It’s of no consequence to you, Angel.”

“What—of course it does!” Crowley raised a brow as the angel began to fluster all over again. “Oh, dear…He’s supposed to be my charge! I was to be his Guide in our Kingdom!” Panic started to creep into his voice all over again. “I haven’t even met him yet and now—he’s gone!”

It took perhaps a second or two to register what exactly this Angel was saying. Charge? This lovely fool of an Angel—was to be his Guide?

Huh. Maybe Crowley’s luck was taking a turn for the better after all.

“Where could he be? This is terrible—he must feel so lost right now! And alone!” Crowley gave a fascinated smile and was just his luck that the Angel missed it as he cast his eyes to the skies above for guidance, and then earthward for commiseration as the hellhounds sniffed fruitlessly for a trail that Crowley was more than adept at throwing off.

A plan drowsily wormed its way to Crowley’s thoughts. Perhaps he could have a bit of fun here as well. “Hang on there, Angel. I’m sure your charge isn’t too far off.”

The Angel did a double-take at the mysterious figure shrouded in dark robes—perchance comprehending for the first time that he was not conversing with another Bird. “Did you know the Prince? I ah, assumed you arrived with him,” he asked imploringly. “Perhaps he was merely hungry and wanted a nibble. Or—or he spoke of wanting to visit someplace in the Kingdom?”

That startled a laugh out of Crowley. He lowered his hood, fiery red hair and amber eyes unveiled to the Angel. “You could say that. But no, he didn’t seem to be very interested in…sightseeing, as it were.” He gave a knowing grin. “Perhaps he slithered off just to be a pest.”

“If he were trying to get lost on purpose, that just makes the situation even more difficult and dangerous!” The Angel was frowning again and—did he really not realize that Crowley was the person he was looking for?

This’ll be even more fun. “There, there.” He gave a friendly pat to the Angel’s shoulder. “I’m sure it’ll be all right. Say, I’ll even help find him for you.” He bit back a chuckle.

But ah… “Oh! You would?” How the Angel lit up like the morning sky at that.

I’d gift you an entire continent if you keep looking at me with those eyes. Crowley shook that thought from his head. “Of course.” He hummed, giving a sly smile. “For a price.”

The Angel blinked once. Then twice. “Oh.” Then, with certainty: “Name it. If it’s mine to give, it’s yours.”

Crowley leaned in closer, tilting his head to catch more of this Angel’s guarded face. Ah, not so soft and vulnerable now… “Oh, Angel. You ought to be careful making deals with Demons.”

The Angel sent him a dry look. “I’m in no mood for your theatrics, err...” He gave a questioning glance.

Without even thinking: “J.” After one second of thinking: J?![

“Jay?” The Angel echoed.

Crowley shook his head; no going back on that one. “No, just J.”

“What does…”

“It’s just a J. Really,” he muttered tersely.

“Okay…J.” The Angel looked more unsure of pronouncing the Demon’s name than the terms of their agreement. “And yes. I’m sure. No price is too great for peace.”

Ah. One of those then. Crowley could understand the noble efforts and the valiant naivete that peace could be kept between their people all through the binding of blood-ties, but he fancied himself more of a realist. Still… “Very well.” He’ll lend a hand regardless for the sweet and foolish Angel before him. “Your name, then.” It’s not like he has a choice in the matter.

The Angel sputtered. “My—my what?”

Crowley eyed him with confusion and impatience. “Give me your name.”

“What—just because you were saddled with just a J doesn’t quite mean—”

“No, you twat.” He rolled his eyes at the offended gasp from his companion. “I meant I’d like to know your name. That’s all. Unless you’d prefer me to call you Angel all the time. Or Bird.”

The Angel at least had the manners to look embarrassed. “Aziraphale,” he stated, holding out his hand in introduction. “That’s my name.”

Lovely. “Eh. Too long. I’ll stick with Angel instead.” It’s still miles better than Just a J but even Crowley’s subconscious refuses to acknowledge that. Taking the Angel’s hand and leading him away to the grounds below, he said over his shoulder: “Well, let’s be off. He’s obviously not here, right?”

“R-right!”

It was surprisingly hard work, finding yourself.

Or rather, pretending to find the person that you already are while at the same time avoiding the hellhounds and whatever green Hellions of his Legion still haven’t learned their lesson about not-even-bothering-to-try-and-find-Prince-Crowley-when-he’s-escaped.

That, on top of navigating through a caste town with an Angel (also guilelessly looking for him) at his side.

There were one-too many close calls with a hellhound or two picking up his scent where he had to (regrettably) drag Aziraphale away from bakeries and patisseries towards the iron-sharp stench of the butcher’s just to throw them off. Some distance away, he could hear a soldier wrestling the dogs away from the meats, cursing colorfully with strained effort. It was a good thing his companion did little but eye him suspiciously whenever Crowley did so, but he shrugged it off whenever the Demon began (unwisely) interrogating the man possessing a meat-cleaver on the whereabouts of the Prince of Hell.

By the third hour of his escape, his disappearance was abuzz in all manner of conversation. So much so that it suddenly became quite easy to hide in plain sight. After all, they were expecting the Prince to hide amongst the shadows, fearful of daylight and capture, not be meandering off with a strange Angel he met by the Gardens and cross-examining people of his own location.

“Are you quite certain that the Prince wouldn’t be err… peckish at this hour?”

It’s barely noon Crowley thought, and no, he wouldn’t be. He wasn’t too fond of mealtime; not when a hot plate of food also meant the whole ordeal of sitting through Beelzebub’s barking orders or the rousing topics of current politics hovering like flies. “I don’t believe so—”

A shadow of disappointment flashed through Aziraphale’s face before a new spark of inspiration brightened it. “Ah, but!” He took Crowley by the arm, leading him to another direction. “You’re a newcomer after all— please, let me interest you in this quaint eatery and show you what delicacies our kingdom has to offer—”

Right…and it had nothing at all to do with the Angel’s whimpering stomach. Crowley chortled. “I thought you wanted to find your charge.” The moment he said that, Crowley regretted it as Aziraphale dropped his hand and the enthusiasm in his step dropped dead.

“Err…right.” He glanced up at his companion sheepishly. Fuck, Crowley mourned. “I mean you’re right, of course.” I made him sad.

“No, no, I, ah.” He glanced down, finding the Angel’s hand and pulling him along. “Let’s go in, shall we?” He dragged the other to a bustling building, a savory aroma wafting through the air. “Maybe we’ll find some clues as to where he’s been from the gossip.”

Aziraphale blossomed radiantly at that. “Quite right, dear!”

Crowley’s heart sputtered in his chest at the unexpected endearment. “L-lead on, Angel.”

He didn’t mean to spend the next two hours there. And in Aziraphale’s defense, they did a thorough sweep of the area and listened in on conversation for any hints to the whereabouts of the missing Prince, but that all dissolved into a fine pile of goo to be thrown in a bucket and kicked out to gutters as Crowley got them a table, Aziraphale placed an order for the both of them, and a plate of oysters were set before them. Crowley couldn’t help it if Aziraphale lit up like a sky-full of evening stars.

He looked positively besotted. “Oh, you must try them, J. I insist!”

And so Crowley did. He liked them well enough.

But not nearly as much as he liked watching the look of sheer completion on Aziraphale’s face. Silvery lashes fluttering close, the shape of his lips as he closed his mouth around the tasty morsels, the breathless sighs—

Crowley shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was ever-fortunate that years of casting a mask of indifference on his face during mealtimes prepared him for this.

Then: a plate of something sweet, decadent, and sugary was placed between them. “We mustn’t forget about dessert!” Aziraphale happily intoned.

Satan preserve us. Crowley watched on, pupils dilating ever-so-slightly as Aziraphale lapped up the cream.

It was sundown and Aziraphale was doomed.

NO—not just Aziraphale.

His country, their entire nation, the KINGDOMS OF HEAVEN AND HELL—

The two footmen in charge of the Prince in the first place actually had the gall to look bored. In just a few minutes, the Prince would need to be announced before his intended suitors and if the Prince doesn’t appear through those ridiculously ornate doors to the grand ballroom—

Political tensions would skyrocket to an all-time high. There would be distrust between the efforts of peace between the two nations. Uncertainty and suspicion would overrun the entire efforts to stop conflict and they’ll be back at each other’s throats all over again, ravaging war after fruitless war, sacrificing resources, land, citizens for the sake of the elite’s gain—

“Calm down, Angel,” J’s voice rattled off in his head. “It’ll work out in the end. Just. Breathe.”

Just breathe. Just. Breathe.

Breathing did bollocks. Where was that wine…

A sizeable crowd had gathered now, consisting of high-ranking commanders and officials: the Seraphs, Cherubs, even some Dominions. Their gazes briefly flitted past the Demons, snorting in amusement as their eyes flickered over to where Aziraphale stood by the threshold. The Principality tried not to squirm under their calculating stares.

He ought to have faith—that’s right. He ought to have faith that all will go according to the plan—well. Whatever plan She had in store.

Her Majesty the Queen may not have been completely clear in her instructions as she bequeathed him the responsibility of guiding Crowley, Prince of Hell, through their culture and kingdom in order to dutifully bind his life to that of the Divines—nevermind that it doesn’t make a tick of sense that Crowley needs to woo one of them in the first place if the goal is to simply establish peace by the sharing of bloodlines and all that — but he’s an Angel.

And Angels were made to obey even if the ineffable plan was quite…in-affable.

The doors opened and a Demon’s lazy drawl commenced. Aziraphale’s pulse quickened.

“May I present to you—”

Oh—

“His Royal Highness, son of King Lucifer of the Kingdom of Hell—”

—Fuck.

“Prince Anthony J Crowley.”

A beat of silence. Aziraphale felt the blood drain from his face.

But then: “Just Crowley is fine.”

If it was possible to choke on absolutely nothing, Aziraphale would have been granted a very strange and rather rude epitaph if he happened to croak at this very moment. Well, one could suppose he did choke on the incredulity of the scene before him:

Of J sauntering through the doors with regal indifference, too-cool-to-be-bothered demeanor in his dark royal garb, nonchalant and nonplussed as if he didn’t just give Aziraphale a heart attack at the lightning-strike realization that he had just spent the entire afternoon looking for the damned Prince—only for said Prince to lead him around town square on a wild goose chase.

Aziraphale couldn’t move—couldn’t breathe. He was humiliated—for sure—but he hadn’t planned on doing anything about it within the vicinity of the eyes of Heaven’s elites—

That was, until J—Prince Crowley—caught his gaze and sent him a smarmy grin.

Aziraphale was rightfully pissed. And Crowley found it adorable.

He had planned to apologize, he really did! He not only thoroughly enjoyed the company of his Guide, but it seemed that Aziraphale—unlike most of the dead-eyed stares within the room—actually gave a shit. About peace—about him! And that wasn’t something Crowley was about to let go. He decided it would be best to let the Angel simmer down a little and then confront him when most of the heat had dissipated with some fine wine and dancing—

But alas. That flustered face was too sweet a temptation to ignore. So after making his proper appearance to the Archangels (bow, proclaim your title, Pleased to make your acquaintance, I look forward to working together in the name of peace between our two kingdoms, yaddayaddayadda) and there he goes back again to the red-faced, scowling little Bird.

And had Aziraphale not been blustering with ill-contained frustration at him, he might have even noticed the eyes on them as Crowley approached. The Prince gave a sweeping bow—“To a Principality?” someone murmured among the masses— and took Aziraphale’s hand with all the blithe charm he could muster. “Pleased to formally make your acquaintance.”

All fallen on deaf ears and eyes blinded by rage. “YOU!” Aziraphale hissed out.

If it wouldn’t make tensions between them even worse, Crowley would have thrown his head back in a laugh. Instead, he settled for pleased-as-punch smile that the Angel, had he inhaled more liquid courage into his system, might have put description to reality. “Let’s walk and talk, shall we?”

And so, the gallant prince goes, sweeping his Guide off his feet into a dance as the celebration began and a swell of music drifted through the air.

But alas, Aziraphale doesn’t even seem to realize that he’s dancing with the Prince right now—he was merely content to hissing in his ear. “J!”

“Or dance, as it stands, err, sways,” Crowley corrected as he took the lead. “And like I said, you can call me Crowley, Angel.” Forward. “And see? I told you everything would be all right!” Side.

Closed. “I SPENT HOURS LOOKING FOR YOU! And—you were the Prince all along?!”

A pull, back and forth. “Guilty,” Crowley replied, though his tone implied he was anything but. The Angel was pouting again. “Oh don’t look so cross at me. We had a good time, right?”

Back. Aziraphale sputtered. “I SAW MY LIFE FLASH BEFORE MY EYES WHEN THEY ANNOUNCED YOU!” Side.

Closed. Crowley huffed, clearly and infuriatingly amused. “Did that include the time you met a mysterious, handsome fellow who, out of the goodness of his heart, decided to aid you in looking for your charge today?”

Back. “No,” He seethed tartly. “It included the time I met an irritation of a Royal who decided to play me for a sucker.”

Forward. “Tsk, don’t think of it like that. Think of it as—getting to know each other,” Crowley offered. Aziraphale eyed him darkly. Side. “Without the pomp and regality of it all,” he continued. “After all, I certainly enjoyed my time with you.” Closed.

Back. “Hmph.” But Crowley could already see the steam running out. The tense and terse replies relaxed to a tranquil banter. “Well—It appears that I’ll need to keep closer eye on you. In case you decide to cause anyone else grief.” There was still a glower in those stormy eyes, but there was also a hint of a resenting smile on those wine-pinked lips.

Forward. Crowley gave him a wicked grin. “Oh, Angel. You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll be sure to save all my mischief just for you—”

Side. “You—!”

Closed. “—if it means we get to have more days like today.”

And he’ll be sure to make it up to him later. It wouldn’t do not to be in good graces with his Guide after all—it certainly would make his stay far less fun. And from their outing that day, it became very apparent that his Guide has a penchant for good food and wine…

The first song ended with a bustle of cheer from the crowd and Aziraphale froze, the realization hitting him square in the face that he just spent the first dance with the Prince. It sent Aziraphale reeling, thoughts coming to a halt between the immovable object of two choices keeping him frozen in place: to crawl away from the crowd and into his bed for a solid week or to walk away with some semblance of dignity far, far away from the Prince.

But alas; it appeared that Crowley just so happened to be an unstoppable force to pull him away from his (safer) two options. “You’re not bad!” Crowley laughed, taking his hand again as the music started up and before any of the Birds could swoop down and interrupt their fun.

He gave a fanciful twirl to the startled Angel, holding him tight to make sure the other didn’t stumble in his steps. The song possessed a faster tempo this time; he hoped the Angel could keep up.

Given enough time and patience to allow the Angel to concede that This is my life now, he, in fact, could.

--------------------------------------------

Meet-cute? Check.

A prince in disguise? Check.

Aziraphale dancing something other than the gavotte—wait, what? Also check.

More to come, I think.

Thank you for reading!

#good omens #ineffable husbands #repost from ao3 #top crowley #bottom aziraphale #fantasy AU

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