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uwumessenger · 4 years ago

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random headcanons i have for each om! character teehee

hi it's been a while since ive posted some hcs bc uni has been kicking my a$$! luckily i only have a few papers to tidy up and im done. here r some hcs for each obey me character that ive accumulated over the past few months wink wonk

most are random but some constants you'll find are what i think they smell like, languages they can speak (other than their native (demon/angel) and eng/jp), and music tastes !

lucifer

i have a strong feeling that he showers twice a day: in the morning after waking up and at night before going to bed

his cologne is probably the type that will last in an elevator for like a week after he uses it once. i dont think this mf ever smells like anything other than his cologne

has a secret folder on his phone of semi-nudes and other scandalous pics from when he felt sexy at the time omg

aside from demon language/eng/jp he can speak french and knows latin

listens to classical stuff yea but he also listens to diavolos mixtapes (re: diavolo's section)

not a fan of sweets but will eat sweet things when craving

really bland sense of humor...borderline cringey 😭✋🏻

mammon

has gone to google images and searched for "inspirational quotes tumblr" "gold aesthetic tumblr" & "relatable crush post tumblr" then reposts it onto his socials or just taps thru them and giggles bc he relates

his cologne doesnt last as long as lucifers and probably smells common. he has to reapply a lot but it's a people pleasing smell. it's cheaper hence the constant reapplying

he probably does have an expensive bottle but is the type to totally overspray...eek

he is canonically a car guy 🥲 and probably tells the one in his room good morning & good night + kisses the hood every once in a while. has tons of car magazines

he doesnt really speak other languages but has attempted to learn spanish before

listens to whatever is on the radio. doesnt rly stan anyone but he eventually will listen to mc's playlist and mc's playlist ONLY

levi

lurks on mc's socials ALL THE TIMEEEE like he will rewatch ur stories and scroll thru ur feed and overanalyze ur tweets/rts or blog posts. if ur mc isnt the type to use sns much he still googles ur name all the damn time just to find any sites u might be on fjdjdjdjskks

probably streams on whatever youtube or twitch devildom site equivalent there is, but only has like 40 or so followers. which he is okay with!

until he sees someone else who gets more attention than him. then the envy starts kicking in bad. especially if they suck 🧍🏻‍♀️

classic gamer boy smell. you know, sweat, tears, must, and (sometimes) axe deodorant. lucifer has to do a scent check before he goes out to any event & lets him use his cologne. how sweet!

kpop stan!! more girl groups than anything and his ults are probably GIRLS GENERATION, wonder girls, twice, loona, & red velvet

cried when ioi disbanded and refused to leave his room. the only thing u could hear was downpour on loop at full blast

can also speak korean & communicate in echolocation like dolphins 😏

satan

listens to country music you cant change my mind

smells like whatever environment he is in. he doesnt really have a designated smell just throws some deodorant on and goes about his day.

he's sooooo bad at driving...gets road rage way too often so his license has been REVOKED

but hes totally a backseat driver. needs to be sedated on long trips

do not let him watch finding nemo when luke asks to watch it. it's not worth it. he will cause mass destruction.

if he was a human or lived long term in the human world he totally has the ability to be a doctor

is studying as many languages as possible, but he mostly knows latin & french & german etc etc. wants to learn all the dead languages out of curiousity

asmo

dont think this mf has ever held down a relationship. ever

he doesnt compromise much & is not willing to change his lifestyle to fit an s/o into it. you keep up with how he lives or it just isnt meant to be (but dont worry! he'll eventually learn...maybe,,,,)

has the hardest time out of everyone when it comes to breaking bad habits

his smell varies bc he uses a variety of perfumes (whatever is the most popular at the time) but he probably sticks to floral and fresh scents. he never uses generic people pleaser scents like mammon

listens to electropop, mainstream pop, & some alternative rock

as for languages he too knows french, spanish, italian, etc. in general, if it's a romance language he knows it!

opposite of lucifer in the sense where he loves sweets and will refrain from eating too many bitter things

i think we all know that asmo is the biggest rockstar of the group! he's probably been in a boy band at least once, but now he makes his own music

has tried to teach mammon how to sing once. ended up in a broken piano and bleeding ears...

beel

i feel like he is SO SHY

like unless ur close to him he will not start conversations or anything

i think he listens to r&b a lot ! and jazz 😎 maybe rock as well

smells like ur typical athlete with undertones of wet wipes. he carries them around bc he likes to clean his hands before he eats & is prepared for when theres no sink nearby

he can drive and he drives really well. no rough turns, parallel parks perfectly, and never has problems with merging

driving with beel is probably really soothing. left hand is steering the other is gripping ur thigh 😫

dont think hes really fluent in any other language but hes probably semi fluent in korean because levi wanted beel to help him out

definitely know how to order food in practically every language tho HAHAHA

belphie

he reminds me of randall from monsters inc

smells kinda musty IM SORRY but not the way levi does hes more like the kind of musty u feel or smell when it's a shitty morning

but that's only because hes so lazy, when he cleans up hes like satan

has definitely murdered multiple people before. mc is not the first 😐✋🏻

with that being said belphie has been put into prison at least twice when visiting the human world, the mf had such a strong hatred for humans theres no way he never got into trouble before

lucifer probably broke him out and they used the pen thingies from men in black to erase everyones memory of that 🙄

dont think he listens to anything other than music that'll put him to sleep. really likes lazy song by bruno mars but thinks that bruno mars put too much effort into the song. should have been one acapella verse and then finish

similar to beel hes only semi fluent in one language, probably french bc of lucifer. doesnt remember much but knows a couple of lullabies and bedtime stories

the sandman used to be his bff until they drifted. they do, however, like and comment on each other's sns posts.

diavolo

once he found out who nicki minaj was he became her #1 stan

def an ariana grande stan too 😌

choreographs dances when hes stressed...idk just seems like a diavolo thing to do

also makes rly bad soundcloud rap music sometimes. turns to poetry when hes feeling emo but only lucifer knows this. barbatos is suspicious of him but doesnt have enough evidence to confirm.

his dad is like hudson abadeer from adventure time aka marceline's dad? something must have influenced him to want to unite the 3 realms + he would need the approval to do so, so his dad must be more chill than all the others before him 🧍🏻‍♀️ IDK ok anyway

currently going through his hamilton phase bc of mc. whether mc's intent was to get him hooked onto it or just to explain it bc of something he saw online, he tells everyone that he found out abt it bc of mc!

this man cannot drive his skills are only second to jumin han

not too fond of many languages but knows the widely spoken ones like spanish, mandarin, etc. if it's taught in high school he knows it

smells like a las vegas casino. not sure why but i feel like he does. but there's also an interesting & nice smell to him if he embraces you. it's a smell you cant quite identify. but it smells nostalgic, it's mysterious, and it's tempting.

barbatos

very calm demeanor but underneath hes WILD hes probably done everything at least once oof

he just has a lot of control and stability over himself (must be nice!)

on a more angsty note i feel like he might have had his heartbroken sO BAD IDK he is hurting and maybe that's why hes so willing to obey diavolo and not abuse his time lord power thingies bc he learned his lesson the hard way

mans is so smart he knows every language you could switch languages mid conversation with him and he wouldnt be thrown off. he'd probably start speaking it too.

BUT HE SPEAKS VIET P E R F E C T L Y

listens to the same stuff as lucifer but also likes eminem. likes the movie 8 mile but criticized it heavily

have you ever been to a chinese herb shop? naturally, he smells like that. his room probably smells like it too. he doesnt really have a significant smell like some of the others

when he bakes he smells like whatever hes baking tho

one of the few out of everyone listed to have been able to travel to literally everywhere

solomon

was probably on kitchen nightmares once, but only to get feedback from chef gordon ramsay. then he used his magic to prevent the episode from airing...

was in an orchestra, one of the best times of his life. played the violin. asmo watched him in the audience once, but didnt approach him until well after that performance.

he CANNOT sing. he can, however, rap.

doesnt listen to music. he listens to podcasts! but every now and then he turns on background music, but prefers it to be instrumental stuff

never wears sunglasses. also does not have a driver's license. cannot drive a regular car. could maybe fly an airplane.

due to his immortality he has learned almost every language to exist, but finds himself speaking mandarin the most. knows most dialects too

similar smell to barbatos but u can also smell some sunscreen on him too. like, generic beach day suncreen

he has a lot of pact marks, so he once had the idea to match foundation to his skin. it took him two weeks but he eventually perfected a combination. yes he will help u find ur perfect shade if u ask him to

simeon

another country music man. has also made a tiktok or two to that one song that goes "he cant even bait a hook." they are private tho

angel country music exists and simeon invented it

if he visits the human world and wears more causal clothing he probably tucks his shirt into his pants

wears a speedo at the beach i tell u, speedo at the beach

he can speak german...i can feel it

uses his pointer finger to type and holds the phone like 2 inches away from his face so sometimes his nose will push a key hence all his typos

has no signature smell. he simply smells like your favorite scent all the time. if multiple people are around him at once, everyone smells a different smell. it's pretty rad

"what does he smell like to himself?" u may be asking. hmm...a church? 💀

luke

his first pet was a goldfish and a few months before the exchange program happened, he was given a koi pond!

secretly likes hanging out with levi sometimes just to play with henry. makes him miss his pet fish back home

so his favorite movie is probably finding nemo and he threw a fit when nemo touched the butt

luke is probably learning german bc of simeon, though he'd like to learn more of the dead languages just for fun

i dont think he listens to music often or has any preferences, he just listens to whatever is playing on the radio

but he finds himself listening to the music mc listens to

smells like freshly baked goods all the time. or fresh laundry. but like, not combined. just depends on the day

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chucklegigglechortlesnort · 5 years ago

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MY B O Y S :( Yaku get your ass back here. I miss you. I love nekoma too much. could I request manager for Seijoh?

YESSSSSSS IVE THOUGHT ABOUT THESE WAY TOO MUCH CAN YOU TELL???

Seijoh Manager Headcanons:

Alright so by SOME miracale you manage to sneak your way into being Seijohs manager, which the whole team is pretty surprised by.

Save for maybe Oikawa - who got you the position - or Iwaizumi.

I say this because there’s literally NO WAY, with Oikawas reputation, that they let just some random person be manager for the sake of making goo goo eyes at him all through out practice.

They made this mistake during his first year and it didn’t take long for them to learn their lesson.

So the only way you’re manager is if you’ve known Oikawa your whole life and therefore are aware of how annoying he is, or if you’re related to him. Let’s go with the former. Because I love the childhood friends cliche that’s my SHIT.

So if you’ve known Oikawa since childhood, you’ve definitely known Iwaizumi since childhood. Therefore, the coaches let you on the team not only because Oikawa knew you, but Iwaizumi put in a good word for you as well.

Doesn’t matter if you have other hobbies or interests in clubs, Oikawa is dragging you into this whether you like it or not.

You’re already familiar with the third years upon taking up the manager position, so they’re not too intimidating. Matsukawa didn’t really talk to you much at first but you both bonded over poking fun at Oikawa and a mutual love of memes.

You have a photo of oikawa sneezing where he looks absolutely atrocious that you “accidentally” sent into the group chat once. Makki and Mattsun use it religiously as a reaction image. Oikawa hates it.

You don’t talk to your fellow first years too muc, except for Watari, who’s pretty friendly. Kunimi doesn’t seem to interested in conversation and Kindaichi visibly tenses up whenever you try to talk to him, so you figured you’d have the coming years to bond with them.

Oh, and did I mention? You get invited to all the Seijoh sleepovers.

Since you’ve been friends with Oikawa your whole life, sleep overs weren’t a new thing for you. His whole family knows and adores you and you have your own seperate room at the Oikawas so your parents aren’t worried about you sleeping in a room full of teenage boys.

These sleepovers are absolute chaos

Every sleepover cliche you can name? You’ve done it. Pillow fights? Check. Often ends in bruises and ice packs. Nerf Gun wars? Iwaizumi always wins. Mario Kart? Makki plays dirty. Monopoly? Who will land on board walk this time? Trick question the answer is Mattsun. Wii sports? That’s your shit. Oikawa never wins at anything. He hates it. But he does build the best pillow forts, courtesy of all his practice with Takeru.

You’ve definitely heard every one of these boys rip ass. Even Oikawa. Sorry, I don’t make the rules. If you think for one second that they’re gonna hold it in because you’re around you’ve got another thing coming hon. Once you’re all in a private setting together all bets are off.

Jealous fan girls definitely bombard you with questions of what it’s like to be around “Oikawa-senpai” all the time, and say how lucky you are to get to be around him every day. Oh the things you could tell them, you could ruin this whole man’s career. Some even come up to you for advice on how to ask him out?? And that’s never something you know how to answer.

Kyotani’s strange respect for Iwaizumi is one of the most baffling things you’ve ever seen. You’ve tried to figure it out but honestly you don’t think you ever will. He’s an enigma and avoids you at all costs. prolly bc you’re a girl and he’s intimidated by you lmao

He still respects you tho. More than he does oikawa at least HA

By the middle of the year Kunimi and Kindaichi are progressively warming up to you and you now have a first years group chat and sit together at lunch at least twice a week. Kunimi seems to gravitate to you more than Kindaichi but you don’t push it.

You are team mom. Oikawa jokingly got you and Iwaizumi matching mom and dad sweatshirts that say “Team Mom” and “Team Dad” on them. Iwaizumi refuses to wear his but you’re more willing to play along and will wear it when you go out with the team for ramen after games.

Iwaizumi wore it to one of the sleepovers once and you forced him to take a live picture with the both of you showing off the sweatshirts.

It’s now your lock screen background and he grumbles every time he sees it.

He seceretly loves it. Good luck getting him to admit it tho.

Oikawa has a pic of you asleep on iwa-chan’s shoulder with the sweaters on and he thinks it’s one of the most adorable things in the world. The best part is, Iwaizumi wouldn’t stop him because he was too worried about waking you up, so he just sat there and let it happen. What a sweetheart. Oikawa thinks himself a master comedian.

One upside to being seijohs manager is that fuck boys stay the hell away from you. They just automatically assume you’re dating Oikawa which is bothersome to an extent, but if it keeps the thots away you have no reason to complain. Even those that don’t think that are usually too intimidated to approach you because your friend group is essentially the seijoh volley ball team.

However a downside is that you never really know who’s befriending you for the sake of trying to get closer to oikawa which is a bit of a bummer. You’ve grown pretty skeptical of your peers and sadly your friends outside the volleyball team are far and few between.

That’s okay tho because they fill up a huge hole in your heart and you couldn’t ask for a better, or more entertaining group of people to surround yourself with.

It was a huge hit when they didn’t make it to championships though and it was even worse watching the the third years leave never having achieved their goal.

You knew you’d always have oikawa, he was basically family to you and by default you’d always have Iwaizumi. But Mattsun and Makki were going on different paths, and despite knowing them for only a year they had effectively made their way into your heart.

Oikawa is the most dramatic about it though, pulling you into a bone crushing hug and refusing to let go of you despite all your protests.

There’s one last goodbye sleepover for the whole team, Iwaizumi even wears his dad sweatshirt one last time for the occasion. There’s mario kart and wii sports, monopoly and nerf wars, and no one is able to sleep that night, not even Kyotani.

It’s a bittersweet goodbye and you didn’t expect to be this emotionally moved by the end of the year.

You keep in constant contact with oikawa and iwaizumi following their graduation (which you attended) and make sure to spend lots of time with them as well as mattsun and makki whenever they return for breaks. There are still sleepovers with the five of you, but the rest of the team as well as the new set of first years are less inclined to participate now that oikawa isn’t the captain anymore.

Oikawa still visits the team every once and a while to pester Yahaba about his role as captain, making sure he was doing a good job filling his shoes. He’ll even participate in practices and teach whoever’s the new setter how to cater to their spikers. It’s pretty wholesome to witness. Makes you miss the old days.

Ngl I don’t know how i’m feeling about these, but I can’t think too much about it or I’ll chicken out on posting :/

~tre

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a-libra-writes · 5 years ago

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Game of Thrones Imagines - Dancing

in which i write waaay too much about this because ive been listening to waltz music and im absolute trash for dancing scenes

In this preference, you’ll enjoy little drabbles with: Ned Stark, Benjen Stark, Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Theon Greyjoy, Daenerys Targaryen, Jorah Mormont, Jamie Lannister, Tywin Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Sandor Clegane, Bronn of Blackwater, Stannis Baratheon, Renly Baratheon, Davos Seaworth, Brienne, Margeary Tyrell, Loras Tyrell, Ramsay Bolton, Roose Bolton, Edmure Tully, Brynden Tully, Oberyn Martell, Yara Greyjoy, Petyr Baelish, Beric Dondarrion, Tormund Giantsbane

seven hells what order should I put these guys in

NED STARK

In his youth, Ned never really bothered with the ins and outs of dancing. He didn’t see the point; training or running Winterfell was more important, besides, it was more of a Southern thing. His brothers shared his lack of enthusiasm, so he didn’t really care about it.

However, this changed at a gala at Winterfell, when he saw you for the first time. You were so lively and kind, and your beauty seemed to increase tenfold when you danced. He didn’t even notice his brother Brandon was your partner at first, and suddenly, he couldn’t keep himself from asking you for the next dance, worried Brandon might keep you all night. As he put his hand to your waist and your hand in his, he internally panicked… But that melted away as you gave him a reassuring smile.

Ned didn’t even notice you were leading him, nor did he dwell on the few stumbles he made. He just couldn’t believe he was so close to you, and enjoying something like dancing.

He tried practicing and brushing up a bit after that, but really, it was a bit of a lost cause. After you married, he still loved to take you in his arms anyway, and he was never short of praise for you when the gala was over. You teased him about watching you all night instead of visiting with his fellow lords, and he wasn’t ashamed to say that he loved watching your graceful movements.

The last dance was Ned’s favorite, as he loved it when you leaned your head on his shoulder and you two could just sway. If you were particularly tired, he’d wait until the guests had mostly cleared out and bridal carry you to your shared bedroom. He used to feel a bit embarrassed in helping you undress, but later he took great pleasure in how you'd sigh. This extended to him eventually sharing a bath with you afterward, soothing your body with the warm water and his hands.

BENJEN STARK

Benjen had never cared for dancing, especially these silly galas the Southerners liked. He never thought he was missing out, and rather enjoyed teasing Brandon and Ned for having to go to them, and later teased Robb for the same thing.

He was stopping by Winterfell and staying the night when he heard of a gala going on. Benjen wanted to speak with his brother and nephews, so he stopped by inside, surprised by the amount of people and the music. He spotted Jon and went to him, only for someone to catch his eye. He didn’t keep track of the family members of the North, as it wasn’t his place anymore, but he wished he had a name for your lovely face.

You were dancing with Robb, smiling at him, laughing when he leaned in and said something. He admired the way you moved with such elegance, despite Robb having some trouble keeping up.

“Uncle?” Jon found him first, and tried to get his attention.

Benjen quickly shut his mouth and greeted his nephew. As he hugged him, he still glanced at you. Jon had noticed and teased his uncle, mentioning your family was close to the Starks, and you were their only daughter. As Benjen had visited with his family, he couldn’t stop sneaking glances at you. He was ready to leave, wanting to keep you off his mind, and he was surprised when you sought him out first.

“I’m so sorry to intrude, but you’re … Benjen, correct? My cousin is with the Night’s Watch, and he mentioned you - Wait, I haven’t even introduced myself…”

He thought it was so cute how breathless you were, and you were trying to be polite to a man of the Night's Watch, even if you had no reason to. He asked for your name, and many other questions, both of you drawing into conversation without realizing it. You noticed a few songs had passed already, and you took a chance. You asked if he would be allowed to dance with you. Benjen hesitated, and politely refused you, figuring a lady shouldn’t be dancing with someone like him. He was surprised by how disheartened you look, and he was disappointed as well.

As the evening grew dark, you noticed Benjen had disappeared at some point. You were glad to leave the stuffy hall, your feet and legs were aching. Outside, the frozen air was perfect, and you took a deep breath … and you yelped as a sudden gust of wind hit you. Your dress was thin, and you shivered.

Suddenly, someone wrapped a warm fur around you. You looked up. “Benjen? I was wondering where you were.”

“You were looking for me?” His pleased smile was cute. You pulled the fur further around your shoulders and spoke honestly. “Yes. I wanted to see you."

The two of you lingered, and you could feel a sort of tension. There was still music from the hall, albeit muffled and distant. You spoke first, asking him to dance with you.

Benjen couldn’t believe you managed to take him off guard, but he didn’t make the same mistake twice. He accepted, pulling you into his arms. As you shivered again, he pulled you even closer, and you wondered if it was his heart or your’s that you could hear.

From then on, anytime Benjen passed by Winterfell, you were sure to see him. You two shared several secret meetings, which weren’t limited to dances. He especially liked it when you snuck out of the galas early and curled up with him in your guest room, where he'd soothe your aching legs while whispering how beautiful you looked.

ROBB STARK

Like most Northern lords, Robb felt the entire idea of galas and dancing was silly. Still, he knew you attended them, so he’d do his best to practice a few steps when no one was looking. During a gala, he didn’t hide that he was looking around for you, and would try his best to have you at the first dance. When he danced with other ladies, he really wasn’t that attentive and sometimes made mistakes out of nervousness, or because he was too busy watching you across the room.

Once Robb finally had you as a partner, it was obvious how pleased he was as he held you. He’d try to play it cool, but you could tell he was concentrating on following the right steps.

Just for fun, you liked to throw him off by moving a little closer and whispering something sweet. His face would go red and he’d stumble, and you two would laugh to yourselves, stuck in your own little world.

He’d eventually grow in confidence and you could tell by how firmly he held you and how he began to lead the dance more and more. If you asked him about practicing, he’d have to blush again and admit he was doing it for you, as he loved watching you twirl with more experienced partners, and hoped that someday he could make you smile like that. You’d insist that you love dancing with him the most, no matter what, and he’d likely almost step on your feet again because he was so happy.

At the end of a dance, Robb always gives you an earnest kiss on your hand and lingers a bit, still holding your hand and looking you in the eyes. It’s so obvious he wants to kiss you for real, but then he has to hand you off to a partner, frowning the whole time. He’d definitely want to find you for a last dance, and at the end of that, he’d risk it and give you a kiss on the cheek - still holding your hand. He often lingers after the music ends, still holding onto you, and you have to teasingly remind him to let you go and return to his family.

Often Robb really can’t take it and finds you after the gala, in the evening, wanting to hold your hand and steal a proper kiss from you. “I’ve been waiting to do that all night.”

“Ha! Get it all out of your system, before someone comes looking for us.”

SANSA STARK

Since she was a girl, Sansa always daydreamed about attending fabulous galas and dances in the South. Once she arrived in King’s Landing, you and her became fast friends after she met you at her first one. She looked up to you, loving your poise and grace. You began to teach her, and although she had some trouble with more complicated steps, she appreciated your patient instruction. Each gala was a whirlwind of emotion for her, and when it became too much, especially with Joffrey, she’d seek you out in the crowd. You’d take her into your arms and dance, quietly alleviating her worries as the music played.

The situation in King’s Landing became worse, but Sansa continued to attend your lessons. You noticed the toll the events was taking on her health and mind, but she insisted she was fine.

One day, she was especially clumsy in the lesson, often making mistakes and spacing out. You knew it was rather pointless you ask, but you did so quietly, whispering to her as you guided her along the steps.

Suddenly Sansa held fast to you, bringing you into a crushing hug. You heard her shudder and try to stifle herself, but several tears came out. You continued to sway, soothing her and petting her hair. As soon as you both heard someone, she pulled away, pressing her sleeves at her eyes to hide any tears. You both quickly returned to the lesson as several servants passed by.

From that point, Sansa would often exclusively seek you out at galas, pointedly dancing with just you even if propriety demanded you two part. She only would after a scathing comment from Cersei or Joffrey - and she would've danced with others for a time, but then she’d always come back to you. You’d still whisper soothing words when no one would hear as you two twirled.

Once the dances were over, you both would be exhausted, but Sansa would still linger with you. You’d hold her hand, taking her to her room, sometimes shooing away her handmaidens so you could brush her hair and keep comforting her. She wouldn’t always accept this, however, and would want to help you as well, smiling softly when you’d attempt to joke and make witty comments to lighten the mood.

JON SNOW

Jon was never expected to bother with fancy feasts or galas, and he told himself he was fine with it, especially since Robb was always dressed up and dragged off for them. He still found it a bit lonely, however, and he was curious about the music that was always playing for the galas. Sometimes he’d hang around outside, listening to the laughter and music. He was doing this on the night you saw him. Jon heard someone hurry out, and he was surprised to see a girl all dressed up and out of breath. You sat down on a bench almost fell over as you removed your shoes.

You turned around and yelped, and he startled, too. He apologized for frightening you, and was glad you just laughed it off.

“You’re … Lord Stark’s boy, right? Jon Snow?”

He was surprised you recognized him, and thankful that you were talking to him so kindly. You introduced yourself, explaining your shoe had broken and you were worn out. As you shivered, he quickly gave you his fur, and you two ended up talking for much longer than you expected.

“The galas aren't so bad, I promise. Yes, they’re tiring, and dressing up takes far too long, and the lords can be overbearing …” You trailed off, and he couldn’t help but laugh. You were so pretty in your outfit, and he wondered if Robb was one of those lords who annoyed you. You stood up and took his hands, further surprising him. “Still, they're fun! Here, I��ll show you!”

Even though Jon tried to protest, he really couldn’t argue once you were placing his hands. He knew something of dancing that he was taught, but not much, and he hoped he didn’t touch you anywhere inappropriate. You ended up swaying and dancing along, and he began to forget himself.

Once you began to shiver again, he remembered your feet were bare and offered to help you to your guest room. There were several more galas at Winterfell, and you liked skipping out to talk and visit with him. He still had plans to go to the Wall, and he considered his time with you precious, knowing it wouldn’t last long. A few times Robb or Theon teased him for having a crush, and he’d just tell them they were imagining things.

Whenever he'd hear the music of the galas, whether it be a minstrel that was playing or someone singing, he'd wonder what it'd be like if he were a true Stark and was allowed to dance with you like the other lords.

THEON GREYJOY

Naturally, Theon wasn’t allowed to participate in the few galas at Winterfell, and he didn’t think Ironborns should be doing flowery dancing, anyway. Still, his interest was piqued when he noticed you and Sansa practicing, and how the servants would gossip about how lovely you and Robb looked when you danced.

So Theon ended up sneaking into a few, especially at Robb and Jon’s urging. They were ready to get a kick out of Theon falling over himself or Catlyn dragging him out by the ear, but he surprised nearly everyone when he strode up to you with confidence, asking for a dance. You knew him, of course, and you were surprised when he kept up with you.

Not just that, he was almost a natural even if he didn’t know all the steps. He had an infectious energy, and you two ended up sharing quite a few laughs. If he messed up or you teased him about his hand being too low, he’d have a joke ready. Once you finished the dance, he made sure to kiss your hand with a wink, sometimes giving you a kiss on the cheek if no one was watching.

Theon’s absolute favorite thing to do was “steal” you from your partner, especially if it was someone he knew you disliked. He’d just whisk you off with a smirk and a quip, and you two would try to stifle your giggles at how angry the man would look.

Theon was only able to snatch you for the last dance once, and he got an earful for it later - but it was completely worth it. It felt like it was just the two of you in the room, and he stole a kiss before being dragged off by Robb and Jon, who were positive that Catlyn was going to tear Theon a new one.

Theon would always try to find you after a gala. His usual flirting would fall a bit short, as he’d be a bit intimidated by how lovely and breathless you looked, but you’d still smile and would give him a real kiss goodnight.

DAENERYS TARGARYEN

You were a noble from Westeros who had long been travelling Essos, and you soon came into the service of the Queen of Dragons. You two had a surprising friendship, and she found herself quite drawn to you. One day, she heard you humming and dancing along to something as you tidied up, and she asked you with a laugh what you were doing.

As you described the grand balls you’d attend, and all the silly nonsense your parents would make you wear, she’d become thoughtful. She told you to demonstrate some more of the dances, and you were amused by how queenly her demand was. You’d do your best, but explain that it’s better with two people - perhaps one of her handmaidens or Missandei could help.

To your surprise, Daenerys would step forward and hold you with a strong confidence, all but telling you to instruct her. You’d do so, keeping your smile down as you guided her hands and began the basic steps. Daenerys did her best to follow, although she took it quite seriously, and thus would make a few mistakes. As you’d tease her good naturedly, she’d be even more determined, bringing you even closer and telling you to focus on the lesson.

Your lessons continued for some time, each one the two of you going longer and becoming a little more breathless. Daenerys loved how you’d hum the songs and would move with such confidence, it would distract her more than your lips or the feeling of your body against her’s. Finally, she’d push you against the wall and kiss you until you were breathless… And afterwards, you’d giggle and ask her how long she’s been wanting to do such a thing. The queen certainly punished that bit of cheek.

While you don’t have lessons all that much anymore, during celebrations Daenerys will take you to herself and lead you in the dance. She’d obviously be pleased with your compliments, which you found adorable.

Sometimes in her chambers, when the windows are open and you both can hear the sea, she’d pull you into her arms and want to slow dance. You both would end up making up your own dances, and would take turns leaning on each other and sharing kisses and whispers.

JORAH MORMONT

Dancing with Jorah came about purely by accident. You were discussing Westerosi culture with Daenerys, as you were also from there and she was curious. You described attending galas, all the beautiful dresses and lights and music. Jorah had attended a few as well, even though they weren’t as popular in the North, and he shared his stories.

Daenerys looked to the both of you with a bit of mischief in her eyes. She asked if you two could show her how some of the dances are done. You quickly felt shy, as you had quite a crush on Ser Jorah, but the idea of being so close and dancing with him was a wonderful thought. You looked to him, and he also seemed a little flustered, but he gave you a smile. “A dance or two for the Khaleesi shouldn’t be a problem. It’s been some time for me, so you may have to lead, my lady.”

You gladly did so, you loved it when he called you a lady, reminding you of better times back at home. Despite his words, he took you in his arms with little hesitation and after you counted a few times, you both were easily waltzing around the room. You hummed a song you remembered, and he also remembered it, and began recalling when he was a young man and attended his first gala.

You didn’t notice, but he was discussing the story more with you than Daenerys, and she had long snuck out of the room with Missandei, the two of them grinning.

You two had ended up dancing along to several more songs, talking all the while. You hummed and sometimes sang a song, and he easily swayed you even if he didn’t know it. Jorah held you just perfectly, not too tight, and you felt so safe in his arms. It wasn’t until you turned to ask Daenerys a question that you realized you both were alone, totally out of breath and not knowing how long you’d been dancing.

You had a mix of emotions, you were homesick and lovesick. Jorah assumed your quietness was because you were tired, and he brought you water and took you to a place to rest. You were touched, and you two kept talking into the evening. You eventually began leaning on him and fell asleep, and he carefully carried you to your room and kissed your brow before he tucked you in.

You both confessed your feelings to each other shortly afterward. While there wasn’t much time for parties in the Free Cities, sometimes during quiet evenings you’d pull him into a dance and he’d love it, enjoying your closeness and how you’d hum and rest your head on his chest.

JAMIE LANNISTER

Jamie was always expected to be accomplished in most things, and socially-demanded dancing for stuffy galas was no different. Although he didn’t think much of it, he had a natural talent for it. Jamie didn’t have many chances to dance, however, as the Kingsguard was generally discouraged from participating in galas, unless it was for ceremony or some event.

You first danced together at one of these ceremonies, and Jamie was relieved. You two had known each other for a while, and he was glad not to get stuck with some lovestruck maid. He started out with a smirk, making sassy remarks about the silliness of the whole thing, and you teasing him about being rude while dancing with a lady. As it went on, Jamie started to become quiet. He began to realize how much he liked having you this close, how you smiled and reassured him, and lightly scolded him when he made a rude comment about a guest. He couldn’t keep his heart still, and told himself it was just the exercise.

He was disappointed when the dance ended, and ended up finding you for a few more. When you were taken for the last dance, he couldn’t deny how irritated he felt, and watched you and your damned partner the whole time.

After that, he was sure to attend more galas, but not enough to bring suspicion to your growing relationship. He’d sometimes play it risky, bringing you closer than was proper, whispering in your ear lovely or flirty praises if he knew his sister was away. He really only enjoyed dancing with you, and didn’t have a problem turning down anyone else, although he had to dance with a few others to avoid being seen as too rude.

After he lost his hand and returned to King’s Landing, the bright galas lost their appeal and he stopped attending, even for ceremony. He ended up finding you in a practice room one day, and you guided him to you, although he protested. Once you began humming a song you knew he liked, and guided him into it, he couldn’t help but bring you close against his chest. He leaned into you, swaying as he nuzzled into your hair, holding you so tight it almost hurt.

You knew he was overwhelmed with emotion from his captivity, so when you two got a chance alone, you’d hold him close and whisper how much you loved him, sometimes swaying and humming the songs you two used to dance to.

TYRION LANNISTER

Galas were like any other feast or party for Tyrion, he could have plenty of drink and banter, and if he got bored, he’d slip out and go to a brothel. If he knew you were in attendance, you two would sit together, trading drinks and stories.

He knew you loved to dance, and sometimes you’d step away to enjoy the music. He’d have some feelings of envy and sadness, wishing he could dance so easily with you. One day, you noticed him being particularly self-pitying, and you pulled him by the wrist.

“What’s this, my lady? Normally, I wouldn’t refuse you, but with so many people -”

You smiled and shook your head. “Oh, honestly, it’s not that. I want you to dance with me.”

Tyrion was obviously unsure, he didn’t want that sort of attention drawn to both of you. He knew his reputation, but he didn’t want to sully your’s. You insisted, but instead of dragging him to the middle of the dance floor, you pulled him out in the halls.

��Now I’m really getting mixed messages about your intentions,” He joked, trying to relieve his anxiety.

You rolled your eyes and took his hands, and gently instructed him. Outside, you could still hear the music, but you were alone, enjoying yourselves You both ended up losing track of time, and had to hurry back separately, so no one would assume anything untoward.

He was touched by your kindness, loving you even more, if that was possible. During galas, you two would hold hands and drink, and after you married you were more than able to sneak out and dance to yourselves under the moon and stars.

TYWIN LANNISTER

It was the first time you had attended a gala at Casterly Rock, and your parents wanted you on your best behavior. You had to dance the appropriate amount of time with the appropriate amount of partners, at the appropriate distance. Just thirty minutes in and you wanted to leave.

You noticed Tywin Lannister sitting at a table with his family members; he was hard to miss, with his great presence. However, you became wrapped up in your irksome partners, and you didn’t notice he was gone until he was suddenly beside you. Your scared partner wasted no time in handing you over, and before you knew it, you were dancing with the Warden of the West.

He had a confident hold on you, and perhaps he was a little too close, but you hardly thought about that. You were surprised by his poise and practiced steps; he led you effortlessly and you found yourself complimenting him. You blushed and tried not to look away as he returned the compliment with his low voice. You'd never thought he would do such a thing, and to you of all people.

At the end of it, he gave you a proper bow and kiss on your hand, but it felt different than others you received. You were still buzzing. At the end of the night, he picked you for the last dance, and you were determined not to be intimidated again. You danced wonderfully in sync with him, and you could swear he tried to change some steps to trip you up. You didn’t fall for it, and followed his lead easily. The dance was over before you knew it, and he gave you another customary kiss on your hand, but there was a peculiar look in his eyes that made your heart flutter even more.

The gossip in court exploded after that, with your handmaids telling you that he almost never danced with any lady, and everyone agreed you two looked like royalty.

You still remember that night fondly after you two married. After you wed, he was sure to get the first few dances with you at each gala, and no one was going to take Tywin Lannister’s wife from him until he was quite finished. Once he was, he’d hand you to a partner and sit down, his eyes occasionally following you across the ballroom. No one would think of making an inappropriate move on you, especially at Casterly Rock.

If he felt someone was overstepping their bounds, Tywin wouldn’t hesitate to calmly stand from his seat, make his way to you, and give them a quiet but vicious reminder of who you were married to. Then, he’d guide you to his seat, where he’d keep his hand over yours until he calmed down.

For the last dance, no matter how tired he was or who he was speaking to, he’d seek you out. While Tywin always held you close, if he was in a particular mood, he’d make sure your body was nearly touching his, and his hand would have a firm grip on your waist. The two of you would talk quietly or you'd enjoy a peaceful silence with knowing glances. Tywin wouldn’t want to show too much affection in public, but you could tell from his soft gaze and the way he held you that he very much wanted you. Once the dance was finished, he’d keep you by his side until the gala finished and you two retired to your bedchambers.

SANDOR CLEGANE

Of all the stupid things nobles do, Sandor found galas especially fucking stupid, especially with all the fuss in guarding them. Normally he was glad to take the night off and drink, but since being hired by your family, he had to attend to guard you.

He’d already had growing feelings for you, and the damn galas only made it worse. You were always dressed beautifully, always smiling at this person and laughing with that one. At least you'd give cold looks to lords who didn’t impress you, but he still hated how everyone held your attention. Anytime one of the lords was too close or touchy, he’d be sure to touch his sword and quietly appear next to you two until they’d slink off.

After a well-known incident involving a drunk lord who ended up lifted by his neck and nearly tossed, the guests figured out you were well-protected and didn’t try anything fishy. It really wasn’t enough for Sandor, he didn’t give a shit about dancing, it just drove him up a wall how other men were so close and touching you. You couldn’t stand some of them, but you had to allow it, and whatever you two felt for each other had to be kept under wraps.

In the evening, when the gala ran long and your legs and feet were absolutely killing you, Sandor would wait until you two were alone and pick you up. He’d cradle you bridal style, secretly adoring how you rested your head on his broad shoulders and kept him close, sometimes touching his face as you closed your eyes. He’d be bold enough to take you into your bedroom and set you down on the bed, ignoring the scandalized looks of your handmaidens. Eventually you began sending them away, and when Sandor would set you down, he’d be sure to strip you from your clothes (perhaps a bit too roughly), rubbing your legs and meeting your lips as you held onto his face.

At one point you were practicing in an empty room and you offered to teach him. He snorted, saying he wasn’t doing that shit, and you laughed, figuring you’d give it a try. After a gala, you still have the music in your head, so when you’re both alone you’ll wrap your arms around him and hum, trying to sway him along with you. He’ll grumble and complain but still bring his arms around you, holding you a little too tight, as if trying to erase all the people who were touching you before. Sometimes he was feeling especially jealous, seeing how flushed your cheeks were and how you breathed heavily in your dress, and he’d be too eager to rip it while ‘helping’ you undress.

BRONN

No surprise, he’d scoff at the ridiculousness of the galas and dancing. He and Tyrion would have plenty of good laughs about it as you got ready, and he’d be sure to give you several compliments on your backside before you left. After he was knighted at Blackwater, Tyrion made several jokes about him attending to find a proper wife, which he always blew off. It wasn’t until Tyrion brought up your marriage in passing, and how you’d likely find a husband at a gala since you attended so many, that he got a little irritated.

He didn’t want to go, of course, but he recalled how you always dressed up for them. Were you dressing up for someone in particular? He didn’t think you were the husband-hunting type. The whole idea just left a bad taste in his mouth, so he agreed to go to one with Tyrion, fully intending to just drink and joke the whole time.

Naturally none of the lords and ladies looked forward to having Bronn or Tyrion there, but you still sat with them, laughing and drinking along. Bronn kept fighting the urge to pull you into his lap like he did when he visited the taverns, and right when he was about to pull you to him by your waist, you were asked to dance by some Lord Who Knows from Where the Fuck. Bronn definitely was glaring when the man took you away.

As the lord danced with you, and you smiled politely when he kissed your hand at the end, Bronn hoped that was it. Nope, several lords were ready to dance with you. Evidently, you were popular, and that wasn’t surprising. Bronn wasn’t a flowery words type, but the word ‘beautiful’ kept coming to mind as you twirled and glittered under the lights. It just irked him, so he kept drinking and suggested to Tyrion that they ditch and find a brothel. He remained irritated, despite the distractions.

The next time you readied for a gala and stopped by Tyrion’s office to see if he was joining you, Bronn felt that ugly feeling again, and urged you to come to one of his favorite taverns instead.

You thought he was joking. “In my jewels and one of my favorite dresses?”

“Eh, leave the jewels. I can help ya out of that dress, if ya need it.” He grinned.

You realized he actually meant it, and you sighed, thinking about how upset your family would be, especially since you were still unmarried… But Bronn looked almost eager, and it was hard to refuse him to begin with. You rolled your eyes, told him to give you some time and returned in a much simpler outfit. He couldn’t keep his grin and laugh to himself as he pulled you out of the castle, with Tyrion smirking to himself as you two left.

At the tavern, there was plenty of music and drinks already flowing. After you two drank plenty, Bronn pulled you up, telling you he’d show you what real dancing was. You’d never actually been amongst the smallfolk like this, so you were a little overwhelmed, but you loved the way his hands touched and wandered across your body. He was risky, giving you kisses here on there, sometimes on your jaw or your neck, encouraged by your laughter. Once you two were tired and thirsty, he eagerly pulled you into his lap, calling for another round of drinks. The two of you spent quite a bit of time at the inn and the room upstairs. From then on, you began shirking attending galas, having more fun dancing with Bronn in various taverns and dance halls in King’s Landing.

STANNIS BARATHEON

Not too surprising, Stannis saw no enjoyment in galas, even when he was unmarried and expected to find a wife. The regular feasts were pain enough, and Renly and Robert always took the attention of others anyway.

While courting you, he never actually met you at a gala, preferring to see you elsewhere. When you two married, he realized that he eventually had to attend them, as you couldn’t go by yourself … and he knew how much you loved them. So even with his discomfort, he made attempts to practice with you. You guided him patiently, and he paid attention, although he often got distracted by your happy smile, and how you’d reward him with kisses. He’d tell you to let up on all the affection so he could concentrate, but …. Nope, you didn’t. If you kept showering him with praise and affection, he’d become terribly flustered and try to pull you back into the lesson.

When a gala finally came around, you could tell he was nervous, even if he seemed the same to anyone else. He danced with you through two songs, which surprised you. You forgot yourself more than once, giving him a chaste kiss or a compliment like you’d do in practice, and you both would blush and hope no one noticed.

He’d sit out after that, feeling too out of place. He’d feel nervous seeing you dance with more loud and outgoing men, evening starting to grind his teeth if they looked too cozy with you. Eventually, Davos would have to point out that you didn’t smile nearly as much for the other lords, nor did you stay close to them or laugh at their silly jokes.

For the last dance, you could tell he was happy to return to you. He held you much closer, even giving you subdued smiles as you beamed up at him and noted his improvement. At the end, he’d give you a kiss on the hand, but wouldn’t be satisfied and would end up giving you a sweet one on your lips.

RENLY BARATHEON

While Renly was good enough at dancing and he had friends at the gala, he preferred feasts and tourneys, especially since galas were full of starry-eyed girls chasing after him. You two met when you were forced to partner up, you both were trying to escape more undesirable partners and easily danced away from them. Once you’d both realize what you just did, you’d have a good laugh about it and started to get to know each other.

Since you two often visited at other events after that, there were rumors, but you knew his heart was with a certain Tyrell. He was a fun friend anyway, especially when you both wanted to escape at a gala. You’d dance and make jokes, complain about your families and snigger at certain guests. One time you both were being pursued by especially annoying partners for a last dance, and you literally spent half the song dodging through couples, avoiding them and finally finding each other, only to be totally out of breath and the song nearly over.

DAVOS SEAWORTH

You attended more than enough galas for one lady; your parents were so eager for you to marry, they dragged you to dozens. At least you enjoyed dancing, however, the instability of Westeros had other ideas. You followed your father on his campaign to support Stannis, putting a solid end to any future galas.

As you were often at Dragonstone, you befriended little Shireen, who naturally wasn’t allowed to attend galas. You began giving her little lessons, teaching her some of the songs and steps to them, which she loved. Eventually you began to befriend Davos as well, ans he thought it was adorable to watch the two of you. He especially liked the grace and ease that you moved with, it reminded him of a ship sailing on an easy breeze.

One evening, Shireen suggested that you teach Davos how to dance. He was taken off-guard and quickly said that he really wasn’t a dancer, besides, you were a proper lady who ought to dance with proper lords.

“You are also a lord, and a knight, Ser Davos.” You reminded him. "Besides, in these times, the realm has little need for fancy parties."

He still seemed uneasy and tried several other excuses, until you walked up to him, put his hand on your waist and took up his right one. Of course, he felt insecure about his missing fingers, but you didn’t even bring it up. And it was hard to focus on them, when he had your lovely eyes and your sweet smile so close.

Shireen sang the songs you taught her, and you sang along, carefully guiding him into a simple two and three step dance. He was stiff and nervous the whole time, worried about touching you inappropriately, wanting to touch you but knowing he shouldn’t. After that, several times when he stopped by to see you and Shireen, he’d be dragged into another dancing lesson. He actually did love being so close to you, and how sweet you were with the princess. It made his mind wander to what sort of family you two would have.

Davos never really saw you at a proper ball, which he considered a good and a bad thing. He’d never see you in a lovely dress enchanting the room, but he also wouldn’t have to see younger, handsomer men dancing perfectly with you.

Sometimes when you were feeling anxious, you’d wrap your arms around his warm torso and hold him close to you, humming one of the songs and swaying with him. He’d hold your waist, kissing your brow and giving you words of comfort, knowing you liked the movement and closeness.

MARGAERY TYRELL

The two of you began dancing in the practice room. Margaery was quite drawn to you based off the rumors she heard, and she wasn’t disappointed, as you two quickly dazzled the room. From then on, you often practiced together, usually trading gossip and jokes the whole time.

At the next gala, she surprised you with asking you to dance. You two twirled around the floor, enchanting anyone who watched with your combined grace, not knowing you two were cracking jokes or sharing flirtations while the music played.

You danced often together, although you both knew when it was appropriate to stop dancing together and dance with a possible suitor, it never made you happy. A few times Margaery would notice when a man was getting too close, and she’d swiftly whisk you away with a charming smile, leaving him none the wiser that you were being rescued. Often, you two would catch each other’s eyes while dancing with other partners, and she’d give you a knowing smile.

After one of the parties was winding down, you accompanied Margaery to her private chambers so you two could get out of your dresses and soothe your aching feet. She noticed you were feeling down most of the evening. “Is something the matter, love?”

“Well…” You felt foolish. “I was thinking how you and I will never get the last dance. If we ever did, people would think it was some joke.”

Before you knew it, she whisked you off the bed and onto your feet. “Then, we’ll dance right now! This will be our last one, or the one after this, or the one after that. The last dance will always be just the two of us, when we decide.”

From then on, you two had a little tradition, having your “last dance” in one of your chambers, humming to the ballroom songs in your nightgowns and usually ending it with a fit of giggles on the bed.

LORAS TYRELL

It wasn’t too surprising that Loras was just as graceful in dance as he was on horseback, and all the ladies of the realm were eager to dance with him when he attended a gala. Loras was polite, giving the proper amount of time to each lady, as he truly enjoyed galas, even if his partners could be lacking, and even if he’d never get to dance with the one he really loved.

However, Loras was surprised by you, pleasantly so. He loved that you knew the complicated steps he couldn’t try with other partners, and would give you challenges to keep up. You two would end up getting lost in the music, dancing through several songs. Several guests would stop dancing or talking just to watch, and you both usually got a hearty round of applause by the end of it.

Of course, you both would be exhausted and sweating, but he had a high respect for you and began seeing you as a friend.

BRIENNE OF TARTH

Brienne wasn’t crazy about guarding galas, as it just brought back painful memories of her own rejections and trying desperately to fit in. She’d sigh and bear it, moving all her focus to protecting you. She took the duty seriously, thus, she always watched you.

She began to admire the grace and beauty you had as you danced. She always thought you were pretty, but when you smiled and twirled, and your hair and gown moved with you, it was almost dream-like. More than once, her heart beat quickly as she watched you effortlessly pull off some move she couldn’t attempt or even name. She didn’t even pay attention to your partners, unless they were obviously pushing their boundaries - which she’d be quick to correct if you didn’t stop them first.

One day, you were in your practice room and she was once again taken with you. You noticed her staring, and asked if she’d like to help you practice.

Brienne was taken aback by the suggestion, and quickly became uncomfortable. She insisted there was no way she could be of any help. As you pressed her, she kept insisting, saying she wasn’t graceful and she’d just end up hurting you.

She sat in on several other practice sessions, and you began to get specific with her. You’d ask her to stand still or hold you a certain way so you could practice a dance. She’d get what you were doing right away, but she’d be obedient, trying to calm her beating heart. As you two became closer, and you reassured her, she’d slowly try to hold you and try a few moves, but she’d quickly lose confidence and retreat into herself.

At one gala, during the last dance, a lord was much too forward with you and even tried to follow after you once it ended. Brienne was quick to put him in his place, face-first on the ground. She escorted you back to your room, noticing how upset you were by the whole ordeal.

“Who cares about the last dance, anyway? It’s just stupid ceremony, yet men act like fools over it,” You ranted, taking off your heels and dress. Brienne agreed, trying not to be distracted by you disrobing.

“My last dance will be with whomever I please. Brienne?”

She stood at attention. “My lady?”

You held out your hands, dressed in only your nightgown. “Will you be my last dance, my knight?”

She blushed to her ears and began to refuse, but she thought of all the men who would try to grab you, coerce you into a dance or just act tasteless. Setting her sword aside, she took your hands carefully. You hummed a song and led her into it, and she swore you could hear her heart beneath her armor. In spite of all her worries and insecurities, she loved having you so close, and she couldn’t stop herself from giving you a proper knightly kiss on your hand once your impromptu dance finished.

RAMSAY BOLTON

You knew of Ramsay’s reputation when you married him. You weren’t a fool, you were aware he certainly had feelings for you, and he was willing to keep his more … unsavory aspects away from you, for the most part. He was especially good at playing the dutiful lord husband where guests were concerned, although Roose still kept an eye on him during galas.

You adored dancing and you weren’t going to stop just because he didn’t partake. But to your surprise, one day he took you in his arms, and impressed you with how he followed the music and steps. He was rather clumsy, and perhaps a little too fast, but it was obvious he had been practicing.

You complimented Ramsay, and he was clearly pleased, holding you closer and giving you that charming smile he liked to use. You could always see behind it, but this time it seemed genuine. Sometimes he’d slip up and give you a kiss, often whispering something less than appropriate to you, but before you knew it several songs played and you had enjoyed yourself.

He was still holding onto you when a man came up, asking for your hand. Ramsay looked confused, then clearly irritated, and you had to remind him. “My lord, it’s customary to change partners every other song.”

“Is that so?” His expression changed again, to a darker one you easily recognized. He handed you over to the man, obviously not enjoying it, and you hoped he stayed out of trouble.

As you danced with other partners, you could see he had a few dances with other girls, but then he returned to the table. You could tell there was strong emotion brewing behind his eyes, you just couldn’t be sure what he’d do.

One of the lords dancing with you was quite drunk, and ended up stumbling. You tried to catch him, but he grabbed ahold of you, specifically on your backside. Before you could push him off, Ramsay was already there, taking the man by the collar. The room went totally quiet as he smiled. “I’d recommend you find a different place for those hands, my lord, or they’ll end up separated from your wrists.”

You pulled Ramsay away and Roose urged the musicians to continue. Before you could even speak to Ramsay, he had you in his arms again, but this time with far more possessiveness. He gripped your waist and brought the two of you completely together, and kissing your neck as you two swayed to the song. He began to bite you and leave marks, his tone sweet but his words told you that you belonged to him, and if you or any lords forgot, he’d be more than happy to remind them.

ROOSE BOLTON

It was common knowledge among the Northern lords that Roose didn’t dance at galas. He wasn’t the only Northern lord who did this, of course, but he already had a reputation for being cold. He’d simply sit at the table, observing the guests and occasionally speaking when it was polite.

It wasn’t until Roose was courting you that he finally stood, asking you for the first dance. You were just as surprised as anyone else, but you accepted, and you couldn’t help but notice the confidence and ease that he held you with. His movements weren’t flourishing or energetic, but held your attention with his steely eyes. Occasionally, he’d murmur in your ear a lovely compliment, and it would almost break your concentration.

You noticed as the dances would go on, he’d bring you closer, and you didn’t mind at all. Afterward, he may have accepted a dance here or there from someone else, but he really didn’t get asked, and he seemed quite fine with that. He’d sit at the table at his usual spot, his eyes following you, sometimes catching your gaze and giving an expression that you couldn’t place.

He was able to catch you for the last dance once or twice, and his movements were so slow and steady, it was almost hypnotizing. You found yourself swaying into him, sometimes leaning, and you had to remind yourself to keep an appropriate distance - but then he’d gently pull you back in. As your cheeks flushed, he asked why you suddenly became so shy, and you managed some excuse. At the end of it, he took your hand and gave you a perfectly polite kiss that still gave you goosebumps because of the way he lingered and kept his eyes on you.

Once you married, he’d only dance with you. During a gala, he’d keep an eye on which men were dancing with you - if he felt one was keeping too close, or one was dancing with you too often, he’d come from seemingly nowhere and more or less threaten them away, always in his calm tone. Then he’d take you in his arms, swaying you in his gentle and slow way. As you melted into it, he’d give you a kiss on your brow or cheek. He’d whisper to you sometimes, complimenting your loveliness or reminding you that you two still had the business of making an heir.

At the last dance, he’d only seem to want you more, especially if he was feeling jealous through the night. His long fingers would softly rub the small of your back, often slipping lower if he could get away with it, and he’d give several kisses to your lips and neck. By the end of it, you’re usually a mess, and you’d want the gala to hurry up and be over so you two could get to your shared bedroom.

EDMURE TULLY

As much as his father and sisters attempted to instruct him, Edmure was always clumsy with his feet. Lysa and Catlyn often teased him, pulling him into the practice room and insisting he dance with them. He attended several galas through the years, always quite shy and sort of bumbling when he was dragged to dance with someone.

When your mother not so subtly suggested that you two dance, the panic on his face was obvious. You were probably the most beautiful girl he’d met, and now he’d be making a fool of himself in front of you. You took his hand, giving him a gentle smile, whispering that it would be okay.

You took the lead and he was surprised by how kind you were. You would quietly instruct him and carefully guide him, and he became confident, enjoying several dances with you. He was so disappointed to hand you over to someone else, he almost forgot to kiss your hand.

After you two married, Edmure actually put a lot more work into his practice, since you loved dancing so much and he wanted to spend time with you. He admired your confidence in all things, but especially when all eyes were on you as you went from partner to partner. He’d try to participate as much as he could, but he still was quite clumsy and didn’t want to slow you down, although you insisted he was doing quite well.

When the last dance came, he almost couldn’t wait to be by your side. Your cheeks would be flushed from the evening, and he’d lovingly brush some of your stray hair behind your ear before taking your hand and waist in the last dance. He probably couldn’t resist giving you a kiss on your cheek or forehead, being a little embarrassed by his own behavior. Once it finished, he’d again lose himself and give you a lovely kiss before remembering propriety and placing a kiss on your hand.

Once the evening is over, he’s incredibly attentive to you, massaging your legs and getting you water or whatever you needed. When you tease him about it, he blushes quite a bit, but says he can’t help but look after and spoil his lovely wife.

BRYNDEN TULLY

When you first asked him to dance, he laughed out loud, assuming you were joking. When you insisted, he certainly was surprised, but he set his ale down and gladly stood to join you.

The Blackfish knew he wasn’t graceful in any sense of the word, but he held you firmly, and he led with confidence. If he ever missed any steps, he recovered so smoothly it was hard to tell. He didn't give a damn about any gossip between the two of you, and respected that you felt the same.

Often you’d push yourself closer to him, and he’d grin, only holding you tighter, making your heart race. He’d have plenty of witty comments, loving to see you laugh as your cheeks were flushed from the exercise, and maybe you two could sneak in a few flirtatious whispers. He loved how small you were in his arms, and sometimes he'd make a snide comment about hoping his brother and the Riverlands court were thoroughly scandalized by the two of you.

Brynden would really only have a few dances with you before insisting you ought to partner with some younger men, and better suitors. Even if you’d pout, he’d sit down and go back to drinking and joking with his friends. However, he’d unmistakably look up and watch you, loving to see you twirl and move, and sometimes laughing to himself whenever his nephew nearly stepped on your feet. If he was feeling particularly bold and had plenty of drink, he’d swoop you up for the last dance, insisting to your partner that you were in good hands - and really, it was hard to argue with such a man, especially when he was already whisking you away.

At the end of the evening, he always gave you a “proper” kiss on the hand, which you know he wasn’t taking seriously at all, as he'd often give you a wink or would scoff at anyone staring. You’d kiss him on the cheek in return.

Once the guests were turning to their rooms, Brynden would find you, pulling you into an empty hall to give you a proper kiss, grumbling about damned propriety. You'd laugh softly as you guided him to your room, though he'd insist on carrying you, delighting in how you'd hold onto him.

OBERYN MARTELL

Oberyn vastly preferred the galas in Dorne, which had both livelier music and dance. As much as he enjoyed causing a little ruckus or scandal here and there at typical galas, for the most part, they uninterested him.

He ended up attending one, and he was quite ready to leave and find himself amongst far more interesting company. Then, he spotted you just in time, and he wondered where such a beautiful and graceful gem had been hiding all along. Surely he had to have heard of you, and when he realized he hadn't, he would make sure you knew of him.

He more or less whisked you from his partner and pulled you into a dance full of energy, and he was delighted as you met his unpredictable steps. He'd flirt shamelessly, asking all about you, and if you'd be interested in meeting him in a … less formal setting. There would be endless gossip on you and the Dornish prince, but you didn't care, and danced the rest of the night with Oberyn. It was obvious he loved dancing as much as you did, and he made for a wonderful partner.

You attended a gala at Dorne for his brother's birthday, and Oberyn couldn't believe his luck you that were there. He pulled you into his arms at once, bringing you close and instructing you in the more sensual Dornish dances that most of Westeros was too scandalized by. If you would have him, he'd want you to be his paramour by the end of the night.

Oberyn liked to watch you at galas, and how you adapted so well to other partners and enjoyed every song, not taking a moment to rest. It was painfully obvious how taken he was with you by the way he’d smile in your direction, and when you two danced, you seemed lost in your own world. In the evenings, he’d do his utmost to spoil you and soothe your sore legs, praising your grace and movement the entire time.

YARA GREYJOY

As hard and bitter as the Iron Islands were, they liked loud music and good drink as well as any place in the Seven Kingdoms. Sometimes a tavern would just be full of both, and a great party would carry on into the night. You loved partaking in these, losing yourself in the music and singing along with the old sea shanties, even if you had plenty of hands to slap away. You didn’t let a bunch of foolish, drunk men ruin your fun.

Yara had seen you plenty of times before, and of course you knew her. She’d sit back with a drink and watch you sway your hips to the beat, and you’d give her a smirk or a wink in return. You were patient, she was not - eventually, she’d finish off her drink, stand up, shove off whatever man was hovering around you and bring you close to her.

You loved teasing the Greyjoy captain, often saying things like “My, haven’t we met before?”. Sometimes she played into it with you, other times she just hovered close to your ear and responded, “You know exactly who I am.”

You could tell Yara wanted to see you at times other than this, by the way she’d talk of you two ‘touring’ her ship’s quarters or where she might find you again, but you liked to keep her on her toes.

PETYR BAELISH

When Petyr asked you to dance with his disarming smile, you didn’t realize what you were in for. He was an absolute natural, holding you and leading you with expertise. He moved quickly, forcing you to keep up, but you loved the challenge. Fast songs that most people would sit out for were no problem for him, and he even had several sweet compliments for you, or playfully traded a few rumors he’d heard about you and some lord, secretly hoping you’d dispel them.

As you complimented him on his dancing, stating he was a natural, he’d brush it off with false modesty and insist he just practiced… but you knew from that prideful smirk that he was glad to impress you. He especially loved seeing you flushed and breathing heavily after several dances with him, imagining you with the same face in a much different setting.

If you were stuck with a particularly boring or sleazy partner, he’d time it perfectly, swooping in to rescue you right when you were at your wit’s end. With his usual charisma, he’d tell them you were needed, perhaps giving a swift insult to them in the same breath. Sometimes he’d hint that you were already involved with someone else, and would be delighted if you wouldn’t correct him.

The other side of Petyr would come out if you were having fun with other men, laughing along with their jokes or enjoying their dancing. It wasn’t that they were men specifically, but they were lords, rich lords with far more money and lands than he had. At that moment, he’d wait again, taking you in his arms once you were free. His usual quick step and cadence would seem slower, more deliberate, as he’d bring you closer to him. He’d be smiling, but he’d whisper all the things he could give you, how much better he was than them, and how they’d all hurt you anyway.

BERIC DONDARRION

Sometimes around the campfire with the Brotherhood, they burst into song and drunkenly dance along. You often felt a little out of place with them, even if you believed in them, as you were a highborn lady. They began singing a song you were familiar with, and since you had a few drinks yourself, you pulled Beric up with you, asking for a dance. He surprised you with properly holding your waist and hand, and you remembered he was a lord before this.

The men began to whistle and holler as you two attempted a waltz, but eventually it came back to you and you guided him. He laughed, as he had mostly forgotten, and cooed about how cute and lovely you looked. Eventually you slipped a bit and he caught you, picked you up and sat you back down with him, giving you plenty of kisses and holding him to you. You teased him, saying you wanted to keep dancing, and he promised he’d join you anytime you wanted one.

He knows you left behind a lot to join the Brotherhood, and as much as you say you love him, he still sometimes worries and just wants you to be happy. So he’s sees no problem in indulging in your dancing and singing, and often gets overwhelmed with how precious you are during those times.

Since he learned how much you enjoyed it, sometimes he’d surprise you, scooping you up and pulling you into a dance. Beric adored hearing you laugh with happiness, and he thought you looked especially pretty when two danced around the fire. Sometimes you’d jokingly teach his men how to dance ‘proper’, and even though they were playing around, Beric would get a little forlorn and eventually pull you back to him.

TORMUND GIANTSBANE

When you tried explaining to Tormund what galas and dancing in the South was like, he’d be quite confused, not understanding the point of it, but he just loved to hear you talk and describe it. Eventually he’d ask for a demonstration, and since you two were alone, you’d sigh and give it a try. “Well, it would be a bit easier to show you if I had another person-”

Instantly he’d stand up, and you’d laugh at his enthusiasm. You’d take his hands and guide him, rolling your eyes at his whistling when he grasps your waist and instantly brings you close to him. You try to attempt a few steps, but he’s having so much fun holding onto you and peppering you with kisses that you just laugh and let him.

He’d try to show you some wildling dances he’s picked up, although they’re few and far between, and mostly ceremonial. Again, he’d have so much fun watching you that he’d get distracted and just want to hold you.

At some point, when you’d all be gathered around a fire, someone brought up galas. You jokingly danced with Jon, who could somewhat remember the steps, and Tormund suddenly felt a little jealous. He got between the two of you, again holding to you and bringing you to his lap. He’d want to try it again, although he’d be quite drunk and would just end up holding you to him and swaying. You’d give him several kisses, all while whispering what sort of dresses you’d wear for him and how you two would dance. More than once you two would’ve been told to get a room.

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copias-thrall · 5 years ago

Text

There’s a New Papa in Town

The whole clergy was buzzing about it. Something had happened during the Ritual in Mexico. Sure, there had been hushed whispers about whether or not The Cardinal would meet the same end as the Emeritus brothers—but when the shaky footage of Papa Nihil had leaked, the Sibling’s dorms had erupted into bedlam.

And then the power had gone out.

*power play; power imbalance*

Ghouls slithered out of the darkness—not the feral but somewhat tame band Ghouls—the ones that still hissed and snarled to communicate and watched each human with hungry eyes. Phones were confiscated, and the Siblings were escorted back to their rooms—locks clicking from the outside—where they lit candles and talked softly to their roommates.

And if some of them though they heard howls and screams in the distance, they convinced each other it was just the wind through the old bones of the Abbey.

The next morning, Siblings awoke to the sounds of keys turning in their locks; they warily emerged into the halls where they were once again escorted like kindergartners to the mess hall (and if anyone noticed a slight dwindle of their numbers, no one said so). Sister Imperator stood at the head, stick straight as usual, flanked by her personal Ghouls.

After everyone had sat down, Imperator raised her hand—a subtle order for silence. When she had everyone’s attention, she spoke—her commanding voice loud enough the fill the hall even without the aid of a mic.

“Good morning, everyone. Last night there were higher than normal winds that knocked out some of our wires. The Ghouls were kind enough to help you back into your rooms for your own safety. You should thank them for their assistance.”

When no one spoke, the Ghouls at her side made “go on” motions, and the hall was briefly filled with the murmurs and mumbles of thanks.

“Very good,” said Sister, her voice clipped. “I’ve been told the electricity should be back on soon, but until then we’ll just have to make due with a cold breakfast.”

No one moved—some Siblings were literally at the edges of their seats—waiting to see if Sister Imperator would talk about It. The steel in her gaze seemed to meet everyone and no one at once. She lifted her chin and clapped twice.

“Chop chop! A power outage will get no one out of their chores or lessons. Breakfast hour still ends promptly at 9am.”

Slowly, the crowd in the hall began to move—quicker when they realized they’d have to fight over the potpourri that was set out for breakfast. Sister Imperator turned to leave, her Ghouls following a step behind, and it wasn’t until she’d reached the doorway that she’d turned her head over her shoulder and said,

“And I expect each and every one of you to be extra diligent in your chores today—Papa will be returning home tomorrow morning.”

She left the room before what she’d said even reached half of the gathered Siblings.

Excited chatter broke out as the game of telephone both amplified and muted the importance of her words. By lunch the rumors were flying, but without power, there was no confirming any of them. Their phones had been returned—all mysteriously without charge.

By dinner, everyone had stories of Copia’s favorites being summoned or taken by Ghouls. Some argued that meant The Cardinal was out of favor while others argued for it. That night, Sister Imperator imposed an early curfew and again had them locked into their rooms—for safety—since the power was still out.

At 6am sharp, the bells chimed out—not just a ringing of 6, but a whole unholy hymn. The Siblings were instructed to put on their ceremonial garbs and meet at the main entrance—some very lucky to get a spot outside, the rest congregating down the main hall. The Siblings found banners and their religious totems all done up in blue and gold—but any whispered speculation was quickly silenced by a sharp hiss and a jab of claw.

At 8am, the congregation saw Sister check her watch, and soon after they heard the low rumbling of a car and tires crunching across stone gravel. Some Siblings bounced on their heels, other clutched each other’s hands, and some swallowed in dread.

The Clergy limo finally pulled into view, and Imperator’s Ghouls rolled out a carpet, fibers blue and trimmed in gold. The door opened, and the band Ghouls emerged, sinuously—their polished masks held high, their uniforms new and still a rich black—to flank either side of the carpet.

Then.

A boot emerged.

Over the boot a hem—beautifully embroidered in golds—fell.

Then two legs came into view and with them a shock of blue vestments.

Aether and Swiss both leaned down, each lending a hand to help—

The Cardinal—

No, a freshly painted Papa Emeritus IV—out of the limo.

Like a butterfly out of a cocoon, Copia emerged, resplendent in his new colors and wearing his new title like a fist of iron. Gasps and sharp intakes of breath blanketed the crowd.

Mountain reverently placed the mitre on Copia’s head, and Copia give him the slightest of nods.

“Ah! Papa. Welcome home,” said Sister Imperator—her tone now laced with an emotion that could have been described as joy.

Copi—no, Papa—spread out his arms. “It is good to be home with my flock.”

When he was met with silence, Imperator said, “Well, is this how you welcome home your new spiritual leader?”

Claws were back jabbing in sides, and the congregation erupted into whistles and cheers—some genuine, some not—as Papa IV gestured with the subtly and grace of a ruler who knows not to waste their energy with grand movements.

Sister Imperator held out her hands, and Papa IV began to make his way down the blue carpet, stopping here and there to place chaste kisses on hands and unbless heads—his Ghouls following in his wake. When Papa IV reached Sister, he clasped her hands in his and leaned forward to kiss each cheek. He murmured something in her ear that became a hotly-debated topic for many meals to come—was it Madre, or was it Mater? Or—as some snorted—had it just been a non-verbal Mm?

Some poor fool—just loud enough to be heard—asked, “But where’s Papa Nihil?”

Dewdrop made a throat-slashing motion before Rain elbowed him.

Papa IV bowed his head, then turned to face his—his—congregation.

“It is with heavy heart I regret to inform you. Our dear Grand Papa has joined the Olde One.” Papa IV pointed a gloved finger to the ground. “This was a tour too many.”

The white noise of many whispers all up once filled the air, and Papa IV sliced his hand in front of him for silence.

“But what is a simple Cardinal to do when his superior insists on playing his solo?” Papa IV shrugged, an echo of his nervous rat persona. “Please, un momento di silenzio for Nihil, per favore.”

The congregation all bowed their heads, startled when Papa IV immediately clapped.

“Come! I have been hearing the beautiful Imperator prepared a welcome feast.”

Papa IV practically glided down the main hall, shaking hands and kissing foreheads. He paid particular attention to his favored—who had seamlessly reintegrated into the crowd and were beaming. They had apparently been tasked by Sister Imperator to carry out the celebration’s plans.

The only surprise came when Papa IV stopped in front of Sister Doreen. Sister Doreen had always been vocal on her disdain for Copia, saying her papal love would always be for Papa III. She’d often make chittering noises behind his back. Now she stood, pale faced, as Papa IV considered her. He held out a gloved hand, fingers now adorned with his ceremonial rings.

A Ghoul flinched as if to make for her, but Sister Doreen faltered only for a second before kneeling and kissing his rings. The whole hall let out an exhale it didn’t know it was holding as Papa IV gave her an unblessing and chucked her under the chin as permission to rise. He’d continued on down the hallway then, only pausing briefly to whisper in Cumulus’ ear.

Most of the crowd had their eyes glued to Papa IV’s form as he paraded away, but a few saw the Ghoulette walk over to Sister Doreen and hand her what looked like a square of cardstock.

The rest of that day was filled with pomp and ceremony over Copia’s ascension to Papa—the power having come back on sometime during his arrival. Papa IV sat contentedly—a Sister in his lap, a Brother feeding him fruit, a gaggle at his feet—as he watched most of the congregation gorge themselves on food and lose themselves in wine.

By midday, most of the Siblings were passed out drunk or in a food coma. Even some of the Abbey Ghouls lazed about, their tails slowly swaying in their stupor. The Band Ghouls had long since disappeared with their chosen Siblings.

Papa IV—looking a little more lax, a little less bright—dislodged his harem.

“It has been eventful, no? It is time for Papa to rest—no, no: not that kind. Enjoy the rest of the festivities.”

The Siblings pouted, but a well-placed kiss here, a cheek-stroke there, went a long way to easing the disappointment as they watched their new Head saunter off to his chambers.

His new chambers. The one guarded by two Abbey Ghouls, as befitting his new status.

It was a suite in the Emeritus wing, and either a trusted Sibling or Ghoul had carried over his possessions and his babies. Papa IV disrobed down to his tight suit, and bustled about, searching through drawers and boxes until he found the treats.

“Ah yes, sweet ones. Here you go.” The rats with their twitching noses and quivering whiskers rushed over to him as he opened their cage and let them take the treats off his fingers. “Daddy is celebrating today. You shall partake too, yes?”

Copia hung up his vestments, running his gloved hand along the fine embroidery, and he waited.

It wasn’t long before he heard muffled talking outside his door, and then a sharp rap. Copia put on one of the under robes, and answered the door. Sister Doreen stood there, hands clasped in front of her and looking pensive. Papa IV eyed her, then addressed the Ghouls.

“Yes?”

One of them held up the card—an invitation—for Papa’s inspection.

“Ah, thank you, Ghoul.”

Papa IV took the invitation and pretended to peruse it—but he already knew what it said. Knew it entitled the barer access to him to play.

“All is in order. She may enter.”

Papa IV didn’t even glance at the sister again until the door clicked shut behind him and he was seated in a chintz armchair. He caught and held her gaze—defiant still despite the contrition in her body language.

“So,” he said, “what has you seeking an audience with Papa?”

A glare crossed her face before she schooled it.

“You know why.”

“Do I? I must admit ignorance.”

“You ‘invited’ me here. Your Dark Excellency.”

“Sì. But you have come here why?”

Papa IV stood then, and Doreen flinched before holding her ground. He touched her head.

“Have you come to beg?” He slipped his hand down to grip her jaw. “Or have you come for … something else.”

Now she did glare at him.

“What if I’ve come for nothing, huh?”

Papa IV released her and stepped back.

“Then you have only wasted our time and you may go.” He gestured at the door.

“I may go,” she repeated.

“Sì.”

“And then what?”

“And then nothing. Life passes.” He paused. “But a warning: you continue to mock me at your peril.”

Doreen blanched.

“Ah. Not from me, child. I am unmerciful,” Papa IV spread his arms wide, “but some of your fellow Siblings. They are … fervent in their worship, yes? Best you be keeping your rat noises to yourself, mm?”

Doreen considered him.

“And if I don’t go?”

Papa IV crowded into her space, growling lowly. “If you stay I’m going to bend you over everything in here and you’re going to let me.”

He looked down at her again, his skull accents still stark against the white paint, his colorless eye practically glowing.

“Choose.”

Doreen crumbled to her legs and clutched at his robes.

“Please, P-Papa.”

Papa IV ran his hand through her hair.

“You have made an excellent choice, my child.”

He wrenched her head back.

“Now, up on your knees. You have a lot to atone for.”

“Y-yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Papa.”

#popia #papa iv #popia ascends #my writing #SA #sfw #power dynamics

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mithranqueersmusings · 4 years ago

Text

Before This Dance Is Through IV

Chapter: 4/16

Rating: U

Summary: Ringo's being going through a dry spell for the last year or so and when he regretfully tells his best friend John, he insists on taking them to an all-male strip club for some "fun". Ringo isn't sure whether it's the alcohol, his desperation or a mixture of the two but he thinks he might be falling in love with a stripper.

Tags: AU - Strippers, Modern Setting, Smut, Slow Burn

Pairings: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

Once Ringo had managed to compose himself, which took far longer than he'd care to admit, he ventured back out into the chaos of the club in search of John. He wasn't difficult to find, standing at the front of the stage cheering - practically screaming - and waving money around to get the dancer's attention. Unsurprisingly, the dancer was Paul. He was currently spinning around the pole with one hand, his ankles entwined to give him support. It was quite a beautiful sight, Ringo thought, watching his gentle movements. The club was considerably more empty by this point and the remainder of the customers had circled around the stage. Ringo slinked past a few drunken layabouts as he made his way over to John, he had to shout in his ear just to get his attention.

"Oh, Ringo!" John grinned, his breath stank of whiskey "How'd it go?"

"A little too well." Ringo chuckled, he coaxed John to sit down.

"Did he almost kill you this time?" John only passed Ringo a few glances, mostly his attention was on Paul.

"I think he did kill me. Then brought me back. Then killed me again." Ringo picked up John's drink and took a sip "Are they supposed to touch you?"

John paused his shouting for a moment "Touch you how?"

"Just... Y'know, touching. Getting me to touch him, him touching my chest." Ringo decided to leave out the crotch contact, he still wasn't sure whether it was intentional or not.

"Oh yeah, that's fine. As long as you're both consenting o'course. And as long as he's not dropping on his knees and sucking you off." John laughed and Ringo almost choked on the drink, the image those words conjured up was a surprising one.

"How much longer are you planning on staying?" Ringo settled back in his seat and turned his attention to Paul.

"Why? You in a hurry to get home and bash one out?" John nudged him without pulling his eyes away from the stage.

"Speak for yourself." Ringo scoffed, he didn't see the point in denying it.

"We can head out after Paulie's done." John nodded to gesture towards the man in question.

"Fine." Ringo stretched his legs out in front of him.

If he hadn't been so exhausted from Spike, Ringo probably would've gotten a little excited watching Paul but he was completely worn out. John had a shine in his eyes that Ringo didn't see very often, and his happiness was definitely contagious. They sat watching Paul for another two songs, during which he exhibited a ridiculous amount of core strength that Ringo could only dream of ever achieving. It was obvious that John was hoping to catch Paul before they headed back home, as much as he was trying to hide it, and Ringo probably would've hung around with him had he not been so exhausted or so sure that John was probably going to be back here within the week. In truth the main reason Ringo wanted to get out of there so quickly was because he didn't want to risk seeing Spike again, or rather Spike seeing him again; Ringo happily could've watched him from a safe distance all night but as soon as Spike was looking right back at him, knowing what Ringo was thinking, that was too much.

The cold night air stung Ringo's face and hands as they stepped back out into the street. Luckily his car wasn't too far away and while he was perhaps a little too tipsy to be driving he made sure he stayed off the main roads and never went over the speed limit - he could drive recklessly when he was sober but he'd never risk that when he was drunk. John was the only one talking on the drive back to his place, mostly rambling about things Ringo couldn't understand so he just nodded along and made affirming noises.

John leaned on Ringo for support as they walked up to his front door, Ringo knew he wasn't so drunk that he couldn't walk but he tended to do this when he was feeling a little lonely. Ringo had gotten more than used to it by now, he'd had to carry John to bed bridal style many times over the years so this was nothing. John fell face first down onto his bed which was still unmade and either fell asleep immediately or wanted Ringo to think he had. It had almost become a routine by this point: Ringo drove them home, carried John up to his room, left a glass of water by his bed and tidied up a few bits and pieces on his way out. Occasionally he'd check in John's fridge to see if he had any food in and if it was empty, which it often was, he'd offer to buy or cook the two of them dinner the next day. Ringo wasn't the subtlest about it sometimes, once or twice he'd even shown up with bags filled with groceries and left after handing them over without much of an explanation. John never acknowledged any of these things Ringo did, at least not verbally, but Ringo knew he appreciated them and he was sure John repaid the favour in some ways he wasn't aware of, or very aware of in the case of tonight.

Exhaustion hit like a strong wave once Ringo finally got back to his own place. He kicked off his shoes carelessly in the hallway and staggered into his bedroom; he didn't dare look at the time before he slid into bed, just chucked his phone into the furthest corner hoping that he'd remembered to set his alarm for the following morning. As soon as his head hit the pillow he expected to fall asleep almost instantly but his brain had other ideas. His body was definitely ready for sleep, his eyes were stinging and his muscles ached a little yet his mind was racing. This didn't happen a lot. Ringo was notoriously known for how well he slept and how loudly he snored but tonight that wasn't the case. He couldn't shake the images of the night from his mind or how warm Spike's skin had felt beneath his fingertips or the inviting smell of him. Ringo let out a groan as he tossed and turned, as though vigorous movement would throw the thoughts out of his head. The last thing he wanted to do was give into the urge but the first thing he wanted to do was sleep, and it was a pretty strong urge. Was there any better way to get to sleep than a quick orgasm? Probably. Ringo just had to tell himself that he was doing this purely for that purpose, as he wanked himself off under the covers with his eyes scrunched tightly and his brain filled with thoughts of Spike.

The following day was fairly uneventful, Ringo was up on time to sit eating breakfast in front of the television for an hour before he had to head out for work. It was his weekly lesson with a kid called Peter, he was nice enough and his parents were more than pleasant if not a little stupid. He'd been working with Peter for almost a year and while he'd made a great deal of progress since their first lesson he wasn't showing a massive amount of promise, but at least he was trying. Sometimes Ringo felt like speaking to his parents privately and breaking the news that their son wasn't going to become a world famous drummer, probably not even a locally famous one, but he needed the money too much. Peter was better than a lot of Ringo's students, most of which had watched Whiplash a few too many times and decided they wanted to be the next John Bonham only to give up in two months because it was 'too hard'.

After their lesson ended Ringo decided to walk around town for a little while, usually he'd be out in search of lunch by now but Peter's parents always prepared him some food which he was never too polite to refuse - after all smoked salmon was considerably more appetising than a tepid sausage roll from Greggs. He decided to pop into his favourite record shop, although it wasn't like there were many others to choose from. Despite the accessibility to music his phone provided, Ringo always had a deep love for vinyl records; they were nostalgic somehow, even if they had no significance to his own childhood. Like most record shops, this one sold a fair bit of vintage clothing too although Ringo was never too interested in that. He didn't really have any particular record in mind as he walked in so ended up browsing through the plethora of options. There was only one other person in the shop, excluding the owner who sat behind the counter and gave Ringo a welcoming smile, but it sounded like there were a couple of people downstairs in the clothing section. As Ringo began to flick through some of the records his phone buzzed in his pocket.

can you bring me coffee???

It was John, which was a little surprising considering he usually didn't wake up until far later in the afternoon if he'd been drinking heavily the night before.

hello to you too

i dont have time for formalities i need COFFEE

why dont you have any coffee in your house

i dont have time for questions either

any coffee in particular my liege?

ha ha just get me one from maccies pleaseeee

fine im just in town atm can you wait like 10 mins

suppose ill have to

suddenly im too busy

shut up just bring me coffee ill love you forever and all that

i should bloody think so too

Ringo chuckled to himself quietly as he put his phone back into his pocket, he took a final quick look at the stack of records then began making his way outside. Before he could make it to the door he suddenly collided with someone who had been turning up from the staircase, which resulted in a few pieces of clothing flying upwards and landing on the ground. Ringo began apologising immediately, crouching down to pick up the clothes to hand them back over. As he straightened back up to apologise for perhaps the fourth time he froze upon seeing exactly who he'd bumped into.

"Spike." Ringo blurted out, his brain had decided to throw the name out as soon as it crossed his mind.

"Only after 9." He responded instantaneously, it must've been a frequent line he used "Do I... Oh! It's you."

"The very same." Ringo chuckled nervously, he wondered whether he'd actually recognised him or was just being polite - Ringo couldn't decide which one he'd prefer.

It was very strange seeing him like this, so normal that it was abnormal. He was wearing a dark blue turtleneck which framed his sharp jaw and hugged his slim body nicely. Over that lay a yellow beaded necklace and his trousers were a dark suede material; he looked good, somehow more alluring when he was fully clothed. Ringo noticed he was staring, he only hoped that Spike hadn't noticed but it was impossible to tell with the unreadable darkness of his eyes. He cleared his throat, as if he couldn't get any more obvious, then held out the patterned shirt he'd picked up so Spike could take it from him. Their hands brushed slightly at the exchange and Ringo felt the hairs on his arm standing up.

"They're nice, er- Nice clothes." Ringo stammered, yanking his hand back to his side.

"Suppose I should be thanking you for them." Spike replied, there was a faint smile on his lips.

"Oh?" Ringo heard the pitch of his voice rising slightly.

"You helped pay for them." Spike explained, the smile grew.

"Well John paid, really. But he does owe me money so I guess I did pay in a way. Glad to see the money's going somewhere good either way." Ringo rambled, once again his mouth was moving before his brain could stop it.

"Right." Spike said, his tone was very final yet he didn't move to leave.

"I best be getting out of your way so you can actually pay for those." Ringo shuffled sideways towards the door, expecting Spike to step backwards to give him some room but he just stood there looking at him - was it not enough to make him suffer at the club, did he have to punish him now too?

"Are you always this nervous?" Spike grinned.

"No I- You just caught me by surprise is all." Ringo forced himself to take a deep breath.

"Okay." Spike squinted his eyes slightly then turned to head towards the counter.

Ringo was surprised he was able to get back to his car without collapsing, all the tension leaving his body as soon as Spike's eyes were off him made him feel practically boneless. Spike didn't look back at him but Ringo supposed he didn't have to, he would've known he was staring at him. Ringo gripped the steering wheel tightly as he drove, somehow managing to make it to the drive-through without consciously driving there. He ordered a coffee for John and a milkshake for himself, he figured he could do with a pick-me-up after that atrocious encounter. Not once in all the times he'd gone to that shop had he seen Spike there, and it couldn't have been a case of merely not noticing him before because Ringo definitely would've noticed someone looking like that walking around. It felt like God was playing some cruel trick on him, but in reality it was nothing more than a coincidence married with Spike's cruelty which produced that painful exchange. Ringo tried not to think about it as he drove over to John's but his brain had apparently decided to betray him, just as his mouth had done earlier.

John had took a while to answer the door and Ringo began to worry that he'd fallen back asleep - it was times like this that he figured he may as well have a key to his place. When the door swung open, Ringo burst in a little too aggressively and knocked John backwards slightly.

"Jesus, what's crawled up your arse?" John chuckled as he closed the door "Don't tell me the ice cream machine was broken again."

John's presence calmed Ringo significantly but he couldn't shake the tension in his body completely "Guess who I just bumped into." He set the drinks down on John's kitchen table and took a seat.

"Ooh was it that guy from the train station? Or how about-" John took a seat opposite him and gripped the coffee eagerly.

"You're not actually meant to guess." Ringo interrupted, he tried to sound commanding but it was a little difficult when he was holding a strawberry milkshake.

"Then don't say 'guess' you git. The English language is wasted on you." John put his feet up on the table "Who was it then?"

"Spike." Ringo widened his eyes.

"No shit. Really?" John cackled "What happened?"

"I was at that record shop and he was coming up from the basement and I walked straight into him." Ringo explained.

"Nothing straight about it." John mumbled behind his coffee.

"Funny." Ringo glared "It was so fucking embarrassing, I could hardly speak."

"What did he say?" John asked.

"Nothing really. He probably said about three words so I figured he didn't want to talk to me but he just stood there. I didn't want to be rude and just rush out but looking back I probably should've." Ringo sighed.

"Yeah, you probably should've." John snickered.

"Not helping."

"What do you want me to say?"

"I dunno... I'm sure it wasn't that bad or something."

"Well, was it that bad?"

"He asked me if I was always so nervous."

John burst into laughter "Jesus, Ringo. That's pretty bad."

"Guess that's the last time I'll be going to the strip club, or the record shop for that matter."

"Don't be so dramatic. So you were a little awkward in front of him, who cares?"

"I care."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want him thinking I'm some sort of loser."

"Why do you give a shit what he thinks?"

Ringo didn't say anything, he just held his cup tightly and looked at John straight in the eye.

"Look, you've got nothing to get so worked up about. If he thought you were so pathetic he wouldn't have even spoken to you." John lifted his feet off the table and leaned forward in his seat "He's just messing with you, probably thinks it's funny."

"He was smiling." Ringo mumbled.

"Well there you go." John reached his hand forward and poked at Ringo's arm "You're being ridiculous. Chances are you won't bump into him again, you've gone your whole life without doing it before."

"But-" Ringo began.

"No buts! Unless they're butts on the stage covered in leather I don't wanna hear it." John interrupted "Bottom line is you like watching this guy strip right?"

"Well, yeah-" Ringo tried again.

"So what's the problem? It's not like you found out he's your cousin or one of your students, is it?" John smiled warmly.

"Suppose not." Ringo couldn't help smiling too.

"We really need to get you laid, it's making you crazy. I'm supposed to be the crazy one, don't try and take that away from me." John leaned back in his chair again.

"I don't intend to." Ringo chuckled looking down at his feet.

"So... Same time next week?" John raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"You really hate me, don't you?"

"On the contrary! I love you very much, my dear Ringo. That's exactly why I'm gonna take you back there so you can prove you're not some pathetic weirdo."

"How exactly?"

"Just be yourself, you can manage that can't you?"

"Not quite sure I want to."

"Oh hush. Leave the self-deprecation to me if you don't mind." John paused to sip his coffee "This time next week you'll have forgotten all about this, and I'm sure he will too."

"I guess you're right."

But John hadn't been right. Ringo had thought about that small exchange for days. He found himself picking apart every small moment and trying to rationalise it in his mind: had Spike actually recognised him? Why did he just stand there while Ringo tried to squeeze past? Why had been smiling so strangely the whole time? No matter how many answers Ringo tried to give to himself, the whole situation only became more confusing. He felt like a teenager again, stumbling over his words and blushing at the tiniest bit of contact. It was pathetic, shameful really. Maybe if he just took John's advice and actually went and slept with someone all these weird feelings would just be gone. But he didn't want just someone, he wanted him.

#the beatles #beatles #beatles fanfic #the beatles fanfic #beatles fanfiction #george harrison/ringo starr #ringo starr/george harrison #ringo starrxgeorge harrison #george harrisonxringo starr #starrison

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subidol · 6 years ago

Text

Jaemin NSFW A-Z

Warning: 00 LINE SMUT! DON’T LIKE DON’T READ!

THIS IS MY OPINION BTW!!

SORRY FOR MISTAKES I DIDN’T CHECK LOL.

FML IF I FORGOT A LETTER

A- Aftercare

Na Jaemin is amazing at giving aftercare. Firstly, he’d just cuddle with you for a few minutes, stroking your hair peacefully. If you didn’t fall asleep already, he’d definitely get up and make you a hot drink. He might run a bath for the two of you, where he’d already decorated the bathroom with petals and candles. It’d be so cheesy but thats Nana for you. Then to settle you back to sleep after a long round, he’ll sing you to sleep quietly, kissing your forehead every once in a while.

B- Body (Your favourite part of his body and his favourite part of yours)

Well, i can’t exactly guess your favourite part of Jaemin’s body, but i sure as hell love his arms.

Like...how dare he attack you like this?? They may not be the most muscled arms in NCT, but they are nicely toned and you just adore laying your head on them, and giving his shoulders and biceps kisses. His favourite body part of yours is most likely your cheeks (face cheeks lmao); he loves squishing them and kissing them, pinching them, you name it. But he also loves your breasts, whether they’re big or small, because he wants to reassure you that he loves them. Also uses them as pillows ehehe.

C- Cum

When you’re comfortable, and on the pill, he prefers coming inside of you since he feels it is very intimate. However, he knows how risky it is so he will only do this every once in a while. He’d be really tidy though. His pullout game is strong lol.

D- Dirty Secret

Secretly up for having a threesome/foursome with either Jeno or Jeno and Renjun. But we all knew that, didn’t we? Only if you were up for it though.

E- Experience (how experienced they are)

Obviously, Jaemin is an experienced flirter, but hasn’t has much experience with sex, since he’s only just legal. My belief is that he’s probably had blowjobs, fingered a girl, etc but never gone too far. However, i believe he’d be a natural in bed. Freaking perfect at eating you out, cockwarming, and doing all the right things to turn you on. Thrusts like a god.

F- Favourite Position

It depends on the mood, but he likes it when you ride him, since he gets a nice view of your face and breasts bouncing up and down. He does enjoy missionary though, since Jaemin likes to take control over the situation so you don’t have to worry about anything. He will never try positions you weren’t comfortable with. If you were up for it, he’d try anything new if that’s what you wanted cause he’ll literally do anything for you.

G- Goofy

Jaemin is like a lightswitch; one moment hes all giggly and cute, but as soon as you get into bed he’s as serious and sexy as ever. He doesn’t want to ruin the hot mood. He’ll be really romantic though- constantly asking you if you’re okay or if you want him to go slower or faster.

H- Hair

He keeps it messy, but not too uneven. His hair tends to stick to his neck when he sweats, so just like he would practice a choreography,his hair would be all over the place when you’d get intimate, too, which you didn’t mind.

I- Intimacy

Jaemin loves being romantic and sees sexual acts as a way to bond passionately as well as expressing how much he trusts and wants you. He’s the type to lay rose petals on the bed or in the bath. Might even leave you cute little notes leading to the bed, where he’d be laying, waiting for you.

J- Jack Off

Nana probably masturbates quite a lot, since he’s a hormonal teenager, what else can i say. Honestly, he’ll just think of you as the one who is feeling him up, as he touches himself. Probably does it after fan meets, performances and practice, which makes him feel really turned on after hours of hard work.

K- Kink

Hmm...Nana seems like the type to have a thing to be dominant (not that he wouldn’t like being submissive) but not to the level of bondage, daddy kink, etc. Idk, he just seems too sweet and caring to ever tie you up or degrade you, even if its what you really wanted. He seems like the type to adore body worship and leaving hickies/scratches. He’d love leaving hickies on your neck, but would make sure not to go too rough unless you said so. No matter what, Nana lives for scratches on his back. Gripping his hair and raking your nails down his backis HIS THING OKAY. HE FUCKING LOVES IT COME @ ME.

L- Location (Favourite place to have sex)

The bed- it’s the most comfy, and all Nana cares about is your comfort, what a sweetie. I think he’d never have sex in public, but might finger you underneath the table or something. Loves bath sex too, since the water’s warm and has a nice aroma, which hightens the mood.

M- Motivation (Turn Ons)

Seeing you in frilly clothes. I feel like he’d be attracted to lighter coloured clothes on you, like white and pink? Definitely gets him hard. Will like it when you play a little hard to get, since he adores teasing you. Plus, if you rake your hands through his hair, squeeze his thigh and biting his ear, etc...you’re getting him worked up with those dangerous fingertips. When he really needs you, he ends up sexting you. A lot. Especially in class so be prepared lmao.

N- No (Turn Offs)

Strange kinks. They aren’t romantic. Things like foot fetish. Erm..yeah he isnt into it. He doesn’t like degrading, whether receiving or giving. He wouldn’t understand why you’d want to call each other such horrible names.

O- Oral

Jaemin, when receiving, is a whole hot mess. With his head thrown back, sweat covering his body, and his arm over his eyes, he looks fucking delicious.When hes giving oral, he literally will do anything to hear your cute moans, which often leads to him making you feel extreme pleasure. This boy is perfect at giving and putting on a show when receiving.

P- Pace

If you’re not the one setting the pace, then he prefers to keep it steady. Not slow exactly, but not speedy either. He wants to make sure you feel him, and he stretches you in all the right places. He loves slowly kissing you as he thrusts, but will end up bucking his hips and going faster when he’s building up to his climax. It’s not hard to tell when Jaemin’s close to an orgasm. He’ll mutter out things like ‘I love you, Princess.’ or just will simply let out a string of moans and pull you closer.

Q- Quickies

Jaemin’s the type to really crave quickies. Anytime really. However, if you’re not a fan of them, he’ll give himself major sexual frustration, and will eventually beg you to suck his cock later when the two of you are alone. But they’ve happened in recording studios MANY times before.

R- Risk (His comfort zone)

He does enjoy doing it in front of other members, but doing it secretly, like underneath the blankets or something. Anything like knife or blood play is a big NO. He will NEVER take the risk. As i’ve said before, Jaemin likes cumming inside of you. He won’t ever do it without your permission though.

S- Stamina (How many rounds)

Jaemin thinks that one round is enough, but he’ll do other stuff with you after. Make out, spoon, give you hickies and will then give you a bath or watch tv you you. He likes to make the first round last, and for it to be as perfect as possible, which wouldn’t be a problem since hes amazing at sex.

T- Toy (His favourite sex toys)

Doesn’t mind vibrators being used on him, but finds it addicting when they’re used to torment you. Especially when you’re studying. He’d turn it on ad off repeatedly, getting you hot and bothered while in your lessons.

U- Unfair (How they tease you)

Nana is a whole tease. He’s a brat, okay? He’s a playful, teasing bratty switch who most of the time gets challenged for dominance because you plan on giving him a hard time for all of his flirting and relentless teasing. He does shit like wear sleeveless shirts on purpose, and biting his lip waaay too many times. Winks often and generally gives you the ‘I know you want to fuck me’ look. Also, Jaemin has a habit of getting you jealous by flirting with fans- you fucking hate that.

V- Volume (How vocal they are)

He struggles to be quiet sometimes, especially when you kiss and suck his body, near his arousal. Whines like hell when you scratch down his back and kiss his jawline. He tries to make his moans pretty and loud, since he knows its a turn on for you. Nana isn’t afraid about letting you know how good you make him feel. Always breathes heavily after his release, which is even hotter.

W- Wild Card (Author’s Choice)

Jaemin wouldnt be nervous having sex at all. The only time he might slightly panic is when it’s your first time. He wants the experience to be as pleasurable as possible, but then again, he is very confident, so there’d be no need to worry. He’d be extremely honoured if he was your first, and would prepare the entire thing leading up to it. He’s so sweet and gentle.

X- X-ray (Their Package)

You’re fucking welcome. I don’t own the vid.

Y- Yearning (Sex Drive)

Jaemin has a high sex drive, what can i say? He craves for your touch 24/7, and constantly thinks of fucking you at the most random of times. Touches himself twice a day when you’re not around, watches porn like any other boy, and looks at pictures of you. It takes a lot of courage for him to NOT fuck you in the dorm rooms.

Z- ZZZ (How fast they fall asleep after)

Nana falls asleep so fast. He has such energy before and during sex but as soon as he reaches his climax, hes exhausted from all the stimulation. All he’d want to do is cuddle with you after. Make sure you get him up at the right time though...or another member will. Eek.

Hope you enjoyed!

fuck this took ages

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acarrow · 5 years ago

Text

“ what separates the wolf from the sheep is not a matter of good or evil. we all have teeth — but only some of us are willing to use them. ”

( danielle rose russell, twenty, cis-female ) my goodness, is ALECTO CARROWback? it’s been a while since the PUREBLOOD has been around the castle, but i’d recognize HER anywhere. rumor has it the SEVENTH YEAR spent the year aligned with the DEATH EATERS. but I hear they’re still POISED & SHARP and OVER-CAUTIOUS & DESIROUS. and the RAVENCLAW still reminds me of jeweled daggers tucked into frothy skirts like a secret; gilt edged pages on old books; perfume pressed to pulse points like a shield; the cool, lonely whisper of dead leaves on marble steps. well, then, I guess some things never change. ( zoe, 21, cst, she/her )

WARNINGS: discussions of war, parental neglect, familial death; alcohol mention, weapon mention, manipulation ADDITIONAL MATERIALS: alecto’s playlist, stats page, & pinterest board

the carrow family had amycus, so it wasn’t a total let down when alecto ilse carrow was born and was born a girl. but if everyone was being honest, there wasn’t any real thrill there for her either. they loved her in a rote way and cared for her in a rote way and their distance and cool removal from her life spoke more than anything they ever did for her.

they would tell strangers, of course we love our daughter. but alecto herself couldn’t recall ever hearing them tell her they loved her, not to her face.

the carrows, historically, were not the most refined when it came to the most sacred. sure, they were one of the best families --- but their machinations never seemed to be the sort that won the hearts of a people; their plans, never the ones put to action. they had wealth and connections enough, bloodlines going as far back as any of the other twenty-eight’s; but they were not half so perfect.

alecto didn’t like people not expecting perfection from her. her parents saw so little when they looked at her, and it grated to see the same from the people they were surrounded by. so she made changing that expectation her mission at, in all honesty, too young an age.

they thought carrows weren’t the ones to beat. fine. wasn’t she one to beat all on her own? wasn’t she enough to change the tides of her family’s reputation?

her parents, they were amused; let her try, for soon she’d realize that she was a girl, and would always, always fall short of expectations. she’d decided this at a precocious eight years old after a particularly disastrous dinner party; at the time, this mission of hers started with presenting a flawless front to anyone looking at her expecting another carrow wildcard. she’d always been precocious; she knew what game they were all playing and just how to play it.

( didn’t they all know how easy it was? to become like them? )

ii.

around the same time she reached this decision, for the path she’d tackle the rest of her life, her aunt dulcinea died and crushed alecto’s heart.

aunt dulcinea and uncle anatole were distant carrow relatives and in alecto’s weaker, punishable, childish moments — she’d wished they’d been her parents. she wished it stupidly, in place of wishing for her own parents to love her.

at the reading of her aunt’s will, alecto received dulcinea’s wand ( 12 ¼", griffin feather and aspen, quite flexible and carved with a loving hand ). and though she wasn’t of an age yet to use magic, her uncle practiced dueling with her using sticks found in the gardens on the carrow estate. even before she could legally utter a single spell, alecto was a skilled duelist. she tucked this into her back pocket like a secret; would let out shining peals of false, childish laughter if ever anyone asked about those dueling lessons. her, dueling? no, no, no. she was itty, bitty, and ladylike, faint at the very idea of fighting. her uncle anatole had simply been indulging her silly games of make - believe.

iii.

she made friends greedily as a child; ostensibly so she could have the connections, the network, that was so vital to the lives of adults in pureblood society. but the small truth was that alecto just fed on human connection. she loathed how much liked people to like her and resented that she needed people at all. but it was true, and it could be useful.

she tried, at times, unthinkingly, to imitate the distance her parents had with her. she loved talking and hated talking all at once, but she did pride herself on being able to fill hours of conversation with no substance at all. and it better cemented the idea that she didn’t actually desire the friends or acquaintances she had --- if every interaction was hollow, what could prove she thrived on them? how would anyone know much she relished the meandering words?

she could be very cruel to those around her — not necessarily on purpose, but also not not on purpose. there was a threshold, where acquaintances shifted into someone alecto would trust with her life. at that threshold she tended to turn mean, to turn people away, and it was a horrible habit and one she wouldn’t break.

but all the feigned distance in the world couldn’t keep her from finding actual friends, and she would kill for those she cared for. reckless all or nothing thinking like that was just the carrow way. true,

fierce friendship was an earned thing, but a warm-looking smile from dear alecto cost her nothing at all.

iv.

she was sorted into ravenclaw; perhaps it would have disappointed her family, if they’d had expectations high enough to disappoint in the first place. when alecto was eleven, and wrote home with news of the sorting, she knew she’d lost any chance of being the favorite --- slim as the chance had ever been. oh, her parents had indulged her goal of making a name for herself. she was their daughter; clever enough, pretty enough, to indulge. but they’d never seen that indulgence yielding anything, and her sorting only confirmed it for them.

( she suspected they wrote to her brother more, while at school. no, of course she never asked him. she was a ravenclaw, smart enough to know that some doors need not be opened. )

imagine: a little carrow in ravenclaw tower, all alone amongst peers of all blood statuses and backgrounds. she thrived there, much though she hid that fact from her parents. they certainly never imagined her thriving. she had her aunt’s wand and her uncle’s scattered owls, friends she made cautiously and recklessly in equal measure, a feeling of total abandonment gifted to her by her parents’ abandonment. it was heady, and dangerous.

she kissed people her parents would have been scandalized to know she knew at all, linked arms with girls from families her father had long disparaged over breakfast. joined the quidditch team and shared sportsman-like handshakes with any opposing player she could hunt down after matches.

her grins were sharp and wicked and her laughter soft and surprised and she knew --- she knew! --- that the home she felt in the castle could never last once outside of it.

it was a home, and that word just didn’t mean anything for girls like her.

alecto was just a girl, darling little thing. the carrow daughter with a whip-sharp mind --- that she made sure to only show in carefully curated fields, that was a problem all the same. she would bring no heirs, and the thought of the mind on her made it hard for the family to imagine setting up an enviable match for her. she would never find it easy, being a trophy hanging off someone’s arm. they may not have cared for her any more than they had to, but they knew her better than she ever thought they did. she did not bend or bow to anyone, and that would make her life harder than her parents thought it had to be.

the lives of pureblood daughters could be easier than breathing, in the new world they had hopes of cultivating. if only alecto would let things be easy.

her parents might have thought she had an allergy to the simple route. and maybe she did; maybe they were right, and she was wired all wrong. her mind was a tricky place --- all those forbidden books in her common room, all six and a half years, they had an impact. perhaps on a stronger carrow they’d have been nothing when compared to the things her family had told her all her life. but she acted like they were no stronger carrows, and pretended like the act didn’t cost a thing.

when her parents and their cohort went and got her home blown up, alecto learned to pretend like lots of things cost her nothing at all.

see, the pretending was easy: she just had to strap her knives and wand to her thigh with pretty little garters, the better to flash the steel beneath silk skirts and lace robes. the beauty of the muggle weapons caught her eye and held it --- she heard someone whisper it was a sign of her cruelty, that she could imagine wielding something so primitive. heard someone else whisper she was pretty as one of her daggers, and twice as sharp.

oh, how she hadn’t missed full immersion in pureblood society. at night, she dreamed of ravenclaw tower.

in her years away from school, she learned to enjoy the refined burn of shots worth more galleons than some could ever see. she learned to love glittering adornments, and tossing her hair, and beguiling with a single flash of her pearly-white fangs. she was good. except when she was bad. and loathe though she was to admit it, she could still find enough ancient carrow in her to be very, very bad ... when she so chose.

badness could very easily be written off as youth, except by those who shared alecto’s youth with her. to them, well, it was her typical carrow tendencies coming out to play. it was her growing tired of the never ending act she’d started years and years ago. it was her doing very reckless things, perhaps unknowingly --- or perhaps awaiting the mess she’d leave in her wake. she’d have to fix the mess, of course, and in that fixing would lie the cool reminder that while she looked like any of the rest of them, she would always be a carrow. and carrows are too sharp, too much, and so alecto is, too.

( the secret was she was too much alecto to be anything, really )

vi.

she didn’t even like pureblood society that much; up close, it didn’t glitter like she’d imagined as a child, on the outside looking in.

she resented the idea that she’d have to marry some man eventually, who she likely wouldn’t care about and who likely wouldn’t appreciate her for all that she was. but if she wanted to be more than a wife or mother she knew she’d have to show her hand --- reveal that she had a mind for strategy, that she knew a thousand wicked things. sign herself away to the war for a side she doesn’t believe in. it would surprise no one to learn that both action and inaction held steep consequences.

but alecto didn’t want to fight; and in the meantime, no one was asking her to, not really. without her n.e.w.t.s, she was in a limbo. her parents and their ilk suspected how useful she could be, but had no final grades to prove it. it wasn’t worth the embarrassment, bringing a girl to the dark lord with no way of showing she had use. so she took up an easy job at some publishing house in diagon alley, something that required little wandwork. nothing flashy enough to catch the attention of someone who’d ask why she wasn’t putting that wand of hers to use. but something that let her escape her family estate and the stifling meetings conducted there.

( she attended one here and there, when roped into it; the carrow girl on the sidelines, showing how much loyalty her father inspired in those around him. a less skilled actor than alecto might’ve gagged on the falsehoods and prejudice clouding the air. )

her family continued ignoring her, most of the time; neglecting to see any real usefulness. and there was safety in that --- she might yet make it to a disappointing marriage without any blood on her hands.

in a perfect world she could lay down in neutral ground and not move a muscle for either side. not have to enter some loveless future, either. but what would that make of her family loyalty? the last thing she wants is more disappointment from her parents. more proof that she’s never been what they wanted. for all that she despises them, she can’t help but want her parents to love her; and deserting their side of the war will not inspire love.

this was, of course, no perfect world. alecto was not the sort of girl who lived in happy endings. so while she didn’t want to join the war, had no desire to loan her mind to the death eaters --- she knew she would. she would have to. she was a carrow, and so of course she’d join the fight. the plain and simple fact of the matter was that there was no possible path for her that didn’t beat her heart into bloody submission. so that life, that planned future, was better than nothing at all. right?

vii.

alecto couldn’t be paid to give two shits about blood status. she knew her family fought tooth and nail along with all their peers for the glory and triumph of blood purity --- and regrettable as it was to dwell on, it was background noise she would ignore because she could afford to ignore it. just because she could care for, or befriend, a muggleborn with no internal struggle didn’t mean she'd ever actively do anything to help them; not with things as they were now. things had been different in school, and this damned war had ripped that from her too soon.

she didn’t have much exposure to people of other blood statuses as a child and that’s when she set her heart on winning at life in pureblood circles. sometimes goals like that were hard to let go of. so while her stomach curls at the lack of intelligence she sees as inherit in blood purist ideologies she doesn’t actually ... fight the fact that pureblood circles are run on purist ideologies. for as much as she hates being tied to her parents, she’s loyal to the carrow name. if they’re not jumping ship, then she can’t either. she won’t be the only carrow stupid enough to leave.

she’d rather break her heart and throw herself into a cause liable to kill her than become her own person separate from the life she’s wasted years building.

viii.

no one needed to know she hated this; softness was worse than wildness, in alecto’s eyes. her wildness couldn’t be helped, but she’d die before anyone saw her weak. let them see a ruthless game-player with a heart carved from crystalline ice. let them see a wicked woman with a cold interest in the ways people could hurt. let them see a girl, damnably neutral while she still could be, cards always held close to the chest.

hogwarts opened back up and alecto was desperate for the chance to return --- and desperately happy that she’d retained her neutrality while outside its walls. damnable it might’ve been, but alecto hardly cared. her family and their pureblood peers could all assume she was on their side; assume that though ( tiny slip of a girl that she was ) she’d never taken up arms, she agreed with them. who the fuck cared?

she was going back to her one true home, if only for one more year.

she could put off proving those assumptions true for a little while longer.

she can pretend she won’t prove them true; it’s a kind thing to pretend. but a kind mask is still a mask. and alecto knew masks, could pluck one from her shelves and put it on in her sleep. it was easier, after all, to not think; some part of alecto has always known this, long learned how to turn off her racing thoughts, her conscience, her heart, in order to do what needed to be done. she hated it. but she did it. at least for one more year, she’d be turning off her racing thoughts, and her conscience, and her heart, for kind and selfish reasons. she so seldom did things selfishly, and there were worst last hurrahs.

sooner or later alecto would give in --- in a way that could never be undone. or, perhaps, she’d come to hate feeling her family’s belated pride resting on her head like poisoned laurels. prove even herself wrong and desert them and their pitied crowns.

( she prays for the former and hopes for the latter, with her wicked, traitorous heart. )

#thq intro #( ⊱ ━━ 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒓𝒖𝒏 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒔 ┊ intro. )

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orcinusorca1617 · 5 years ago

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Favorite Star Wars Fics

REBELCAPTAIN

Floating, Sinking shuofthewind

Somewhere in her is the sinking feeling that they weren't supposed to survive.

[In which they all live, in a manner of speaking, and they keep going, in spite of the odds.]

[Post-Rogue One. Runs through A New Hope. Eventual Rebelcaptain.]

whetstone shuofthewind

They're finished with their first mission. Now it's just the matter of downtime.

[Part of the floating, sinking universe. Mostly just fluff.]

Restless jenniferjun1per

Jyn needs to sleep, but she can't seem to get comfortable.

You Still Are leralynne

The scar zigzags down her side, puckered white along the ridges of her ribs. Cassian’s fingers still the first time they brush over it. With her head on his chest, she can feel his intake of breath.

A Long Pause leralynne

“Be quiet!” Jyn hisses. “I hear something!” Cassian stills. And then slowly, very slowly, he lifts his lips from Jyn’s collarbone.

slowly, and then all at once caramelle

It's probably sheer stubbornness, Cassian thinks wryly.

Even so, it doesn't mean he's just going to leave her like that.

Or, the one where Jyn has a habit of falling asleep around the apartment, and Cassian develops a habit of carrying her back to bed, because he's a Gentleman, and a Good Friend.

There For You guineapiggie

They reach Yavin IV and Jyn has every intention to lock herself in the room they've given her and not come out ever again. However, someone strongly disagrees with that plan.

flight lessons ignitesthestars

“One hundred percent of the crashes I have experienced involved you, Jyn Erso.” K2 informs her pleasantly. “Given that no other flight experience I've been involved in has experienced an abrupt descent, I can only conclude that you - oh. You're bleeding.

Or, Jyn is slightly impaled and Cassian sees to her wound. Emotions are had.

Won't You Let Us Wander (series) angel_deux

Cassian came back for her. Again and again. After Scarif, that complicates things for Jyn, who's used to running | 13 part series.

Cuddling for Warmth leralynne

“Jyn is shivering,” K2 observes, with the kind of bland indifference only possible when one is a droid incapable of experiencing just how goddamn freezing this planet is.

Bloody Little Worms Kobo

Jyn Erso is accustomed to being jolted awake. Saw Gerrera shaking her awake at every hour of the night, keeping her on her toes; the rough shift from hyperspace to realspace rattling the frame of a ship; Imperial guards smacking their batons against iron bars; nightmares, images of her father’s last breath or the echoing smack of Cassian’s back against steel bars: Jyn is accustomed to those.

A white hot grip on her lungs? This marks the first time she’s awoken to that.

Closer muggleindenial28

"They don’t speak on the way down.

They don’t acknowledge the distant shrill screams of TIE Fighters and X-Wings outside.

They don’t think about how they’re not going to get out in time."

They make it off Scarif, but not without scars.

like real people do mollivanders

“I have an idea,” she says, mind whirling as she steps towards the room. “We need a reason to be here like this.” He follows close behind her and she can practically feel the tension washing over him. In contrast, the plan forming in her mind has provided her with a calm clarity. He closes the door behind them before she props it ajar/

They need to be caught.

Beach House lyresandlasers

“Never say I don’t support you,” Jyn lifted his head into her lap, cradled in crossed legs.

cover me, i'll cover you mollivanders

“Are you hurt?” he asks blindly, reaching for her only to snatch his fingers back as she lurches away. He forgets she’s like a feral animal when she’s injured, used to being the only person having her back. “Let me see,” he says, trying to force authority and calm into his voice, both to reassure her and take control of the situation.

Inside, he’s anything but.

I hear the revolution rebsrising

The babble sounds through the baby monitor, soft and quiet, but enough to wake two well-trained soldiers still adjusting to the safety of peace.

Bodhi's Perspective rebsrising

It’s a simple scene - and that’s what strikes Bodhi the most. They kiss like they’re going to do it everyday for the rest of their lives. And he hopes, not for the first time, that they have the chance.

We Can Turn Over and Start Again kyrdwyn

After Scarif, Jyn starts over, with a new mission, and an unexpected friend.

Fifteen Days clashofqueens

It's hard to hold on to a happy ending during a war, and in the final days of the Rebellion, Jyn might lose hers.

Lay Down My Shields katsumi

Jyn comes down with a strange reaction to a foreign plant, but it doesn't seem like a big enough deal to bother anyone with. That is, until she faints in the middle of the hallway.

Run to Me in the Rising Dawn katsumi

Jyn has never had anyone stick around before. The battle is over now, but the war rages on and Jyn is already preparing for the day when she loses Cassian, too. (She doesn't realize he's terrified of the exact same thing.)

the quiet we hold ithacas

After Scarif, Cassian wakes up broken. He and Jyn learn to fix each other.

We Should laurie2000ann

Jyn could have died trying to save Cassian and he’s pretty angry about it.

Let's Give 'Em Something to Talk About astoriamalfoys

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks her, a wry smile twisting his lips. Jyn ducks her head. “Nightmares or the medicine?”

It’s meant to be an easy conversation, but she says, “I was worried about you,” and his heart stutters to a staccato instead.

Han x Leia captainkitten

Important Thing of Awesomeness™ meets Dumpster Fire of a Human Being™

REYLO

we could plant a house, we could build a tree Like_A_Dove

Ben takes a deep breath. “It’s—it’s a project. Conceptual art. You wouldn’t get it.”

Rey presses her lips together to keep from laughing. She plans her next words quickly and carefully, determining what will get her the best reaction. “Really? Looks like you ruined a bedsheet to me.”

His reaction does not disappoint. “Get out.”

Parenthood (series) pontmercy44

What to expect when you're expecting the child of a rich, womanizing, alcoholic, unredeemable asshole? And what to do when the unexpected, improbable, irrational happens?

What She's Worth g_girl143

After being sent to train under his uncle in the Jedi academy, Ben Solo meets a youngling girl who would change the course of his life. An alternative universe companion fic for Claudia Gray's "Bloodline" novel. A scenario in which Ben Solo and Rey are fellow students of Luke's Jedi Academy and the events that led to the birth of Kylo Ren.

A Proposal by Any Other Name LucidLucy

Rey and Finn have been A Thing for a long time now. Since she was eighteen, to be exact. When Finn leaves on a trip to Europe for six months for work, Rey finally chases after him to Dublin to do what he seems to be putting off: propose. | Leap Year AU

If You Trust What's in Your Heart (What Better Can You Do) TheJGatsby

After the war, Rey likes to savor the peace on her own sometimes. Then she's not alone anymore.

Black Gloves, Orange Soup Solia

While the dwindling Rebellion starves, awaiting their chance to attack a First Order supply vessel, Rey is trying to keep busy repairing the lightsaber. As luck would have it, her Force-bonded rival Kylo Ren is knowledgeable on the subject and keen to help, but he is also very... distracting.

A Good Fall ohwise1ne

Ben Solo refuses to take a stunt double and pays the price when he breaks his leg filming his latest action blockbuster. His new physical therapist, Rey Sanders, seems to be the only person in Hollywood who doesn’t recognize the infamous Kylo Ren – and for some reason, he finds himself fighting to keep it that way.

A Royal Mistake reyofdarkness

Ben Solo (aka The Playboy Prince): Prince of Alderaan and tabloid sensation, never seen with the same girl twice.

Rey: Mechanic, blissfully unaware of Ben Solo's very existence.

Until Paige recruits her for a night servicing the Met Gala, host to a diverse class of guests, including royalty. It is there that a chance encounter gets Rey caught up in a pair of pretty eyes and a charming personality that she knows she should stay far, far away from. The universe, however, seems to have other plans. Hot Tip: Don’t look up your crush’s sex tape.

The End of a String Silvershine

A bridge still exists between the Supreme Leader of the First Order and the rebel known as Rey. As the connection winds tighter, the line between enemy and friend continues to blur, and Rey's loyalties are called into question. A force bond can bring companionship and support, but it's not without its dangers... or delights.

No Ill Will Castiloar

His face set into a resigned expression before tapping his phone with a final flourish, sending whatever excuse he made. She almost jumped when he squarely met her gaze. “Me? Your hostage? I’d almost think you like having me here.” Even with the congestion he managed to drop his voice low enough to make the quip weigh heavy.

variations on a theme of you disasterisms

"Who knows?" Luke darted a faint smile at Ben and Rey as they stewed in silence and disbelief. "The two of you might even learn to get along. Right, Leia?"

"Like a house on fire," the General deadpanned. "Complete with screams, flames, and people running for safety."

"Indeed." Luke's blue eyes twinkled. "There may be no survivors."

As Hard As I Try... KKetura

When her friends find out about her force bond with Kylo Ren, Rey finds herself more alone than ever. But in her forced solitude, she slowly discovers a better understanding of herself and the man to whom she's inextricably linked.

lying restless (as the dawn comes near) TheJGatsby

They have a tradition for nightmares.

you gotta stop doing that semi-hiatus

She caught herself right before the words ‘you gotta stop doing that’ slipped from her lips, saving her from having the explain why she randomly started talking to herself in the hallway.

Why Her? Aramenialys

Just one last battle. One. Then they can be done and put everything behind them. That was the plan. Then it's smashed to bits, and Kylo has to figure out how to come back from tragedy and form a new one. A short drabble/oneshot about Rey dying and (redeemed) Kylo learning to cope.

Quiet issueswithjedipedagogy

He wasn’t sleeping. She had caught sight of him in the darkness, blinking awake to the strange vacuum the bond created around her; the quiet focus on two souls that seemed to make everything else fall away.

Soft Things catmusing

Kylo Ren wakes up aboard a familiar and yet unknown ship. His body aches and it hurts to remember but there is Rey of light.

Aphelion ambiguously

Stranded on a barren planet together, Rey and Kylo Ren have only each other to help them survive.

Vulnerability and Soft Hair smallenoughtofit

After two years with the Resistance, Kylo Ren still lacks any real security or relationships outside of his tenuous whatever-this-is with Rey. And Rey still wonders what his hair feels like.

the remedy is the experience (i won't worry my life away) TheJGatsby

Rey gets sick, and she isn't very good at letting people look after her.

Proper Sleep tearoomsaloon

Much to her frustration, Rey can no longer properly sleep unless she's snuggled between Ben's glorious pecs

ad infinitum hyperphonic

for the prompt: Rey and Kylo telling Leia, Rey is pregnant. Leia had no clue.

any way you want it thegoodlannister

rey helps ben begin to work through the process of making decisions - even really simple ones - for himself. rehabilitation is a slow process in the aftermath of the mess snoke has spent three decades making of ben's mind.

It Will Come Back ReyloTrashCompactor

“Honey, don’t feed it. It will come back”

A Series of Firsts Tandy

Ben (or is it Ren?) and Rey sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love and then comes marriage, then comes baby in a baby carriage.

A story told in firsts.

Dark Prism whythokylo (OpalElephant)

Rey awakens again, except this time it's to a life she can't recall with a man she only knows as her enemy. My attempt at a long form, dark AU. (Formerly titled Aphelion)

A Few Small Repairs TourmalineGreen

Rey buried her face in her blankets. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t going to allow herself to feel anything. Rain was just water, and so were tears. It would all dry, in time. The storm would pass, and then she’d keep going. That’s how it always had been, and that’s how it was going to be.

She would be alright, after this. She would find a way, find something…

what ails you thegoodlannister

or: three times ben solo was sick and one time kylo ren was. unabashed reylo and even more unabashed hurt/comfort.

100 Ways to Say I Love You AquaWolfGirl

Taken from a list on Tumblr of 100 Ways To Say I Love You, 100 little oneshots leading up to Valentine's Day.

I'm always in this twilight (in the shadow of your heart) disasterisms

Coded on a secondhand datapad in a run-down motel room in Mos Eisley, deleted and never sent: Everything about us was a whirlwind.

Written on a scrap of durasheet in a Tion Cluster outpost, the words fading after a while into air and ghosts: You shouldn't have forgiven me for any of it.

Scraped into the bark of an oak tree on the Argazdan homeworld: You won't believe the dreams I have about you.

the one with the lust writing-reylo

She has bigger things to worry about than that.

The most pressing of which is reclining in her bed, shirtless.

“Can you move?” She asks, unwinding her scarf and shrugging off her huge jacket.

Milking It thewayofthetrashcompactor

“Rey.”

The voice was deep and familiar, rough with exhaustion, and echoed across the gap closed by the Force.

She ignored it, hunched over on the edge of the cot she'd been sleeping on. She wanted nothing more than to lean back and curl up into an unconscious ball again, but another voice, this one much closer, called her name again.

morning in the burned house disasterisms

Leia's not really surprised at all, to be honest, but, for the sake of his pride, she should probably pretend to be.

find a thread to pull, and we can watch it unravel again_please

The war is over, Snoke dead at Rey and Kylo's hands. The two of them find themselves feeling a bit out of place as the Resistance celebrates and decide that the answer is a bit of good old fashioned Corellian whiskey. Enjoyed responsibly, of course. And in private.

Because You're There disasterisms

Three years ago, Rey had not yet climbed Everest.

Presenting the first half of my fic/art trade with the lovely lilithsaur, based on her trash triplets x 2 universe. The gist is that there are three Solo boys— Kylo, Ben, and Matt (the character from Adam Driver's SNL skit)— and three Kenobi girls— Kira (dark Rey), Rey, and Daisy (undercover Rey).

Sword of the Jedi (series) diasterisms

“What do you think?” Luke asks his nephew. “She has potential.”

“She bit me, Master,” is Ben’s stiff response. “Any opinion I give would be biased.”

Or: Everyone is connected, even if, sometimes, it's just by the skin of our teeth. Even in the midst of darkness, still, luminous beings are we.

Reign OptimisticBeth

Alternate Ending to "The Last Jedi." Rey accepts Kylo Ren’s offer in return for the lives of the retreating ships.

Political maneuvering is not Rey's forte. She must adjust to life as the First Order's first lady, making friends and enemies along the way and indulging in sweet awkward romance with her Ben.

Burgeoning Hope crossingwinter

#ShesPregnantAndHesDumbAndHasntLeftHisJobYet

miles from where you are mooncactus

After an argument over Star Wars fandom with a "gatekeeping, entitled monster" with the cryptic username of KyloRen, Rey finds herself stuck in a series of unavoidable video calls.

Prisoner orphan_account

Rey has been running all her life. She had known since she was a small girl that she was born with the powers that had been cursed and labeled evil by the galaxy. Running had worked for so long, that she was almost surprised when the bounty hunter Kylo Ren had caught her trail. But they might have more in common than they both originally thought.

Hand of Fate sweetestcondition

Rey is offered a choice at the end of Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi. This time, she takes the hand of Kylo Ren, grasping at the chance to transform the First Order from the inside. She hopes to create a Resistance from within, starting with the heart of Ben Solo. | feat. KoR, Kezzik

keep me in your clouded mind hi_raeth

Flu season has claimed its latest victim: Rey’s roommate, Ben Solo. But it’s fine. She’ll get him dressed, bring him to the hospital, and everything will be okay. Things are totally under control.

Except for the part where Ben has completely lost his verbal filter and keeps babbling about his feelings for her.

Exile Ernzo

The war is over and the First Order has fallen. Ben has returned home to face his consequences.

A story of Rey and Ben finding peace in the aftermath of war as Ben accepts his punishment.

made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter disasterisms

The First Order does not exist, what is dead stays dead, and they grow up together at Luke's Jedi Academy.

Or: The one where everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.

(Then again, it's Ben and Rey, so maybe things hurt a little.)

A little ginger, a little honey Areah51

Rey is sick, and Ben shows up where he's not wanted, but in the end, we all need someone to take care of us when we're ill.

my wildest wind (come blow into my room) meritmut

“Would it have been so terrible?” he asks. “Staying?”

Could we have had this? she thinks, like she always does.

Non-consecutive ForceTime vignettes in the days, weeks and months after Crait.

Play to Win Enterprisingly

Ben Solo – aka KyloRen – is a professional gamer, playing the first-person-shooter StarKiller for the internationally ranked eSports team, The First Order. He’s made a name for himself as a ruthless competitor with a ferocious temper and top-notch skills that can’t be beat. That is, until a mystery player named ReyOfLight begins thoroughly trouncing him whenever they cross paths.

Unwell AquaWolfGirl

Jakku was cold, but nothing compared to Hoth. While staying at the old Rebel base, Rey catches a cold, and someone is a huge worry wart over the woman who denied his offer.

The One Where He Decides writing_reylo

He’s on the bridge and he’s alone.

The First Order are no more.

It only took him a year, carefully manipulating every weak mind he came across, emotionally manipulating the ones he couldn’t.

Embers sciosophia

All the myriad things he’d been—someone who made her laugh; the warmth on the other side of the bed; her best friend—those things, Rey had buried.

Rey left Ben two years, three months, and sixteen days ago. But who's counting?

Interstellar Transmissions LovelyThings, ricca_riot

Rey’s interrogation at the hands of Kylo Ren triggered an awakening in the Force, as well as an unwelcome bond that links them across the galaxy and grows stronger every day.

What Stays and What Fades Away astra_inclinant

Her feelings for Kylo Ren are quiet, not acknowledged, but deeply felt. She cannot make peace with them and send them from her mind.

Or, everyone is emotionally stunted and no one has healthy coping skills.

Our Heaven is Just Waiting FrostedFox

It's his turn to fall wounded before her, and her turn to decide where to go from there.

If only she could convince him to stay alive.

make it look just the way i planned TheJGatsby

Ben buys the painting on a brokenhearted impulse, and somehow it ends up being exactly the right choice.

(Based on the song Paint Me a Birmingham)

#reylo #rebelcaptain #star wars #sw tfa #sw tlj #kylo x rey #ben solo #cassian x jyn #rogue one

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ghostbustermelanieking · 6 years ago

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phantom weights chapter four

one, two, three

season 11, post my struggle iv. part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files.

Summary: In the wake of their second encounter, Mulder, Scully, and Jackson reconnect (both by accident and on purpose).

---

Things may have slowed down in Jackson's life, may have seemingly stopped being dangerous, but he still found himself jumpy and paranoid. Still found himself worried about the few people in his life, that they were in danger. He checked the news in and around Farrs Corner every now and then, searching for any crimes popping up near or around where Mulder and Scully lived—they were definitely great for money and things like that, no matter how awkward his encounters with them were, but usefulness wasn't worth getting them or the kid killed. He kept an eye on the nationwide news, looking for any activity similar to the activity of the assassins they'd sent after him, or activity of kids like him. (He'd thought about the little grave in San Diego a lot, the little girl named Emily, wondering if he had more siblings out there like her. The idea frankly made him furious, of more kids like him subject to exploitation, more exploitation of Dana.) He got extraordinarily nervous when there was a series of break-ins two buildings down from him, until it was revealed to be a disgruntled handyman. He used fake names a lot when he was out with friends and played it off as a stupid prank, and he was very careful when meeting Sarah, on the rare times that they met.

His relationship with Sarah was messy, messier than it had been before—which seemed unreal, considering what an asshole he had been. Sometimes, she would say she was too busy to meet him with a rushed text, offering excuses about her pissed-off parents and her suspicious little sister. And she seemed pissed off herself when he insisted on trying to hide. "I want a normal boyfriend," she'd say irritably, "not some fucking shadow who spends all his time hiding." And he would have to struggle not to snap at her, to tell her that he had never been normal. He didn't want to hurt her feelings, to hurt her anymore than he already had. (He was still wracked with guilt over the incident on the Chimera, not to mention the fact that he cheated on her and Bri both. He still felt horrible about all of it, and equally horrible about ghosting Brianna, but her parents were even stricter than Sarah's, if that was possible, and he couldn't stay with them both. He felt guilty for even staying with Sarah, after everything, but he felt like he didn't have a choice. She was one of his last links to his old life, and he couldn't let that go. He was terrified of being alone.)

Sarah seemed constantly pissed off at him now, and not just about the aliases. She seemed on edge the few times they talked on the phone; she was dodging his texts, to the point where he stopped calling and texting. He didn't want to be the jerk anymore. He tried to just enjoy the time that he got with her. But he could sense the tremors in their already fragile relationship, could sense what was coming before it happened, almost like shockwaves in an earthquake. When he got a call from her one day in July, her contact photo a picture of the two of them last New Year's making goofy faces into the camera, it sent a wave of dread through him that probably wasn't supposed to accompany a call from your girlfriend.

He answered anyway. "Hey, babe," he said, trying his hardest to sound cheerful. "What's up?"

She was silent on the other end. He could hear her breathing, uncertain and awkward. And then she said, "Jackson, we have to talk."

He leaned forward, his forehead against the wall of his shitty kitchen. It was totally pathetic, but he suddenly wanted to beg her not to do it, tell her that he needed her to keep him grounded. But he didn't say that. He said in that same falsely cheerful voice, "What it is?"

Sarah took a deep breath. "Look, babe, it's…" There was some clattering, a voice on the other end, and then the sound of her yelling: "It's just someone from school, Mom!" Jackson grimaced at the cacophonous sound. "Sorry," Sarah said softly into the phone. "It's just been crazy since the break-in, we're all crammed into a tiny fucking hotel room, and I'm sitting in the fucking bathtub right now…"

His head shot up, nearly hitting the side of the fridge. "Wait-wait-wait," he blurted, waving a hand like he was scrubbing at the air, trying to scrub away the awful words. "There was a break-in? Somebody broke into your house?"

"Yes," said Sarah, annoyed. "Last weekend, some jackass completely ransacked the place…"

"W-why?" he stammered, cold sweat breaking out on his hands. Goddamnit, he'd been so careful, and it still wasn't enough. How the hell could he do this, not take preventative measures to protect Sarah? "What were they looking for, what did they steal?"

"That doesn't matter, Jackson. Listen…"

"Was it someone looking for me? W-were they coming for you, because of…"

"Jesus, Jackson, no! Not everything is about you," she hissed, trying to be quiet and clearly failing. "Look, I think it's time for us to end this, okay? After the break-in, my parents can't afford to send me to Richmond for expensive music lessons anymore, so there's no way for us to see each other, anyway."

He was dumbfounded, speechless, torn between trying to talk her out of it and supporting it simply for her own protection. What if the burglars had been looking for her, what if they'd only stolen things to cover their tracks? He didn't want to lose anyone else, but if he held on, he might really lose her. And he couldn't force her to stay with him if she didn't want to. "Babe…" he began in a soft voice.

"Look, Jackson, this is the right thing to do. We've both felt it coming. Don't try to tell me you haven't, okay? We've been growing apart for months." He could picture her on the other end, sitting in the tub with her socked feet up on the lip, twirling a curl around one finger as she talked. "It's not fair for us to hold each other back, not when there's other people out there. I hope we can still be friends…"

"Babe, did they catch the guy he robbed your apartment?" he asked, because he was still thinking about it. Even after dumping him, they still might come for her.

Sarah sighed with exasperation. "Seriously? We can't even have a mature conversation?"

"This isn't immature, Sarah!" he snapped, finally losing his composure. "They killed my parents, you know they killed my parents! And they could kill you, too, if they think you're my girlfriend."

"Well, I'm not," she said in a sharp voice. "I'm not your girlfriend anymore."

He winced, his head falling forward again. It was for the best, but he couldn't stand it, he couldn't stand it. "Please," he said softly, "please just tell me if they caught the guy, Sarah, please…"

"They didn't, okay?" she said, and she sounded like she was crying. "I'm sorry about your parents, Jackson. I'm sorry about… all of it. But you can't worry about me anymore. I'm not your concern."

He thumped his head against the wall lightly: once, twice. "Okay," he mumbled.

"I'm sorry," she said again. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"You be careful," he told her, suddenly stern. "Be careful, and be safe, and…"

She hung up abruptly, leaving him sitting alone in the dark and the quiet. He let the phone drop on the tile with a clunk. That was it, he thought. Everything from his old life gone, and maybe for the better. Maybe for the better.

He didn't know if he could have contact with anyone now, get close to anyone. And a new thought was building up in the back of his mind: what if they came for the baby? If the baby was around him… what if they came for the baby? What if they came for all three of them, because of him?

(If the baby turned out to be like him, then there might be no protecting the three of them. But he couldn't let anything happen to them and it be his fault. He couldn't risk it. He didn't know what he could do about it, but he knew he couldn't risk it.)

---

Jackson had it decided by the next morning. He would distance himself from his new friends as much as he possibly could, to protect them. And he'd distance himself from Mulder and Scully. It wouldn't be hard, considering what a distance there was between them already, considering how his last encounter with Scully had gone. He would just have to start dodging their calls and making up excuses, to let them down easy, as hard as that would be.

In theory, he could keep them at arm's length, and tell himself determinedly that they were not his parents (because they weren't), but in practice, it was much harder. He was connected to them in a way he never had been to anyone else, and he could always feel the waves of their emotion when he talked to them: their guilt, their grief, their caring, their earnest hope. It was hard to turn that away. He thought that it might've been easier if they were assholes, but they didn't seem to be assholes. They seemed to genuinely care.

But he knew that he had to start being more careful, for everyone's own safety if nothing else. It was decided the night Sarah dumped him; he had to do this, and so he was going to do it, and do it right. He was going to start first thing the next day.

Within a few days of barely talking to his friends and not talking to his birth parents, though, there was already a hitch in that plan. Jackson's landlord showed up at his door and informed him that the apartment building was being fumigated this week. "We have an infestation of cockroaches on your floor, and we don't know how extensive it is," he said. "Do you have anywhere else to stay this weekend, William?"

Jackson winced automatically when the landlord called him that. It'd been dumb to sign the lease William, both because it was kind of an asshole move towards Mulder and Scully, and because he could barely stand to be called it. (He flinched every time the landlord called him that, to the point where he suggested a nickname. "Do you go by Will? Bill? Billy?" he'd asked, and that'd only made things worse, because it made Jackson think about that blog entry he'd written a while back where he called himself Billy. At the time, he'd done it just to distance himself from one of the stranger episodes in his shitty life, make it feel like it happened to someone else; he'd had no idea his name used to be William.) "Uh, I guess I can find somewhere," he said. "I have to be gone the whole weekend?"

"Just Friday to Sunday," said the landlord. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience. You think you'll be okay with somewhere to stay?"

Jackson rubbed at the back of his neck. "Yeah, I'll be good," he said, which might've been a lie. He couldn't stay with Mulder and Scully for obvious reasons, and he didn't want to risk staying with any of his friends. He could probably get a hotel, albeit a cheap one. "Thanks for letting me know."

---

Jackson had to work several shifts right on top of each other the next couple days, to the point where he actually forgot to book a hotel. By the time he got off at the warehouse, he was ready to just find a hotel room and watch mindless cable for hours. Maybe order a pizza. He was sitting in his car with a hastily packed bag in the backseat, googling cheap hotels, when he got the phone call. It was Scully's cell number, put in his phone as Dana, despite the fact that he only ever called the house phone.

Jackson stared at the phone mutely for a moment, helpless in not knowing what to do. He knew he shouldn't pick up, but he didn't want to alienate them suddenly without any word, as tempting as that was. They'd done a lot of nice things for him. They didn't deserve that. But he couldn't talk to them and give them the expectation that there'd be more, not when he swore he would leave them out of it. For their sake and for the kid's.

The phone lay like a lifeless thing in his hand as it rang, the blank gray square he had instead of a contact photo taunting him. He was ready to hang up, but somehow, he lifted the phone and answered it instead. "Hello?"

"Jackson?" she said on the other end. "Hi, it's Dana."

"I know," he said without thinking, and was surprised to hear her uproarious laugh on the other end. A corner of his mouth turned up unconsciously. "What's up?" he asked quickly, hoping to get the conversation to go along quickly.

"Oh, I just wanted to call and check in," she said. "See how you were doing. We haven't talked in a while."

"I guess we haven't," said Jackson. There was a long, lengthy silence before he added lamely, "I'm all right. I'm… I'm headed to a hotel, I think. My apartment is being fumigated."

"Really? A fumigation? Did they say why?"

"Roaches," he offered.

Scully made a sound of disgust on the other end. "Remind me and I'll tell you someday about a case Mulder and I had with cockroaches," she said. "Have you paid for your hotel yet?"

Taken aback, he said, "Uh, no, not yet." He didn't realize what she was going to suggest until the words left his mouth, and he immediately winced. He should've lied and said he had. He shouldn't have brought up the goddamn fumigation at all.

"Sweetie, there's no point in you getting a hotel… why don't you just come stay with us for the weekend? Do you have work?"

"No." He was beginning to regret taking the phone call. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

"Why don't you come down? There's no point in you spending all that money on a hotel," she said gently.

He was going to say no. He told himself he had to say no. He didn't think he could stand an entire weekend with them, considering the way their past interactions had gone. And he was still afraid that people were still looking for him, that they'd hurt Mulder and Scully and the kid if they found him. He had to say no. He would go to a hotel, like he said he would originally.

But he started thinking about the money. He didn't have an abundance of it in the first place to spend on a hotel and meals. And he was thinking about lunch with Dana, her face when he said that he didn't know they wanted kids. Thinking about the money they'd given him, the furniture. Thinking about what an ass they must see him as, trying to wriggle out of seeing them, spending time with them. He couldn't stay in their lives, but he couldn't cut them off completely. Not without a word.

(If they were in danger, wasn't it better that he know for sure? He could look for signs. And besides, if the kid was anything like him, than they might be in danger already. It might not matter what he did.)

"Jackson?" Scully's voice was gentle, and maybe a little worried, on the other end. "You okay?"

He cleared his throat, thumping his forehead against the steering wheel. "Um, yeah," he said with a sigh. "Yeah, I'll come down."

He was just doing it because he didn't want to sit in a shitty hotel all week. That was it. That was it. That would be the end of it.

---

Mulder had been out at the store when Scully made the phone call to their son, and when he returned, she explained what had happened, that Jackson was heading their way. "Scully, that's great!" he said, seizing her hands in his and squeezing. She managed a wobbly smile of her own, and he recognized her apprehension immediately. "Are you still worried about what happened last time?" he added gently.

"Maybe a little bit," she said softly. "I just don't want things to go badly. I don't want to hurt him again."

"I know." He leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. "Look at it this way," he said softly. "I don't think he'd agree to come here for the weekend if things were really bad."

She sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder, a hand on her stomach. "Or he's coming so he can get more money out of us," she mumbled. "There's always that."

He shrugged. He rested his chin on the top of her head. "Whatever the reason," he told her gently, "he is coming here. And that's something, no matter what."

She smiled, just a little, her eyes fluttering closed. Their hands were still together between them, his knuckles against her stomach, and he could feel the light, light movements happening beneath the surface. "How's she doing in there?" he whispered.

She shook her head a little in disapproval, but he could see that she was still smiling. "You don't know it's a she," she told him firmly, but she squeezed his hands again. "Active. Restless. I know it's your child just because she won't relax."

"You say that as if it's a trait she's just inherited from me," he said teasingly, and she looked at him squintingly. He rubbed a hand over her lower back, which was frequently aching nowadays. "You're as bad as I am, honey. This kid is never going to relax."

"Mmm," she said in a soft, sleepy voice. She leaned into him again; he dug his fingers against her back, and she made a small sound of appreciation. "We should get some pizza," she added in a husky voice. "For Jackson."

He smiled. "You're right," he said softly. "We should."

---

Jackson arrived long after dark, the screened door swinging open with his arrival. He scanned the room in a nervous animal sort of manner before landing upon where they were sitting on the couch, Scully asleep on Mulder's shoulder. "Uh, hi," he said with a sheepish sort of smile.

Mulder smiled, too, a broad, involuntary one. He hadn't really realized how much he had missed his son until just now. He had just remembered that he hadn't seen Jackson in person since they helped him move in. "Hey, Jackson," he said softly. "It's good to see you. There's pizza in the oven if you're hungry."

"Thanks," Jackson said with a nervous little laugh. "I, uh, I ate something on the way here, but I'm already hungry again."

Mulder laughed at that. "Help yourself," he said, rubbing a hand over Scully's arm. He was debating whether or not to just wake her up, or to try and move without waking her up.

Jackson walked past them towards the kitchen, freezing a little in his tracks near the couch. "She's okay, right?" he asked, motioning to Scully.

Mulder startled a little, looking down at his wife and then back at their son. "Yeah, s-she's fine," he said quickly. "Sleepy. The pregnancy has been kind of rough on her." He winced a little that; he hadn't meant to mention it.

"I can, uh, imagine," Jackson said quickly, his hands in his pockets. He cleared his throat loudly before continuing to the kitchen.

Mulder cleared his own throat and leaned down, brushing his fingers over Scully's cheek. "Scully," he whispered. The oven door opened and closed. "Jackson's here."

She stirred gingerly, her eyes opening foggily. "Jackson?" she whispered, and he nodded. She sat up with effort, his hand on her back as he helped her, and turned to Jackson as he reentered the room, a droopy slice of pizza in hand. "Hey," she said warmly, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"Hi, Dana." He offered an awkward little wave with the pizza-free hand. "Thank you for offering me a place to stay."

"Of course, sweetie." She rubbed at her eyes sleepily as she got to her feet. "You're always welcome here."

"Do you want anything to drink?" Mulder added, heading for the kitchen himself to get Scully a glass of water. "We've got some soda, some juice… water…"

His eyebrows raised a bit. "Soda would be good," he said with a stifled yawn. "I'm pretty exhausted, actually. Long day. Long drive."

"Do you want us to show you the guest room?" Scully asked gently, with a yawn of her own. "You should make yourself at home."

He shrugged sleepily, opening the fridge and taking out a can of Dr. Pepper. "Yeah, sure. I've gotten into the habit of sleeping on the couch, I need to work on breaking it."

Mulder felt, rather than heard, Scully's intake of breath, and knew she was thinking of him years and years ago. He'd been thinking of that himself. He gave a little laugh and said, "I've been in that habit, kid. Not a bad one to break."

"For sure." He rubbed at the back of his neck, taking a sip of his soda.

Scully cleared her throat, taking the water cup Mulder offered. "The room's upstairs, whenever you're ready," she said, taking a sip, bumping her arm against Mulder's in thanks.

"We can go right now." Jackson retrieved a plate from the cabinet as if he'd been living there for years, piling a couple slices on and grabbing the soda can before turning to them expectantly. It wasn't the healthiest bedtime snack, but Mulder didn't feel as if he had the paternal authority to say anything. (And he knew his eating habits weren't much better anyway.)

Scully led the two of them upstairs, up the book-laden stairs and down the hall. Over his shoulder, Mulder saw Jackson taking everything out in interest, and realized suddenly that he had never been upstairs before. Only in the downstairs. They went past the baby's room, which Jackson glanced at with a hint of apprehension, and into the room they'd been putting together for him.

Scully flipped on the light when they entered, and Daggoo, who had pretty strange habits for a dog and loved to sleep in there, rose from his favorite perch on the bed and yipped excitedly. Jackson grinned.

"Sorry about him," Scully said with an absent wave. "He loves it in here, but you can kick him out if you want."

"No, no, that's cool. I love dogs." Jackson flopped down on the bed and scratched Daggoo's head as he wriggled and whimpered with excitement. "My mom was allergic," he said wistfully, "so we weren't ever able to have a dog."

Scully smiled, too. Mulder offered, "Scully here has always been a big fan of dogs. She actually stole this one."

Scully chuckled low in her throat and shook her head disapprovingly. Jackson looked up in surprise. "Seriously?"

"We were on a case," Scully explained in a deadpan. "I caught a serial killer who worked in an animal shelter. I just fell in love with Daggoo, and the whole place was in disarray. I didn't think we had time to stay in town so I could go through the adoption process."

"That's what she wants you to think," Mulder told Jackson. "Secretly, I think she's just a ruthless dog thief."

He snorted with quiet laughter as Scully elbowed him lightly in the side. Daggoo, perhaps sensing he was the subject of discussion, came over to greet Scully. Jackson began to survey the room, his eyes lingering over the books and movies on the shelf, the little TV adjacent to the bed. To the dresser, where they paused on a floppy stuffed bunny sitting on the dresser. Mulder froze a little when he saw it himself; he recognized that bunny. He hadn't known that they'd still had that bunny. He hadn't known that Scully had put it in here.

"What's that?" Jackson asked, his voice sounding purposefully light. "Something for the kid?"

Scully took a deep, gentle breath. "Actually, it was yours."

Jackson jolted, just a little, his shoulders tight. "Really?" he said quietly.

"Really," she said. "My mother—your grandmother—she bought it for you. You loved it; you wanted to take it everywhere." She laughed softly, fondly. "You loved to chew on its ears," she added. "You slept with it every night."

Her words hit Mulder square in the chest; he hadn't seen any of that, and it still ached to this day. He had missed out on so much. He'd seen Scully sleep with the rabbit curled under one arm when they were on the run, desperate and grieving, but he had never seen it with their son. And now here it was again, when Jackson was too old for anything like that and clearly didn't have any interest in it. He forced a smile, pretending that his chest wasn't tight with grief.

Jackson was still looking at the blue rabbit, his face unreadable. "That's cool," he said in a husky voice. "Cool bunny." He looked over at them, halfway curious. "W-where does your mom live? Do you see her a lot?"

Scully smiled sadly. "No, unfortunately she passed away a couple years ago."

"Oh. I'm really sorry," he said immediately, solemnly. He looked down at his hands, at Daggoo on the bed, looking between them with interest. Mulder wasn't sure what to do, to say.

"Thank you," Scully said softly, her voice faltering a little. "She… I miss her a lot, but she lived a good life."

Jackson nodded, stiffly. He yawned again, in a purposeful manner, and said, "I, uh, I think I'm going to bed."

"Okay," Mulder said, offering what was meant to be a reassuring shrug. "There's food in the fridge, and the bathroom is at the bottom of the stairs. First door to the left in the downstairs hall."

"We can take Daggoo if you want," Scully offered.

"Nah, he can stay." Jackson reached out to scratch the underside of Daggoo's belly, who panted happily. "The room looks good, by the way," he added. "Really cool." As if he'd known that they fixed it up for him—which, Mulder realized, he probably had.

"We're glad you like it," Scully replied. Her hand was against Mulder's wrist, as if she wanted to take his hand, but didn't want to do so in front of Jackson. "Good night," she added warmly.

"We'll be down the hall if you need us," Mulder added, as if he was a small child who might have nightmares. As if it was a normal night, and they were tucking him into bed, and they'd see him in the morning. (And they would; they would see him in the morning, unless he snuck out during the night for some reason.)

"Okay." Jackson was focused on the dog, semi-wrestling with him. He didn't look up as they exited, but he called up a muted, "Thanks."

Back in their bedroom, Mulder suddenly felt weak, limp and small, and he pulled Scully to him in a fierce hug. Her arms went around him immediately, unable to envelop him completely, but still holding tightly, clutching at the back of his shirt. "Hey," she whispered softly. "You okay?"

He nodded, his throat thick. He had missed out on so much. He had missed out on so much, and here was an opportunity to not miss out on things, but he would still never get that time with William. He had left them, and he had lost so much.

He was saying it before he could really even think about it: "I'm so sorry I left."

Scully shook her head immediately. She let go of him and stepped back, tipping up his chin slightly so he'd meet her eyes. "Mulder," she whispered gently, "you didn't have a choice. It was the only way to save yourself."

They'd fought about this a thousand times, each taking different perspectives and going back and forth on different things, but Mulder was sure in this moment that it was his fault and solely his fault. He tried to apologize again, and Scully shook her head. "Mulder, we have to stop living in the past and digging up these old issues," she said. "What's done is done. We can't do anything about it now." She reached up to touch the side of his face gently. "He's here now," she whispered. "We have a chance to get to know him. It's not exactly starting over, but it is something."

He nodded, his eyes growing wet. He engulfed her in his arms again, kissing the top of her head. "You're right," he said softly. "It's just… hard not to linger over the things I've done wrong. My regrets."

"Believe me, I know." She kissed the underside of his jaw. "It's going to be okay," she told him, and she sounded a little uncertain, but he could feel the reassurance in her voice.

He nodded against the top of her head. He felt the baby kicking and smiled absently. "You think you'll be able to sleep with the kiddo being restless in there?" he joked.

She poked him firmly in the arm. "I do it every night, Mulder." She kissed him softly, giving his elbow a small tug. "C'mon," she said with a yawn, "let's go to bed, okay?"

They climbed into bed together, her curling at his front so he could provide some support for her back. He put his lips to the back of her head, his hand to her belly, and tried to relax. But his mind kept returning to their son, in the bedroom down the hall. Wondering if he was okay, if he had nightmares the way they did. He heard footsteps on the stairs, he heard the bathroom door creak. He hoped that he would still be there when they woke up. He wanted more than anything to get to know his son.

---

Jackson slept until noon on Saturday. Not even on purpose, or as an avoidance tactic; he was exhausted. He hadn't been getting many chances to sleep in until noon lately, what with work and being on the run. He slept like a rock, after admittedly staying up half the night watching cable, and when he woke up to sunlight streaming into the unfamiliar room, he briefly forgot where he was.

He panicked, briefly, kicking at the covers as he instinctively bolted up in bed, but his eyes fell on the blue rabbit on the dresser as they jerked frantically around the room, and that snapped him out of it. He let out a heavy sigh, flopping limply back on the bed.

After a few minutes (and after he realized both what time it was and how hungry it was), it seemed silly to just lie here and pretend he was anywhere else. It's not like he could do that all weekend, hide upstairs and only come out at night like some bastardized vampire. If he was going to do this, and make this the last time, he had to do it right.

So he forced himself out of bed and staggered downstairs, realizing just as he hit the bottom stair that he'd forgotten to pack anything sensible, like a hairbrush or a toothbrush or a change of clothes. Dana was on the couch, a book in hand, but she had looked up when she heard him coming down. "Good morning," she said with a calm sort of pleasantness. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Uh huh," Jackson said, his voice wavering a little bit. His eyes jerked around the room, from the couch to the kitchen table, where Mulder was sitting with a laptop, to the front door, where he had kicked off his sneakers the night before. "I'm, uh, I'm going for a run," he said. He needed to breathe for a moment, needed to clear his head. He went for the door and yanked them on, pulling open the door and blinking in the bright sunlight. He inhale deeply and took off, dust road from the driveway stirred up by his shoes.

The run felt good. His birth parents lived out in the middle of fucking nowhere, and it was the perfect place to just run. He ran harder, harder than he probably should, until his chest ached with the strain of running and he was gasping for air.

Running did clear his head. It gave him time to think. Reminded him what he needed to do, the reason why it was good that Sarah dumped him. People might still be looking for him. People might come for Mulder and Scully and their kid. He'd told himself that he was going to try and last the weekend, but being alone out in the country made him too tense, gave him too much time to get paranoid about all the shitty stuff that could happen. He tensed up every time a car went by.

He was honestly ready to leave just on the basis of it seeming too dangerous for him to be there (and also, honestly, because it was awkward as hell, and he didn't want to be in that house, surrounded by reminders of the childhood he didn't have and the family that wasn't his). But when he got back to the house, he was out of breath and coated in sweat. He felt a little like collapsing on the spot. He thought to himself, vaguely, as he leaned against a pillar on the porch, Okay, so I won't leave this exact second.

When he staggered through the door, he found Mulder and Scully on the couch, watching some movie. It sounded sci-fi esque, with lots of hissing sounds and canned screams coming from the television. Something Jackson might've liked years ago. When Mulder saw him come in, he tossed him a water bottle, damp with condensation from the freezer. "I'm guessing you'll need this," he said.

Jackson caught it, a little stunned and not sure why. "Thanks," he said.

"Don't drink too fast," Dana offered mildly, and it was then that Jackson remembered that she was a doctor. It was the thing he had known about her before he'd known almost anything else: Ginger was a doctor. It'd been strangely comforting as a child, in that dinky little hospital where he'd essentially been kept prisoner as a child; he had lain in bed, curled up under the covers, sucking his thumb like a baby for comfort, and he'd closed his eyes and seen her. Ginger, helping children like him, being kind and caring and everything the doctors there weren't, and he'd thought, She wouldn't do this to me. She'd take care of me for real. She'd get me out of here.

(His own mom had been the one to get him out. He'd been in for six months, and they'd been unable to tell his parents what was even wrong with him. He was scared to tell his parents what the doctors were doing to him; one of the nurses whispered that if he wasn't good and didn't kept things a secret, he might not ever get to go home. When the doctors tried to stop his mom and dad from visiting, that was the final straw. His mom had gotten lawyers and threatened a lawsuit, and gotten him out, and they'd moved to the East Coast, far away from the people who had done this to him. Ginger had never come, no matter how much he hoped she would.)

"Okay," Jackson mumbled, unscrewing the lid and taking several grateful gulps. He flopped down in a chair, exhausted, turning his face vaguely towards the TV. It was some kind of monster movie, incredibly cheesy-looking.

He didn't mean to stay and watch it, but he did. He just did. He didn't move from the chair, and the three of them watched three movies without even thinking about it.

Towards the end of the third movie, Jackson went into the kitchen to retrieve a soda. Almost as soon as he stood up, he was thinking about leaving. Wondering if he was wondering out of time to save them all. Wondering if he was being overly paranoid, jumpy and ridiculous. Wondering about the kid, if it didn't matter what he did because they'd come for the kid if they didn't come for him. Wondering if there was even anyone out there to come for either of them.

On the front of the fridge, there was an ultrasound picture. The same one that was there last night. Beside it, one he hadn't noticed: a younger Mulder and Scully, lying sprawled out on a bed asleep. A baby between them, cradled on Mulder's chest, Scully's hand on his back, fingers in his mouth, wearing a little blue onesie. Him, he realized, and bit his lip. He yanked open the fridge too hard and grabbed a Coke. As the door closed back, he caught a glimpse of the ultrasound all over again. My sibling, he thought involuntarily, and was stunned to feel something at the back of his mind. A little push, a presence.

"Find everything okay?" Scully asked when he re-entered. They were trying so hard to be casual—she was pretending to watch the TV, but she was watching him. He could tell.

"Yeah," he said, clearing his throat awkwardly and flopping back in his chair. It was an impulse, what he said next; he was thinking about the little push he'd felt, and the picture, and the conversation he and Dana had last time, and he just said it. "You guys got any name ideas for the kid?"

They both looked up in surprise, like it was the last thing they expected him to say. On the screen, a werewolf growled ominously.

Mulder was the first to recover. "We don't know," he said. "We've had some ideas, but nothing feels right."

"Do you, uh…" Jackson cleared his throat awkwardly. "Do you know the sex yet?"

"Not yet," said Ginger, and she had a small, absent smile on her face. "Mulder insists it's a girl, though." Mulder shrugged sheepishly.

Jackson swallowed awkwardly. "Well, either way, you can't go wrong with Fox, right?" he joked, trying to keep his voice light.

It worked. Mulder and Scully both burst into laughter at that, Scully laughing so hard he could hardly believe it. "Low blow, kid," Mulder said, wrapping an arm around Scully's shoulders. "Low blow. But thanks for the suggestion."

Jackson gave a little chuckle of his own. He felt a rush of relief, at just not saying something wrong for once. "Or Lily," he offered, speaking before he could think again. "Lily's cool. If you're digging for options."

He didn't know why he said that. He didn't know why he said that, except for that it was the name he and his mother had liked when his parents were trying to adopt when he was eight. His mom had suggested it, and it'd been his favorite option for a girl, insisting on it even after they'd moved onto other names. But he didn't know why he'd said that now. He hadn't thought about having a little sister named Lily in years, and he didn't know why he was suggesting it now. It felt like his parents' name to use, not theirs. But he had said it, for whatever reason.

Mulder and Scully exchanged a look, a loaded look. "That's pretty," Scully offered. "I like it."

"Yeah," Jackson said, flopping back in his chair. He'd intended to make some more name suggestions, more jokes, but he found he couldn't. He popped open his soda, turned his attention back to the TV. "Fox might be the better option, though," he threw out gingerly. They chuckled from behind him, again, but he could barely hear it. He watched the werewolf tear through the woods, claws drawn.

---

After dinner, Jackson retreated out to the porch. He seemed jittery while they ate, which was more than expected, but the speedy retreat still stung a little. Scully bit her lip when the door shut hard behind him; Mulder saw it, even across the table.

"We could go out with him," Mulder offered as they loaded the dishwasher. It was a nice night, not too hot, the sky streaked pink and orange from the setting sun.

Scully shook her head, her hands buried in soapy water. "I don't want to put pressure on him," she said, which he knew she'd been trying hard not to do all day. "I want to leave him be. We've had time with him today."

He slipped a plate into the bottom drawer, stepped behind her and engulfed her in his arms. He felt the baby moving under his fingers. "I love you," he said into the back of her neck.

She slipped her sudsy hands down to intertwine her fingers with his. "I love you," she whispered, and he squeezed her tight. She rubbed the back of his left hand with her damp thumb. "We're gonna be okay," she said quietly. They'd been saying that a lot since this all ended, but this was possibly the most confident he'd heard her about it. She turned in his arms and kissed him, her wet palms on his cheeks. They stood together in the midst of their kitchen, pressed together before the sink and the sinking sun.

Later, after Scully had gone upstairs to bed, Jackson was still outside. Mulder could hear the creak of the porch swing through the open windows. He'd been planning to have a beer inside, at the table, but in the split second of hearing that swing creak, he changed his mind. He wanted a few minutes alone with his son. And besides, he did usually have a beer outside rather than in, so he had a good excuse if Jackson asked.

(He considered, briefly, taking a beer out for Jackson, but then decided that it would be nothing but a blatant bribe, and probably not a very paternal move. And Scully would be furious, anyway.)

He took his beer bottle and went outside, towards one of the chairs adjacent to the swing. "Mind if I join you?" he asked his son, who shrugged and continued moving the swing with the toe of his ratty tennis shoes. Mulder sunk into a chair, popping the bottle open. He saw Jackson eyeing the beer wistfully, and pretended he didn't notice, taking a long sip. The swing rocked back and forth.

"Nice night," Mulder said after a few moments. He could hear the crickets chirping in the dusk, feel a slight breeze blowing. It was the kind of night he used to love to sit outside with Scully during, the kind of night he hoped he could look forward to for the rest of his life.

"It is," Jackson said softly, pushing off the porch again. He took a deep breath. "I've missed quiet nights like this. When I was little, we used to live on a farm in Wyoming. I don't remember it too well, but I remember I liked it. And I loved going to visit my grandmother."

"Not a lot of quiet nights in Norfolk?"

"Definitely not." He sighed quietly, leaning back on the slatted swing. "It's nice out here," he said quietly.

Mulder watched him in the dimming light. He couldn't help it. Every moment with him felt like a blessing. Scully kept saying that Jackson looked like him, but he couldn't see it. Looking at Jackson, he just saw his own family, his mother and his sister and Scully. It was hard to look away, to not linger over all of the things they had missed out on. He could imagine a multitude of nights like this with his son, instead of acknowledging that this was the first one. But it might not be the last. He took a swig of his beer and sighed himself, looking out over the fields instead of at his son. "We're glad you're here," he said quietly. "Your mother… Dana and I… we're both so glad you're here, and that you're safe." They'd been so close to losing him; he remembered his horror clearly, his grief, when he thought they'd lost him. He chewed at his lower lip, unsure of what to say, but knowing that he couldn't not say it. It was the same reason Scully told him how much she'd missed him and regretted giving him up every time she saw him: he needed him to know.

The swing squeaked abruptly, harshly to a stop. "Right," Jackson said in a strangled voice.

Mulder tipped the bottle up with a clammy palm and looked at his son. His head was dipped forward, his hair hanging in his face. He couldn't read his expression in the dimming light. "Mulder?" he said softly, rubbing at his mouth hard with one hand.

It threw Mulder off; he couldn't remember if his son had ever addressed him directly. It was overwhelming to hear Jackson say his name, as much as he wished he'd said Dad instead. "Yeah?" he replied, biting back the urge to tack son on the end.

"Do you… do you think…" He broke off mid-sentence. "Those people, the ones chasing me… they came after your family, right?"

The question took Mulder aback, but it wasn't necessarily unexpected. He wasn't surprised that Jackson was shaken after his months on the run, after being pursued for months and having his parents murdered and being shot in the goddamn head. He should've expected Jackson to have questions about where this bullshit originated. "I… yes," he said quietly. "They… they were involved with my father. The one who raised me, not the smoker. They made a deal to take my sister when she was eight years old." He bit the inside of his cheek hard; no matter how many years it had been, the memories still hurt. And the hurt was not lessened any by the fact that his son had suffered from similar things, the fact that he looked a little bit like Samantha. "They killed my father," he added. "They came after Scully, and after me…" After you, he added silently.

Jackson was quiet. The swing moved back and forth. "When did they stop?" he whispered.

Mulder didn't have a good answer to that. He'd come so close to losing Jackson, and though he mostly thought that all of this was over, a part of him thought that they would never stop coming. It was one of his greatest fears with the baby, although he would never leave her or lose her for anything in the world. But it'd been months since anything had happened, months since he'd noticed any kind of Syndicate activity. He and Scully were trying their best to believe that it had ended, that they were safe.

He went with the optimistic answer. "I suppose a few months ago," he said. "I don't know exactly… what happened… but I'm inclined to believe this is all over."

He looked at Jackson, who wasn't looking back at him. He had his forehead balanced in his palm, his head still bent forward. "Why do you ask?" Mulder added tentatively, halfway pressing for an answer, and halfway hoping he wouldn't get it. He wanted to know if Jackson was still being pursued, but he was praying that this wasn't the case.

Jackson sighed heavily, and sat up straight. "No reason," he said, and Mulder bit back an exhale of relief. Before he could ask another question, Jackson got to his feet and turned to the door. "I'm going up," he said bluntly, reaching for the handle.

"Oh," Mulder said, a little surprised, but knowing better than to say anything. "Okay. Goodnight, Jackson. Scully and I will be down the hall if you need anything."

It was probably a babyish thing to say to a seventeen-year-old, but if Jackson minded, he didn't let Mulder know. He didn't say anything at all; he just grabbed the screen door and whipped it open. It slammed hard behind him as he went inside.

---

Early the next morning, Jackson left. He slipped out before it got light, while Mulder and Scully and even the dog were still asleep. He didn't want to have to go through the motions of saying goodbye, and he felt as if leaving was the only thing he had left to do. The only right thing to do.

He couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't be around them. He didn't know if these people would ever stop coming.

And besides that, they weren't his family anymore. Once upon a time, they'd raised him and named him and napped with him and given him a little blue stuffed bunny that he carried everywhere, but then they gave him up. They weren't his family, and he couldn't be theirs. He couldn't be a brother to a little baby if he'd only be putting her in danger.

He had to leave. He didn't have a choice.

#sorry for the sarah scene at the beginning it was necessary for plot #xf rewatch #xf fanfic #i wrote this

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whenimaunicorn · 6 years ago

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Lessons - Part VI

In which all of Ragnar’s women are at the same dinner, and Brida once again blurts out something without thinking it all the way through.

Catch up: Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V

Current chapter word count: 2158 (one short, very punchy scene that I decided just has to stand on its own)

Cyn suppressed a laugh the third time that the little spoon fell on the floor. Ragnar’s children were their guests at dinner tonight, along with their mother Ingirid, and Ragnar had insisted on attempting to feed his daughter himself. Despite the unruliness of the babe.

Ingirid had a strained look on her face as she bent to reach for the spoon. Cyn got to it first; she was serving the table tonight, and such things were her responsibility. Ingirid flashed her a nervous smile when their eyes met. Cyn couldn’t help but return the friendly expression, though she smoothed her face quickly as she turned in Brida’s direction. She wiped the spoon on her apron and handed it back to Ragnar.

He was the picture of a proud father tonight, gazing in little Asta’s eyes with a look of pure indulgence as she ran her porridge-covered fingers through his beard. “It tastes better from a spoon than my face, I promise, little one.”

While Ragnar dipped the spoon in the bowl for another attempt, Ingirid leaned over to quickly wipe off the girl’s fingers. Cyn thought she seemed worried that Ragnar would grow frustrated and ask the children to leave early; she didn’t seem to see how happy he was in their presence.

Brida was the one who kept sighing and pulling faces; she did not seem to find the headstrong child to be quite so adorable. “More ale, Cyn,” she snapped.

Perhaps Cyn’s feet moved a touch more slowly than usual at that brusque command. She understood that Ingirid’s presence was wearing on Brida, and that her Lady tended to throw sparks in all directions when her frustration was kindled. But Cyn herself had less patience for Brida tonight, too. Ragnar’s words were still swimming in her ears.

You don’t think I would be trying to bed you without her blessing, do you?

If that were true, if Brida thought she could just hand out permission for men to use her now… it ruined everything, all the peace and security she had just started to think she could enjoy here in the woman’s service.

The night’s meal was roast duck with apples and summer vegetables, served with great loaves of crusty bread. Brida was pushing food around on her plate while Cyn silently filled her cup. “These are not the apples I asked for tonight,” she complained. “It was supposed to be the yellow ones.”

“I think these are nice,” Ingirid said. Cyn winced. “Very sweet.”

Brida’s heavy gaze settled on the other woman. “Yellow are better in this dish.”

Ingirid’s smile was submissive, but she kept talking. “Gellir likes them.” She motioned her elbow toward her son, who had indeed eaten all the apples from his plate and was eyeing the edge of the platter for more.

“Then have some more,” Ragnar said, his warm voice filling the cool air between the women. He bounced Asta on his knee while he reached out to sweep more food in front of his son.

Brida’s mouth pinched, and she said nothing else. Cyn thought that for Brida, that was practically pleasant. Ragnar brought his family in for a private dinner at the hall at least once a week, and Brida never excluded herself from that table, regardless of the distance she kept at most other times.

Brida turned to the boy. “And how did you spend your day, Gellir?” The other thing she was sure to do was to not take her pain out on the children. She had told Cyn that she was happy Ragnar could have the son he wanted, and though her patience often ran thin she did hold affection for the boy who bore her lover’s face.

“Fishin’,” Gellir responded, and then shoved another large piece of apple into his mouth.

Asta started fussing, refusing the spoon that Ragnar wiggled in front of her and flailing her little fists. Ingirid did not let him struggle with her for long before sweeping the girl up into her own arms. “There now, sweat pea, what’s all this?”

After a few minutes of coaxing and bouncing, Ingirid gave up and declared it time for her to take the children home. Brida stood immediately, faking her most hospitable smile of farewell to rush them on their way. Ragnar embraced his son, slipping another piece of apple into his hand, and walked them down to the door of the hall.

Cyn felt her stomach jump when she watched Ragnar’s hand settle on the small of Ingirid’s back as he said goodbye to the baby, and then to her mother. They exchanged some low words that had the woman tipping her head coyly, while Ragnar stood taller and rubbed his thumb once, twice along her spine before letting her go.

Cyn turned to Brida, who had marked the gesture too. Cyn looked at what was written across her face and could not conceive that this woman had actually told Ragnar she was happy for him to pursue Cyn if he wished. He had to have been lying this afternoon.

Ragnar looked only a touch sheepish as he strode back to them at the table. He resumed his seat without saying anything. He had been so focused on the children that he had hardly touched his own food, which he now dug in to heartily. Brida sat back down as well, poking at her mostly-empty plate with the tip of her knife and gazing wordlessly at her man. Cynwise set herself to clearing up the messes left near the children’s places.

When she noticed Ragnar draining the last of his cup, Cyn grabbed the flagon of ale and approached him at the elbow. He acknowledged her with a smile and she felt compelled to break the silence. “Your children are beautiful, Lord.”

“Thank you. I do make them handsome, don’t I?”

Cyn smiled at his pride as she filled his cup, despite the deeper anger coiling in her gut. It was just waiting to discern the right target. Was the man sitting before her a deceiver, or did her Lady think her a whore?

“Sit down, Cyn,” Brida said suddenly.

She turned in surprise.

Brida was smiling, but there was something tight behind her eyes. “Help yourself to what’s left on the platters before you take them back to the kitchen.”

Before they had returned to Dunholm, they had sometimes been that informal, but Cyn had never seen a slave eat with the Earl and his Lady at any time since she had been here.

Brida nodded at the seat so recently vacated by Ingirid.

Despite the apprehension twisting her stomach, Cynwise did as she was told. Brida reached out and clasped her hand for a moment. Cyn could not read what was in her eyes. Did she want support, after such a tense dinner? Brida motioned her toward the food, releasing her quick grasp. Cyn nodded and tore off a piece of bread for herself as Brida’s eyes moved to Ragnar. “You want another child.”

Ragnar grunted, sucking duck grease off his thumb before answering. “Yes.” He looked up at her, guarded but confident. Ready for a fight.

“Have you started sticking it in her again already?”

Cyn cringed a little, but Ragnar didn’t flinch. He held Brida’s eyes for a long moment. “No,” he said, then let his voice warm. “I wanted to talk to you about it first.”

“I don’t like her.”

Ragnar took a heavy breath. “Since when.”

“I have another idea.” Brida said instead of answering. She leaned onto her elbows, lifting her cup between her hands without drinking from it. “What if Cyn carries your next child?” Her gaze slid to the woman in question. “If she—”

Her words were cut off as Ragnar choked loudly on his ale. Cyn could barely even hear him struggle to clear his throat over the rushing sound rising in her own ears.

“You don’t like the idea?” Brida’s voice was calm, but her face was going sour as she watched him flail.

“No—” he barked out, coughing once more. “It’s not that. Actually, I was hoping you might be feeling this way.” His watery eyes turned to Cyn, who felt herself gaping like a fish. “What do you think, Cyn?”

That simmering anger that had been with her since the afternoon finally boiled over. She turned to face Brida squarely. “How long?”

Brida looked confused.

“How long has this been your plan,” Cyn ground out. “Is this why you wanted me? Why you took me from those men? Just to be your brood mare.” Brida shook her head, holding out her hands and starting to say something, but the roaring in Cyn’s ears wouldn’t let her hear it. “You would use me like that. And to think, I turned back for you.”

Something cracked in Brida’s face on that final statement. There was enough remorse in her eyes that Cyn was able to stop, and catch her breath, force her trembling fists to let go of the table edge. Brida’s voice was low when she spoke, though it was strong. “That was not why I saved you. I didn’t know why I claimed you. I just… didn’t want you to be broken.”

Cyn’s lip twitched. She had heard that before, and right now Brida’s pity was not enough.

“I only thought about this… more recently. As we became closer.”

Cyn shook her head. She had felt that closeness, too. But this… this would destroy it all. How could Brida not see that? “If you feel… close, to me,” –she hesitated, then just said it—“just as I thought I felt close to you,” she ignored the way Brida’s face softened to hear those words, “then why would you set this between us, Brida.”

Brida’s eyes shifted to Ragnar. There was a sharpness in them when they came back to Cyn’s face. “I am not setting anything between us that is not already there. I see the way you two look at each other.”

Cyn shrank. Ragnar did not. “I told you,” she said to Brida, “I would never betray you.”

She would have gone on, but Brida spoke over her. “This way it would not be betrayal. You could be helping us fix a problem that has no easy solution.”

Cyn shook her head. It didn’t feel right. “Why are you doing this, Brida?”

She sighed, and her eyes hardened. “ Because Ragnar will do it again, no matter what I say.” She looked right at him, even as she spoke to Cyn. “So I would rather he choose someone I can trust;” her eyes flitted back to Cyn, “someone I like.”

“Someone you can control.” Cyn said, as bitter understanding snapped into place. “Someone you own.”

Brida gives her a flat look, her own deep anger smoldering through. “I am doing what I can. I cannot give Ragnar the children he wants, myself. So yes, having control is part of the appeal of the idea.”

The rage that flooded Cyn after that felt cleansing. Purifying. She stood, stepping away from the table but keeping her body pointing squarely at Brida. “How is your wound?”

Brida’s brow creased. “What?”

“How has your wound healed? Does it still bother you?”

She took in Cyn’s bristling stance, the determination in her face. “Only a twinge here and there.” She nodded, like she knew what was coming. “Nothing to hold me back.”

“Then tomorrow we make the square. Tomorrow, I fight you for my freedom.”

There may have been grief deep behind Brida’s eyes, but she covered it with a laugh and grit her teeth. “I accept, although you’re a fool. You know that it’s done with sword and shield, don’t you? You’re not going to stand a chance."

“I am ready.” Cyn felt a cruel smile of her own twisting her features. “Ragnar has been teaching me.”

Brida’s head whipped to the other end of the table. Ragnar’s hands were already up. “I thought you knew, I thought that was what you wanted!”

They both watched the real fear hit her. Then rage filled up Brida’s eyes. “Have you two both been playing me? Conspiring to—” she cut herself off. She stared at the table for a moment, then her gaze lifted to her lover. “You’ve never kept anything from me Ragnar, not like this.”

“I thought you already knew!”

Brida just sniffed her disbelief.

The guilt closed in swiftly. Cyn hadn’t wanted to see Brida hurt this badly, not to make her fear that Ragnar planned on leaving her. “The fault is only mine,” she volunteered. “I misled him. He is innocent.”

Brida stood. “Is he.” She turned, and Ragnar clambered to his feet. “Ragnar, do not even try to follow me.” She stepped toward their chamber. “You can sleep in the stables tonight. And Cynwise, I will meet you in the square in the morning.”

Taglist: @ceridwenofwales @oddsnendsfanfics@laketaj24 @thewildbeauty @geekandbooknerd @therealcalicali@captainpoopweinersoldier @tiyetiye @pokeasleepingsmaug@goldentailedmermaids @sifshoney @laketaj24 @titty-teetee @savismith @ariellostatci @perfectus-in-morte @axiseeu12 @kingofshadowalkers

#ragnar the younger #young ragnar #brida #the last kingdom #tlk fanfic #lessons fic #brida/oc/ragnar

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adins-bejoty · 7 years ago

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A SilMil Endymion/Shitennou Fanfic Thing

Hi! So, I wrote a thing here, and before anyone gets too overly enthusiastic for a new project, remember that it’s been like three years since I last wrote a STILL UNFINISHED EVEN THOUGH YOU PROMISED YOU’D FINISH IT fic, so don’t expect weekly or even monthly updates to this story. This is going to be a “as the mood descends” sort of update schedule.

I had a sudden burst of inspiration after playing some Ultima IV (yes, the old DOS game, I’m building a retro gaming PC) and decided I’d write a prologue to a SilMil-era story involving an immature teenage Endymion and those wacky pastel knights based around the eight virtues of the Avatar from the Ultima series. I envision this story only being about ten chapters long with each chapter focusing on a specific virtue embodied by one of the Shitennou or another supporting character as young Endymion learns what it takes to be king.

So without further ado, I guess let’s get into this thing! I’m tentatively saying this takes place in the Sailor Moon Crystal universe, even though I don’t plan to have many (if any at all) of the Senshi appearing, but, you know, at least Crystal bothered to give us a little backstory on Endymion and his Knights, so yeah... We’ll go with that. ENJOY!

PROLOGUE - The King’s Forest, Earth’s Golden Kingdom

The prince crept low across the forest floor keeping as quiet as he could despite the shuffle and crunch of undergrowth. One hand held a spear, perfectly weighted for throwing, while the other was splayed in the open air to help keep balance. The air was cool, barely a breeze, and the rays of the sun were little more than occasional streaks of golden tinsel through the thick canopy above, but sweat beaded on his brow and made his grip on the spear clammy as he approached his prey.

The elk stood nearly six feet to the shoulder; an absolutely massive specimen. Its great branching antlers spread to twice the beast’s body width. Endymion grinned in eager anticipation at the thought of those massive horns decorating the headboard of his bed (and of all the lovely young courtesans who would sigh with delight beneath their shadow as he regaled them with the story of the glorious hunt). He thought of how kingly the creature’s tanned hide would look hanging in the great hall, perhaps with a small dedication plaque attesting to the masterful skill of the hunter-prince who took the animal. He thought of the legendary feast the elk’s meat would provide: the best and most beautiful of the Golden Kingdom’s elite all gathered around the table —Endymion’s table— to bask in his majesty, all of them offering him tribute, adulation, and (especially in the case of those lovely young courtesans) love.

A crack rang through the forest so loud it might as well have been an explosion of an alchemist’s black powder. The elk tensed and its humongous horned head twitched in the prince’s direction. Thankfully he and the rest of the hunting party were shielded from the animal’s view by the hulking trunk of a fallen tree. Endymion turned slowly, seething with rage. He identified the soldier immediately in the dozen-strong group accompanying him by the look of sheer terror on his face and the brittle branch split under his boot.

“It’s unwise to anger a prince who has a spear in his hand.” Endymion whispered with a derisive sneer, “Crossbows ready.”

“Crossbows again, sire?” the captain of his personal guard asked plaintively, “Isn’t that a bit… unsportsmanlike?”

Endymion had to resist the urge to howl his frustration at the top of his lungs. “Spear.” He emphasized his anger by deftly, soundlessly spinning the weapon to point at the soldier, “Now get them up. I will not lose this kill.”

The captain nodded, slung his crossbow from the strap on his back, and resignedly began to wind back the wire as the other dozen soldiers did the same. Endymion stared at him a moment longer; this new guard captain was supposed to be different from the others, but it was all the same: “unsportsmanlike” this and “impropriety” that… He was nearly sixteen now, practically a grown man! He decided to have a chat with his father when he returned to the palace with his prize and demand to choose his next captain personally. How could they be loyal to Endymion when they’re too busy being loyal to the King?

As the soldiers nocked their bolts Endymion turned, almost hoping that he’d see empty forest where his trophy kill had been standing, just so he could berate the soldiers again at full volume, but there it stood: stately, powerful, proud.

“I’m going to approach from the right.” The prince explained, “Stay down behind this log. Use it to steady your shot.”

“I’m sure we won’t need to fire, my prince.” The guard captain said attempting to appeal to Endymion’s ego.

“If you do, I’ll tell father it was you who took the beast.” He smirked back, “I wouldn’t hang for hunting in the King’s woods… What about you?”

Endymion crept away, not needing to look over his shoulder to see the icy sneer of the captain following him. He wouldn’t actually try to get the man killed for breaking the King’s law, but it always paid to remind them how ruthless you could be if you wanted to. And besides, his father would never hang anyone for, well, mostly anything, especially something as trivial as hunting on royal grounds. The King was compassionate, to a fault if Endymion was honest with himself, and he had greatly relaxed many of the more archaic laws and traditions of Old Elysion. Still, he was afraid that his father was being increasingly viewed as a weak ruler. He commanded the most powerful army of the most powerful kingdom on Earth, but what good was all that power if the common people never saw it wielded?

Thoughts of power and expanding the borders of his soon-to-be kingdom were replaced by those more primal as he skirted the edge of the clearing and began to approach the huge, ruddy-coated elk from its hind quarter. Endymion was exceptionally light on his feet, a skill he perfected in youth while sneaking around the palace grounds engaging in all manner of mischief with one of his closest friends, a friend who later became a knight, and most recently, one of his tutors.

Jadeite was several years his senior and though they were still friends, their relationship had become strained. No longer could the excuse of youthful innocence be used to shield them from rebuke of their pranks and follies. Jadeite was a knight now, one of a group of the four most elite soldiers in the kingdom who acted as generals, advisors, and diplomats directly in service to the King. Endymion understood why he and Jadeite couldn’t behave like hooligans anymore, but he still resented him for it. Duty and honor had replaced Jadeite’s once-exuberant sense of fun and frivolity. And his friend’s frequent absence meant he was saddled with the lead weight of his personal guard. The prince reflexively rolled his eyes.

Finally the distance between him and his prize seemed manageable. His stealth served him well and the animal continued to graze blissfully unaware of the stalker’s presence. Endymion’s knuckles rolled and his fingers flexed to bring the spear into the perfect, balanced grip needed to make it fly true. He rose slowly from his crouch, willing the oiled creases in his dark leather pants and jerkin not to squeak as he came to his full height. His eyes trained on the enormous elk as his arm pulled back and the muscles drew tight. He shifted the slightest bit on one foot, bringing him perfectly in line. He blew out a hot, steadying breath then loosed the spear with all his might. His aim was true, the arc perfect. The elk looked up.

A spinning blade of silver light cut through the cool forest air and blasted Endymion’s spear to splinters mere feet from its target. The humming, magical boomerang embedded in a tree to his left and Endymion’s eyes went wide with shock, anger, and sudden horror. He knew exactly what had just happened and who was to blame, but now the elk was fully turned and staring directly at him. A snort escaped its pulsing nostrils.

“Fire!” Endymion hollered, expecting a volley of a dozen crossbow bolts to immediately snap through the air and bring the beast down before it charged him. Nothing came. “Fire you fools!”

“You’re forgetting your lessons, prince.” A deep, pandering voice spoke off to his right. He was relieved, if not still white-hot with rage when the elk turned its attention to the newcomer, “With animals such as these, you must show them no fear.”

Kunzite, his father’s chief advisor, ranking general, and currently Endymion’s least favorite person in the world, stepped into the clearing. He wore his usual attire: a dusty-colored jacket, double-breasted, lined with salmon piping and pants of the same color, epaulettes on his shoulders set with pink ovals of his namesake gemstone, and a broad white cape that trailed down his back to the ground and somehow managed to remain miraculously free of the detritus of the forest floor. He approached the great elk with a hand outstretched, and gently caressed the trunk of its neck.

“Show them no fear.” Kunzite repeated and then, not unkindly, swatted the elk on the rump. The huge animal snorted again and leapt into a run, very nearly skewering Endymion with its massive antlers as it bounded past him and away into the forest. “And you’ll have nothing to fear from them.”

“You could have killed me!” Endymion whirled around snarling at the older man.

“Yes, but I think your father would be rather more upset with your death than the poaching of one of his prized elk.” Kunzite said sternly, but with a nearly undetectable trace of snideness, “And using your personal guard as a hunting party?”

The guard! Endymion’s wrath suddenly spun to the group of traitorous cowards who refused his order to fire. He stomped past Kunzite into the clearing and found the men all standing at full readiness, crossbows up, but bolts unfired. None of them flinched. None of them… blinked? They were frozen completely still, as if nothing but dolls.

“They seem to have been caught up in the moment.” Another voice crooned, this one airy, almost lilting, but filled with just as much power and authority as any of the knights.

“Zoisite.” Endymion grumbled, “Playing your mind games, I see? Release them!”

“That.” Zoisite said from where he now emerged from behind the inanimate guard captain, “Is not a very good idea.”

Zoisite was dressed in the same uniform as Kunzite, only the piping on his jacket and the polished epaulettes attaching his cape were a vibrant green. Unlike Kunzite who wore his long silvery hair loose, Zoisite’s, a tangle of curly copper, was tied with a simple band at the nape of his neck.

Despite the similarity of their uniforms the two were near opposites in presentation. Kunzite was a soldier, formal, and carried himself like one. His reputation as a warrior and commander meant crowds parted like waves against a ship’s hull as he passed. He projected authority merely through his posture. Zoisite on the other hand carried an air of quiet, mysterious confidence; as though his winking green eyes and ethereal movements were meant to convey at all times that he knew something you didn’t. And he was vain, caring much more after his appearance than any of the other knights. One could easily mistake him for some misplaced socialite who charmed and bought his way into the king’s inner circle. However, Endymion knew from experience not to dismiss him as some preening peacock. Of the four knights that made up the King’s council, Zoisite was the most unpredictable and possibly the most dangerous.

“They’re my men.” Endymion seethed, “They’re my personal guard. I command you to release them at once!”

“Well, speaking of commands…” he tried to begin, but Endymion was having none of the stall tactic.

“ZOISITE!”

Zoisite looked to Kunzite who gave a simple, shrugging tilt of his head in response. Zoisite sighed dramatically, whirled his right hand in the air and snapped his fingers. Instantly the spell wore off and the springing clack of a dozen crossbows firing echoed through the woods. Endymion screamed and threw himself prone onto the brambles, dry leaves, and hard ground. The bolts whizzed harmlessly above him and thunked into tree trunks on the other side of the clearing. He heard panicked gasps from the soldiers and a stifled chuckle from his would-be assassin.

“What is wrong with you people?!” Endymion fumed and furiously rose, kicking at the ground and hastily brushing leaves and twigs off his clothes.

“I did try to warn you.” Zoisite pleaded with mock sincerity.

“My prince!” the guard captain finally managed to eke out a choked gasp.

“All of you, back to the palace.” Kunzite ordered as he approached the contingent of guards, “If the king asks, tell him his benevolent son was so happy of your company on this hunt that he gave you the rest of the day off.”

“Y-yes… sir.” The captain stammered and hastily ordered his men to holster their crossbows and head out.

“Hey!” Endymion protested, “You can’t do that! Those are my—“

“Endymion, enough.” Kunzite demanded and spun on him with such speed that his cape twisted around his whole body, “To say we’ve been patient would show such restraint. There’s no word for what we’ve put up with from you these last few months: the truancy from your lessons, your disrespect for your guards and the palace servants, your theft from the royal coffers.” Endymion blinked, surprised at that and Kunzite nodded, “Oh yes, we know. And for what? Fine new clothes? A new blade? Another feather pillow for you to rest your weary brow?”

“You forget who I am.” Endymion said with shame and fear shaking his voice.

“You’re a brat who happens to be the son of my king.” Kunzite told him plainly and Endymion’s mouth hung open in shock, “You have no respect for the laws of the land you will one day govern, you have no respect for the power you will one day wield, and you have no respect for the people you will one day rule.”

“How dare you speak to me like this?!” Endymion was now beside himself with rage, any semblance of fear for Kunzite’s authority evaporated in the heat of his anger, “It’s my kingdom and I’ll do what I want with my power and my wealth and the people will love me! I’ll have your head for—“

Through the fury that was blinding him Endymion never saw Kunzite unclench his fist, draw back, and swing. He only felt the stinging clip and dull, ringing pain as the palm of his hand connected solidly with his mouth and the side of his face. No blood was drawn and barely a sliver of the prince’s oily raven hair knocked out of place, but he may as well have been speared like his long-lost prize elk for the wail he made.

“You think your father would have entrusted us with your training and schooling if he didn’t expect we’d have to discipline you from time to time?” Kunzite asked, not expecting a reply, “Now pull yourself together; we’re going to speak to the king.”

“About what?” Endymion barely breathed, eyes downcast.

“You.” Kunzite said, “And your future.”

With that he turned and began to walk out of the clearing in the direction of the palace. Endymion lagged were he stood for a moment, dirty and downtrodden, then began following at a distance. Zoisite jogged to Kunzite’s side once he was satisfied the prince was coming.

“Don’t you think that was a little harsh?” Zoisite asked the elder knight.

“No.” Kunzite replied bluntly.

“No. I know you think it wasn’t. I was—“ Zoisite sputtered, frustrated with Kunzite’s occasional inability to read any kind of subtext, “I mean, did you really need to slap him? If he tells his father, you’ll—“

“Are you more worried about what will happen to me, or what will happen to him if he becomes a king with no respect for his kingdom?” Kunzite asked nodding over his shoulder at the young prince trailing far out of earshot behind them.

“I just don’t think we should be the ones disciplining him like this.” Zoisite confided, “The king asked us to teach him art and science; to train him how to hold a sword, how to arbitrate a mining contract, how to draw up a peace treaty, not… raise his son for him.”

Kunzite’s shoulders drooped only slightly as they continued their way through the dense foliage, briars and thorns now finally starting to cling to the pristine hem of his cape.

“To me it’s the same duty.” Kunzite told his companion, “The king has been… distracted these last several years, what with the Silver Millennium exerting its influence to the other worlds, the trade disputes, not to mention the rebels on our borders. And since his mother died…” He didn’t want to make excuses for the lapse in Endymion’s discipline, but it truly was a chaotic time in their kingdom, and the loss of his beloved queen was a wound in Endymion’s father that would never fully heal, “I know the king doesn’t mean to seem so distant from his son, but I know the stress he’s under just trying to hold the kingdom together.”

“Yes, but I still feel wrong about it.” Zoisite confessed and chewed the skin on the back of his thumb, a nervous habit Kunzite secretly hated, “Who’s to say we’re not shaping him into the king that we want, rather than the one he’s meant to be?”

“They’re one in the same.” Kunzite philosophized, “We took oaths to uphold certain values, the virtues that this kingdom is built upon. I can’t consider that we would ever have a king who doesn’t embody all of those virtues.” He sighed again, trying not to look over his shoulder at the pouting teenager bringing up the rear of the trail, “And if Endymion can’t learn those lessons from us, he’ll have to learn it from life. He needs to know consequences.”

“You’ve already spoken to the king?” Zoisite asked, less a question than an inference.

“Yes.”

Zoisite blew out his breath and said, “If he’s willing to make such a drastic change…”

“It won’t come to that.” Kunzite assured the other knight.

“But what if it does?” he replied, “I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of responsibility.”

“Then we’ll replace you.” Kunzite said dryly.

“You’re utterly impossible sometimes.” Zoisite dismissed him with a roll of his eyes.

The two knights and their tarrying prince emerged from the forest a few minutes later and skirted the edge of the huge emerald fields surrounding the capital until they picked up an actual trail and eventually a twin-rutted wagon road leading into the walled city proper. Kunzite purposely tried to navigate them down less trafficked side streets and alleys, but eventually there was no avoiding the main thoroughfare.

Out of the cool shade of the forest the day was warm, bustling, and beautiful, as were most days in the Golden Kingdom. The small group avoided as much of the merchant quarter as possible, but there were still crowds choking the cobblestone byways as citizens made their rounds through the white stone city. Every occasional guard patrol they passed saluted crisply, drawing even more attention that Kunzite did not want. Men bowed and women curtsied as they made their way past the palace’s outer gate into the courtyard, mercifully free of major delay or distraction. They passed between twin fountains ringed by half-circles of polished white columns, through the second gate into the immaculately maintained rose gardens and low, shaped hedges, and finally up the stairs to the palace doors. Gold leaf adorned carved reliefs down both lengths of the outer walls and the tall arched dome at the palace summit gleamed like a second sun in the bright morning light.

Inside diplomats, legislators, representatives and all their various aides and secretaries milled about the halls discussing and conducting the business of running the kingdom. A tariff on luxury imports from Venus was a current issue, as was allocating more funding for an aqueduct project in the western corner of the kingdom. Kunzite had little use for politics and, despite his off-handed dismissal of Zoisite’s concerns, he too shared his apprehension for what might be about to happen…

They found the king in the great hall which sat just below the dome in the center of the palace and was filled with warm light reflected off its gilded surface. Another delegation was just leaving as Kunzite, Zoisite, and Endymion approached. The knight’s boots clacked loudly against the polished white tiles and inlaid grout lines of gold, red, and blue marble. Kunzite nodded to the two men who stood off to the left of the king’s chair, for it was far too simple and unembellished to be called a throne, and Jadeite and Nephrite nodded back. The two knights were dressed the same as their compatriots, but with accents of blue and red respectively. Zoisite joined them at the king’s side and Kunzite approached the monarch and bowed.

“My king.” Kunzite said, his voice hushed and reverent.

“Rise, my friend.” The king answered in a warm, but timeworn voice, “Endymion, step forward.”

With only a moment’s hesitation Endymion shuffled forward, his eyes still downturned. His hands fiddled with a button on his jerkin that had come unsewn at some point during his ill-fated hunt. Knowing his father wouldn’t speak until he matched his gaze and not wanting to drag out his humiliation any longer, Endymion steeled himself and looked up. He regretted it almost immediately.

King Aeolus was an imposing man on the best of days, but today as he stood there under the gleaming light of the palace dome, dressed in his regal finery of a black and silver brigandine version of his knight’s uniforms with golden epaulettes, but with armored appointments of greaves, pauldrons, and faulds, a black cape lined with scarlet satin, and a ceremonial long sword belted to his thigh, he looked more the part of a marauding warlord of old rather than the benign monarch of this peaceful kingdom. His hair was black like his son’s, but longer and less wild, with white in the temples and streaks of gray throughout. He wore a close-shaved beard and mustache, and his piercing night blue eyes stared down at Endymion with an unsettling mixture of anger, disapproval, and love.

“Father,” Endymion started first hoping the sudden loss of whatever confidence he thought he had mustered wouldn’t show too plainly in his quavering voice, “I can explain.”

“I need no excuses.” The king replied and raised a hand to silence him, “Perhaps it was to be expected.” He shook his head and began to pace back and forth along the low dais where his chair sat, “This is my fault. I’ve lost sight of so much since she…” the words died in a choked gurgle, still so hard after all this time to say, “… since your mother passed on.”

Tears welled, but Endymion swallowed them down. He barely had time to know his mother, who had died when he was still quite young. He had trouble remembering her face without one of the many portraits in the palace to remind him, but the feeling of her presence and the love she radiated were still fresh and clear in his mind. Whatever gulf had separated them over the years, he and his father will forever bound together by that love, and their shared grief.

“But I had hoped that with the lessons and guidance from my trusted knights –your friends, as you’ve so often called them, some even from childhood– that you would come to understand the great burden that you will one day bear in leading our people.” Aeolus continued.

“I had hoped that by now you would have shown me the good sense and spiritual fortitude needed to lead this kingdom; to be a prince whose people know and trust him, who speak in the markets and in the taverns of what a fine, upstanding young man he’s become and how they feel safe knowing the crown will pass to him one day.”

“Father…” Endymion tried to interject.

“Instead I find you’re frittering your time away with venial pleasures.” The king almost spat, his voice rising in timbre with his anger, “Plundering the palace coffers to buy clothes and trinkets. Gambling. Drinking. Holding unsanctioned tournaments for your own amusement.”

“I fight in the tourneys, father.” Endymion could not help himself, “And I win. The people love me!”

“You win because you’re the Crown Prince!” The king shot back, “You may be skilled with the weapons of war, Endymion, but do you really think there’s a man or woman in this entire kingdom who would willingly strike you?”

For a second Kunzite’s blood ran cold. Slapping Endymion was calculated, not reactionary at all. Kunzite was calm under any pressure and would never allow himself to react rashly or on reflex alone. Still, as Zoisite worried it might have been a bridge too far. He was sure Aeolus would understand given the circumstances, but as the king just pointed out, striking the Crown Prince was just something you didn’t do. Surprisingly, Endymion said nothing about the incident, obviously too conflicted by his father’s dressing down to recall.

“Endymion, there is more to being a king than simply spending our gold, holding tournaments, and hunting for trophies that enrich none but yourself.” The king explained, “We’re in a critical moment of our history right now. The Silver Millennium is—“

“If those Moon creatures ever tried to enforce their will on us, our armies would paint their silver cities red!” Endymion hollered.

Aghast, the king took a step back and heaved a weary sigh. Had She been whispering in his son’s ear? No time to dwell on it now.

“Even now you prove my doubts. You’re not ready to lead this kingdom.” He cast a furtive glance to the four men standing at attention beside him, “I don’t know if you ever will be.”

“I am ready.” Endymion, suddenly emboldened declared, “You’re just scared that I’m not going to be exactly like you. I’m going to use my power so every world, the Moon included, respects our sovereign authority. I’ll take what we deserve. I’ll make sure everyone in the kingdom knows that we’re strong, and that we won’t back down when challenged!”

“Endymion, I don’t want you to be like me.” Aeolus pleaded, “I want you to be better than me. I want you to lead our people to new heights, not remain where we are, safe but stagnant. But you can’t be a war-monger or a dictator to do it!” He shrugged and looked to the sky, the golden rays of sunlight piercing through the dome nearly blinding him, “I want you to be the man your mother would have wanted you to be: compassionate, caring, stern but forgiving. Loving.”

“Well maybe if you taught me how to be those things, you’d have a son you could be proud of.” Endymion pouted.

“I am proud of you, son.” The king told him honestly, “You’re strong, skilled, intelligent… but you have no sense of the world, because you’ve never lived in it. This palace has been your home, but also your prison. I see that now.”

“Prison?” Endymion scoffed, “What crime put me here?”

“The crime of blood.” Aeolus answered, “The crime of royalty. But now, there will be a parole. Kunzite.”

The white-haired knight stepped forward and produced a leather satchel in the shape of a tube. He undid the clasp on one end and carefully extracted and unrolled a parchment covered in the calligraphic script of a palace scribe and emblazoned with both Aeolus’ royal seal and signature.

“What is this?” Endymion asked. Possibilities assailed him from the mundane of a royal reprimand to the extreme possibility of banishment from the realm.

“A royal decree.” The king explained, “A new law set to take effect upon my death.” His eyes quickly skimmed the document, and he rolled it tight again, “Unless, of course, I destroy it before then.”

He handed the parchment back to Kunzite who dutifully returned it to its holster. Zoisite, outwardly stoic to this point, nervously shifted his gaze between the young prince and the eldest knight.

“The law provides that upon my death, if there is no heir in my bloodline suitable to wear the crown, that the powers of the king shall be transferred to and shared among my council of knights, until such time that a new line of succession can be established by acclamation of the people.” The king explained.

It took a moment for the words to register in Endymion’s mind. He was smart as his father said, but legalese was not his strongest forte.

“You’re…” he clenched his teeth, “Denying me my birthright?”

“Your birthright is a scrap of parchment buried so deep in the royal archives that it will never see the sun.” His father told him and a strange gentleness returned to his voice, “Birth alone cannot determine a man’s worth. I want you to be worthy of the crown, my son, but you need to earn my blessing.”

“Even though you never had to?” the prince fumed.

“Even though I never had to.”

“Fine.” Endymion sighed and slapped his hands together as if in supplication, “What must I do to appease you, my king?”

“Drop the attitude for a start.” Aeolus began as he reclaimed his seat, “And then prepare what supplies you need for a long journey. You must undertake a quest.”

“A quest?” Suddenly Endymion’s entire demeanor shifted, though he fought with his body’s natural reaction to display sudden excitement and anticipation. His mind filled with the heroic stories of knights, princes, and kings of old on far-ranging quests of great valor. Still such a boy, his father thought warmly.

“Far to the south at the very borders of the kingdom there is a mountain.” The king elaborated, “The tallest mountain on Earth; Olympus itself, the legends claim, where the gods who ruled this world once lived. There is something there I’ve long desired and I wish for you to retrieve it.”

“You want me to fetch something for you?” Endymion balked and blinked several times, “What is it?”

“The old stories say that when the gods left the world, what remained of their power collected and hardened into two mighty crystals.” Aeolus continued, “One, a silver crystal, fell to the Moon where it’s said that Queen Serenity discovered it and used its power to build her Silver Millennium. The other, a golden crystal, fell to Earth where it has remained, unclaimed, since time immemorial.”

“There is a power on this Earth to rival the Silver Crystal?” Endymion gawped.

“Not just to rival it, Endymion, to be its equal.” The king elaborated, “You think as many doom-sayers believe that Queen Serenity wishes to impose her will upon us, when in fact the Silver Millennium seeks to insulate us from outside interference. They are merely misguided in their attempts to protect us from the rest of the cosmos, because they believe us too weak or too primitive. To claim the Golden Crystal would prove, not only to the Silver Millennium, but to all the worlds, that the Earth has just as much right to forge its own destiny as they do.”

“If you know where the crystal is, why haven’t we claimed it before now?” Endymion astutely asked.

“Because the journey is treacherous and because no one of such righteous character needed to undertake such a quest has risen to the challenge.” The king explained, “The only person who could even approach the Golden Crystal would need to be a living avatar of the virtues upon which this kingdom is built: honesty in all endeavors, compassion for all creatures, valor in battle, justice without bias, honor without pride, sacrifice, spirituality, and above all, humility.”

“And you think I could rise to such a task?” Endymion almost scoffed, but was strangely enamored by the thought of such confidence being placed in his abilities.

“That is your test, my son.” His father admitted, “For only a man who embodied those virtues could claim the Golden Crystal, and only such a man is worthy to be king.” Aeolus gestured to the four knights at his side, “However, no king is alone in his struggles, and my loyal knights will accompany you on this perilous journey.”

“Extremely perilous, I hope.” Nephrite said with a hardy grin and cracked the knuckles of his broad warrior’s hands.

“We tackled tougher quests than this when we were kids running through the rose gardens.” Jadeite added with a supportive smile.

“We’re with you in this, not as teachers and tutors.” Kunzite began. Zoisite finished, “We’re here as your brothers.”

The prince was suddenly overwhelmed by the outpouring of support and emotion from the men who until recently had been merely talking heads droning on endlessly about etiquette and procedure, or harsh taskmasters doling out training drills and endless exercises. He didn’t deserve their affection or their support. He’d squandered his power, his influence, and his very name. The vision of the mighty elk standing tall and proud in the forest assailed him. Endymion was planning to kill that creature for no reason than his own vanity, and here was his father entrusting him not only with the future of the kingdom and the lives of all its citizens, should he succeed in his task, but with the equal to the greatest power known to exist in the world. His tears fell freely.

“I see greatness in you, my son. It has always been there.” His father reassured him, but added this wisdom, “It’s up to you now whether you will rise and claim that greatness for the good of all, or fall and bring great pain and sorrow to the world.”

#sailor moon #sailor moon crystal #chiba mamoru #tuxedo mask #endymion #shitennou #jadeite #nephrite #zoisite #kunzite #fanfic #silver millennium #fantasy #quest #elk

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