#I was going to see a third drawing that would be closer to Mother's Day but since I did not manage to finish it
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I know that in some countries Mother's Day took place days ago, but where I live has already arrived here today and idk, I had the idea of making some drawings for this:
Lately I see drawings of 'aged Loids' and I know, this is far from the concept but I wanted to have the opportunity to publish content from my Fankids after months ago and at the same time show the face of what some Vocaloids would look like among the 30-40 years old :')
Shinichi/Shisui and Natsumi/Uzumi belong to @ask-the-vocafamilies
#I was going to see a third drawing that would be closer to Mother's Day but since I did not manage to finish it#probably i will be until later or until tomorrow that I will show the third drawing#vocaloid#vocaloid fankids#fankids#my fankids#megurine luka#luka megurine#gakupo kamui#kamui gakupo#gakuluka#lukapo#my otp for life#luka x gakupo#gakupo x luka#rabenda kamui#vocaloid gumi#gumi vocaloid#gumi#rorogumi#yugumi#vy2gumi#vy2 x gumi#gumi x vy2#gumi x yuuma#yuuma x gumi#my art#happy mother's day#yep in my version mama Gumi is chubby and when she wakes up with curly hair for some reason#2nd generationloid
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tw: grief; some personal writing based on a rec by my therapist as I draw closer to the three year anniversary of my mom dying.
My hands are not my own; they are inherited, like the rest of me, but unlike my hair (the shade of my grandmother’s) or the hue of my eyes (a heterochromatic blend of my father’s and his father’s), my hands are wholly my mother’s.
It is a strange comfort to look down and see a part of a missing loved one. I can stand in front of a mirror for hours scrutinizing my own face and find no trace of my mother, but when I look at my hands, I am unable to see anything but her.
I was a precocious child, unable to sit still even for a moment. My restlessness persisted even at night. I was often unable to find tranquility even in sleep; prone to vivid and wild dreams that frightened me and usually startled me awake. My mother’s bedside was a frequent place of solace in the small hours after midnight. After the third or fourth time of me darting into my parents’ room on tiptoes and speaking in hushed whispers of monsters lurking in my closet, she would let me crawl in beside her until I calmed down enough to return to my own bed.
Yet, like most unruly children, rarely did her acquiescence actually soothe me. I likely owe my mother a long overdue apology for all the ways I tossed and turned and kicked while trying to settle down. But for all the sleep deprivation I inflicted, my mother’s solution was not to kick me out before I’d mellowed; instead, she gave me her hand.
She would hold it out for me to take and I, a cat transfixed by a feathery toy tangling before it, would grab it and trace the shape of her fingers. I bent them, pushed them together until she made the Vulcan salute, and turned her hand over in mine again and again. On and on I would play with her hand until I finally grew sleepy — an event she seemed to have a sixth sense for, given the struggle it took to get me there — and she would send me on my way back to my room, comforted.
Even beyond those restless nights, my mom would offer me her hand to hold in times of stress or even relaxation. If I sat beside her on the couch, my head on her shoulder, she instinctively held out her hand and without fail, I would take it. I once asked her if she minded it when I was a teenager; motherhood is marked by all the ways children demand and take, and I worried she quietly resented my entitlement to her space. I could see my question surprised her — and then she was quick to kiss the top of my head and assure me she found it just as comforting as I did. In fact, she wagered, the day I stopped reaching for her hand might just break her heart.
But I never stopped. I continued studying my mother’s hands in those quiet moments watching some silly reality show. I was fascinated by them; the rounded shape of the nail on her index finger contrasted with the u-curve of the others, but that asymmetry was the most comforting thing in the world.
They were there when I stumbled off my late night flight home from college; when I could stop being the invincible twenty year old staring down a world of limitless opportunity and regress back into her baby girl, who just wanted to cuddle up to her on the couch and have her pat my head as she always did.
And they were there even when she was not; still stroking over my hair thanks to my own manipulations, her nails painted a faint copper that I’d brought along with me to the ICU, back when we still had hope she’d be leaving sometime soon. I kept her hand smoothing over my head until the quiet beeping of her heart monitor slowed and her chest rose one final time. I only let them go when the nurses told me to bring my car around to pick up my dad so we could drive home, without her.
The last time I paid attention to her hands was when I arrived at the funeral home to help fix her makeup before her service. I did not recognize them, mottled and bruised as they were; they were too stiff, her fingers too oddly curled over her lifeless form. Of all the bitter realizations I had in the wake of my mother’s death, perhaps the most acerbic one of all was that I would never again hold my mother’s hand.
Even when I said my final goodbye to her on the day of her funeral, I did not touch her hands. I didn’t even look at them.
One of the many lessons I’ve been taught in navigating life after death is the transiency of human memory. There are details about my mother I swore I could never forget that I now find difficult to recall, even a measly three years later. I have a hard time remembering the sound of her voice, or the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed. I find that I can’t decide whether her eyes were more of a chocolate-y brown or something closer to black.
But I have not yet forgotten her hands. How can I, when I see them every day?
The nails on my index fingers are round while the rest are u-shaped. The skin of my knuckles folds the same way hers did, and while I prefer acrylics compared to her choice of gel manicure, I know that when the false nails come off, my mother’s will be there.
Often, far too often for my own comfort, I catch myself wondering what they will look like ten, fifteen, even twenty years from now. I wonder whether the time will come when I look down and think, for the smallest fragment of a second, that I am seeing her again. But a more sobering part of me knows there’s a chance my hands will one day curl and swell with age in a way hers never did. And I wonder, if and when that day comes, whether I’ll still recognize my mother’s hands, or whether that memory too, will fade.
#y’all can interact however you want this is a creative writing exercise and also me rambling#I just needed to get it out lmao#🍑’s writings
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hey, gang! miss me? no? too bad, because i miss you. i think about you all the time. i hope the year has treated you well. this is, what, the third, fourth year i've done a year-in-review post? have i done more than that? it's after midnight. i can't be bothered to check. i fear a lot of the mysteries of getting older, but i will say, i don't mind that it's easier to shrug certain things off. i look back on all the times i hid from some scary fandom discourse and go, "god, why did i care?" it helps to have other things going on.
on the other hand, i guess 2024 was the year of finding out what happens when you put everything into your day job and leave nothing for the weekend. it was a wild year at work, which i assume is normal as a game ramps up to ship. i gave a lot, which was good! i'd be lying if i said it didn't take a lot out of me. important people at trade shows have now seen things i wrote! i got to work with voice actors! good news: a lot of your faves are great people! i also made, like, no progress on any of my own projects except the picrew, which i still chip away at. yes, i still draw. more on that later.
one or two people in my coworkers-turned-friends circle have broached the subject of occupational burnout and whether i've reached it yet. as i said last year, i remember what voltage burnout felt like, and it took a much weirder, angrier journey to get me there. it's kind that they're looking out for me, though. i think it's something all creative people could stand to keep an eye on. a buddy of mine even gave a GDC talk about it. it's a shame GDC is so stingy with access to its talks. at least this article has a great summary if you're interested in learning more.
there were other things, though. my mother broke her hip in june, which forced me into a caregiver role that i'm not suited to. don't worry, she's fine now. i love her, so it was important to me, but it didn't leave a lot of time to sit and write for fun. i started what i thought would be a casual fanfic project, wildly over-scoped it, and made a ton of work for myself. i outlined an original story about a difficult, personal subject and a culture i'm descended from, but not really familiar with. there's a lot of pressure to do it right, is what i'm saying. i'm taking the only path i can think of, which is to bury myself in research. the trouble is, a lot of the literature about this time and place is also very challenging, so it burns a lot of brain calories. it's a far cry from what usually gets me to start a story, which is "i want these characters to sleep together. let's see where it goes."
in a different time, i would've taken this struggle as an omen that i wasn't the right person to write this story and abandoned it. it's critical that i don't take the coward's way out this time if i'm going to honor the question i asked at the end of last year. "what is my work saying?" my mother told me the same thing a few months ago: "i think you're a good writer, you just need to find good things to say." i take that to mean i have to write closer to real experiences, which means including the parts i don't like: disappointment, loss, mistakes, uncertainty. i had all of this year to figure out how, and the evidence shows i didn't. i don't know what to say. "oh well?" maybe you can't put a deadline on these things. in the meantime, hercule and aida deserve more stories (it's an hercule and aida story), and i want more people to know about them, and maybe i can say something real through them.
this was also the year that i reckoned with the other side of "all it takes is money to make problems go away." i was able to travel, i mean really travel, for the first time. all it took was being able to throw a chunk of my salary at it. i had some shipping drama [sorry, not the romantic kind] where i had no choice but to pony up a ton of customs fees. my arm PT didn't work, so i'll have to try a specialist who's out of my insurance network and pay full price to see them. this must be what they call "being a successful adult." i thought it'd look different. i wanted to live in the city and have a hot, mysterious boyfriend. well, i can still live closer to the city if i keep saving up for that house, and maybe some hot, mysterious guy will take pity on me someday. do you think they like 32-year-olds who play video games and have flat chests? i went all the way to paris and still didn't find out. damn! 🤌
nah, i'm kidding. i mean, i'm not, but i have other things to worry about. as i mentioned above, things with my arm have taken a curious turn. after six and a half years of assuming i had tendinitis, i found out, not only is it likely not that, i may not be injured at all. the particulars of this theory get out into the weeds of neuromuscular science, so i'll only bore you with them if you want me to. the point is, if any of it holds water, it would go a long way toward explaining why none of the typical rest/heat/stretching/strengthening protocols have worked. it's actually unfathomable how much effort i've put into solving this mystery just so i can get back to drawing fictional people kissing. you can call my creative work boring or predictable or whatever you want, but never say i haven't committed to the bit.
i don't tend to read my previous years-in-review. this year, i did, because i sensed i was grappling with a lot of the same things as last year. there's nothing i hate like being repetitive. not that you would know from the way i keep writing the same three character archetypes. humor me here. i was all set to keep whining until i reminded myself how 2023 had gone, and i thought, "geez. it wasn't that bad." nobody i love died, for a start. my health is better. i have some unread books sitting around. as terrible as 2023 was, i survived it. if you're reading this, you did too.
so here's what i'm going to do. i think you should do it with me, though whether i'm in any position to give advice is up to you. i'm not going to make any predictions about whether 2025 will be bad or good. i'm just going to see what happens. deal? all right. we'll check in next year. you'd better be there!
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Hello! How does a WIP Wednesday sound? Thank you always and I wish you a happy day😆
Hello!! I didn't have time to answer this yesterday, so I'm answering today :) This is from the next chapter of As Fate Would Have It which is almost done and should be up soon!!
Patroclus on his third trip from their cart, and sweating buckets in the warm spring afternoon under the mountain of pelts he's carrying, when he notices a customer that has drifted close to their stall and is speaking with Achilles. The man is not very tall, but he's broad at the shoulders and looks quite strong. He has an oily beard which he strokes every so often with fingers covered in golden rings and gemstones, and his beady eyes twinkle with delight as he regards Achilles. By the look—and smell— of him, he must be a sailor of some sort, out in the town on errands.
"It's my first time here," Patroclus hears Achilles saying as he draws near. "I've never been to Iolcos before."
"I would remember a face like yours," the man says, the words accompanied by a nauseating leer. "Tell me, sweetheart, did you fall from Olympus? Because you look divine to me."
Achilles' brow furrows in confusion. "My mother is a goddess," he replies earnestly. "But she's not from Olympus."
"You're a clever one, eh? Not just a pretty face." The man chuckles indulgently, leaning ever closer to Achilles over the stall between them. "Listen, I have a boat nearby; I could take you for a ride if you—"
"You need something?" Patroclus asks gruffly, depositing the pelts unceremoniously on the stall.
The man blinks at him in surprise, as if he just materialised out of thin air. "Oh, I was just talking with your, um, associate? I have an interesting proposition for—"
"Either buy something or get lost," Patroclus cuts him off. "We're trying to sell and you're hogging all the space."
"Well, if you say so," the man replies sourly. He clears his throat and peruses the pelts without much interest; it is clear that it was not their wares that drew him there. It isn’t very long before he sets his beady eyes on Achilles once again, and his lips curl in that oily smile. "That is very lovely," he says, picking up a pelt at random. "Is it a fox, or a lynx, perhaps?"
"It’s… a deer," Achilles answers, rather perplexed, for the pelt couldn’t have been more obviously that of a deer’s. “We don’t hunt foxes. Or lynxes, for that matter. Our teacher has shown us way to keep them at bay without—”
"You hunted these yourself? My, so many talents! A man after my own heart," he chuckles, completely ignoring what Achilles was saying, which somehow makes Patroclus’ temper flare even more. The man spreads his disgusting fingers over the pelt as he says, "Doesn't Artemis get mad that you're hunting in those woods, rivalling her in beauty? I should like to see you in action, in fact; I bet you're a sight to behold—"
"Are you done?" Patroclus snaps, incapable of keeping his anger in check any longer. He snatches the pelt out of his oily hands and gives it a quick rub down before throwing it back in the pile.
"Hey! I was going to buy that!"
"It's not for sale."
"But—"
"I said: it's not for sale." Patroclus crosses his arms before his chest and glowers at him. "Now, beat it."
The man lets out an angry huff. "You don't get to talk to me like that. I'm a paying customer and it's a free country. I can stand wherever I want."
"Don’t care where you stand as long as it's not in front of my stall." He straightens to his full height and squares his shoulders, stepping protectively before Achilles when the man's eyes slide to him. A low growl vibrates in his throat before he can stop it. “Do I need to make myself clearer?”
The man swallows thickly and takes a step back. "This isn’t over," he mutters sulkily before he walks away.
#someone's a LITTLE territorial me thinks#just a little though don't tell anyone#patrochilles#achilles#patroclus#the song of achilles#tsoa#hades game#johaerys writes#omegaverse au
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Random Alex Casey Headcanons
There's an empty couch open to Casey whenever he needs it. I picture one of the Anderson's walking to the kitchen and finding Casey on the couch, sleeping deeper than he ever does at his home, and he stays for breakfast before hitting the road. Or they know he's been there and left early by the neatly folded blanket and pillow sitting in the living room.
Logan enjoys drawing pictures of tired, grump Uncle Casey while he's asleep. She says he's at his most relaxed.
The Anderson's keeping certain food items or coffee blend they know he likes in their home for such occasions. Even including gifts for him under their tree because it's tradition for him to join them Christmas morning.
If he reluctantly takes part in an ugly sweater competition or two, no one is wiser as he swears everyone to secrecy regarding their photos.
Casey and his wife Miranda got a divorce due to mounting issues. The worst loss for them being a miscarriage.
Miranda fell into bad habits, and as such, took her aggression and heartache out on Casey, who tried to make things work while continuing to do his job. It got so bad that in the middle of the night, after a particularly bad argument, Casey left. All he took from the home was his favorite three-piece suit, work related items, every drawing Logan had gifted him, and a pair of shoes. He then proceeded to walk aimlessly through the dark, leaving the car behind, seeing as it was in his soon-to-be ex-wife's name.
David Anderson was leaving to go to work the following morning and was surprised to find Casey asleep on their front porch with his small box of items beside him. After rousing him and collecting his things, David put Casey to bed in one of the spare bedrooms, which ultimately became his own until the divorce was settled and Casey found a place not far from them.
Casey is a fine cook, despite everything pointing to the contrary. For a man who looks like he survives off six coffees a day with the occasional sandwich, he can fix a meal that'll leave most wanting seconds or thirds. As a thank you to the Anderson's for their hospitality to him, he cooked enough food to last them a month and provided the recipe for each dish.
When Casey first met Saga, he didn't think much of her. Figuring she'd buckle under the pressure of the job and go back home to find another career. To his surprise, she became a bright light amongst her peers. Enough so that he took her under his wing personally to teach her what knowledge he'd acquired over the years. Not realizing that in doing so, he'd not only gain a new partner, but that he'd eventually come to be adopted into a family he would cherish and gladly give his life for.
The first time he met Logan Anderson was when she was only a day old. Reluctantly entering the hospital room, the sight of Saga laid up in bed cradling her newborn daughter had pierced his hard shell in a way he hadn't thought it would. When Saga and David finally convinced him to hold Logan, he did so carefully. It was one of the first times both the new parents had seen Alex Casey genuinely smile. Teeth and all.
Logan became the brightest light Casey could remember entering his life, aside from her mother, of course. To those at the bureau, he was still the same jaded, hardened agent they'd known for years, but to those who paid closer attention, small glimpses of change appeared. Little things like a child's drawing appearing on his desk, or a coffee mug with 'My favorite Uncle' printed on it alongside a cartoon fox.
He was once ambushed on a case resulting in numerous injuries and a decent recovery time. It was the first time Logan had ever seen her uncle hurt that severely. It felt as if each time Casey woke, he'd find a small reminder that she'd been there hidden somewhere near his bed. He occasionally woke to a small kiss on his cheek. He kept one of the smaller stuffed animals she's placed on his bed. Furthermore, he always packs it in his suitcase when he's away from home, either for work or the rare rest and relaxation. Saga's never let him live it down.
The angriest he's ever been, besides numerous incidents with his ex, was when he saw a group of older kids shove an eight-year-old Logan to the dirt at the playground. Saga swears all four boys who'd bullied her daughter ran home crying when confronted by Casey.
Saga and Logan are the only ones who Casey allows close enough to snuggle. Something he'll deny until blue in the face, but on more than one occasion, either Anderson can be found using his lap as a pillow while he uses said time to catch up on some reading.
#alan wake#alan wake 2#alex casey#saga anderson#Logan anderson#headcanon#Sam Lake what have you done to me#David Woods
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book rambling don't mind me
the book kept saying anharion was his title... so was that also his name? did his name become a title when the Betrayal happened? does "anharion" translate to Betrayer or is that just what he's known as? was it a mistranslation from the old language? edit: I just reread the part where sarcean said he used to be called something else and now I feel like that's going to give away the whole ~is he the sun prince~ thing
I've seen some theories about the Collar and to what extent it actually controls james and like. as much as it would be less big and exciting to see it this way... what if the Collar is mostly symbolic? bc sarcean can talk people into doing what he wants anyway and james was obviously not immune to the charm (it's magnified for him even) well before will knew anything about himself or his powers so what if the collar was just a way to show other people that anharion belonged to him? but GOD if this moral stronghold of not wanting to manipulate james into kissing him and wanting him to do it of his own free will stops these boys from having a lil smooch for the majority of the third book I will Die
I've also seen people try to draw lines between will/sarcean and james/anharion as far as their past/present personalities and the consensus seems to be that will has a more clear line between himself and sarcean but I saw someone say it was more like intrusive thoughts and I think that's fascinating, also that will is seeing james and not anharion the betrayer when he looks at james but james in every sense is this cocky little asshole (affectionate) who flirts and uses his powers to take advantage of people while anharion in the past wasn't like that sooooo I think will isn't Seeing james as who he is I think he's seeing anharion for who he used to be before he turned against sarcean. which is so interesting when you think about will saying people shouldn't be judged by what they've done but what they can do
the tangled web of who hates who is so messy but I trust violet to, if not outright take will's side, then to convince the others to let him go like banish him or whatever instead of killing him right away (even if james's powers would physically protect him from that I just need violet to believe in him)
I'm still thinking about little 6 year old will setting a rich fucker's clothes on fire bc he laid his hands on a woman who was nice to him, how violet saved his life and he's spent every day after that trying to return the favor including using a newfound power he doesn't know how to control yet to set her free from a cage in another country
can't wait to see how the narratives shift when we get other perspectives on what the past was really like bc from what I can tell sarcean and the lady weren't really In Love they just had a fling one time
on that note I thought will was switched out for the girls somehow when they were kids but elizabeth was told her mother had a son before her and she believes that son is will, which would mean will is both blood of the lady and the dark king, which brings to question who his dad is bc they said it wasn't simon but I don't think his birth was a virgin mary situation, also I know sarcean got around but are will and simon's family related any closer than one ancestor thousands of years ago? is sinclair will's father?
I don't think tom and violet will fight to the death, tom may die in another way tho
what's the fourth kingdom and how does that pay into this? bc the first gate was in england the second was underwater somewhere and the third is in italy so the fourth...? on that note there must be more stewards alive who weren't in the hall when it was torn through, people who either left that life behind, or like cyprian at the beginning who didn't drink from the cup but still follow the lifestyle, or maybe like small covens of stewards who never went to the hall bc they found their own communities elsewhere idk it's just very eurocentric to think everyone from everywhere would meet up in this one place when the whole rest of the world exists
will needs some alone time after all this someone give him a safe place to rest and a hot drink
phillip and visander... and the unicorn....... love triangle of the ages... (I wonder if visander will find his way back into a man's body somehow or if he's stuck looking like katherine forever lol) (realistically. I don't think this man fucked his horse. but. metaphorically? metaphysically? whatever they had was probably as erotically charged as that magic scene right?)
#dark rise#dark heir#def some spoilers in here#got two friends now who have said they need to read these books#side note i read it not listened to it. how do you pronounce sarcean? bc in my head i've been saying sar-cean like the second half of ocean#which feels like a very irish way to pronounce it but if the name is rooted in latin it would probs have 3 syllables? sar-say-ən?
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I have a happy Polin AU !
First book version because I despise de Marina subplot, and the destruction of Peneloise, and the lack of Felicity, and the personality transplant between Colin and Benedict.
When Violet shows Colin "The List " with Pen on the top it actually works because she doesn't give it to him but tells him to check it out because it's for the nephew of a friend of hers and she wants to make sure they are all great ladies as she believes, and Colin is like "you want to just give away Pen to someone we don't even know!" and gets all grumpy which make him (finally!) evaluate his feelings and realize them.
So he procceds to go court Pen without telling her he's courting her, but telling his family and hers (who don't tell her either because they think nothing will come of it). So Pen thinks he's just being extra nice and they are getting closer. Thus whe he proposes like a couple months later in she's shocked to learn they being courted for months.
Cue hilarious / chaotic proposals only Colin deciding to make a grand gesture so there's no doubt in anyone's mind.
This is old, and I am so sorry, this got lost in my drafts.
But I like this idea! I do believe Colin had feelings for Penelope back when he shouted his infamous words on the steps, but they were still brand new, and he needed time by himself to sort them out. But as they are the Bridgertons, they can't help getting into each other's business. Too many cooks in the kitchen, and no their messing up the recipe that's wrong! When Colin was still trying to figure out what the recipe wanted exactly.
But this here, Violet saying a friend of her's having a nephew, or even one of the Rokesby cousins, are looking for potential brides then shows him a list that she actually put together for him could probably be the equivalent of leaving out an ingredient needed for the recipe, or adding something tue cook may have forgot.
Colin reads over the list Violet gave him for some other man, and his eyes widen immediately when he sees Penelope's name in the top spot. He feels his eye twitch, and no, that's wrong. Penelope can't marry into his mother's friend's nephew's family. She belongs in the Bridgerton family, she belongs with . . .him.
The very next day Colin goes to call on Penelope, but in his tunnel visioned determination forgot to say he was calling to court Penelope.
He tells their families, though. Portia asks her daughter if it was true Colin was courting her, but Penelope denied it. Though Portia also didn't say that's what Colin told her. Portia sighed, how she wished one of her daughters could bag a Bridgerton, but if Penelope says they are not courting, then Portia would believe her. That does make Portia suspicious though of Colin's true intions.
The Bridgertons on the other hand are ecstatic that Colin is courting Penelope and can't wait for him to propose.
Meanwhile, poor Penelope has no idea she's being courted. She just thinks Colin is being extra nice, and maybe pities her a little bit. This is her third season out after all. She'll enjoy the attention while it lasts.
It all comes to head when Portia or Felicity asks their Bridgerton counterpart what Colin's intentions are towards Penelope.
Bridgerton says Colin is courting Penelope with plans to marry. Featherington says Penelope has said they were not courting.
They go back and forth until said couple walks into the drawing room and then both Bridgerton and Featherington are demanding to know Colin's intentions.
Colin bursts out, "I'm going to marry Penelope!"
Penelope's brain temporarily shuts down
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Writing prompt: “don’t you trust me”
Thank you for the prompt!
TW: Mentions and vague depictions of abuse
Time Period: Dragon Age: Origins (2008)
Setting: Lost in Dreams - The Broken Circle
Characters: Amayian Trevelyan, Lady Jacqueline Trevelyan, Warden Surana
Length: 2k+
~
He found his mother in Vasenarg's gardens, with a faint cool sea-wind crawling over the high stone walls crowned in their horned crenellations, bringing the scent of roses and violets and marigolds.
Seated high upon the stone throne with its blue-tiled dome, slender spiraled pillars topped at both ends with the rearing chest and neighing head of stallions, and vine-woven railing stretching from pillar to pillar, his mother was turned away from him, staring out to the gardens. A blissful smile lifted the corners of her mouth, and the soft echoes of laughing lines could be glimpsed with the small scrunch of her amber eyes. Long thick waves of chestnut brown hair tumbled down from a high crown of braided hair, speckled with fine gems of ruby and sapphire and amethyst. That day, she wore her birthing dress, plain and white, with only the faintest silver embroidery along the sweeping sleeves and across the bodice. The skirt spread about her like the flowering lotus, like a gown of starlight.
His feet carried him, and his thoughts swam in and out of his mind, cresting the high waves before darting into the fearful depths. The stone paved road twisting around a little bond, sprinkled with loosened petals that had been carried by the wind. Sunlight glistened across the waters, as if a thousands gems twinkled beneath. And yet, his eyes were only on his mother, and the soft song borne by the air to his ears as he drew closer. A little lullaby, the one she sang when the dreams grasped him in its hold and refused to let him go.
But on this day, no words were spoken, only hummed. But that seemed only fair. He did not deserve those words, after what he had done. After his failure.
For a brief moment, he halted, unsured if his mother would even wanted to see him. Behind, the wind scurried against him, delicate hands of unseen air pressing against his back, grasping fistfuls of cloth, as if to drag him forward. And yet, Amayian's feet seemed buried into the stone, trapped. His right thumb searched for his mother's ring, felt the cold silver touch his skin, and the tightened breath clasping his chest flowed out of him.
"My sweet son, my brave son, why are you so far?" called his mother, though she did not turn to see him. "Do you not trust me?"
Ever obedient, Amayian took long steps to his mother. No words touched his tongue. All ability to speak seemed to have fled him, just like his fears when he heard his mother's voice. A voice he had not heard for nearly fourteen years. A soft voice, warm and melodious and flowing, touched with the highborn accents of Orlais.
Small wide steps greeted him at the trefoil-arched entrance of the high stone seat, and above loomed his mother, buried in that great gown of melted starlight. Golden armbands wrought in the appearance of flowers knitted upon a delicate string wrapped around her arms, each center set with a new gem that flashed with the passing sunlight. And she was smiling, smiling that sweet smile that said he could do no wrong. Gently she patted her lap. "Come, my sweet colt. You looked so tired." The wind tugged at him, like chains bound at his wrist and neck, trying to hurl him further. "It is ok. You do not have to fear. I am not angry with you."
One step flowed into a second then a third, until he was before his mother, the Lady Jacqueline who was the Dawn of Vasenarg. His mother extended her hands; and Amayian fell to his knees, took them into his own, kissed and pressed his forehead against them, as was the way of House Trevelyan. Long fingers tightened around his, a slender palm smoothed and unworn by work, drawing him close.
Those hands released, rising and combing their fingers through Amayian's dark hair, softly scratching and smoothing the loose strands of curls, just as Lady Jacqueline always did when she came to put her children to sleep. Her palms pressed against his head, drawing him down to hide his face in her lap, her fingers never ceasing to stop their strokes. "Oh, my sweet, tired boy. Why are you so thin? Have you not eaten?"
Though his mind rushed with words, and his heart a thousand more, they could not find his lips, as if they were sewn with silver.
Even still, his mother continued. "You have not visited for so long, my son." His heart clutched with terror. Brushed upon those words were...disappointment. No, no, he thought. I cannot disappoint her. It was forbidden.
"Do you not trust your own mother so that when you fled you did not dare pay your respect her, to honor her? Did we teach you anything?"
The crack of a tongue of leather, the rush of fire along his flesh, the whisper of blood flowing along the length of his back. The kiss of leather across his face, the bursting of agony across his cheeks, over his nose, a veil of warmth that poured unto his mouth. And beneath those crackles, his uncle's voice, rolling and untroubled, conquering. "As the Maker made us to serve, magic is meant to serve, never to rule. As the Maker made us to serve, a son is a slave to his father, to his mother, to his uncle, to his aunt. Any disobedience is forbidden, be them a word, an act, a flash across the gaze."
I am dutiful, Mother. You know this. I only ever meant to serve, just as Uncle Esmarian ordained. Yes, that was his purpose. Over and over again, his uncle had made that clear. By his father's pardon and his mother's compassion, he was given life, permitted to live even after the magic stirred within his limbs. How could he be so ignorant, to refuse to honor his mother, when he failed her so? "The blood shall be shed, shall be hardened, and the wounds may heal into scars," his Uncle said, pitying. "But the lessons shall be engraved, in the mind, in the heart. Take the Maker's forgiveness, and be honored we shed it to you."
"You failed me once, yes," said his mother, in the tones of fall's mourning when the first snows came. Her fingers were still untangling the locks of his hair, still stroking his head. But her nails dug deeper, scrapping along his head, over and over again. "Yes, you failed me. I had put my trust in you, my speechless son. And how did you repay me? By forsaking your duty? For fleeing the orders of your father?"
Yes, my duty was at the Circle. Even when the blade of his cousins' drew across his chest, for his insolence in seeking to flee, the lesson was learned, the reminder to kin installed. My duty to serve my father was there, and I forbad him. I fled. But you called, Mother. No one ever told Amayian what could he do when Father's and Mother's will opposed. His mother called, and he was ordained to listen.
Something warm crawled down his neck, wet and thick, trailing down from his head. Deeper and deeper his mother's fingers dug, slowing as they curled and pressed into his skin, untangling his hair, untangling his lies, untangling his failures. The wind touched his ears, cracking as the tongue of leather in the dark room.
"But it can be pardoned, all of it. If you put your trust in me, my sweet little boy who is empty without purpose. Did you think that coming to the land of the dogs would be freeing? Ever the dogs are leashed, obedient to their masters. Ever is the grey griffons leashed to their duty. Ever is the ministerial and the sister leashed to their songs, to their Maker. Duty, my son, is the crown of mankind. Do your duty now, and stay."
These words, so very strange they were. She never spoke in such a manner. Such a thought wriggled through his mind, though not in his voice. A woman's, quiet, almost too small that it was nearly lost in the hissing winds. His heart tightening, Amayian pressed his face deeper into his mother's skirts. Too much choices. Mother knows of my failure. Who am I to deny her? His dark curls were swept up by his mother's hair, and the wind laid kisses upon the revealed skin there. Still, the slow-moving wetness dragged down his skin, burning.
"Yes." The word came dragging, drawn out. "Yes, my son. Good. You are learning. And of the lessons, the heart shall remember, even when the mind grows forgetful, arrogant. Here you shall rest, by my side. You always wanted that, no? To serve your father, your uncle, your aunt, your sister, and your brother? That was what you were made for. To serve your House. To only serve, for magic was made to serve and never to rule. Never to rule the heart or the mind. Stay, and put your trust in me. You trust me, no? You think I died, but how can I leave my son guideless, he who needed most of all, whose heart could not feel except what we ordained? Oh, my son. I do live. Can you not tell?"
Yes. He was a fool, to trust in his heart. How wrong he was...how foolish...how...disobedient. His mother was alive, and she will still live, if he obeyed, if he stayed.
A footfall, echoing across the garden, piercing through the air like an arrow whistling and taking flight. "Amayian?" A familiar voice. A man's voice, and beneath that a woman's. The woman's seemed so far away, and yet so close, kissing his ears, lifting out from his heart.
His mother's hands strangled in his hair, pushing deeper into those white skirts that swallowed all sight, almost all hearing. "Begone, intruder. This is my house, and he is my son."
The voice, the man's voice, ignored her, and something hot tore at his chest, quickly sparking before dying. "Amayian, this world is an illusion."
No, it is not. Duty is not an illusion. She is here. My mother lives. I have my duty to her, to all of them. I just need to put my trust in her, to obey. It is so very simply. There is no illusion in that.
"Yes, my son. There is no illusion, no cloud to obscure your vision. If you serve, if you stay." Her words were steel as she spoke to this intruder, this deceiver that did not exist. The only thing that existed was him, his mother, his family, here in Ostwick. "Begone, interpolar. He knows his duty, knows where his place belong."
And still, the voice ignored her. "Amayian, you know she is dead. You saw her, didn't you? I don't know what happened that day. But she is dead, Amayian. Just like my parents are. Nothing I can do can bring them back. I know. I tried. Whatever happened that day, your mother does not blame you."
Yes, she does blame me. I let her die. If I had only been stronger. If I had not let the iron chain to wrap around my heart, she would still be alive.
The woman's voice, the one closer than his own heart. She begged you to stop, said this woman's voice, the voice he heard in those suffocating dreams. The fire was burning her, in and out, the ashes pouring out of her in crimson. No matter what we could have done, she would have died. She knew that. Your father knew that.
No, no. Too much. This was all too much. Why could everything not be simple, like when he was a child? When he only had to obey his father, his mother, his uncle. He wanted to stay. Her voice, it was still there. He could still smell her perfume, soft and scented like hyacinith and jasmine. I don't want to forget. I don't want to go searching. I'm home.
The woman's voice whispered around him, hoarse and harsh and mournful. We have no home.
The man's voice urged, so far and yet pressing. "You do have a home. With us. With Sten and Raila, with Alistair and Zevran, with Leliana and I. Even Morrigan, though don't tell her I said that." And he laughed, tilted with nervousness. But it was a laugh all the same. A similar laugh that erupted from Athlaros when Amayian had answered Zevran's deviant jest with truth, and when he had to explain how the joke went to Amayian. It still made no sense, even with Leliana interrupting to get the idea in his head.
Zevran, Morrigan, Ralia, Sten, Alistair, Athlaros, Leliana. He lifted his head a little, confusion casting assurance in his mind into the depths. But his mother's fingers dug deeper, flesh and bones seemingly crushing into his skin. Fire burned through him, in and out, over and within. "No, he is mine. Mine. Mine."
The wind screamed, the petals struck at his face in rapid slashes and cuts. And in those winds, he heard Lady Jacqueline Trevelyan's screams as the blood pour out from her, and Amayian's magic did nothing. Did nothing to save her. I tried and failed.
There was a whorl and a terrible screech that broke at Amayian's world. Dark soot and wisps of fire kissed his skin as his mother's hands seemed to flung off his head, and the demon withered and screamed, carried away by the winds of the Fade. The screams were still there, even after the white skirts was gone, and Amayian was upon his knees, seeing but not seeing.
"Amayian?" asked Athlaros. And Amayian turned, seeing a long-faced man with brown hair - not chestnut brown, but the brown of soil and earth. And behind, a woman. A woman shrouded in darkness and gowned in ash and snow, with long red-golden hair cascading down the length of her right shoulder, while melted bone and flesh, flecked in angry embers smoldered from blackened, withered skin, twisted and gorged. But her eyes remained, eyes of pale blue crystal, seeing and not seeing, keen and misty, all at once.
But then they were fading, and Amayian wondered...
What was this wetness on his cheeks?
#This was a lot longer than I wanted lmao#But I hope you enjoy!#Dragon Age#Dragon Age fanfic#dragon age origins#da#dai#amayian trevelyan#male trevelyan#male inquisitor#m!inquisitor#m!trevelyan#male warden#male surana#warden surana#inquisitor trevelyan#my writing#thebookworm0001
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Introduction.
If you're hearing My Love Mine All Mine by Mitski playing, you have to know Rowan Burke (She/Her, Cis Woman) is near by! The 28 year old teacher has been in town for, like, six months. They're known to be quite blunt, but being outgoing seems to balance that out, or maybe it's the fact that they resemble Adeline Rudolph. Personally, I'd love to know more about them seeing as how they've got those wide smiles, loud laughs, summer sundresses, and cherry-stained lips, and maybe I'll get my chance if I hang out around Brightside long enough!
Basics.
Height: 5'9"
Age: 28
Hair color: Dark Brown
Eye color: Brown
Gender: Cis Woman
Pronouns: She/Her
Occupation: French Teacher
Extras.
Languages: English, French, Spanish, Korean
Dominant hand: Right
Siblings: Quinton Burke
Pets: N/A
Relationship status: single, but complicated
About.
[ Car accident tw, death tw, pregnancy tw ]
Born and raised in France, Rowan is the youngest of the late Silas Burke and Jisoo Choi. Although their marriage did not work out, Rowan's childhood was happy and, to some, very cushy. She was deeply loved and cherished by her father and had a great bond with her older brother. Her mother, a former model, was more like a random visitor, but Rowan liked the adventures they went on every once in a blue moon.
Oscar was one of her constants. Rowan has very few childhood memories without him. He was always close and in the background of her childhood a love story unfolded. He was her father's best friend, then a pseudo-uncle, and later her stepfather in every sense of the word except legally.
Rowan, with the support of her fathers, made the decision to attend university in the states. She traded France for California and spent the next four years of her life traveling up the California coast between final exams and term papers.
Her graduation came almost too soon. Rowan walked across the stage to the cheers of the most important people in her life: her dads and her brother.
The plan after graduation was to return to France for one last, perfect summer. For the first couple of days it was exactly that: perfect. The weather was beautiful, the wine was decadent, and there were no responsibilities.
The car accident ended the perfect summer with a funeral and a stepfather who was just a shell of the person she always knew. Suddenly, Rowan no longer recognized Oscar and maybe, in a way, Oscar no longer recognized his children in his grief.
Life, unfortunately, goes on. Rowan returned to the states for work during the winter. She struggled to find enjoyment in the hazy mists of Seattle, but her job was a distraction. Maybe, she was too distracted to realize how much Oscar was struggling -- maybe, that's why she can't fully bring herself to hate him for what he did next.
Oscar's letter was a shock. Oscar was going to return to the states; at first, it seemed like an opportunity to draw closer together, but instead they just drifted further and further away.
A few months turned to a year, then two, then four, and now six. A lot has happened in those six years, things that Rowan has only shared with Oscar in bits and pieces -- like her pregnancy.
Her child's father had been a bit of a distraction. Some light slicing through the gray, but Rowan couldn't bare the idea of telling someone casual that she was pregnant only for him to leave, too.
So, Rowan didn't tell him. She told her brother and, by letter, she told Oscar. In her third trimester Rowan began to think more about Oscar. Her father was gone, her mother was never more than a fleeting visitor, but why would she deny her baby Oscar? Why wouldn't she at least try to mend what slowly broke?
It took some convincing (tears) to get her older brother to agree to the move to Hemlock Springs; the town on all of Oscar's letters. In the end, Quinton made the move with her. That was six months ago, and it's been three since her daughter, Poppy, was born; she hopes three more months will not pass until she works up the courage to let the only father she has, the only grandfather Poppy has, back into their lives.
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──────────────── 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟒 ⋆。𖦹°‧★
Felicity cast a quick spell to clean up Fae's dormitory after their impromptu tea party. The four girls definitely felt closer than before, laughing and joking as they made their way to the mess hall for dinner. "Felicity and I will head back to my dormitory after dinner and prepare it for our sleepover" Fae explained to the girls. Once they were in the mess hall, they were surprised to see most of the Nevers unusually calm, their attention on something.
"Traitors" she saw a dark haired Never inhale sharply.
"I think I'm going to be sick" another said, throwing something in the direction of what was catching their attention.
"I don't know what she sees in him," a third said, shrugging somewhat dismissively.
Curious and slightly apprehensive, the four Ever girls followed their gaze. When they saw what had drawn the Nevers' attention, they gasped in surprise. Seated at one of the Ever tables was Sophie and Tedros. Sophie clung to his hand, giggling at every word that fell out of his mouth. Fae felt Beatrix hold her hand, a silent gesture of her support. Based on the whispers around the hall the two had been with each other for the majority of the day which simply added to the sense of unease in Fae's stomach.
As Tedros popped another strawberry into his mouth, he wondered when Fae and the others would arrive. He needed someone to distract the blonde Never whose high pitched laughter was beginning to hurt his ears. Originally, William and Tristan had sat opposite to the two, but they quickly excused themselves, not wanting to be seen associating with Sophie and risk angering their female friends.
Tedros's eyes wandered the room only to freeze when they locked onto Fae's. A smile already formed on his face, but it quickly faded as he noticed the hurt in her expression. He followed her gaze down to his arm, where Sophie was still holding his hand. His eyes widened in realization—he was the cause of her pain. Mentally kicking himself, he pulled his hand away from Sophie, giving Fae a sheepish, apologetic smile. He didn't dare look at the three girls behind her who glared at him, especially not at Felicity, who might very well turn him into a frog if he did.
Sophie looked at him confused at the sudden distance. She looked in the direction at which he was looking only to see her ex-friend. She rolled her eyes, of course the goody-two-shoes princess wannabe was getting in her way of true love. But Sophie quickly put on her best innocent face. "Teddy, why did you stop?" she cooed, trying to recapture his attention.
The boy looked at her, confusion laced in his expression, "I'm sorry, I have to go-" he began but she cut him off.
"You were just about to ask me to the Ever's Ball," she whined loudly, drawing the attention of the entire hall. Tedros immediately started defending himself, insisting he never said any such thing. Fae felt anger rise in her chest. She didn't know if he had really asked Sophie or not, but she hated the idea of not knowing for sure. If only she'd used her magic, she wouldn't be worrying like this.
Determined, Fae walked up to their table, but before she could reach Sophie, the black-haired Never—who Fae had to admit was quite attractive—stepped in front of her.
"Move, please," Fae said, giving the girl one chance to get out of her way. Her mother back in Gavaldon always taught her to give people one chance before possibly ruining their lives, joking that it was the reason for their last name.
Hester sneered at her, looking down on the shorter girl. "I don't think so," she smirked. "You jealous cause Prince Teddy over there asked out one of us Nevers instead of you poofy princesses?" she mocked in a baby voice.
Fae scoffed, her eyes narrowing. "I couldn't care less of what you think of me but he isn't taking that under dressed she wolf instead of me," Fae snapped back, surprising many of the students. Sophie looked down at her outfit in a moment of insecurity. They had never seen the girl talk back to anyone let alone insult another student.
Hester laughed, ready to throw another insult, but before she could speak, her mouth zipped shut. Confused, she tried to open it but couldn't. Fear flashed in her eyes as she looked at Fae, realizing that the small girl had somehow silenced her. Fae rolled her eyes and pushed past Hester, ignoring the snarls from the other Nevers who had begun to shove other Ever students who stood by Fae.
She grabbed Tedros, who had already stood up once he saw her moving towards him, and dragged him out of the mess hall leaving her friends and the other Everstudents to deal with the angry Nevers. She knew she would get in trouble later as she was technically at fault for silencing Hester, but she couldn't care less. She needed to talk to Tedros.
The prince was already rambling and apologizing trying to explain the situation but he was cut off sharply, "Shut up," she commanded, her magical features fading onto her face without her permission as emotions overwhelmed her. Tedros, shocked at her cold tone, immediately shut his mouth, waiting for her to speak.
Fae dragged him to the Spell Hall, where she and Felicity had their classes. She knew that her powers might act up and didn't want to risk others seeing. Turning to face him, she saw the guilt that was written all over his face. She had been furious, but now that they were alone, she forced herself to remain calm.
"Tedros," she started, the boy pouting at the lack of a nickname, "why were you with Sophie?"
The Prince swallowed hard, not understanding why it bothered her so much that he was around Sophie in the first place. "She came up to me during weapon training, when you were having your tea party. How did that go, by the way?" he asked, getting distracted.
Normally, Fae would have giggled at his puppy like nature and how easily distracted he was, but she kept her focus. "Don't change the topic Tedros," she warned.
He nodded, embarrassed. "I didn't want to talk to her at first, but I thought about you and what you said during lunch that first day," he explained. "You were so sure that Sophie was good, and so was Agatha. I thought I'd give her a chance, try to see the good you saw in her." He sighed as he looked to the ground, running a hand through his hair.
Fae stopped, trying to process his words. "You did that because of what I said?" she asked, her voice softer now.
Tedros nodded, guilt still clear on his face. "I thought I was helping. But then I saw you in the mess hall, and you looked so... hurt. I didn't realize how it must have looked."
Fae blinked, her anger fading as guilt slowly took its place. "Oh." She stepped closer, realizing that she was somewhat at fault. "Remember when I first found out I could hear people from far away?" she asked him. He nodded, easily remembering what she was talking about, especially since he had spent hours in the library afterward, researching fairies to help her. "I never told you what Sophie and Agatha were talking about."
Tedros nodded, sensing where this was going. "Sophie was telling Agatha that they needed to get rid of me," Fae continued. "She said that I was Agatha's best friend, not hers. And, well, I don't see her as my friend anymore." Tedros nodded, now understanding why Fae didn't want him around Sophie.
"I didn't know that," he said softly, stepping closer. "My love, I'm so sorry. I never would've let her near me if I knew."
"No, I'm sorry," she interrupted. "I got mad at you over something you didn't even know about. That's my fault."
Tedros smiled at her lovingly, "I accept your apology, but I let her get way closer than she needed to be. That's on me."
Before Fae could answer, a small flicker of light drew her gaze. One of the tiny fairy guardians flitted around them, looking frantic and anxious. It let out a series of panicked chirps and chimes as it landed in Fae's outstretched palm.
"Dovey?" Fae asked, her voice tinged with worry. The fairy nodded rapidly, confirming the urgency.
Fae's heart sank at the unexpected interruption, but she knew it was important. She glanced back at Tedros, noticing that her hand had slipped into his. "We'll figure this out," she said softly, squeezing his hand. "But it looks like Dovey is looking for both of us."
Tedros met her gaze, his eyes filled with concern. "Yeah, we'll talk later," he promised, his voice steady as both of them made their way to the Dean's office. Their hands intertwined.
⋆。𖦹°‧★ ⋆。𖦹°‧★ ⋆。𖦹°‧★ ⋆。𖦹°‧★ ⋆。𖦹°‧★ ⋆。𖦹°‧★ ⋆。𖦹°‧★ ⋆。𖦹°‧★
Tedros, Fae, Sophie and Agatha stood in front of all the teaching staff of both schools. They all spoke over each other trying to get their points across but it simply came out as jumbled words. Tedros stood behind Fae, his hand in hers, a sign of comfort as they couldn't speak.
"Please! Please! Please!" Dovey silenced the rowdy group. "Dating between Evers and Nevers is strictly against the rules" she stated, Lesso immediately agreeing.
"Evil and Good do not belong together. It's rep-" she fought the urge to gag, "Repulsive."
Fae looked to Sophie, who had the time to change into a different outfit, and Tedros in confusion. The teachers thought they were together?
"Sir, if I may." Tedros asked, receiving a nod of approval from the Schoolmaster. "I'm responsible for choosing Camelot's next queen." he squeezed Fae's hand as he spoke. "I do not take that decision lightly. And to be honest I'm quite offended you would think that Sophie was one of the possible candidates."
Many of the teachers attempted to stifle a laugh whereas the faculty of the school of evil sneered at the boy. Fae grinned at Sophie's hurt expression. "I was simply trying to befriend her," he brought his voice down to a whisper, "which turned out to be the worst decision possible." Fae covered the growing smile on her face at his light insult.
Sophie, seeing this as her chance to escape the evil school quickly clung onto his free arm, he looked at her with annoyance as she did so. "If he believes that we can be friends, why can't you?" she spoke out before Tedros could clear anything up.
The teachers murmured in confusion. "So the two of you aren't together?" Lesso confirmed. Sophie was slow to answer but both Tedros and Fae immediately shook their heads no. The blonde gave up and shook her head as well.
"But we are practically platonic soulmates" Sophie added, trying to salvage the remains of her plan.
"Together or not, good and evil do not belong together, regardless of whether it is friendship or love" Dovey stated.
"But you told me nothing could keep true love apart." Agatha interrupted, "Does that not include soulmates now?" It was a weak argument but it seemed to convince the teachers. "Isn't that like the first rule of fairy tales?" Fae looked to her curly haired friend in confusion, a feeling of betrayal growing in her heart. Whose side was she on?
The schoolmaster finally spoke, "If it is true love, such a thing would certainly be momentous." He sighed, and Dovey chuckled at the idea. Fae felt a stirring inside her, an unsettling sensation she couldn't quite place. Her anger, which had been simmering since dinner, was only growing stronger.
Why were the teachers treating this situation as if it involved a broken couple? Tedros had clearly explained that he was simply trying to befriend Sophie, yet the whole matter was being twisted into something it wasn't. Fae could feel her power pulse inside her, urging to be unleashed. She recalled Felicity's advice about letting her emotions guide her magic but struggled to keep her feelings in check. She fought to maintain her composure, even as her frustration threatened to overwhelm her.
"It seems to me there's only one way to be sure." He nodded to himself, "A Trial by Tale!" he stated proudly. The teachers immediately spoke up in disagreement, none of them wanting to entertain the dangerous idea.
"You're going to have to accept, you know?" Fae whispered lightly to the Prince behind her.
"What?"
"I'm pretty sure that as long as Sophie believes that the two of you are meant to be together, the teachers will make you go along with this nonsense" Fae grumbled, obviously exhausted. Tedros moved closer to her, placing a hand on her waist subtly as she leaned into him for support. Dovey noticed the interaction but said nothing, a small smile on her face.
"Sir, we accept." Sophie said quickly, speaking for the both of them even though she had no right.
Agatha however, was more weary of the situation. "Sorry, what is a Trial by Tale?" Professor Anemone brought a palm up to her hand to hide her annoyance.
"Each of you have to enter the Blue Forest on opposite sides." Lady Lesso began to explain, whacking the Uglification teacher that sat next to her using her cane. "You have to defeat whatever danger presents itself and find each other by dawn."
"That's the place with the evil pansies, correct?" Fae whispered to Tedros who nodded.
"Help is strictly forbidden" Lesso finished.
"We can do this," Sophie said, encouraging herself more than others, "We're good enough and strong enough to protect each other." The schoolmaster let out a sarcastic huff of amusement.
"They can do this," Agatha supported Sophie, her voice firm. Fae rubbed her forehead in frustration. What is wrong with these people? she wondered. Tedros shook his head, accepting his fate. Despite being the future King of Camelot, he was currently just a prince following the orders of his teachers and the Schoolmaster. There was nothing he could do to escape this situation.
"This will get them both killed" Yuba slammed the table. Fae nodded in agreement.
"The trial shall begin at sundown," The schoolmaster declared. "You two are dismissed." He motioned to Sophie and Agatha who immediately left the room, leaving Fae and Tedros alone with the staff. "Now, please explain exactly what happened in the mess hall." the schoolmaster ordered lightly.
"Sophie was all over Tedros, making it look like they were a couple. The Nevers were disgusted, and it caught everyone's attention. When Tedros came to his senses, he tried to pull away, but Sophie made a scene, saying he asked her to the Ever's Ball. I confronted them, things got tense, and I ended up dragging Tedros out before it escalated." Fae said quickly recapping all the events.
"I told you she was still infatuated with him," Lesso said with a nonchalant but proud aura around her.
The Headmaster looked at Tedros and Fae with a mixture of regret and determination in his eyes. He sighed, leaning back slightly in his chair, before speaking. "I truly wish there was another way," he began, his tone apologetic, "but Sophie's infatuation with you, Tedros, seems to be turning into an obsession. She's convinced that you two are meant to be together, and no amount of reasoning has made her see otherwise."
Tedros exchanged a worried glance with Fae, who listened intently. The Headmaster continued, "After careful consideration, I've concluded that a Trial by Tale is the only way to make Sophie realize the truth. It's not a decision I've made lightly, but it will force her to realize that you two are not destined for each other."
The teacher's eyes widened, as did the two students in front of them. No wonder he was so adamant about it, Fae realized. He paused, eyes softening as he looked at the two students. "I know it's risky, and I don't want to put either of you in harm's way, but I believe this is the only way to break the spell of her infatuation. It's a trial of truth, and I'm confident that it will set things right."
Fae furrowed her brows, her worry clear as she processed the Headmaster's words. "But a Trial by Tale? That's dangerous," she said. "Is there really no other way? I don't want anyone getting hurt, especially not Tedros." Said boy placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but she kept her gaze fixed on the Headmaster, searching for any sign that he might change his mind.
The Headmaster sighed, "I understand your concern, Ms. Fae. Believe me, I wouldn't suggest this if there were any other option." Fae nodded, accepting his words.
The tension in the room eased slightly, and Professor Dovey took the opportunity to speak. "I would like to note," she began with a hint of a smirk, "that Tedros mentioned Sophie wasn't on his list of candidates for Camelot's future queen." Her words carried a subtle jab at the School for Evil's faculty, but there was also a genuine curiosity in her tone.
Dovey's eyes sparkled with interest as she continued, "If I may ask, Your Majesty... is there anyone else on this list that has made an impression on you?" Her gaze shifted knowingly between Tedros and Fae. Lesso rolled her eyes at Dovey's childish behavior, but even she couldn't hide her curiosity about Tedros's answer.
Tedros felt his pulse quicken, the question catching him off guard. He glanced at Fae, and for a moment, his nervousness was plain to see. "Well," he began, stumbling slightly over his words as he ran a hand through his hair–a nervous habit, "there is someone who's... definitely made an impression. Someone different from anyone else I've met."
His gaze lingered on the girl in front of him for just a moment longer than necessary before he quickly looked away, trying to play it off. "But, you know, it's still early," he added, his tone a bit too casual. "I think it's important to take time to really understand... what's right in front of you."
Dovey's smile widened, clearly pleased with his response, while Lesso's expression shifted to one of mild surprise. Fae felt her heart skip a beat, Tedros's words echoing in her mind. It was obvious to her—and probably to everyone else in the room—who he was talking about.
#tedros pendragon#camelot#school for good and evil#school of good and evil#sge#the school for good and evil#sophie of woods beyond#agatha of woods beyond#agatha#sophie#fae#beatrix of jaunt jolie#beatrix#reena#hort of bloodbrook
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Update: so I do currently have 18k of this written but haven't posted any of it because the chances of me just leaving it for 2 years unfinished at some point if I start posting something this complex as I write is high...but it's getting to the point where it's all there in my head and in outline and I know what's supposed to happen but it's just the writing that is just. so. much.
Am I planning to use my Xmas break to write this? Yes. Am I going to end up spending it gifing Ruyi nail guards or something instead? Probably.
But some exerpts I guess:
"I am so glad to see Xia Guniang is feeling better," Yong Qi said, "and I hope the pain from the wound is lessening. I have been feeling very guilty about wounding you with that arrow ever since that day.”
From what Ru Yi could tell, Xiao Yan Zi had very little reserve to begin with, and she was even less inhibited to speak to a person closer to her age, because she positively grinned and asked, “Why should you feel guilty? If it wasn’t for your arrow that day, I might never have been able to meet the emperor, I should thank you instead!”
“I am thankful that Xia Guniang does not hold a grudge,” Yong Qi said, smiling back. Picking up his tea cup, he said, “Nevertheless, I would like to use this tea in place of wine to pay my respect to the most beautiful deer.”
The statement made Hai Lan clear her throat briefly, which Xiao Yan Zi completely missed the significance of and Yong Qi just gave his mother an innocent look. But of course, it would be worse for Hai Lan to draw more attention to it than that, so the response came from Xiao Yan Zi instead.
“To the most muddle-headed hunter,” she said, with that same wide grin and sparkling eyes. Then, she tilted her head slightly and said, “But why are we using tea and not wine? There’s no spirit in toasting with tea.”
...
As Xiao Yan Zi continued to sing Xia Zi Wei praises, Ru Yi could only try to rapidly reassess the situation in her mind, especially on three crucial points. First, Xiao Yan Zi was probably right that they all dodged an arrow when Xiao Yan Zi did not decide to ‘borrow’ a princess’ father for a few days, because that would have truly been a disaster in the making. Second, whatever was to happen next to Xiao Yan Zi in the palace, Ru Yi would have her work cut out for her, dealing with this clearly very singular mind of this girl raised among the common people, unlike any personality ever seen in the palace.
Third, Ru Yi didn’t think she had ever seen Yong Qi smile at anyone the way he was smiling now at Xiao Yan Zi. And it was clear that Hai Lan did not like it one bit.
I don’t know if I will ever do anything with this…or if I do, when it would ever be finished, but here, have a random conversation between Hailan and Ruyi if Xiao Yan Zi landed in Ruyi!verse instead. Also, I guess this is meant to be read as a sequel to The Space Between the Finish and the Start. @renewedmotionforjudgment this might be in your areas of interest 😆
Keep reading
#my fanfic#arrows#also there's like one chapter of the time travel fic left#and i'm procrastinating on that as well#sigh
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She’s Last
Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader Word Count: 1.8k A/n: I had this idea while watching the Luca bullet scene, I cut out johns’ bullet to be able to make some changes work.
"Y/N Shelby" As soon as Luca said your name, Tommy's heart stopped. The thought what that bullet could take from him was too much and the only one that could even slightly calm him down was his wife and son.
“I was surprised how easy it was to get in a room with you” Luca Changretta sat on the end of the table in Tommy’s office.
“And now?” Tommy asked, drawing his gun.
“And now?” Luca started “and now you should know, that during the trouble you had earlier on your factory floor, I sent on accomplice into your office in overalls. He found your gun…” He pulled out and handful of bullets “and unloaded it”
Tommy checked his gun and found it unloaded. On by one Luca began lining the bullets up on the table.
“Arthur Shelby” The first bullet.
“Polly Gray” The second.
“Michael Gray” The Third.
“Ada Throne” The Fourth.
“Tommy Shelby” The Fifth.
“And finally,” Tommy heart began to beat rapidly.
“Y/n Shelby” Tommy felt his heart stop, the threat on your life was too much for him but he kept himself composed, determined to not show any reaction to this Italian in front of him.
“None of you will survive” Luca stated as he stood up to look out the office window. “Your level of security is pitiful” he turned to Tommy “I could have killed your wife when she left your home this morning” The fact that they knew your whereabouts made him sick, he thought moving you back to Small Heath would make you even a little bit safer, but they were watching you, the thought of them watching you in your home mad him sick, had they watched you care for his son, do the housework…or had they watched his wife change, that thought alone made his blood boil.
“But you see…” Luca slowly walked closer to Tommy “I want her to be last” Tommy felt like he was about to pass out, his ears rang, and his vision was cloudy, but he didn’t show any emotion, he wouldn’t.
“I want her to be alive after her family and her husband are dead, because my mother says, that this is what will hurt you the most” Tommy stood emotionless, he knew that you seeing him dead or even hearing about it would break you. He knew that you would suffer the realisation that your son would be left with no one after you were gone and that would crush whatever of your soul was left and he couldn’t bear the thought.
“Instead of sending you a black hand, I could’ve had her killed in the night. You don’t know why. But I want you to know why and I wanna suggest to you that we fight this vendetta with honour” Luca explained,
“No civilians, no children” Tommy’s immediate thoughts going to his son who is probably happy at home with you now.
“No police” Luca added.
“Welcome to Birmingham Mr Changretta”
“Grazie”
You had spent most of the day entertaining your son Charlie while waiting for his father to come home. Charlie had grown up in Arrow House so he was having a hard time adjusting to Small Heath, you could tell her was missing his home. You tried your best to keep him occupied with other things like toys or helping you cook dinner for Tommy, his form of helping was sitting on the bench and playing with some spoons. As much as you loved Arrow House it was nice to be with your son in the place you and his father had fallen in love in, its not the most romantic of places but it did hold some very fond memories. You found yourself reminiscing quite a lot while you were back, Tommy was beyond stressed and your barely saw him so lately, all you had was the memories, the one where a young Thomas stood on the doorstep, crumpled flowers in hand and a nervous look on his face, the one where you hugged Tommy goodbye, crying into his chest before he was shipped off the France, the one when he came home from France, a broken man on your doorstep and your favourite, the one where he asked you to be his wife, right after you had pulled a bullet out of his arm, you were still holding the damn thing. And now your son was in that very same house, it felt like everything had come full circle.
“Y/n?” Tommy called out as he entered the small home, he listened closely for a response, but none came. “Charlie?” he called louder this time, looking in rooms as he went, panic slowly setting in, Luca’s threats weighing heavy on his heart.
“Daddy?” at the sound of his son’s small voice, Tommy turned to see him standing at the top of the stairs with his wife right beside him, Charlies small hand gripping the side of his mum’s nightdress and the other rubbing his eye. At the sight of his little family, he let himself relax for the first time all day, they were safe, and he was home with them now, that’s all that mattered.
“Hello Charlie” He smiled at the sight of his sleepy son, dressed ready for bed “looks like I caught you just in time”
“We were just about to pop into bed, weren’t we darling?” You asked your sleepy boy who nodded.
“Will you tuck me in daddy?” He asked sweetly, how could Tommy possibly say no. Charlie noticed his father start to walk up the stairs so he reached his little arms out, waiting for Tommy to pick him up. Tommy scooped him up and started on his way to his son’s room.
“You’re getting big aren’t you” Tommy pointed out his son’s sudden growth which he wasn’t particularly fond about.
“Mummy says I’ll be big and strong like you soon” Charlie pointed out as Tommy laid him down in his bed.
“Is that so?” Tommy smiled, noticing you watching your boys from the doorway.
“Uh huh and maybe I’ll find a beautiful girl like mummy” Charlie said as tommy tucked him in.
“No one is as beautiful as mummy” Tommy pointed out.
“Well maybe I’ll get close” Your son giggled followed by a yawn.
“Goodnight little man, don’t go growing too fast, okay?” Tommy planted a soft kiss on his son’s forehead.
“I’ll try Daddy” Charlie said before closing his eyes, Tommy quietly snuck out of the room where he found you standing in the hallway, a smile resting on your face. Tommy pulled the door shut behind him before he reached out for you, pulling you towards him by your hips.
“What’s wrong love?” you asked, reaching up the caress his cheek. You could always tell when something was bothering him, no matter how hard he’d try to hide it, there was no getting past you.
“Luca showed up at work, threatened me, threatened the family and…” he could bring himself to even say the last part, but you seemed to figure it out.
“Come on, come to bed, we’ll talk there” you softly grabbed his hand and lead him to the small room you shared. You began helping him undress by slipping his coat off and then his suit jacket, hanging them on some hooks on the back of the door. As you did this, he unbuttoned his shirt and slipped it off, working on his pants next. As he undid the button you approached him from behind, rubbing his bare shoulders softly. He slipped off his pants and turned to face you, you hands now lay on his chest, he placed his hands back onto your hips and lead you back to the bed, he sat on the edge, and you straddled him, beginning to run your fingers through his hair.
“You have to lay low for a bit” He broke the silence, rubbing his hand up and down your back.
“Tommy- “You began to protest.
“No, please listen to me love” he pleaded, looking up at you with the most hopeless looking you’ve seen on him. “He’s been watching you; he always knows where you are and at least here I can have you protected” You could tell by his voice that he was incredibly worried which scared you slightly, you hadn’t seen him this worried since you were in labour.
“I can’t lose you Y/n, I would lose my head, you keep me grounded and without you, I wouldn’t know what to do…I can’t lose you; Charlie can’t lose you” his eyes watered slightly and your heart broke. His hid his face in your chest and you rubbed his back gently as he clung to you, pulling you as close as he physically could.
“You won’t lose me Tommy, you’ll figure this out, you always do my love. I won’t leave the house unless you or someone you approve of is with me alright? I’m not leaving you; I couldn’t bear the thought of you alone” You reassured him, you felt him nod against your chest, you knew he wasn’t convinced, he wouldn’t be until Luca was dead but this was all you could do for now. You sat there for a while before he slowly pulled away, taking your hands in his. He gently ghosted his thumb over your wedding ring, your promise to him.
“let’s get some rest Tommy, you need it” You suggested, and he didn’t object, moving up the bed and guiding you up and into his arms, facing his chest.
You copied his actions from a moment ago and picked up his left hand, ghosting over his wedding band, something you both often did as a reminder of your promise to one another.
“There is something I have to tell you Tommy, I should wait but you need to know” you started, looking up at him, his tired eyes looking back at you. “Soon, we’ll be a family of four”
“I hope it’s a girl” was all he said before he drifted off to sleep with his pregnant wife in his arms and his son outside their door, building up the courage to ask if he could sleep with them.
#tommy shelby one shot#tommy shelby fluff#tommy shelby imagine#tommy shelby x reader#tommy shelby fanfic#thomas shelby#tommy shelby#thomas shelby x y/n#thomas shelby x you#peaky fookin blinders#peaky blinder fanfic#peaky blinder imagine#peaky blinders#peaky blinders x reader#peaky fucking blinders
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Smile
Word Count: 3467 Requested: yes. Based off ‘505′ Warnings: strong hints to sexual disposition. Spoilers if you squint.
“I’d probably still adore you with your hands around my neck... I did last time I checked.” -Arctic Monkeys, ‘505′.
.✫*゚・゚。.★.*。・゚✫*.
With hoarse breath and unwavering eyes, you look up to the stars as you speak. “So, you’re really going to do it then?”
“I have to,” you hear him say. His voice has gotten far more mature and calm since the first time you’d heard him speak. Still angry and determined, but in an intelligent, adult way. Eren is a more capable person now. The only thing left to do is wait and see if that’s a good thing, or a bad thing.
“What do you think are the chances of winning?” you question. A shooting star whizzes across the sky at that very moment, and it’s gone before you can think of a wish.
You turn around to face him, but his eyes are already on you. Once upon a time, Eren’s eyes were emerald and teal and deep. Now they’re paler. They are cold and steady as a byproduct of who he’s become. It’s hard not to wonder what he’s thinking about when he looks at you like this, especially since he’s become harder to read over the years.
At first, Eren was one of the most insufferable people you’d ever met. He acted out so often, it was hard to see him as another person of intelligent life. You mostly just minded your business through your cadet years, usually hanging around Reiner, who was also difficult to see as intelligent life. Sometimes you and Eren would argue, but it was never passionate. You just had different world views.
Things got better when you found out what Eren really was. Since you hadn’t made top ten, you could only choose between the Garrison Regiment, or the Scout Regiment. And with Eren’s newly discovered power showing the promise of hope, you decided on the Scouts. He liked that.
After that, it was hard not to mature at the same time as he. Eren often blamed himself for the death and carnage that surrounded the regiment. You were solely responsible for the passing of your best friend. And after everything that happened with the government, almost dying at Shiganshina- you knew you couldn’t stand this much longer. With your relationship with Eren still budding in its early and steamy stages, he was the only one you told of your desertion. You abandoned the corps, finding a small, abandoned farm within wall Maria to hide out in.
Eren was too tired and sick of everything to think you were being cowardly. He wanted to leave too. Maybe come with you. But Eren had plans in the works that he couldn’t leave alone. He visited you less and less. Luckily you never made a fuss.
And now Eren wants to end the world, to save the world. How does he expect you to react to this?
“I just thought I should see you,” Eren replies. You know he’s deflecting your question. You’re not stupid.
You nod slowly, blinking as you think. “Am I going to die?”
Your companion crosses his arms calmly. “Yes,” he tells you.
There it is.
“You know I can’t support you in this, right?” you tell Eren, equally as calm.
He only replies after a moment, also in deep thought. “I know.”
You look back up to the sky, sighing out through your nose. “Why did you come, Eren? Did you want me to tell you that I think you’re doing the right thing? Or was it because you need to let out some anger? I wonder.”
“I did want to see you.”
“Do you still?”
Silence.
“Yes.”
“And I suppose there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?”
“No.”
The stars are glittering with pastel hues, like a rainbow, or kaleidoscope. Each one is a different size, bordering on different shapes, all fusing and melting together like your idea of heaven. You can barely even see the midnight color of the sky through all them. It is beautiful, but it’s also bitter. Everything is bitter, here.
“I didn’t make myself any dinner yet,” you say. “Couldn’t think of anything.”
.✫*゚・゚。.★.*。・゚✫*.
When she was alive, Eren’s mother would make a soup for the family. It was creamy, hot, filled with meat and cheese at the bottom. Eren never liked soup, but he did love that dish. She was always sure to make extra for him, so that he could enjoy it for several days. And although it wasn’t until after she was gone that Eren realized he rarely ever thanked her for it, it was still one of the warmest memories Eren had.
He fills your wooden bowl with it, being awfully generous. He knows that even though you haven’t eaten much in the last few years, you too had grown fond of the soup. He knows no matter how slowly you force it down, you are enjoying it. It burns the roof of your mouth every time, but you’ve never cared. All that matters is the creamy sauce, and the cow cooked to perfection.
You stare at the fireplace beside you, flames cackling and licking upward. Eren sets the bowl in front of you, and takes the seat on the other side. You know he sets his long hair behind his shoulders. You’re already prepared. From your pocket, you produce a stretchy brown hair tie on the verge of snapping, handing it to him.
“Thanks,” he says, even though this routine has happened however many times he’s seen you.
“You’re welcome.”
The soup is as amazing as usual. You’re willing to bet Eren makes it even better than his mother did, but you dare not say it aloud. It’s creamy, perfectly seasoned. It goes down your throat, still steaming.
“Does Mikasa know about this?” you question, taking one more delicious bite.
“No. None of them do,” Eren answers. “Armin will figure it out soon.”
“You want me to kill ‘em?”
Eren shakes his head. To a lot of people, this would be taken as a joke. But this is nowhere near it. Your tone is too casual, too low for it to be humor of any kind. And the way the man across from you reacts- he’s thinking the same thing.
“No.”
“How are they, then?”
Eren thinks as he takes another bite, the warmth creeping up his chest sweetly. “They’re alright for now. I don’t know for how much longer. I can’t see everything.”
“Can you see who’s next?”
He squints at his bowl as if he were angry, but his eyebrows barely move. “Sasha.”
Sasha. She was always a good presence to have around. While she seemed like the type of person who would annoy you, it was hard to hate her. And you admired her keen intuition anyway.
“Will you give her something for me?”
Eren nods. Then you both go back to eating for a few seconds, basking in the orange glow from the flames.
“How are things here?” he questions after a minute.
“The same,” you tell him. “I think the cow might die soon.”
Some people might reply with condolences, or sympathy. But your lover does not, and you do not expect him to. “I’ll get you a new one,” he says flatly, almost like a promise. You nod once.
Despite the atmosphere which can only be described as bitter, you’re glad to see Eren again. You’re glad that he’s alive, and as alright as he can be. The bed is always colder without him, heated up only by your lingering fingers that you pretend are his every other night. Whenever he leaves an article of clothing behind, usually on purpose, you hold off on washing it so it can smell like him for you as long as possible. Then there are the hair ties you keep either in your pocket or on your wrist, specifically for him. The razors in your cabinet he often didn’t even bother using.
Even with the sullen demeanor that had managed to overtake both of you, there was at least one thing you cared about in the world still. Maybe it wasn’t the most conventional kind of caring, or the healthiest coping mechanism. But it was still caring. And all that you cared about was him.
You knew you weren’t Eren’s first priority. You were probably second, or third. It didn’t bother you. Eren’s head was one of the first things lost when the truth was presented to him. It came back coldly and sternly, in contrast to how previously hot and impatient it had been. But by then your head had also grown colder and sterner. In simpler terms, Eren did care for you. He did love you. But he would consider letting you die if it meant achieving what he set out to do, and you knew this.
Across the table, Eren lifts his head to look up at you as he chews slowly. The burning meal slides down his throat easily, albeit painfully. It doesn’t even register with him, his piercing eyes slowly gaining a glint from the fire light.
You meet his eyes after a few seconds, feeling them on you. You don’t say a word, don’t even give a questioning look. You just hold him patiently, which is something the two of you find yourself doing often.
“You can’t stop it,” Eren speaks, looking you dead in the eyes with a steady gaze. There is love behind his eyes, far behind the anger, but you can tell from the tone of voice he is trying to tell you something as if it were an order. Your lips part slightly from the intensity radiating from your lover, who doesn’t move a muscle. “You’ll be free soon.”
.✫*゚・゚。.★.*。・゚✫*.
Dinner ends. Eren helps clean up the dishes for you and goes to get water from your well so you can clean easier. You already know from the way his thumb brushed against your own when you took the bowls that you’ll likely be bent over the sink in a few minutes, which you don’t mind, but you wonder if he’ll be willing to be softer than usual as an apology for what he’d said earlier.
He’d meant to scare you. You’re intelligent enough to figure that out. Even though you don’t scare easy, and you didn’t even give an extreme reaction, the look in Eren’s eyes had made your heart drop to your stomach. Sometimes you forget that Eren sees everything. Then he says something like that to remind you in the most memorable way.
The wooden door opens and closes behind you. Boots scuff the ground for a few seconds, drawing closer and closer as something in you sparks with anticipation, as it always does. A pail of water hits the surface beside you, partially sloshing over the sides, shining silver in the moonlight from the tall window in front of you. Finally, ultra hot hands slide around your waist and push gently but tightly against where your ribs diverge.
A jaw leans down on your right shoulder, chin poking against your collarbone. Locks of hair brush against your own, just as the hand on the left runs across your side to finally put a small band in your pocket.
“I did miss you,” Eren’s low voice seemingly growls, his chest rumbling softly against your back.
“I was thinking about you,” you admit with monotone, knowing your lover can read through it like as easily as a knife slices through skin.
“I hope I didn’t worry you,” he says, though you can also read through his own tone. He probably didn’t care about worrying you. He definitely doesn’t still.
“You didn’t.”
You place a both bowls in the sink, running your fingers over the dirty spoons. Eren’s orbs follow your movement. You can feel his chin change positions ever so slightly in the coming seconds.
“Can you pass me the rag?” you ask, eyes focused on a piece of food on the spoon that doesn’t even exist.
In response, Eren doesn’t pass you anything. Only his right hand gives you any kind of acknowledgement, passing from on your ribs to down lower. His fingertips skin over the erogenous zone under the waistband of your undergarments.
“I worried about you,” Eren murmurs boldly. The hot fingertips pass under the cloth finally, pricks of stubble on his jaw scratching your neck and shoulder as he shifts. “I wanted you to be okay.” His left hand raises to grasp the breast above it. Slowly at first, then firmly, like a warning. Everything is a warning with him.
Your head lulls back uncontrollably. The back of your hair matts up as it rolls against his own shoulder.
“I said you worried me,” your partner grumbles. “Did you hear me?”
“No,” you lie lowly, refusing to let your voice shake despite the shiver in your throat.
“Mm,” Eren hums in condescending understanding. A force presses against your core, which has turned burning hot and ice cold at the same time. The force pulls away, a string of something smooth and slimy following it that makes a sound draw from your lips. It’s high pitched, weak, and unstoppable. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so associated with Eren.
His hand gives your breast a firm squeeze, soreness blossoming from the center. Your back arches quickly and returns lax against him, though now something pokes against your bottom that makes your eyes pop open with a new alertness. Eren’s hand gives you no time again. From your chest, it flies to your throat, holding it back with soft strictness as the other finally dips into the hot pool between your hips.
“I worried about you.”
A strangled groan releases from between your lips again, this time fully carried up through the air. To Eren, it must sound like nothing more than music, or background noise.
Thick cylinders pump inside you to the knuckle. They feel better than your own. They always have.
It feels good. Full. Tight and fast and like the inside of you is quivering under the weight of something that you can’t see or hear. Eren is like a blanket supporting you from falling over, keeping you upright with his grip and his fingers buried inside of you. Prodding every angle, every spot. Not necessarily romantically, but still lovingly. He has always had this goal during intimacy. Nothing matters but communicating to you just how close he wants to be.
“Eren,” you choke, a dribble of spit sliding from the corner of your lips.
“Again,” he hisses in response. His fingers hit a tight spot, making every muscle in your body clench at the same time.
You don’t say another word, your mouth hanging partially open as you focus on everything around you. And it’s all Eren Jaeger. His smell, his growls, his voice, his breathing, his chest, his muscles, his hair, his anger, his bitterness, his intelligence, his determination. It’s overwhelming. It reminds you of getting swept in one of those waves at the ocean he described to you. He’s yours. No- more likely, you’re his. End of story.
“I said again.”
“Eren,” you moan.
His head nuzzles into your neck comfortingly, his fingers pushing faster and harder. You can feel how warm you are, never mind how slick. And the way your own body holds around his digits every time he pulls away is enough to make you all the more warm and slick.
But then...
What is he doing?
He had said “you’ll be free soon”. And yet, here he is, gripping you tightly as he forces you into the corner of submitting. And yes, it is hot. It arouses you as it always has. But something about it makes your stomach turn into a knot of unpleasantness, in contrast to the other one of liquid pleasure.
“Eren,” you strain, squirming against him.
Eren speeds up again. A grunt falls from his own mouth from his own power, and you know he’s getting off almost as much as you are. It doesn’t stop feeling good. Feeling euphoric.
It’s getting rougher. Rougher and harder and faster, more intense.
“Eren.”
Another gruff moan from him.
“Eren! Stop! Stop!”
Eren’s palm softens away at once. It lifts away, his eyes opening and his hand stilling inside of you. He watches you shake as you gaze up to the ceiling, wide eyed. Your thighs sputter, entire body twitching. You didn’t cum.
His eyes trail over you. You’ve worked up a steady sweat glistening and glowing, shivering and shaking and quaking because of him in the best way. You’re his. His partner, his friend, his ally he knows for a fact he can rely on.
“C-can we... Eren...”
.✫*゚・゚。.★.*。・゚✫*.
Drips of water dribbling down Eren’s temple. One of your hands are threaded in his brunette locks, holding them back so you can have an uninterrupted view. The other hand is dabbing cloth against his forehead and hairline, bathing him softly.
He’d gone a while without bathing again. You could tell. Eren’s eyes are glued to yours, deep teal memorizing all the flecks in your own as if he hadn’t a million times over.
Eren loves you. Dearly. He’d travel all seven hours and forty five minutes just to tell you that. He doesn’t know what made you stop earlier. He doesn’t ask. But he’s not mad. Overall, Eren understands that it doesn’t matter what you asked to stop for. You give the word, he obeys. Not because he has to, but because he loves you.
Still, he knows something is wrong. You don’t show it. You’re steady, calm, mature, apathetic as always. But in the pit of Eren’s stomach, something brews. A warm, strange feeling of intuition and omniscience.
“You look very pretty today,” Eren ventures, wondering only of your response. “Did I tell you that?”
Your eyes squint. “Thank you,” you reply back.
The cloth continues to rub against his skin, cleaning something that probably doesn’t even exist. Dirt, maybe. Eren’s stopped taking care of his skin in the past few years.
“You’re welcome.”
Your eyes squint again. This time, they gloss over with sharp wetness like glass. The eyebrows crease like a break, your bottom lip trembling as you suck it between your teeth.
He doesn’t know what he was expecting. But your lover wasn’t expecting this.
Eren hates when you cry. He can remember the first time he’d seen it, but not the most recent. You didn’t cry often- you were strong. Crying over something as useless and flimsy as emotions didn’t seem worth it. So what was this for? What were you about to make Eren break down inside over?
Your hand falls limply from his forehead. Shoulders hunch over in defeat, staring down at the floor as your hair covers over your face. And then the sniffles come, choked out coughs like sobs.
Eren can see the lightest of bruises he’d left on you from earlier, but you’d never had a problem with it before. No, it was something else. But what?
Silent, your teeth grit together as you wince, tears streaming down your face inexplicably.
“Earlier w-when you,” you gulp, snot beginning to form, “when you- I did worry a-about you. I- I don’t know why I didn’t...”
You stumble forward. Eren stands from your bath tub to catch you as you slump against him tiredly.
“I hate it when you go.”
Eren switches positions with you, pushing you down to sit on the edge of the tub. He takes the wet rag from your hand and holds your shoulder back so he can have a good look at you. Then the cloth dabs against your own forehead, just as you had done to him.
“I hate it here,” you sigh, a single tear drop blurring your vision as it falls finally.
Your lover moves the cloth from your head to your cheeks, smearing the wetness into your skin and away. They moisten and dry, your eyes red and shiny. Eren tilts your head up under your jaw, creasing his brows and using the towel to clean closer to your eyes.
“If it helps,” he says, looking straight into your eyes, “you’re crying, but I still think you look pretty.”
You’d be lying if you said that didn’t help even a little, because you love him.
A soft smile creeps to your lips, your hands dropping in between your thighs.
.✫*゚・゚。.★.*。・゚✫*.
No I didn’t reread this lmfao enjoy. Hope I did you justice anon
#eren x reader#eren jaeger x reader#eren yeager x reader#aot eren imagines#aot eren x reader#eren smut#eren fluff#eren angst#eren jaeger smut#eren jaeger fluff#eren jaeger angst#eren jaeger imagines#eren yeager smut#eren yeager fluff#eren yeager angst#attack on titan x reader#attack on titan eren x reader#attack on titan imagines#attack on titan fanfiction#Eren Jaeger#eren jaeger fanfiction#fanfiction#smut#fluff#angst#x reader#imagine#imagines#shingeki no kyojin fanfiction#shingeki no kyojin x reader
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Two weeks passed, and I was no closer to finding my mother's soul. The rift in the basement and the repurposed monkeys were pulling in fragments of memory, but... they were drawing at random from every arrogant thought to ever cross the mind of all dead beings in history. It was hardly a surprise that I hadn't found what I was looking for.
Witch Aimes was pleased, though, if her reactions to the weekly project check-ins were anything to speak of. The project was hardly more than a proof-of-concept at this stage, but Witch Aimes claimed it was progressing remarkably quickly for a theoretical witchcraft project run by a first-year.
That was because of the demon in my dreams giving me academic advice, not because of any prodigal talent I possessed, but I didn't see any reason to let Witch Aimes know that. I didn't want to find myself on the wrong end of her memory-spear, after all.
"It's nice to see some actual academic research still going on here," Witch Aimes mused, looking over the reams of data the monkeys had collected. "It's theoretically possible that this data could give us something useful for the war, of course, but we can't just drop everything and focus solely on results over theory. That's robbing tomorrow's progress for today's shortsighted gain."
Any other time, I would have loved to hear Witch Aimes' take on academic integrity—wait, no, I got that backwards. Any other time, I would have tuned out Witch Aimes' take on academic integrity, and this was no exception. "But are we getting anything coherent out of it? Any memories?"
Witch Aimes shrugged. "Sure. Plenty of memories. This pattern—" She tapped on a crude drawing of what looked like a petal, where we'd switched the monkeys to painting. "It's a perfect match for an immature calmflower."
"We got a memory of a flower," I repeated.
"In only two weeks!" Witch Aimes agreed.
I clenched my fists. "What about something that gets me closer to finding my mother?"
Witch Aimes blinked at me. "I... beg your pardon?"
"The whole reason I started this damn project is because I need to know..." Something in me instinctively clamped down, and I held back. "I need to know what was on my mother's mind when she died," I whispered.
A flicker of sympathy darted over Witch Aimes' face. "I'm sorry for your loss," she automatically said. "But the only reason you have funding at all is the potential for weaponizing your research against Odin. As noble a goal as giving you closure might be, I can't convince the Silent Parliament to allocate funds to bringing back an echo of some boy's dead mother when they could be raising an army to prevent the deaths of thousands more."
I closed my eyes. "I understand," I said. "You won't help me."
"We're all helping out to take down Odin," she said. "Now, tell me about the data you collected on day twelve..."
###
"Yes," Odin said. "I can help."
I paused mid-rant, swiveling towards them. I'd gotten better at moving around in soulspace, even if I still had to actively concentrate to do it. "What did you say?"
Odin shrugged. "You want to find a fragment of your mother's soul. I've been spending the past two weeks and considerable resources doing exactly that."
"You found a soul fragment?" I darted forwards, grabbing them by the shoulders. If the ancient demon was bothered by my treatment, they didn't show it.
"Technically, I found three," Odin said, "but two of them are located in parts of thoughtspace inimical to human life. You would be incinerated or frozen in the planes of passion or sorrow." That tracked—the planes of elemental heat and cold would... likely be unpleasant places to go searching for memories of a long-dead mother.
"Then..." My stomach dropped. "Where is the third?" I waited for them to demand their price. Waited for them to force me to refuse. Because despite everything they'd done for me, Odin had already wrought death and destruction on a scale I hadn't seen since my childhood, and their reach would only get so much worse if they knew how to create witches on demand.
"It is located in the plane of insecurity," Odin calmly said.
I blinked. "I—what?"
"Also known as the plane of elemental falsehood," Odin helpfully clarified.
"No, that's not what—you're just giving it to me?"
Odin tilted their head. "I don't have the soul fragment on me, if that's what you're asking. The spell I have in mind will piggyback on the resonance between your memories of your mother and—"
"That's not what I'm asking," I snapped. "You're not... you're not demanding..." They weren't demanding the one thing I couldn't give up. They... they weren't asking anything at all.
"Why would I resort to demands? It's an inelegant way of enforcing my will." Odin raised an eyebrow. "I could send you there now, if you so desired. The plane of elemental falsehood is... uncanny, but it is one of the relatively few emotional planes which is perfectly safe for human life for short periods of stay. As long as you don't do anything entirely idiotic, that is."
Something in me still screamed to say no. To refuse the literal deal with a demon.
But I needed to know. I needed to know if she'd died hating herself because of me.
I held out a hand. "Do it," I said, before I could change my mind.
Odin.
Grinned.
They took my hand, and my soulspace dissolved into wakefulness.
###
The nursery rhyme was nameless, as most such rhymes were. It hovered on the edge of childhood memory and half-remembered dream, wavering as it sang through the glossy-sheened halls.
Tick... tock... goes... the clock... and now, what shall we play?
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and sat up, back aching from lying on the painted wooden bed. Where... where was I?
Tick... tock... goes... the clock... now summer's gone away.
The room was dim and uncannily familiar, a bizarre mirror image of my rental room. I tried opening the door—it felt far too light to be made out of wood—and stepped into the creaking hallway.
"Hello?" I called.
Tick... tock... goes... the clock... I'll bring you back to me...
Though the hallway had more doors than anyone could count, the song was only coming from behind one of them. Instinctively and unerringly, I stepped forwards, trying to open the door—but it was nothing more than cheap paint on a wall, a facade as thin as a wish.
Tick... tock... goes... the clock... and I will set you free...
I knew that voice. I needed that voice. Hearing it on the other side of the wall was like a fishhook driven through my chest, inexorably tugging me forwards. I looked around for a way through, but even if I was the size of an ant, there wasn't the slightest crack in the smooth, oily wall.
But it was only a facade.
I took one step back, two, then hurled myself forwards, slamming through the painted door. It snapped instead of splintered, whatever material it was made of clearly not wood, revealing the... entity... on the other side.
The doll was the size of a human child, its too-wide eyes and cherubic blush contrasting with the distressingly fleshy lips and obscenely realistic teeth. Beneath its shoulders, even the attempts at seeming lifelike ended, a metallic, ticking skeleton of gears and springs whirring away, all powered by a humming, glowing box.
It sang with my mother's voice.
Tick... tock... goes... the clock... now, go to sleep, my child...
Tick... tock... goes... the clock... and let... your dreams... run wild...
"Mom?" I whispered, throat tightening.
The doll's head swiveled towards me, and I screamed.
It stood with uncannily fluid speed and unhinged its jaw and nope nope nope I wasn't staying around to find out what happened next. From what I understood of thoughtspace, my physical body had been moved from realspace to here; if I died, it was lights out for me. I was already sprinting back down the hallway as its distorted singing chased me:
Tick, tock, goes the clock, the song draws to an end.
Tick, tock, goes the clock, forever we'll be friends.
It was catching up. Oh, rifts, it was catching up. The floor quavered beneath my feet as I ran—
Quavered beneath my feet.
This entire place was a facade. Painted doors, paper-thin walls...
...and a floor so thin it shook when I stepped on it.
Desperately, I turned to face the oncoming demon. Its lips—my mother's lips—twisted up into a grin as I stopped—
I stomped as hard as I could on the floor, and the demonic doll fell into an abyss of clockwork and gears.
Somewhere very, very far down, two massive gears ground up the demon with a spark.
I stood there on the teetering edge of the chasm, catching my breath.
And then a wisp of light rose from the void.
Even in death, it still mournfully sang—but now, the brassy, twisted tones of the demon's body had faded, leaving me with the voice of my mother as I knew her when I was still a child.
Tick, tock, goes the clock, and though the time may fly...
Tick, tock, goes the clock, we're family, you and I.
"Mom," I breathed, and it was as much prayer as joy.
The soul fragment twinkled in the air, uncertain.
Then I reached out and let it in.
A.N.
Soulmage is a serial written in response to writing prompts. Stick around for more episodes, or join my Discord to chat about it!
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Writing Prompt #156 — Plastic World
Writing Prompt #156 — Plastic World
Prompt: You woke up in an entirely fake world. It’s an endless doll-house plastic facsimile powered by miles of clockwork gears and levers that go straight down into darkness. You did not get here yourself, and you have no idea how to leave. (more…)
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zeke yeager | pta meeting
i literally don’t know how to shut up about him
also this is all because i saw a drabble of dilf!zeke and it’s been on my mind nonstop
warnings/notes: dilf!zeke, fem!reader, cursing, eventual smut, zeke is a divorced/widowed dad(at 33), reader is 21, cursing, zeke has a mean daughter and a sweet daughter, breeding kink, overstimulation, brief choking, slight degradation, shit one shot i’m sorry
you swear to the lord that zeke’s 11 year old daughter is a menace to society.
she’s brutally honest, just like zeke, and mean. she’s oddly mature for her age, and you think it might have something to do with her late mother. she looks almost nothing like zeke, but she certainly inherited her personality from him. she’s got curly dark brown hair that ends at her armpits and zeke’s grey eyes. she has a button nose along with rosy cheeks, something else she inherited from her mother.
“y’know my daddy only dates you cause you take care of me and aloisia,” isolde says to you as she slips on her school shoes.
you feel your eye twitch as you turn to zeke’s other daughter, aloisia, who’s seven and looks exactly like zeke. she’s got his nose, his hair color, and even eye shape. she’s got hazel eyes and a slim face. she’s as bubbly as they come, always greeting people she passes by on the street, always making friends at the park.
“i’m ready,” she holds up her small hand to you, a silent request for you to hold her hand.
“same,” isolde stands up after she swings her back pack onto her back, brushing off the nonexistent dirt on her navy blue skirt.
“zeke, the girls are ready!!” you shout out, taking aloisia into your arms.
zeke comes stumbling out of his bedroom, a white sleep shirt covering his torso and grey sweatpants.
“you’re going in that,” you raise an eyebrow at his attire, “we’re going to a parent-teacher meeting, not the gym.”
“yeah daddy, my teachers are gonna think you’re a bum or something,” isolde snickers.
“i’ll help your dad, go watch tv for a little bit longer,” you chuckle at zeke’s pout and put down aloisia, who runs to the couch.
isolde takes off her backpack and joins her sister on the couch, putting her feet on the coffee table as aloisia puts on avatar: the last airbender.
“i thought the dress code was casual,” zeke furrows his brows as you take his hand and lead him back into his bedroom.
“it is. sweatpants are not casual, they’re lounge wear,” you snicker as he flops onto the bed while you close the door and go into the closet.
you know zeke’s rolling his eyes at you, judging from his silence. you grab ahold of a white button up with light grey vertical stripes on it, trying to picture your boyfriend in the shirt. you shake your head and put it back on the rack, deciding that the default outfit would be best for now. you take a white button up off the hanger and grab a pair of black dress pants from his dresser. you hand him a pair of black loafers to go along with it and some long black socks that would cover up his ankles, you’re so glad you reminded him that they exist. you throw a black belt next to him as well.
“this is boring.”
“zeke, this is a pta meeting, the whole thing will be boring,” you watch him rid himself of his shirt.
“should i wear a tie?”
“no, you’ll look better with one button undone,” you smile as he struggles to balance correctly when he puts on his pants.
he tucks the shirt inside his pants and slips on the belt with ease. he unbuttons a button before he slips on his socks.
“i thought today was my day off,” he smirks at you while you roll up his cuffs a bit.
you roll your eyes and he slips on his shoes. he doesn’t need to do his hair, it’s just effortlessly neat.
“time to go,” you scurry to the front door with the girls following behind you.
“he doesn’t look homeless anymore,” isolde notes when zeke follows you all out of the door.
“not funny,” he huffs while he locks the door behind him and the girls get into the black SUV zeke drives.
you help aloisia buckle herself up in the car seat and then slip into the passenger’s seat next to zeke. he’s grumbling something about ‘uncle eren’ and ‘getting the girls’ as he turns the car on.
————
you try to ignore the women ogling zeke as you all walk down the school hallway. you send isolde off to her class since her meeting is after aloisia’s.
“i hope you’ve been good,” you say to aloisia, who’s holding both your’s and zeke’s hands.
“i have! ms greene says i’m one of the best,” she gloats, and you hope for zeke’s sake that ms greene isn’t bluffing.
you three walk into the second grade classroom, which is empty because you reserved the appointment, only to find the teacher isn’t in there. it only seems to make aloisia more excited as she tugs you and zeke towards the class wall with a bunch of pictures of it.
“look, look!!” she jumps as she points at her’s, “they said to draw our family and she said i did a good job!!”
the picture is a messily drawn family portrait of zeke, isolde, and aloisia.
“you drew (name) very pretty,” zeke smiles at you when you snap your head back to look at the picture in closer detail.
there you are, stick figure holding hands with zeke’s and aloisia with isolde on zeke’s other side. you never expected to be on aloisia’s family portrait, you’d barely been in her life for two years and weren’t exactly motherly. you’re a struggling college student that she occasionally sees crying at the kitchen table with zeke comforting you from behind. she, on very rare occasions, sees you come home, absolutely plastered, with a sober zeke leading you to his room. you’re the woman that wakes her up when you cry on the couch late at night. you were, admittedly, okay with not being seen as their mom.
it wasn’t your place, for so many reasons. one, you didn’t exactly act as a role model. two, you could never replace her mother and would never try. three, zeke never referred to you as such. you’d only ever act like their mother whenever you were in certain situations. but that didn’t mean you didn’t want them to see you as a maternal figure.
it made you want to cry, but luckily you didn’t. you just smile at the picture and pat aloisia’s head in approval.
“you did do a very good job,” you smile down at her and before you can give her a hug, you notice a woman walking into the room.
“oh, you must be zeke yeager, aloisia’s dad! i’m ms greene,” her face flushes while she holds out her hand for him to shake.
“yea, that’s me. it’s nice to meet you,” he shakes her hand.
she turns to you, “oh my goodness, i didn’t know aloisia and isolde had an older sister!”
“no, she’s my girlfriend of two years,” zeke chuckles uncomfortably.
“i’m (name), nice to meet you,” you wave your hand, “i’m just here to keep an eye on aloisia while you two talk.”
zeke and her go to a table in the corner of the room and aloisia drags you towards a bookshelf.
thirty minutes of aloisia rambling about her favorite book go by seemingly quick, and you watch as she cheers when her classmates walk into the room. zeke’s walking towards you, holding a thumbs up with a cocky smile, for whatever reason.
you kiss aloisia goodbye, who doesn’t seem too fazed, and head towards isolde’s classroom. you hold hands with zeke while swinging them back and forth while he repeats everything the teacher’s said to him.
“i can’t believe my little girl’s at a third grade reading level,” he exclaims, “that vocabulary studying did wonders!!”
“you should thank me since i was the one who studied with her cause she asked about my assignments for class,” you taunt and laugh when zeke pulls you closer by the shoulder.
that’s how the two of you walk into isolde’s classroom. she’s sitting at a table with her teacher, miss dunst, and fidgeting with her thumbs anxiously. she’s covering half of her face with her hair. with the one eye you can see it looks puffy and her cheeks are red, as if she’d been crying.
it has both you and zeke rushing to sit down on both side of her, zeke asking miss dunst what happened while you tend to isolde.
“hey, why are you crying,” you’re squatting by her chair and you reach to brush the hair out of her face.
when you see her other eye, you gasp out at the black eye starting to form on her eye.
“oh my god, zeke, look at her face!!”
“that is what i wanted to speak about with you. isolde has been getting bullied by some of her classmates. today, a little girl hit her after isolde defended herself while they argued,” the poor woman looks sad watching you and zeke check isolde for more wounds.
“why has she been bullied? she’s not mentioned this to me or (name),” zeke asks while examining her eye more closely.
“well, during the first day of school, isolde introduced herself and told the class about her family. she mentioned you, mr yeager, and her sister. the kids asked about her mother before i could stop them and she was honest with them and said that she had passed. she then said that she still, in a way, had a mother. your girlfriend, mr yeager.
“i asked her occupation, to which isolde said a college student. the kids got loud but i managed to quiet them down, and i thought it was the end of that. after that, her classmates started to pick on her verbally about your age gap and her late mother. i didn’t find out about it until this morning when isolde was hit,” miss dunst frowns as she explains.
before zeke could open his mouth, you speak up, “i’m the girlfriend, (name). i am hoping that these children will be punished accordingly and that their parents be notified. if this has really been going on all year like you say, then at this point their parents should be involved.”
“of course! i’m giving all of their parents a call after classes today. the little girl who hit her is sitting down with the principal right now, so she should be safe if you two would like her to stay at school.”
“give us a moment,” you smile kindly, which she returns, and walks to her desk to give you ‘privacy’.
“isolde, why didn’t you tell your daddy or i about what was going on,” you ask while she hugs zeke.
she peeks her head out of his chest, “didn’t want to seem weak.”
“why would you be worried about that,” zeke asks.
“after mom died, you were always so sad and stressed. i thought that if i was strong, you would be happier,” she explains shakily.
“isolde, look at me,” you put a hand on her knee, “you were six years old when your mommy died. six year olds shouldn’t know how to accurately take care of themselves, it’s why your daddy was there. i’m sure your daddy appreciated the effort, but i promise you that all he wanted you to be was his happy little girl. you don’t need to be strong at 11 years old, and you don’t need to be strong all the time. like you said, your daddy was sad when your mom died. it didn’t make him weak, it made him a person. and that’s what you are; a person. a little person.”
she sniffles and nods at you, “people can’t do everything by themselves. i’m sorry if we made it feel like you couldn’t tell us, and it’s totally understandable that you felt that way.”
zeke hums in agreement, “we love you, baby. so much.”
“love you too,” she mumbles with a small smile.
“do you want to stay at school,” zeke asks, he didn’t want to force her into a situation where she didn’t want to be.
“i have a math test later, don’t wanna miss it,” she sighs, now looking up at you.
“(name)...?”
you tilt your head while you wait for her answer.
“i’m sorry i’ve been so mean to you. everyone was making fun of me and called it weird, so i guess i wanted to believe that too,” your heart warms whenever she looks away shyly.
great, now zeke’s horny from seeing you act motherly.
————
ever since you and zeke had stepped off school campus, one of his hands was always touching you. it didn’t matter where, zeke was shameless.
even as you unlock the door to the his house, he has his chest pressed against your back and his arms wrapped around your waist. his lips are kissing softly at your neck and his hands are shamelessly groping at your boobs.
“zeke, what is up with you,” you laugh whenever you open the door, kicking off your shoes immediately.
“horny,” he admits, swiftly following after you and locking the door behind himself.
“what about this morning made you horny,” you ask shyly while you sit on the couch.
zeke’s buttons are halfway undone and his belt is somewhere on the floor. he squeezes in behind you, once again pressing his chest against your back.
“acting maternal, i guess,” his beard tickles the back of your neck as he kisses it.
“is this why you told isolde it was okay if she wanted to stay at school,” you snicker at his fingers pulling your shirt over your head.
“why else,” he scoffs, “my only day off in a while and i’m horny. sounds like a deal.”
you whimper whenever he starts biting at your neck and when his large hands slip under your bra.
“zeke, if we’re gonna do it on the couch, can i at least lay on my back,” you ask while zeke unclips your bra.
without a word, he’s thrown you onto the couch on your back and climbing on top of you seconds later. your hands quickly unbutton the rest of his shirt, pushing it halfway off of his body.
zeke throws the shirt onto the floor and kisses you, hands running up and down your torso. he pulls away to kiss and suck at your neck while his hands grope at your tits. you’re stuck between laughing and moaning at zeke’s beard dragging against your neck.
his mouth trails down to your tits, mouth attaching to your left tit while he continues to grope your right one. you let out a moan whenever he tweaks your nipple with his right hand and bites softly at your left nipple.
he pulls away from your chest, tugging off your pants and panties in frustration. it leaves you laughing and assisting him. whenever your pants do come off, he throws them to the ground and spreads your legs.
“zeke, they’re not opening too far, we’re on a couch,” you note, but soon stand corrected as zeke grabs your ankle and puts it on the back of the couch.
“nevermind,” you snicker at his cocky smirk, as if he’d done something amazing.
your other leg hangs off the couch, leaving you spread open for zeke. zeke spreads open your glistening folds with thumbs and gives a mindful lick up to your clit. after realizing that his beard is not rubbing against you uncomfortably, he dives in like it’s a pool, which he thinks it is because of how wet you are.
his mouth his sucking on your clit vigorously, as if he were a man starved. you’re moaning wantonly as he suddenly ups the speed. how did he even go that fast, you have no clue, but either way you enjoy it. your back in arching off of the couch and your toes are curling as zeke starts bringing you closer to an orgasm.
“zeke!! i’m... i’m gonna come,” you tug at his hair as your legs start to convulse and close around his head.
he only goes faster, and you wonder to yourself if zeke is powered by batteries or something. but the thought is quickly shut off whenever you finally orgasm, moaning out in ecstasy and throwing your head back against the couch cushions.
zeke slows down his pace, helping you ride through your orgasm. he pulls away whenever you’ve calmed down, fingers immediately pressing at your tight entrance.
“zeke... i-i’m too sensitive,” your complaint goes ignored as two of zeke’s fingers are suddenly inside of you.
“don’t care, deal with it,” he huffs as his fingers stretch you out.
with his other hand, his thumb is rubbing at your puffy clit at the same time of his fingers curling inside of you. your hips buck up with a mewl and zeke chuckles at the sight. unlike last time, he’s moving his tantalizingly slow.
his fingers curl once more, rubbing against the spongy part inside of you sweetly. you buck your hips up again at the contact and curl your toes whenever zeke starts abusing that spot with overwhelming speed. curling his fingers against the spot each time he pistons his fingers in and out of you.
“zeke!!” you come again while moaning his name and he can feel his cock twitch in his pants.
zeke chuckles when he pulls his fingers out, spreading them apart to watch your juices stick together in strings. he plops the fingers in his own mouth, rubbing his other hand up and down your quivering thigh as he pulls away from your sloppy cunt.
he pulls his fingers out of his mouth with an obnoxious ‘pop’ and pulls off his pants and boxers at the same time. he groans at his cock hitting against his lower stomach.
you stare at zeke’s cock. the tip is flushed with a bashful pink and his hair is trimmed nicely against his groin. he’s more girth than he is length, a whopping 6.5 inches, which is something he absolutely gets arrogant about.
“hurry,” you huff while watching zeke fist his cock.
“nah, you gotta beg for it, baby,” the corner of his mouth tugs upwards as he watches you wipe away your tears from the previous orgasm.
“zeke,” you whine and wiggle your hips, “please please please give me your cock. need it so bad.”
he hums thoughtfully, and it already gives you his answer.
“please... i want it so bad, need to be fucked by you,” you pout but perk up at his dismissive shrugging.
“since you want it so bad,” he’s laughing while he puts his right hand on your pelvis and his other on his shaft to enter you.
you gasp at the feeling of him pushing inside of you, grabbing for his, now, free hand. when you catch his hand, you guide it to your bruised neck for him to grasp on. he’s chuckling once again, fingers lightly squeezing against your throat as he continues to push himself in.
he groans whenever he bottoms out, letting go of your neck to grab at your plush thighs. he pushes the towards your chest and thrusts into you shallowly after he spits on his cock buried in your pussy. he hits you deeper than he would’ve before, that much is obvious by your moans raising octaves when he starts to thrust roughly.
your hands reach up to grab the back of his thighs to pull him closer to you than before. he’s groaning at the feeling of your pussy squeezing onto him each time he pulls out and thrusts back into you.
“fuck... zeke!!” you cry and throat your head back.
“fuck,” he grunts, “you’re so fuckin’ tight. even after how much i fuck this pretty little cunt each week.”
his words make you whimper and squeeze your grip on his thighs, making crescent moons into the skin.
“i’m gonna come... i’m gonna come again,” you pant out, back already starting to arch, “come with me please..!”
he speeds up his thrusts, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass getting increasingly louder as he does so.
“you wanna come with me so badly,” he asks tauntingly while you nod.
“god, zeke, please,” you try to ignore the saliva and tears on your face as you continue to scream out for zeke.
“i’ll give my sweet girl my cum since she asked so nicely,” he’s biting his lip whenever he feels his orgasm getting closer.
“yes! yes! please,” you sound so desperate as your orgasm gets closer, “zeke, please, fuck a baby into me, please..!”
zeke almost comes right then at your pleas, but ends up stilling and adjusting his stance to thrust into you more efficiently. the sudden stop makes you whine but it’s soon interrupted with a gasp as he jackhammers into you harder and faster than before.
“fuckin’ whore, wanting me to fuck a baby into you. to make you a mom. since you asked so nicely, i’ll oblige,” he berates.
“you me to fuck a baby into you? make you a mom?” it has you nodding frantically.
zeke continues to degrade you as you’re orgasm comes rushing towards you, fingers now clawing at his thighs as a signal.
zeke thrusts into you two more times before the two of you manage to orgasm simultaneously. his jackhammering slows into a grind, helping the two of you ride out the euphoria you’ve both just went through.
you whimper whenever he pulls out, uncomfortable at the sudden emptiness in you. he watches his cum start to dribble out of you, telling you to keep your legs up. he scurries off to find a paper towel or something to wipe it up with before it falls onto the couch. you shiver whenever you feel a wet cloth wipe away the dribbling cum.
he’s wiping down your chest and neck as well with a clean side of it after you put your legs down. he carries you off into his bathroom, sitting you on the counter while he readies the shower.
“i can’t believe you said that,” he raises a questioning eyebrow at you while he checks the water’s temperature.
“i wouldn’t mind having your kid,” you shrug and watch him put two towels on the counter next to you.
“i might just give you one, don’t say that,” he jokes as he starts to hug you.
“‘m okay with that,” you sigh and lean into his touch, enjoying his warmth.
“you’re stupid,” he snorts and kisses at your shoulder.
“only for you,” you snuggle your head into his neck with a giggle.
“i love you,” he sighs.
“i love you. enough to have your kids.”
maybe in a few hours when you weren’t bathing in the afterglow, zeke would bring it up to you.
#attack on titan#shingeki no kyojin#snk#aot fanfiction#snk fanfiction#zeke yeager#zeke x you#shingeki no kyojin zeke#zeke yeager x reader#zeke x reader#zeke jaeger#attack on titan zeke#zeke smut#zeke aot#tw: breeding
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LOVED YOUR TOM RIDDLE. Can I please request a arranged marriage au where yn is in love with him but he hates her so when she decides to let him go or someone else wants to marry her, Tom finally realises he’s in love with her. happ ending :))))
my heart belongs to you | tom riddle
pairing: tom x black!reader
word count: 3,3k
summary: where tom and y/n are in an arranged marriage
a/n: i'm so sorry for being so inactive recently, uni is taking its toll on me.. i had to do a bit of research for this one and also tom is a pureblood here!
warnings: toxic relationship, violence
universe: harry potter
“Get out of my sight, will you?”, he angrily snaps at you out of nowhere, for the third time already on this still very early day. Furiously, he stomps past you, pushing you to the side harshly, the filled glasses on your tray swaying dangerously. Knowing that you should just leave him alone, you stand there completely frozen at the door, still feeling the breeze on your skin after he stormed past you.
The glasses clink on the serving tray as you try to keep your trembling hands under control, but you terribly fail while tears shoot into your eyes. A lump forms in your throat and you gasp in desperation, losing your composure after hearing the front door slam shut.
Slowly, you slump down and therefore with a loud rattle let happen what could have been foreseen already: a thousand shattered pieces of glass scattered across the floor around you while you cower against the wall, your elegant dress pulled over your knees, your forehead leaning against it. Heavy sobs rock through your body and tears find their way down your cheeks, dripping from your chin onto the expensive fabric of your dress.
You just wanted to spend some time with him. Together, in the house of your parents, who went on a daily trip with their close friends early in the morning, all part of the most notorious popular pureblood families in the wizarding world – the Nott’s, the Macmillan’s, the Malfoy’s, the Lestrange’s. And if his parents were still alive, probably with the Riddle’s as well.
This is primarily the reason why you even are in this position right now; crying and huddled in the living room because your fiancé hates you profoundly.
After graduating from Hogwarts last year, the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you, descendant of the pureblood Black family, got engaged to Tom Marvolo Riddle, the last living heir of the Riddle’s. He would offer you a good future, they said, and you would never have to worry about anything again.
But nobody knows that in reality, your own beloved fiancé really does not want to have anything to do with you. He does not even want to stay in the same room as you.
You can’t explain why he acts like this towards you. You do not know why he harbors such an abysmal hatred for you and any clear-headed, rational person would have done something about it long ago. Unfortunately for you, you feel the exact opposite for him.
Your heart belongs to him and only to him.
You have liked him since you first met him at Hogwarts, back in 1938, when the two of you were sorted into the Slytherin house. This initial friendly liking has quickly evolved into something more than that over the years and lead you to where you are now, at a point where you would have never seen yourself back then.
You have already tried everything to convince him that you are not as bad as he seems to think. Every morning you bring him his breakfast, you give him everything he needs. Even when you were still at Hogwarts, you always looked after him, finished his homework for him when he was too busy to do it by himself, and helped him pass all of his exams.
And not once did you hear a thank you. Not then and not now either.
Slowly gathering your thoughts together again, you rub the long sleeves of your velvet dress over your damp face, wiping away all of your tears before you get up on shaky legs and begin to clean up the mess that you have created. After you went back to the kitchen with the broken pieces and some injuries on your hands, your gaze longingly slides out the window.
Outside, the sun stands high over the magnificent garden of the mansion, making the clear water in the fountain shimmer in its bright light. A gentle breeze blows through the air and rustles through the perfectly cut trees that line a small path through the garden.
The loud, excited voices that suddenly roar through the house snap you out of your daydream and you quickly wipe the blood from your fingers before you step into the huge marble entrance hall. You arrive at the front door just in time to open it for your parents, who, to your surprise, did not come back alone. You are amazed to find not too familiar faces in front of you as they climb up the stairs to the door where you are still standing.
“And that has to be Y/N. Oh, how you have grown!”, an older man smiles friendly at you and you return his smile with a certain uncertainty in your face.
“Darling, we brought guests over for dinner today. You surely remember the Lestranges?”, your father announces happily and only now do the faces that you have seen at numerous balls and celebrations seem familiar again. Especially one.
“Reinhard?”, you ask in amazement when you spot him standing behind his parents, a big smile on his face when he sees you.
“Y/N, how nice to see you again”, he grins, carefully pushing his way past your parents in order to slightly bow venerably to you, taking your hand in his to place a kiss on the back of it. “It has been some time.”
“I am sure you have a lot to tell each other”, your mother mentions in a sweet voice, but before she can continue, she watches how your facial expression changes from one second to the other as you look past them, out into the yard.
Next to the carriage with which they have returned, Tom is standing now, petting one of the splendid noble white horses before he joins all of you.
“Tom! There you are, I was already wondering where you went”, your father says, visibly pleased when he too spotted his future son-in-law, drawing everyone’s attention to him.
“Reinhard?”
“Tom?”
Within a few seconds, the two former best friends lay in each other’s arms, obviously happy to finally see the other again.
“Let us go inside. We want to show you our newest masterpiece of art in our wonderful collection, come on”, your mother announces happily and leads the Lestranges inside, but not without turning around to you once more. “The children can catch up on what they have missed.”
“I can’t believe it! You are really here, Tom. Man, you look even better than at Hogwarts”, Reinhard laughs, playfully pushing Tom to the side while you watch them in silence. “What are you doing here with the Blacks?”
“They kindly took me in”, Tom lies to him and for a moment you think he threw you a glance out of the corner of his eyes after uttering these words. His statement makes Reinhard realize that you were still there with them, who had apparently completely forgotten that you were even there.
“I am so happy to see you again, Y/N!”, he grins and takes a step closer to you, probably to be able to take a closer look at you. “Still just as beautiful as I imagined. And just as smart, I guess?”
Reinhard’s sudden compliments make you blush and your cheeks glow, which is why you nervously avert your gaze from him, directly falling on Tom, who looks at the scene in front of him with incredible resentment.
Unlike Tom, Reinhard was always there for you. You spent a lot of time together in your school days and if your parents had known about your close friendship, you are sure that he would have been your fiancé by now. Which, to be honest, does not sound bad anymore right now.
And yet your heart still belongs to Tom.
When you all sit together at dinner later in the evening, where your parents are talking about irrelevant things like Ministry of Magic, you keep making eye contact with Reinhard, who seems to be staring at you.
“Is there something on my face?”, you ask uncertainly and put your glass back on the table when you can no longer bear his piercing gaze.
“No, no, not at all. I was just wondering how a beautiful witch like you could have become so much more stunning”, Reinhard winks at you, causing you to swallow hard. You are not used to getting compliments, especially not from a handsome young man like him. Before you can answer to him, however, there is a loud clink and you startle, your eyes immediately fixed on the cause of the noise.
The glass, which you have certainly placed far away from the edge, is now lying in your lap, the little liquid that was still inside now spread over your elegant evening gown. You move your chair back in shock when, in the corner of your eye, you see how Tom puts away his wand. And not only did you notice Tom just now, but the rest of them follow your gaze.
“Tom, darling, how about you tell our guests how you and our daughter got to know each other”, your mother suddenly prompts him, not even realizing that he has just deliberately spilled your drink on you. But why did he in the first place?
„I would love to“, Tom puts on a really believable smile that no one but you questions and starts telling them how you met and fell in love with each other. He tells one lie after another, explaining the web of lies that you have spun around you over time to make your relationship as credible as possible, at least in front of other people. And suddenly nobody cares about you or your still soaking wet dress anymore.
“What a wonderful story”, Mrs. Lestrange applauds and everyone else seems to be completely enthusiastic about Tom’s fairytale. To top it off, he then reaches across the table to take your hand in his, just like a real affectionate couple would do.
You lower your gaze as he gently strokes the back of your hand with his thumb, trying your best to not show how uncomfortable you are. Oh, how much you wish that this were real, that Tom would actually treat you like this when you are alone, the same way as he does in front of your parents.
But he does not and deep down you know that he will never do.
“So, you are engaged?”, Reinhard scrutinizes the statement of his former best friend, his eyes focused on you suspiciously, as if he is expecting an answer from you and not from Tom. A slight pressure on your hand makes you flinch and look up.
“Y-Yes”, you force a smile onto your lips, whereupon Tom seems satisfied with your answer, letting go of your hand again with a - what seemed to you like a – disgusted expression on his face.
An uncomfortable silence spreads between the three of you, which is drowned out by the loud conversation of the adults on the other side of the table. Finally, making up your mind, you clear your throat loudly and get up from your chair, gaining everyone’s attention in a matter of seconds.
“Excuse me, I have to go freshen up for a moment”, you explain with a slight polite bow before turning away to leave the dining room.
“Reinhard, would you be so kind and help Y/N”, Mr. Lestrange asks his son, who stands up with furrowed brows, apparently just as surprised about this sudden request as you, but then follows you out into the hallway with no further objection.
“I really do not need any help, thank you”, you try to get rid of him as you walk up the large staircase leading to the first floor together, only wanting to be alone.
“Dinner like these are totally boring anyway”, he chuckles softly and shows no intentions of leaving your side any time soon, which is why you do not even try to search for further arguments. He follows you to your room where you are able to tear yourself away from him to put on a new dress while he waits outside in front of the door.
With an equally elegant burgundy red dress you step out of your room after a few minutes, Reinhard’s eyes greeting you with a sparkle.
“Wow”, he breathes out barely audible and takes you hand without asking to swirl you around, causing your dress to fly around gorgeously. Unintentionally, warmth rises in your face again and your hearts makes a barely noticeable jump inside your chest when he looks deep into your eyes after catching you back in his arms.
The loud clearing of a throat behind you makes you turn around in shock, only to see that Tom himself is now standing at the end of the corridor, not seeming very enthusiastic.
“We did not see you there, Tom”, Reinhard disguises his obvious nervousness with a laugh, acting like Tom had just caught you in doing something he should not have seen. Tom, however, does not even react to his words, but looks past Reinhard at you, his eyebrows raised meaningfully.
But when you do not move under his piercing gaze, his facial expression changes and he quickly approaches you, Reinhard instinctively pushing you behind him so that you can only see Tom approaching further over his shoulder. Before neither you nor Reinhard can say or do anything, Tom has already pulled out his wand and aims it directly at Reinhard, who flies back through the air only a few seconds later, hitting the hard marble floor at the end of the corridor with a thud.
“What the-?!”
“Come with me”, Tom orders, now standing directly in front of you. When you stubbornly refuse, he suddenly grabs your wrist to pull you away from there. No matter how much you fight against his firm grip, you cannot tear yourself away from him as he pulls you into the closest room, which turns out to be the library.
Once there, you can finally free yourself from his tight grip, but before you can reach for the doorknob to leave immediately, he locks the door with a spell. Angrily, you turn to him, despair written all over your stunning face.
“What is this supposed to be, Tom? Let me out of here, now!”, you command him in a loud voice, not caring if anybody can hear.
“What did he want from you?”, he asks you urgently and steps closer to you. Since the door is in your back, every possible escape route is blocked, and you are caught.
“We just talked to each other, you know. Like normal people do”, you answer irritably and cross your arms in front of your chest, not in the mood to justify yourself, especially not in front of someone who does not care about you at all and not after what he has done.
“But that did not look like it.”
“Tom, stop it.”
“You belong to me and nobody else!”
These words coming out of his mouth echo loudly through the dark library, his face wrapped in an eerie candlelight. Before you can even control yourself and fully process what he said, you severely slap him.
Frightened by your own horrible deed, you immediately pull your hand away, your gaze filled with fear, but the anger that keeps building up inside of you winning the upper hand after all.
“How dare you call me your property?!”, you scream in rage and tears form in your eyes because of your uncontrollable anger. However, Tom needs a moment to collect his thoughts after your heavy smack before he can answer you.
“You are my fiancé”, he spits out coldly, a touch of shock in his voice, apparently not expecting you to react like this.
“And that does not make me nowhere near your property! You never treat me like your fiancé anyway, so why now all of a sudden?!”, you bicker at him, your voice loud and constant, even though you would like to flee from this situation right away if you were able to.
But Tom does not have an answer.
“Fine, okay. If you have nothing to say to me, like you never have, then I will go back now and ask my parents to end this damn failed engagement and engage me with someone else who truly cares for me!”
Suddenly, without letting you time to catch your breath after your outburst, he presses you with your back against the door completely, his hands tightly grabbing your wrists, a little too tight for your personal liking.
“You mustn’t do that”, he softly whispers, his head lowered as if he does not dare to look you in the eyes.
“What is stopping me?”, you hiss, still full of anger and – probably for the very first time – hatred towards him.
But when you feel his lips on yours all of a sudden, all of these emotions evaporate and all that remains is your racing heartbeat, which is being repaired at this very moment. You never would have thought that at some point in your life the moment would come when Tom Marvolo Riddle, who absolutely loathes his fiancé, kisses you.
After kissing you, he looks straight into your eyes, and the Tom you met in 1938 is standing in front of you again. The Tom you fell so deeply in love with.
“I can’t explain it to you”, he finally breaks the silence, his gaze directed to the floor as he moves away from you, giving you enough space to breathe regularly again. You, however, do not say anything but just stare at him.
“I was not aware that I am capable of feeling such feelings for someone. I am unfamiliar with this feeling and I did not know how to deal with it, Y/N. I treated you badly because I did not want it to be true, I did not want to accept it. I could not imagine having feelings for the little nuisance that has always been running after me”, Tom explains, choosing each and every single word very carefully, trying to put his emotions into words which does not really work the way he would like it to. But that is how you know him. You know that this confession must be extremely difficult for him, but you can’t help but feel a sense of relief inside of you.
“When?”, you ask and manage, with this tiny little word, to make him look up at you. “When did you know?”
“Since I have been here. You served me every day and took care of me, even though I wanted to push you away from me with all of my might. You have already helped me so many times in the past without me even asking, you have always accepted me for who I am”, he desperately tries to but his feelings into words, asking himself what he is even doing right now.
“Tom..”
“No, I have to sincerely apologize to you. I had no right to treat you the way I did. And also today.. when I saw you with him and how well you got along, it finally became clear to me. Reinhard has felt something for you since our school days, I know that even though I could never understand, but now I do. I understand why he fell in love with you”, Tom continues without breathing, pouring out all of his feelings that he has hidden for so long.
“I understand if you want to dissolve this engagement and I will not stop you if that is what you want”, he quickly adds, looking at you with desperation in his eyes. He already prepares himself for the worst when you are the one getting closer to him this time.
“Idiot”, you smile slightly and place a gentle kiss on his lips while he looks at you puzzled. “I love you, I thought you knew that.”
“I know, but-“
“But nothing”, you interrupt him and take his hand to lead it to your fast pounding heart. “It always belonged to you.”
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