#and vex walked away from that Believing that they were right. that her worth would only ever be proven by fulfilling their demands | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

babybluebex · 4 years ago

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retribution pt.1 [charles blackwood smut]

➽ pairing: dark!stepfather!charles blackwood x fem!reader (y/n) ➽ word count: 4.9k ➽ summary: after charles marries your mother to gain a massive fortune, he realizes that he married the wrong woman, and he sets his sights on the real heiress: you. ➽ warnings: NSFW/MDNI. explicit language, smut, thigh-riding, oral (f!receiving), power dynamics, step!cest, masturbation, yandere/obession (i think??), daddy kink, breeding kink, slapping, mentions of murder/suicide ➽ a/n: i know that is different than what i usually post, but charles blackwood just... hmmm he grinds my gears in the best way. so, enjoy! masterlist/taglist in bio (and the sequel will be soon!)

From the very moment you laid eyes on Charles Blackwood, you loathed him. There was something about him physically that turned you off of him. Maybe it was the way his hair was just too perfectly done, the caramel highlights too pretty to be natural. Maybe it was the way his cologne filled your head, dark and lovely, but too masculine, like he was making up for something. Or maybe it was the smile that graced his pink and pouty lips when your mother introduced him to you as her husband.

It had hardly been a year since your father had passed, and you had no idea just how your mother could move on as quickly as she did. It had torn you up in a way that nothing else quite had. You had always been closer to your father than your mother and, when he got sick, you were left to bear the weight of what was happening. You went to visit him at the hospital alone and sat with him and read to him, and you held his hand as the nurses carefully turned off his machines. You guess that it was worth it, though; you found out that your father had altered his will and now, instead of his money being left to your mother, it was left to you. The only condition was that you had to get married to receive the money, going back to a conversation many years ago where your father tried to convince you not to go to university, telling you that the life of a wife and a mother would suit you better. You said that you would think about it.

“You’re not my dad,” you told Charles Blackwood. You expected him to be cross or maybe even hurt by your insistence upon that, but he smirked, as if he had expected that sort of answer. “I’m not gonna call you that.”

“Aw, that’s alright, honey,” Charles said, and he pressed his hand to your mother’s shoulder to stop her from scolding you. “I didn’t think you would. That’s awful, what happened to him. I’m really sorry about that.”

So casual, the way he talked about your father’s death. As if it was nothing more to you than a bad exam grade. You cried that night, locked up in your room, wanting Charles gone already. He was in the kitchen when you went in in the morning, sitting at the table, reading the newspaper, and whistling. He had the glow of a recently-spent man about him, and you internally sneered at the thought of him fucking your mother. “Hey, you,” he said, putting the paper down. “Let’s have a talk, huh?”

You glared at him, but sat down at the table all the same. You dug your thumbs into your orange and raised your eyebrows expectantly at him, and Charles pursed his lips. “I want you to know something,” he said. “I love your mom, right? And I have no interest in being your new dad or whatever. But I expect you to treat me with a little bit of respect, not any of… This.” He waved his finger at you, obviously talking about your current abhorrent pose. “I may not be your dad, but I’m still paying the bills and paying for you to go to university. So you’re gonna treat me like you fucking worship the ground I walk on. Got it, honey?”

“And what do I get outta this?” you grumbled.

“You get to keep living here,” Charles said. “You still get all that money that your father left your mother when he died. I don’t see what else you need.”

You scoffed. “Right,” you whispered. “‘Cause you only care about money. Well, Chuck, that’s fucking hysterical, that you think I’m even remotely like you. I can see past dollar signs and see what people are actually about. Anyway, I could care less about your money. I’ve got my own.”

“Doing what?” Charles asked with a dismissive laugh. “Waitressing?”

“You wish,” you sneered. “Mother didn’t get any money from Father.”

“All that money?” Charles asked slowly. “Where the hell did it go?”

“Into my trust fund,” you said highly, and you watched Charles’s blue eyes widen. “I have every cent of my father’s. All I have to do is get married, and me and my husband can fuck off, away from you.”

Charles stuttered for a moment, then said, “Let me get this straight. Your father left every red dime to his kid and not his wife? And you can only access it if you get married?”

“I told him that I wasn’t getting married,” you explained. “This is his twisted way of guaranteeing that I tie the knot at some point; soon, I guess. But congratulations, Chuck. Welcome to the family.”

As you stood up from your place, Charles’s hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, and you yelped. His grip was strong, veins in his hand exposing themselves, and his jaw was set with a rising anger. You could see the red flush in his chest and neck, and, as pleased as you wished you were, you were frightened by him. Your father had never grabbed you like that before. Nobody had. “What did I say about a little goddamn respect?” Charles asked through gnashed teeth, and he twisted his hand, pulling your skin and making you cry out in pain. “You don’t call me Chuck. You call me Charles, or Father, or fucking nothing.”

“Let go of me, you fucking bastard,” you hissed.

Charles’s face was red now, and he lashed out and struck you across the cheek. Before you even had time to cry out, he had you by the chin, forcing you to look at him. “Go to your room,” he told you. “Next time I see you, if this fucking attitude isn’t fixed, you’re gonna be really sorry. You hearing me, honey?”

You nodded, using every ounce of your self control to not burst into tears on the spot. You cursed him in your head, wishing for him to leave you and your mother alone. You wanted him gone, maybe even dead. Certainly nowhere near you or your mother anymore. Charles stared at you, watching you, making sure of your compliance, then he let go of your face and tugged you close to his body by your wrist. Confusion overtook you as he hugged you, but then it made sense when you heard the floorboard in the hallway creak. “I know you miss him,” Charles said, quiet but certainly loud enough for your mother to hear from the hallway. “And I can’t be him, but I’ll try my best. Alright, honey?”

He sent a quick pinch to your tender wrist, and you finally let out your caged sobs. “Hey, hey,” Charles said, shushing you in what could be mistaken for comfort. “No need for crying, little one. I’m here for you.”

When you finally tore yourself from Charles, he looked happy. The anger was gone from his face, and he smiled at you. “‘Morning, lovely,” he said to your mother, and he stepped around you to embrace your mother and kiss her cheek.

“What’s going on?” your mother asked, looking at you worriedly.

“Having a little heart-to-heart,” Charles said softly. “Said she missed her father, and I told her that I’ll try my hardest to be there for her.”

“Aw,” your mother cooed and placed a kiss on Charles’s lying lips. “You’re too good to us.”

That conversation seemed to change something between you and Charles. He was still an asshole when your mother wasn’t looking, but you knew not to tell her. She wouldn’t believe it, and it would inevitably just mean more trouble for you. However, there was suddenly something more with Charles. He seemed charming, as always, but you sensed something sinister underneath it. You knew that he was only after your father’s money, and he was now stuck with your mother when it was you who had all the money. You knew that he was mad at marrying the wrong woman, but he couldn’t do anything about it now, and the thought that your presence vexed him as much as he did you pleased you.

Except, as you found out one night, Charles still could do something.

It was still dark outside your window when you heard your bedroom door creak open. You liked to sleep with it closed, and you brushed it off as the house shifting as it settled. Your clock said that it was five in the morning, and you nearly got up to close your door back, but you smelled him first. Fresh from his morning shower, cologne still potent, Charles lingered in the doorway to your room before stepping in. You squinted your eyes to try to see what Charles was doing, but still trying to act asleep, and you watched him cross to your dresser, across from your bed. He carefully opened drawer after drawer, obviously hunting for something specific, and your heart dropped when he crouched to the bottom drawer and his hands came up to brush back his hair.

Your heart burned with hate and disgust as you watched your mother’s husband, your stepfather, pull out a pair of your panties. You had done laundry just two days earlier and hadn’t worn them yet, and you watched as Charles pressed the bundle of cotton to his face. After a moment, he stood up, your panties in his fist, and you quickly closed your eyes to feign sleep as Charles approached the bed. You felt his presence right by your face, felt his eyes watching you as you slept, and he whispered, “Fuck, little one...”. Then, you heard the zipper on his pants. Through your eyelashes, you watched Charles press his half-hard cock into his fist and begin to stroke himself, rubbing himself with your panties. He slotted his bottom lip between his teeth as he masturbated, watching you as you “slept”. “So fuckin’ pretty… Gonna be mine.”

You tasted acidic hate in your mouth, but you couldn’t make yourself confront him. To your knowledge, nobody had ever masturbated to the thought of you before. There was a tiny part of you that liked that Charles was so hung up on you, even if the dominating part of your brain told you how sick it was. Anyway, you hardly wanted to interrupt him and stop an orgasm and give him yet another reason to hate you.

Charles’s cheeks went red in the dim light of the room as his fist moved faster. Your panties were bunched around his cock, flushed and nestled there like it belonged, and you closed your eyes fully. You didn’t want to see him come. You didn’t want to know what he looked like. You moved slightly, adjusting your legs under the blankets, and Charles let out a quiet little grunt. “One day…” he mumbled to himself. “Gonna be mine… All that’s gonna be mine.”

His breath caught in his throat, and you heard the wet squelch as his cum coated your panties. Charles stood for a moment, watching you, feeling his cock soften in his hand, and he finally sniffed and stuffed the used panties into his pocket. He tilted his head as he continued to examine you and the way you gave little noises as you slept, and he smiled. Oh yes, he thought as he brushed a bit of hair from your cheek. You would make a good wife.

Later that day, you were absently wandering around the house. It was too hot to do anything outside comfortably, but you definitely didn’t want to be around Charles or your mother for the moment. Even though you hadn’t seen anything that Charles had done, his grunts and hisses were enough for you to know that he enjoyed his time in your room that morning. You had yet to find your panties, and your stomach roiled when you wondered if he still had them in his pocket.

Your stepfather called your name from across the house, and your heart dropped. As you made your way to his office, you decided to play with him in the worst way possible. If he was going to haunt you and make you miserable, you were going to do just the same. Charles was leaned back in his desk chair when you got there, smoking from his pipe. His tie was loose, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his gelled hair coming a bit undone. He looked stressed, and perhaps a little anxious. “Yes?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the doorframe.

“What are you doing tonight?” Charles asked, blowing out a mouthful of thick smoke.

You shrugged. “Nothing, I suppose,” you said. “Why?”

“I wanted to take you to dinner,” Charles said. “I think we got off on the wrong foot, and I would like to make it up to you, if I can. I… I truly apologize for hitting you. I have a short temper, see, and I’m trying to be better about it.” His lips were pursed, his eyes trained on you.

If you didn’t know any better, you would think that his apology was genuine. But he needed you on his good side in order to get your fortune. He was buttering you up. You sighed. “That’s alright,” you said. “Umm… I’d like that, I think. Would Mother be coming as well?”

“No, little one,” Charles said, and you remembered how he had called you that as he pleasured himself into your panties. “Just us. A father-daughter dinner.”

“Alright,” you said. “Umm… Would you be angry if I called you Father? I just think…” You trailed off and pretended to be ashamed as you played with the sleeve of your dress. “Maybe it would help me adjust.”

“Not at all, honey,” Charles replied. “Anything to make you comfortable.”

You gave him the smallest smile, and you approached his seat. “I should have greeted you with a bit more open-mindedness,” you mused. “I was being childish. I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me, because I… I just want you to like me, Father.”

“Aw, honey, I do like you,” Charles said, tilting his head. “You’re already forgiven.”

Your smile grew, and you leaned over to give Charles a tight hug. You could smell his strong cologne as you embraced him, and you made sure to give a soft little moan in his ear. “Oh, Father!” you started. “I can’t seem to find some of my clothes. Would you happen to know where they might have gone? Mother’s always on about donating unused things.”

“I have no idea, little one,” Charles said, and you straightened up. “What exactly are you missing?”

“Just a few sweaters,” you said, tracing the etching on the desk. “A skirt or two… A pair of panties with daises on them.” You gave a little laugh, and added, “They were my lucky pair and I just… Never mind, that’s embarrassing.”

“No, I mean,” Charles began, and he shifted in his chair. Your words had done exactly what you had hoped; he was suspicious and uncomfortable. “If it means a lot to you. How exactly are they lucky, might I ask?”

You laughed quietly. “Oh, Father, I couldn’t possibly tell you,” you giggled. “It’s not the sort of things girls talk about with their parents.”

“C’mon,” Charles smiled, reaching forward and playfully tickling your side. “If you don’t tell me, then I’ll assume the worst.”

In truth, the panties meant nothing to you. You couldn’t even remember when or where you had gotten them. But if it made Charles uncomfortable, then you would stretch the truth however far you needed to. You bit your bottom lip and giggled, and you said, “Fine, fine. I wore them the night I almost lost my virginity, and I… I just feel good wearing them.”

Charles straightened in his chair, setting his pipe aside. “You’re not a virgin?” he asked.

“I said ‘almost’, Father,” you whispered. “I still am.”

“Well, that’s not a bad thing,” Charles told you. His hands went to your waist and tugged you closer to him, and he carefully parted your legs with his knee. “Are you waiting for marriage?”

You shrugged. “Or whatever,” you said. “I wanted to do it, but I just… He wasn’t my type.”

“And what is your type, honey?” Charles asked.

Your stomach was curling with disgust, but you kept up the ruse. “I don’t know,” you whispered. With a sigh, you settled yourself on Charles’s thigh, playing with the collar of his shirt. “Just, someone who knows what they’re doing, I guess. Who can make me feel good without making mistakes. Older, I suppose.”

“What else?” Charles asked. His thumb brushed against your hip bone, and you shivered when you felt your walls flutter. You couldn’t possibly be turned on by playing this sick game with your stepfather, could you?

“I like dark hair,” you said softly. “Tall. Nice eyes.”

“So…” Charles began and gave you a satisfied grin, one like a wolf who had cornered his prey. “Me.”

“Oh, God,” you whispered. “I-I guess, when you put it that way--”

“It’s alright, little one,” Charles said softly, and he leaned forward and kissed each of your cheeks. “It’s alright if you’ve got a little crush on me. Tell me, honey: have you ever been touched before?”

“Yes,” you replied with a fake meekness. He seemed to like the more innocent side of you.

“Yes…?”

You swallowed down disgust, disguising it as nerves. “Yes, Father.”

“Good girl,” Charles whispered. “How have you been touched?”

“A boy put his fingers in me,” you told Charles, avoiding his eyes. “And his mouth on me.”

“Where on you?” Charles pressed on. His hand slipped down to your bare legs and let his fingers linger on the soft skin of your inner thigh.

“Father,” you mumbled. “I can’t say it.”

“Show me,” Charles demanded, his face suddenly stony. “Put your hand where that kid had his fucking mouth.”

You let your hand rest on top of Charles’s, and you lifted it to your breast first. “Here--”

“Over your dress?” Charles laughed.

“N-No,” you laughed softly. You bit your lip as you guided his hand down the neck of your dress, and you shuddered at his warm palm on your soft nipple. Your cunt fluttered again, and you fully blushed when you realized that Charles had certainly felt it against his tense thigh. “Here,” you whispered, and you found yourself letting out a quiet moan as Charles groped at your breast. You weren’t supposed to be enjoying this. No, this was supposed to be torture for him.

“You like when I touch your tit like this, honey?” Charles asked, and you nodded quickly. “So good for your father, little one. Where else?”

You took his wrist and pulled his hand up to your mouth, and you placed a gentle kiss to his fingertips. “He kissed me,” you said.

“Did you like it?” Charles asked. He pressed his thumb to your bottom lip, and you took it into your mouth as Charles watched greedily.

You shook your head, and Charles pulled his thumb from your mouth. “What did he do wrong?” he asked softly.

“Nothing,” you whispered. “I just didn’t like him, I suppose.”

“Do you usually fuck guys you don’t like?” Charles asked.

“I didn’t fuck him, Father!” you said quickly. “I-I stopped it. Remember?”

“Oh, right,” Charles said in a hushed tone. “Saving yourself for the right person, who just so happens to have every quality that I possess. Is that right?”

“Father,” you groaned, leaning forward to press your forehead against his shoulder. For some reason, you didn’t entirely mind the smell of his cologne anymore. You didn’t mind his perfect hair. You didn’t even mind the wolfish smile that overtook his pink pout.

“Where else was that boy’s mouth?” Charles whispered. “Did he put it anywhere else? Or just on your pretty little mouth and tit?”

As you grabbed his hand, you realized that there was absolutely no going back. Your plan was set in motion and there was no way to stop it. You took a deep breath to prepare yourself, and you slowly took his hand down your body. You carefully lifted your dress and settled his hand over your cunt, and you shuddered at the warmth of his palm. His fingers were against your hole, the heel of his hand pressed to your clit, and you watched him lick his lips. “You naughty little thing,” Charles chuckled. “You let him put his mouth on your pussy?”

“I didn’t like it,” you told him quickly. “I didn’t like him.”

“Honey, I’m gonna ask you this once,” Charles whispered, pressing his hand fully against you. Even through the thin layer of your panties, you could feel every inch of his hand, and you bit your lip and tried to control your hips from bucking into his palm. Amongst other things, you were sure that you would get in trouble for it. “Do you want me to fuck you? I can show you how good you’re supposed to feel, little one, you’ll love me for it.”

You nodded quickly, but yelped when his free hand landed a smack on your ass. It truly hurt, and you whimpered when his hand stayed on your ass and squeezed. “Use your words, honey,” Charles said. “As much as I like the little dumb whore act, I wanna hear you beg for it.”

“Yes,” you said quickly. “Yes, Charles, please. Please, Daddy, please fuck me.”

“Ooh, Daddy,” Charles purred. “I like the sound of that, baby. Stand up and take off your panties, sweetheart.”

You did as he told you, shivering when the cool air hit your wet cunt, and Charles tugged you back down onto his thick thigh. The roughness of his pants made you whimper louder, and he sent a slap to your cheek. It wasn’t hard and didn’t even hurt, but you gasped all the same. “Keep your fucking cock-hole shut,” Charles hissed. “You want your mother to hear you fucking yourself on my leg?”

“N-No, Daddy,” you whined.

“Good girl,” Charles whispered. “Show me how badly you want me.”

“Huh?”

Charles took fistfuls of your dress and tugged it downwards, letting your tits escape. “I said, show me how badly you want me to fuck your little hole, babygirl,” he growled. “Fuck yourself on my thigh, and maybe, if you’re good for me, I’ll bend you over this desk right now and fuck you ‘til you can’t walk. You want that, baby? Want your daddy’s cock wrecking your pretty little pussy?”

You rested your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, and you rocked your hips down onto his hard thigh. The material of his pants brushed your cunt and clit and made you bite back a whimper, and you squeezed your eyes shut. You hated the way that you were enjoying it. You hated him. Maybe you even hated yourself. But self-loathing could wait until you got off, because the pleasure of everything was too overpowering to focus on much else.

Charles’s hands roamed your body, touching you everywhere that he could manage. He squeezed your tits and pinched your nipples, and bolts of pleasure rocked through your whole body. That, added with the feeling on your clit, was almost too much, and you whined out. “Daddy--!”

Suddenly, his hand was over your mouth, the other clamping down around your throat. “Shut up!” he huffed. His eyes were alert, locked on yours, and his face was red. Was he really angry? The thought that he was truly angry made your stomach flip, and not in a good way. “I told you to shut the fuck up, why can’t you listen?”

You pleaded with your eyes, asking him to forgive you. It was important for your plan that he didn’t have any ill will towards you. You needed him to want to marry you, and to actually do it. Then, you would get the money, and you could find a way to stage a suicide before the money was put into his bank account. Then, you would have your father’s money, and live with just yourself and the fortune he gave you. But, in order to do that, you had to do everything Charles Blackwood asked of you. You had to treat this horrible man like the sun shined out of his lying ass. You had to make him want to marry you. Which, at the current moment, didn’t seem like it would be too difficult.

You mumbled behind his hand, trying to warn him that you were going to come, but he only hit you across the cheek again. “Not another sound, you fucking whore,” he said. “Fucking yourself on your father’s leg. So slutty. You gonna come? You wanna come on Daddy’s leg?”

You nodded quickly, and you started your hips faster. Your legs were quivering and you could hardly hold yourself upright anymore, and Charles took note of the tears brimming at your eyelashes. “Is this the first orgasm you’ve ever had, honey?” he asked. He seemed softer suddenly, and his hand left your mouth; the other stayed secure around your throat, though. You nodded quickly, and he gave a little coo. “Aw, my poor baby. I guess I oughta take some pity on you, huh? You’ve been good to me after all… Take off your dress and sit on the desk.”

Your dress hit the floor, and you settled yourself on the edge of Charles’s desk. It was a hefty thing made of mahogany, and you clenched your thighs together as Charles’s eyes raked over your entire body. “I know you’re not trying to be modest now,” he laughed. “Open your legs and show Daddy that pretty pussy.”

You bit your lip and did as he said, and you gasped when his eyes finally landed on your cunt. You were dripping wet, your slick glistening off your thighs, and Charles let one thick finger glide up your slit and collect your wetness on his fingertip. “Jesus Christ, baby,” he laughed. “You were really close, weren’t you? Let me guess, you want me to shove my cock in you, huh? Want me to fuckin’ split you in two and stuff you full of my cum? God, you would look so pretty, gettin’ all big with my baby.” He paused to suck your wetness off of his finger, and he gave a quiet little sigh. “Oh, God. Of course you taste good… So sweet, like sugar. It’s almost like you want me to eat you out, sugar.”

“Please,” you sniffled. You reached for him and pulled him in by his tie, and he slotted easily between your thighs. “Please, please, please, Daddy, want your mouth on my pussy, please, make me come, Daddy…”

Charles placed a soft kiss on your forehead as a way to placate your begging, and he whispered, “You’re asking so nicely, sugar. How could I say no to your pretty little face?”

You didn’t know what exactly to expect as Charles kneeled down in front of you, and you carefully pushed your fingers through his hair, through those perfect blond highlights. The moment his tongue touched your clit, though, you forgot entirely about how you were supposed to be hating him. You forgot practically everything that wasn’t Charles. He lapped up your wetness and placed a wet kiss to your lips, and your stomach clenched as he looked up at you through his eyelashes. “Aw,” he whispered, his warm breath making your cunt flutter again. “You look so pretty, sugar, all fucked out like this. Can’t wait ‘til I can actually fuck you…”

And, with that, he dived in. He was kissing, licking, and sucking your cunt like it was his only goal in life, your thighs in his bruising grip. You had the instinct to clamp your legs shut, and you nearly did, but Charles pulled his mouth away just enough so that his lips teasingly brushed your clit, and he whispered, “Now, that’s not what good girls do, is it?”

“M’sorry, Daddy,” you whispered. “Just feels so good.”

“I know, sugar, I know,” Charles whispered. “You’re being so obedient for me, though. Do you think you deserve a reward?”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Please, Daddy, I’ve been so good for you. Done what you’ve asked, please let me come.”

Charles sighed, looking up at you once more. “I love listening to you beg,” he whispered. “But you’ve been doing good for me. Go ahead, sugar. Come on my face, baby.”

The way his lips shined with your cum nearly made you pass out. If it were anyone else, you would have adored the sight of it, but, since it was your awful fucking monster of a stepfather, you loathed it. Still, you pulled him close and kissed him all the same, cringing at the taste of yourself on his mouth.

“What do we say?” Charles asked. His hands smoothed down your body, landing on your waist, and he tugged you flush against his body.

You let out a quiet little laugh. “Thank you, Daddy,” you whispered.

Charles smiled, looking like the cat who ate the canary. “You’re welcome, sugar.”

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan x reader smut #charles blackwood #charles blackwood fanfiction #charles blackwood x reader #charles blackwood smut #charles blackwood x reader smut #hehe whoops my hand slipped #and i wrote nearly 5k of awful smut

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infinitewarden · 3 years ago

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Osiris isn’t Savathun.

Great! Now that I have your attention:

Man you guys tire me out about Osiris. If you truly believe this is Osiris I don’t mean to sound like That Guy that’s like “you don’t know what you’re talking about” but... You don’t know what you’re talking about.

So.

Let’s talk about how much Osiris cares about the City and humanity and why the Osiris in Epilogue is not actually Osiris.

Alright. Let’s start off with context. I think it’s super important to see what we do know as Osiris’s views. From my heavy analyses of him since 2020 I can confidently say these are what he views as the most important things a person can do:

Keep promises

Speak their truths

Protect the City & Humanity

Know that the Vex are true Evil.

Now, I won’t be doing a breakdown of each one individually but I will be talking a great deal of how important honesty is to Osiris, the City, and his views of the Vex.

Speaking honestly and bluntly.

I don’t know how many of you were into Destiny before Beyond Light, so if you were unaware of this it’s not your fault. However I’ve seen a very strange change in tone when it comes to how people view Osiris. Before Season of Hunt people hated - and I mean hated - Osiris. Why? Because he was blunt. They viewed his bluntness as rudeness.

To see a sudden switch to him being secretive and scheming is... alarming, to say the least. (And to see people think that this is the norm is also alarming but in other ways.)

The Osiris before Hunt was not secretive and scheming. He sought knowledge openly. He sought, specifically, the truth. I must stress just how open he was about his plans. First I’ll give you a few in lore examples:

I admit, I found your questions divisive and disloyal, and I feared you might be capable of breaking our unity when the City's position had grown so tenuous. Why divert attention away from the Traveler, our only hope? And then it got worse, dabbling in thanatonautics, Ahamkara-lore, chasing after Xur and the tricks of the Nine. Launching expeditions into the Reef and beyond at a time when ships were irreplaceable. Your quest split Guardians along ideological lines. This was your greatest crime: Hunters chose to pursue your visions instead of protecting refugees, Titans assembled teams to chase the legendary Vault of Glass instead of striking the Fallen, and Warlocks turned away from the study of the Traveler in favor of your ultimate obsession... learning the exact nature of the Darkness. ... Perhaps what drives a Warlock to madness is truth.

Osiris.

"Do not romanticize this burden. We wield a weapon." The Speaker shakes his head. "The Light wields you, Osiris. You are what you make of it. A glorious extension of its majesty, in many directions." Osiris paces at cadence with his words. "Then it would do well to speak clearly. To better direct me." The Speaker cocks his head. "Without will? Then it would be no better than the Darkness." "I am asking only for guidance; it is a delicate game we are playing." Osiris's voice, distressed. Regal again, the Speaker motions to the stone garden. "Will you sit with me?"

13: Margins Part II.

And, while I don’t particularly like using the Fall of Osiris comic as a source, it does have very important lines on his viewpoints that I find relevant yet.

Fall of Osiris #1.

Hell he was open about his plans to fuck with time itself to bring Saint back.

Sagira narrowed her eye at the rogue Lightbearer and lowered herself to Osiris’s shoulder. “Why’s he here?” she asked quietly. “I asked him to consult on the engineering work,” Osiris replied, crossing his arms. “You sicko,” the other man declared, walking a circle around the Warlock, his eyes darting along every surface of the Sundial around them. ... “Just one more question, then. Why all the fuss?” “I owe him.” “I owe a lotta people, Warlock. You’re opening the gates of hell with a Vex key.” “When the Traveler brought me back, I had no friends. No family—” “No one had anything in the Dark Age.” “But Saint was always there. And I saw him grow from neophyte to demigod.”

The Sundial.

"You haven't left the Forest in years," Ikora said to Osiris, the only one to address him directly. "I need help," Osiris replied. "I know," Ikora responded, hands clasped behind her back. She stared intently at her former mentor. Back in her Crucible days, that uncompromising gaze was often the last thing her opponents saw. Aunor glanced sidelong at her superior. Harper coughed and looked down at his datapad. "Two years ago, Guardians entered the Infinite Forest," Osiris continued. "They aided me in defeating the Axis Mind Panoptes, preventing a Vex apocalypse from befalling this system. "In the process," he looked between each of them in turn, "Some Guardians reported a body they found in the Forest depths." Ikora sighed. "Saint-14 never came back from that last mission to Mercury. We finally knew why. I reacted to it the only way I knew how."

Desperate Times.

“I do not understand all of this code. This is Geppetto’s specialty,” Saint-14 says while standing bent over a wide desk covered in data tablets. Holographic images of the Lighthouse shimmer in the Hangar lights. “We could use the Crucible right now. Your trials. This will be very helpful. You mean to stay, yes?” “I will. Long enough to show you how to implement the simulation; but tonight, I must disembark,” Osiris says. “So soon?” Osiris tenses his jaw in forced silence. He twiddles with code. “I’m worried about what Vance found.” Saint places a heavy hand on Osiris’s chest. “Let go of your obsession. Do not leave chasing phantoms again.” “Phantoms… You think the Darkness is satisfied? This is just the first move. I need to know the next before it’s made.” “If there is something you fear, let me help you. We face this together.” Osiris’s mind drifts to the Dark anomalies. Saint doesn’t need another burden. “The safest place for you is the Tower, Saint. Time... tends to renege on its gifts.” “So, your mission is dangerous?” Osiris considers lying. “Potentially.”

Immolant I.

There are many more sources I could list on his bluntness and honesty but there’s honestly too much. What is important to extrapolate from all of it is this:

OSIRIS SPOKE THE TRUTH NO MATTER IF IT GOT HIM IN TROUBLE. IT IS ONE OF THE MAIN REASONS HE GOT EXILED.

Protecting the City & Humanity

Idk where people get the idea that he’s abandoned the City and humanity. And I don’t understand where people think it’s “typical Osiris behavior” to choose to put the City in danger.

I want to make something very clear here:

Osiris was exiled. He did not abandon the City. And though others view him as abandoning it, that wasn’t his intention. He never intentionally abandoned it. Everything he did was in pursuit of a brighter future for humanity. Let’s look at one of his lines from the Sundial activity during Dawn.

“By the time I left the City, many believed my practices to be sacrilege. But my methods have prevented countless futures not unlike the one you walk now. When it is laid out before you, would you not sacrifice anything to see this future shut?”

The Sundial.

He left because he weighed his options and he saw that humanity would have better use of him if he left. He cares A great deal about the City. He cares almost too much about it. He would never give Lakshmi the technology to cause it harm, especially knowing that she’s unstable. And I’ve seen some people think he’s playing 5D chess? In what world would he ever choose to bring harm upon humanity for some sort of... agenda; which I’ve already cleared up earlier, he’s open about his plans.

Let’s look at more known lore about Osiris’s feelings of the City & humanity.

"You've wrapped your mind around an idea of your own making. I have always tolerated this fawning 'movement' of yours, but this is a step too far." Osiris seethed. Brother Vance was awestruck. He stared blankly at Osiris, unsure of what he could say to quell his anger and dissolve his frustration. "What I have discovered…" "…is dangerous enough to destroy every man, woman, and child in existence. You're meddling with forces outside your grasp," Osiris reprimanded. "I warn you here and now, remove yourself from this Lighthouse. Find a simple life. Start a family. Write music. Leave Mercury and this fool's errand behind."

Chapter 8: Idolatry.

Osiris was furious to find out Vance was experimenting in his name by endangering people for his goals. And he was especially mad that he would dive into such dangerous areas so much so that it had the potential to destroy humanity.

"It's truth." Osiris considers this. "Truth seems subjective these days," Osiris says, finally observing his entourage for the first time. Among them, a small group of men and women, stand two wayward Guardians—Warlocks, it appears—and a child. Their forlorn faces resonate with him. Castaways and believers. The weeks since his departure from the Last City have worn on him. He was used to working alone, knowing he could fall back to the City's resources should he need them. Now, adrift in the expanse of purpose, he finds himself longing for a place he could return to. A sanctuary.

Chapter 2: Postexilic.

Here’s a few lines from Season of Dawn:

“The Traveler, mutilated. Mercury, a desolate warzone. This is the bleak future the Cabal wants for us all. We do not know what has become of humanity here. I hope we will not find out.”

“There are many terrible futures, but I have not grown numb to seeing them. The future the Cabal wish for is a nightmare for humanity.”

“If the Traveler fled the system, there is a chance that the Darkness would ignore our region of the galaxy entirely. It would sacrifice our second awakening, our ability to wield the Light, but potentially continue our Golden Age. There are too many variables at risk, but it's a variant path worth investigating in the Infinite Forest.”

“This battered Mercury is a blueprint for our system. Lightless, bowed, and nothing more than fuel for an endless war. It must never come to pass.”

The Sundial.

There are many. Many. More lines I could put here about how much Osiris doesn’t want to see humanity suffering. And especially how he doesn’t want the City to be at risk. But I think you get the picture.

Know that the Vex are true Evil.

So. We all know Osiris as “the Vex guy.” His whole thing is on fighting the Vex. However it seems people think that he’d be okay with using them for grounds of a higher purpose? Or something? I don’t know, everyone I see rebuffing Osiris’s actions with Lakshmi don’t seem to be interested in explaining this one.

So anyways. Let’s talk about how Osiris views the Vex as true evil compared to other species.

“The Fallen are not so different from us. How hard would you fight if the Light were taken from you?” “Those stories ring false to me,” said Saint. “They are not a noble people. I’ve fought them, and so have you.” “I have not fought them all,” the Warlock replied, pulling his hands apart to create an intricate web of hovering cubes and points of light. “They are nothing, no threat—not like the Vex. Not like the Darkness.”

Vanguard Commander.

[u.2:06] Have you spoken to the House of Light, like I asked? [u.1:07] I would rather not speak with Fallen. [u.2:07] They may need our help. Their cause is just. [u.1:08] What happened to “trust no one?” [u.2:08] What happened to your sense of right and wrong, hero?

Maintenance Operations Log 30037.

The unenlightened wonder at my so-called "fixation" upon the Vex. They believe our gravest existential threat is the Hive, for those beings have made a pact with the Darkness itself via the medium of the Worm Gods (according to Toland, at least, and I see no reason to doubt him in this). But Darkness is not merely absence of Light. Darkness is an entity unto itself. Put simply, Darkness is not Nothing. But the Vex? The Vex seek neither Light nor Darkness. They seek Convergence, the reduction of all life to its simplest, most meaningless form. An entelechy of zeros and ones. "Evil" is a word for sentimentalists and fools. But, in the ontology of the sentimental, the Vex are more deserving of the term than the Hive. Given a choice between Darkness and Convergence, I would choose Darkness. It is a logical choice. Yet for this they banish me.

Kairos Function (Hunter).

This one is important because Osiris doesn’t subscribe to the idea of “good” and “evil”, and that he would go so far to say that the Vex are Evil shows just how much of a threat he views them as.

It’s just. Mind boggling to me that people think that Osiris would be okay with a Vex invasion. That Osiris would encourage Lakshmi to open up a rift to “send the Fallen away” (Despite being one of the earliest sympathizers!) Osiris isn’t ineffable, he’s just a man trying to do his best to help humanity. His actions aren’t difficult to understand, they have been written to be very clear and with understanding his motives.

Saying that it’s natural for him to be secretive and have contradicting opinions and actions is just. Wrong. It’s not him. It’s not how he’s supposed to be understood. Even in Curse of Osiris I don’t think his actions didn’t make any sense.

This is going to sound very mean but I want to be 100% clear: If you think that Osiris would actively choose to put the City in danger of the Vex, if you think that he would actively choose to stand calmly and watch as his lover was about to die to the very things he spent millions of lives to save... You don’t understand Osiris. Go back and reread his lore.

I leave you with this:

The Vanguard is dubious of our intent and ability, fearing corruption and displacement. They do not trust me. You were held in similar contempt for speaking your truth and empowering free thought. You know what it feels like to be chastised and labeled a traitor. We are mere steps away from a disintegration of our institutions, and they cannot see destruction staring them in the face. ... For so long, we have clung to the Light, denying the strength offered by the Dark. By using Stasis, we will end this war. We see this contest for what it truly is: a game, played by our adversaries. And we have been the pawns. We are pawns no more. This is not a battle I want to wage without you, although we may not have a choice in the matter. Wherever you may be, please come back to us.

To Osiris.

#theus.exe #lore.exe #osiris #destiny osiris #osiris destiny #destiny spoilers #long post

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kjack89 · 3 years ago

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An Agreement Between Gentlemen (Chapter 2/?)

Continuation of the E/R Bridgerton AU (chapter 1 tumblr | AO3) with all the shenanigans. And some fake marriage. Because why not.

This Author has long been of the opinion that there is nothing so dangerous during the season as a mother desperate to make a match for her daughter, especially when that daughter is plain, or comes without a substantial dowry. But this season may bring a danger even greater than a desperate mother of daughters: desperate mothers of sons, unable – or unwilling – to seal the deal.

While certainly families with daughters, no matter how titled or landed, stand to lose much if they are unable to find a suitable marriage, the prospect of title or land passing out of the family without a suitable heir is enough to drive even the most respectable of families to desperate measures. Especially in the case of the Marquess of Enjolras, who is approaching thirty without a suitable marriage match in sight.

It is rumoured that the Dowager Marchioness is at her wit’s end and determined that her son shall marry by the end of the season. She is even accused of going so far as to negotiate terms without her son’s knowledge. There were several reports of a great row coming from the elder and younger Enjolras earlier this month, with son and mother shouting at each other for the entire park to hear.

The Dowager Marchioness finds herself in good company, at the least: the Duchess de Courfeyrac has long despaired to any who will listen that her eldest will never settle down, and the rumour is that the Baron of Pontmercy has proclaimed he is refusing to marry any girl save for young lady he caught glimpse of for but a moment at the Thénardiers’ ball (and whom he has never seen since, assuming she does exist). And of course, the landed gentry without titles find themselves in similar straits. Just take Mr. Grantaire, who, despite owning one of the largest houses bordering the park, has yet to find a wife, and as he is well past the age one would expect, his father has all but given up on him and retired out of the country.

Of course, with the exception of Baron Pontmercy, it is well known that neither Lord Courfeyrac nor Mr. Grantaire, nor most other young rakes who have yet to settle down, finds himself short of unsuitable women, but our gentle readers will know that unscrupulous women might warm a bed but will rarely walk down an aisle. And on a contrary note, the Marquess may well be a monk – there is not a single rumour that this Author has heard of any woman, suitable or otherwise, who has warmed his bed.

Then again, there is none who would ever think to bat the term ‘rake’ in the direction of Lord Enjolras.

But speaking of our notable rakes, this Author has learned that the Marquess of Enjolras has called upon Mr. Grantaire this past week. And our readers may remember that despite several seasons’ worth of acquaintance under their belts that neither man would consider the other friend, which causes this Author to wonder just what those two have to discuss.

Whatever they may be up to, this Author is certain it will bring nothing but more despair to their poor guardians. LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 18 APRIL 1831

Grantaire blinked. "I beg your pardon?" he said, and Enjolras thought it was too his credit that he sounded only mildly baffled.

Still, Enjolras could not help the flush that rose in his cheeks at the absurdity of his request. "I am fairly certain that you heard me perfectly well," he said, a little stiffly.

"Heard you, certainly, but..." Grantaire trailed off. "You wish for me to help you get married."

"Correct."

"But you need that marriage..."

Again he trailed off, and Enjolras cleared his throat delicately. "To not be real, correct," he finished in what he hoped was a helpful way.

Judging by the look Grantaire gave him, it had not been. Still, Grantaire was silent for a long moment, taking several sips of whiskey before telling Enjolras, "I will not claim to be anyone's first choice to ask for help with any variety of matters, but I still never thought I would see the day when I would be asked by a marquess to assist him in committing fraud."

"And yet if memory serves, once upon a time, you offered me your help with anything," Enjolras said. "You even offered to black my boots."

Grantaire looked momentarily surprised. "I did not think you would remember that."

Enjolras shrugged. "It was not I who drank my weight in wine that evening."

Grantaire smirked. "True enough." His smile faded slightly and he finished his second glass of whiskey before standing and crossing again to the drink cart. "While my offer of assistance still stands, there is something I must know first."

Enjolras eyed him warily. "What's that?" he asked.

"Why," Grantaire said simply, pouring himself another glass. "If you wish for my help, I need to understand the circumstances that have driven you to this most desperate – and patently absurd – endeavor."

Enjolras scowled, though he had certainly assumed that Grantaire would not just blindly assist him without asking why. "Fine," he snapped. "If it will move this conversation along, then I will tell you."

He waited for Grantaire to return to his seat with his whiskey before sighing and telling him grudgingly, "It's my mother."

"Your mother," Grantaire repeated.

"Yes," Enjolras said stiffly. "Do you intend on repeating everything I say? Because if so, this tale may never be finished."

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. "Forgive me, my lord," he said coolly. "Your statement merely took me by surprise, as I did not expect you to be a man who is cowed by anyone, let alone his own mother."

Enjolras sighed and drew a hand across his face. "No, it's you who must forgive me," he said, even more grudgingly than before. "I should not have snapped at you, but my mother..." He sighed again. "There is none who vexes me like she does. "

"Not even I?" Grantaire asked, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

"Well," Enjolras allowed, "perhaps one other who vexes me like she does." Grantaire smiled, but it was too soft to be his usual smirk, and there was something in his expression that Enjolras could not quite place, but made him flush again, and he looked away, busying himself by pouring another cup of tea. "In any case, my mother is insisting that I get married so that my future bride's dowry can support the lavish lifestyle to which she has become accustomed."

Grantaire took a sip of whiskey. "And I suppose telling her no is off the table?"

"I have told her no many times," Enjolras said with a sigh. "And cut her off from the money I control to boot. But her only other assets come from some land she inherited in her own right, and she is threatening to raise levies on the poor people who work that land if she does not receive any additional funds."

"Like the fiefdoms of old," Grantaire murmured, a dark looking crossing his face.

Enjolras nodded. "Precisely."

It took a moment for Grantaire's expression to even out, and he gave his head a swift shake. "So then, give her more of your money," he suggested.

"I cannot."

Grantaire's brow furrowed. "Why ever not?"

This, honestly, had been what he had been looking forward to least about having this conversation with Grantaire, in large part because he knew the man was liable to mock him with the reminder that the road to hell was paved with good intentions. "Most of my money is tied into trusts and investments to maintain the houses and lands, and to support infrastructure improvements in the village," Enjolras said. "And what remains is held in a trust by my solicitor that only I can draw on, and for specific purposes only."

"And let me guess, supporting your mother is not one of those specific purposes?"

Grantaire's tone was wry, and Enjolras sighed. "Indeed it is not. In fact, when I wrote the trust covenant, I deliberately chose to strictly forbid that type of use."

It looked as though Grantaire was trying very hard not to roll his eyes, but for once, Enjolras couldn’t really find it in himself to blame him. “So if you can’t use the money already under an existing trust, then you need new money, and the easiest way for that is…”

Grantaire trailed off and Enjolras nodded, relieved that Grantaire had finally caught up. “Some poor girl’s dowry,” he finished.

Grantaire pursed his lips, his expression skeptical. “You truly believe your mother would not just sell some jewels or something if the situation were truly that dire?”

“She might eventually,” Enjolras allowed, but his tone turned grim. “But I know my mother, and purposefully cruel is the kindest way to describe her. She would sooner squeeze every cent from her workers than suffer even a minor inconvenience, no matter the pain or destruction she leaves in her stead.”

“And you’re certain this is not simply a ploy to try to get you married off?” Enjolras looked affronted at the question and Grantaire held his hands up defensively. “I beg your pardon, but it had to be asked. Mothers are known for resorting to extreme measures in their desperation to see their children married off...or so Lady Whistledown would have us all believe.”

Enjolras wet his lips with his tongue as he contemplated his answer. “She might,” he said honestly. “I certainly wouldn’t put it past her. But I believe that if that were her true motive, she would’ve tried to force me into marriage through guilt over wanting grandchildren or a daughter-in-law, not going straight to the money angle.”

Grantaired nodded. “Well,” he said, “it’s good to know that you come by your manipulation tactics honestly, at least.” Enjolras gave him a withering look that Grantaire blithely ignored, asking instead, “What if you used some money from your trust to make a large purchase, a house or a tract of land, and then sold it quickly? Surely the profits from the sale would not fall under the terms of the trust.”

“They would not, but the trust—”

Grantaire groaned. “Do not tell me that you set up the trust so that you could not use it to expand your lands or holdings.”

Enjolras threw his hands up in frustration. “You know damn well I wish to be rid of these things!” he half-shouted, his irritation at the entire situation getting to the better of him. “Why would I allow myself the right to purchase more of that which I wish to depart from?”

“Because you really should have foreseen this becoming an issue,” Grantaire sighed, rubbing his forehead. He drained his glass of whiskey but to Enjolras’s relief, set it down on the table instead of getting up to pour himself another. “May I ask a question you will certainly find foolish?”

“Have you ever asked for my permission before?” Enjolras returned.

Grantaire half-smiled. “A fair question,” he said. “And I suppose I should not get in the habit now. Very well.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Why can’t you just get married? Most marriages of your social strata are loveless, or at least start out that way, more business arrangements than unions, and most if not all have at least financial motivation.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “I would not do that to any poor woman,” he said, his voice low. “Even if they imagine they would be stuck in a loveless marriage, I would not take from them the chance at one, or at having a family of their own, neither of which they would get from me.”

For a moment, Grantaire’s expression was almost soft as he gazed at him. “I see,” he said slowly, and Enjolras frowned at his sudden change in tone.

“What?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Here I thought you might be waiting for true love.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes again. “Hilarious,” he said dryly.

But Grantaire just gave him a small smile. “I would suggest you do not dismiss the idea until you have tried it.:

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed. “Is that why you’re not wed?” he asked snidely. “Are you waiting for ‘true love’?”

Grantaire’s expression didn’t so much as twitch but Enjolras still immediately regretted his words, or at least the tone with which he delivered them. “I am not wed because I do not wish to be. Now forgive me, but I believe we were here to talk about your nuptial problems, not my own.”

Enjolras nodded stiffly, not quite willing to apologize yet again for the crime of sticking his foot in his mouth, but luckily, Grantaire moved on quickly. “So then borrow money from one of us,” he suggested, tracing a finger idly over the brocade fabric of his chair. “Certainly I can give you the equivalent of a good dowry.”

“And explain it to my mother how?” Enjolras asked. “A dowry is a one-time cash injection that my mother knows will not come again, and she can plan accordingly. If she knows or suspects that I have borrowed money, she will not stop until I have bled my friends dry.”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “I did not know that I was counted as one of your friends.”

“Do you really think I would ask this of someone I did not consider friend?”

Grantaire looked away, his expression unreadable. “Well,” he said, his voice a little strange, “in fairness, you do let Marius join us at the Musain, so.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he snapped. “I will not let my mother bleed dry my friends, acquaintances and occasional nemeses, then.”

Grantaire looked back at Enjolras, his usual smirk back in full force. “Occasional nemeses,” he repeated. “Oh, I do like the sound of that.”

“Are you going to help me or not?” Enjolras asked impatiently.

Grantaire stood abruptly, but he didn’t return to the drink cart. Instead, he wandered over to the window, tucking his hands in his pockets as he stared out the window overlooking the park. Enjolras knew him well enough to know that he was thinking, and he stayed quiet despite everything in his nature wanting him to ask what was going through Grantaire’s mind.

After a long moment, Grantaire gave his head a little shake, still staring out the window. “It’ll be tricky,” he murmured, almost solely to himself, as if he had forgotten Enjolras was in the room. “We will need a plausible explanation, a suitable scandal...and of course, long-term…”

He broke off and stared out the window in silence for one long before turning back around, his troubled expression replaced by something like resolution. “Adélaïde,” he said, and Enjolras stared at him.

“I’m sorry, who?” he asked blankly.

“My sister,” Grantaire said firmly. “She is the solution. You will marry my sister for her dowry.”

Enjolras opened his mouth and promptly closed it again, completely taken aback by how this conversation had suddenly turned. “And dare I ask what you will say if I tell you that I have absolutely no desire to marry your sister, for her dowry or for any other reason?”

Grantaire didn’t look remotely deterred. “I can’t imagine she’d be too thrilled with the match either, but seeing as how she has no say in the matter…”

He trailed off as Enjolras recoiled, his expression darkening. “I did not think you the kind of gentleman who would think so little of his own sister’s consent.”

To his surprise, Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I think a great deal of her consent,” he said impatiently. “But she gets no say because she has been dead for almost twenty years.”

“Oh.”

Enjolras barely breathed the syllable, the word more an instinctive response less to what Grantaire had said and more to the pain he could see painted across Grantaire’s expression, even as his brusque tone tried to hide it.

Grantaire just jerked his head in what may have been a nod, a muscle working in his jaw, and Enjolras hesitated before saying, tentatively, “I am sorry. I did not know.”

“No one does,” Grantaire said quietly. “I…” He trailed off before shaking his head. “She and I were quite close when we were children, and after she died, it was simply easier to not speak of her.” He did not wait for any additional sounds of sympathy from Enjolras, instead straightening his shoulders as his tone turned businesslike. “But that works in our favor, as it means that no one in London knows that she is dead. It will not be difficult to tell a few key people about her, that I indulge my sister for nothing and that she has fallen in love with someone back in the country, the vicar’s son or something. And why should I subject her to the marriage market when her hand is already spoken for?”

He delivered this scenario as if it was one he had thought about before, and Enjolras shook his head slowly. But Grantaire did not let him interrupt. “Then you can come visit me,” he continued. “Just a friendly visit out to the country for a few days, mid-season. But we can stage a scandalous encounter between you and my ‘sister’ and leak the details to Lady Whistledown. A quick marriage without any of your family in attendance will be the best way to settle the scandal, and you can be ‘married’ with none the wiser.”

“Save for you,” Enjolras said faintly.

Grantaire considered it and nodded. “Myself, and likely my butler and housekeeper. I cannot imagine pulling this off without their assistance.” He looked at Enjolras expectantly. “So what do you think?”

Enjolras shook his head again. “It seems almost insane enough to work,” he said slowly, because he could not think of anything else to say. “But it’s also a ruse I cannot imagine keeping up for long, and while I might pray every day that my mother drops dead, I doubt this ruse would outlive her.”

“Ah, but you are missing the beauty of it,” Grantaire said. “As my sister is already dead, it’s easy enough to stage an illness and then her death.” Enjolras made an unconvinced noise and Grantaire added, “And besides, because of the nature of the scandal, it would make it only natural that she would not wish to subject herself to London, giving you plenty of time before she needs to grow sickly for you to carry on without any concern.��

“It certainly seems like you’ve thought this through,” Enjolras said, scrambling for some protest that would make Grantaire stop and listen, that would get him to reconsider this almost certainly asinine plan.

Grantaire smirked slightly. “I have,” he said simply.

Enjolras gave him a look. “Then I know beyond doubt that it will not work.”

Grantaire just shrugged unconcernedly. “It may not,” he said. “But what have you to lose in trying? And what other options do you possibly have?”

None, was the answer, and it was all that Enjolras could tell Grantaire, a little helplessly. “None. And I have nothing left to lose.”

“Good,” Grantaire said. “Then we have a plan.”

#enjolras #grantaire #exr #enjoltaire #enjolras x grantaire #fanfiction #les miserables #bridgerton au #lady whistledown #developing relationship #hijinks and shenanigans #fake marriage #canon era #sorta

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constantlyunlightening · 4 years ago

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Quiet

Day 10: Public Places w/ Shoto Todoroki

Warnings/Other Kinks: Bratty Dom, cum play (i guess that’s what I’m gonna tag it as), panties in mouth

If you haven’t read my Shoto Todoroki NSFW headcannons, you should. Cuz this is in line with my bratty dom theories. Is he dumb or being a smartass? Who knows?

Anyway, Shoto is super fun to write. I really liked doing this one and I hope you guys like it too!

Disclaimers: 18+ years old to read, all characters are aged 20+

He told you the next time you wore that dress in public, he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back. You had taken it as a compliment at the time, not a threat.

But on the day where the two of you were supposed to be heading to some fancy hero event, you found that specific dress laid out on your bed waiting for you. Honestly, you thought the gesture was adorable! Was Shoto picking out an outfit he wanted you in? You had simply forgotten all about what he had said last time.

So you put the dress on.

It wasn’t until after the two of you mingled around the event a while before he pulled you to a corner and you heard his deep voice dance against your ear. “So you wore it? Remember what I said last time?” His voice bounced in your skull and the hand that heated up at your waist quickly jogged your memory. “I warned you.”

And with that, he dragged you away at the nearest opportunity and shoved you into a supply closet. That’s how you ended up with your dress hiked over your hips and Shoto fucking you into the walls of the tiny closet.

You’re pretty sure the two of you had knocked something off the closet shelf in your flurry, but the cock pounding you into the wall made it really damn hard to think. Shoto had his head dipped down, lips and teeth and tongue attacking the flash that stretched your collar bone as he tightened his grip on your thighs. You were clawing at his back, trying to bite the inside of your cheek but the way he was tearing into you made it so hard to keep your noises down.

“Sho-shoto,” an urgent, whine of a whisper was all you could manage to hiss out without screaming. “I- if I make too much noise, we’re going to get caught.” A tangle of words, ushered out as quickly as possible to keep you from yelping as he speared deep into you.

He didn’t pause his hips, but he did pause the ministrations he had been trailing over you, only so he could look up at you with hues of smoke and frost. It was almost vexing how calm he looked. You were falling apart and other than the beads of sweat rolling down his face and a few labored pants. “Then stay quiet?” He offered, as if the solution were obvious. As if you could keep quiet with the hero pounding you senseless.

With a raspy groan, you covered your mouth with a hand you detangled from his shirt and shook your head as his length rocked against your insides, slipping in and out much too snugly. “I-I cant-”

You couldn’t tell if the way he stared at you silently was him trying to actually access the situation or was him just hiding his smirk. Was he being a smartass with a poker face right now? Or was he genuinely racking his brain for a solution. You’ve been dating this man for how long now? And you still had no idea as to if he was the smartest person you knew or the dumbest.

You weren’t ever going to find out you were pretty sure. Especially not right now with your whole body vibrating in need.

He pulled out of you, and the seemingly randomness of it had you trying to suppress a yelp as your body strained with the sudden emptiness, trying to clamp over nothing. “Sho- what are you doing?” Your voice sounded pathetic even to your own ears as Shoto released your thighs, gently settling you back onto the ground. Had he decided to stop? Had the solution to her not making noise was to just be done? He sure didn’t seem frustrated at all but it wouldn’t be unlike him to leave you hanging and pretend like he was doing it to actually help. Or maybe he did think he was actually helping? Either way. He can’t just fuck the air out of you and stop! He couldn’t!

In your panic you failed to realize he had been working on tugging off your panties from underneath your dress balling them up in his hands. You opened your mouth to question his actions again but in the next moment, the balled up lace was in your mouth. A muffled noise strangled out around it as Shoto was once again grabbing your thighs, and dragging you right back up against the wall and in the air. “I didn’t have a gag,” he stated simply as a small smile came to his lips. It looked so tender. But you couldn’t help but think it felt rather conniving. “It had a wet spot on it, so I know it tastes good too. But you can take it out if you think you can keep quiet on your own.”

The break without him inside you had been just long enough that the pleasure had mellowed out and left you with an ache-y opening from his earlier attack. And so when his head pushed back in, the sensitivity had you absolutely choking on your makeshift gag. You knew for a fact you wouldn’t be able to keep the noise down on your own. Shoto seemed well aware of this too as he slowly began to resheath himself in your heat, letting you adjust to the painful sensitivity and let your need build back up with each and every inch of him plugging into you. Again, that sweet smile had reached his lips as he got himself buried balls deep. “See? It worked.”

He seemed self satisfied. And it was hard to argue with saliva starting to pool at the back of your throat, dampening the lacey gag. Your hands were free. You could have reached out and removed it, but Shoto decided it was time to return to that pace from earlier without any warning. His hips were snapping up and you felt like you could feel him all the way to your stomach as he rocked you against the wall. You could no longer think about the way you could taste yourself on your panties, couldn’t think about how anyone could catch you two locked away in the closet, couldn’t think at all actually. You couldn’t even fucking see as your eyes rolled back into your skull.

He wasn’t kissing your neck anymore, but instead, focusing on watching your face contort into pleasure and you knew for a fact he was messing with you when he spoke up again with that same steady cadence. “Your eyes are looking weird. What’s wrong?” He questioned, concern etching his voice but he knew. He had made you make this face all the time and maybe he had been concerned the first couple but now he knew. Now he was just doing his very best to get under your skin as you helplessly wriggled your hips down onto him. “Should I stop?”

This little shit.

Don’t you dare! You tried to snap out at him but all that you could get out of your mouth garbled around the fabric and you felt a burst of drool dribble down your chin as you whined and huffed. And Shoto, your loving, caring, sweet, sweet partner found it within himself to fucking laugh. This man who had the poker face of a statue managed to find his sense of humor at your expense while he was balls deep inside of you. It wasn’t a boisterous laugh, hardly more than a chuckle but it was more than he usual produced. And the real kicker was, you were too senseless to even fully enjoy it right now. In contrast to the urgency in which he speared into you, he managed to let a hand move up to help clear the dribble off your face with his thumb before he regained his grasp on your thigh and continued wildly knocking your thoughts out of your head.

“I won’t stop unless you ask me to,” he murmured in reassurance as he dipped his head back down, and you missed the growl he let out against your skin as you trembled and writhed around him. He would have loved to take more time with you, but the event put you at a limit and he wasn’t about to leave his precious lover empty handed.

He was about to leave you utterly full in fact.

With the force from his speed keeping you suspended in place, his hand found a spot above your folds and the pad of his thumb found that sweet spot of yours fairly quickly. He groaned deeply in response to the muffled keening you gave off as he rolled your clit under his finger and as he teased and toyed and rammed his cock into your cervix, you gave in to an orgasm that rocked your whole body and he lost himself in tandem. You were filling up with sticky heat as Shoto left one last love bite against the expanse of your shoulder and your body milked him for every drop of his worth. He had to collect himself before he could slowly pull out of you, watching a drop of his essence plop on the ground beneath you.

You were shuddering as he carefully lowered you to the ground, trying to inhale deeper but choking on the concoction of saliva and lace. Shoto was kind enough to help fish out the soiled undergarments and let you flounder for air.

“Are you alright?” Real concern this time as he brushed the hair out of your face and you were met with that combo of smog and snow as his gaze met yours.

You slowly managed to nod your head but as you caught your breath and came to your senses, a few realizations hit you at once.

You were still in public.

And you were now filled with wet cum that was starting to leak down your inner thighs.

You moved to clench and you gave a loud whine. “Shoto! Why did you do that? I can’t clean up here.”

He blinked and his head tilted to the side and stared down at you. “Do what?”

Was he for real?

“You- its all up inside me now! How am I supposed to walk around right now? Why couldn’t you have picked somewhere we could wipe down?” You scolded quietly, embarrassment flooding through you at the thought of walking through the party like this. Then you spotted the damp pair of panties Shoto was holding in his hands and another flare of emotions ran through you. You groaned.

“I figured we didn’t want to make a mess in here. Was I wrong?” His brows furrowed and now you were left to believe that he seriously just didn’t think about the implications of his girlfriend having to walk around the rest of the evening filled with his load, and a pair of soaked underwear.

Or maybe his poker face was really just that good.

#shoto todoroki #shoto x reader #bnha smut #kinktober #todoroki

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rwbyvein · 3 years ago

Text

Firen Lhain: Chapter 807: Streak: Part II / III

"I grew up with you, Yang." Ruby said to her, "I know how many boyfriends and girlfriends you've had. I might not be very good at flirting, but it seems like you can't turn it off."

"I don't..." Yang tried to say, but quickly trailed off.

"Who here haven't you flirted with?" Ruby asked.

"We are like all married." Yang shyly voiced.

"And I suppose it was you who brought us all together. I certainly had no idea what to do, but thanks to you I get Jaune And Weiss AND Blake., and, and..."

"You don't have to..." Yang tried to say.

"THANK YOU!" Ruby shouted. "Without you, I-I-I-I... have NO idea what I would have done. You. YOU! are the one that brought us all together. We were all still fighting over Jaune, and each other. Who knows what would have happened if you didn't save us from ourselves!"

"But what does that have to?.." Yang asked.

"You're the one who brought us together!" Ruby shouted, "But you're the one trying to pull us apart. Can't you just be happy for us, Yang? We all know Jaune isn't going to cheat. But you, the only one here with more than one, before, you know, I mean?.." Ruby asked.

"Alright!" Yang shouted, and stood up, "I'm the one most likely to step out, and that's why I'm counting on ALL of you to keep me in line."

"I thought that was Jaune's job?" Ruby asked.

"He'll probably be the one to give me a spanking, but my co-uh-wives, are the ones that need to tell him about it."

"Are you telling me to snitch?" Ruby asked.

"Yeah." Yang said, and nodded.

"Okay, I guess," Ruby voiced, "it IS to Jaune, so I guess I can."

"Thank you, Sis." Yang said, walked over to Ruby and pulled her into a powerful hug. "I'll lay off, sis. Just, you know, keep me safe."

"You too, sis." Ruby replied.

"You, sure you're alright with Aurora, you know?" Yang asked.

The two stepped apart. "I suppose it is, I don't know, rational, or efficient, or whatever to have her live in the closet, and she seems to WANT to live in the closet, and Jaune thinks it's a good idea, and... and I?.. I really don't know. If any of us have a problem, we have to say so, but we can't just go around looking for problems. This is our marriage, afterall. We're all in it, together."

"We're all in RWBY together." Yang said with a smirk.

"But what about Jaune?" Ruby asked.

"He's in us all the time, every night. Except last night, but that's the exeption. I hope."

* * *

Jaune and RWB_ sat on the couches in their suite's antechambre. Yang paced in front of them. She stopped, looking between them. "I just want to apologize for being a bit of a heel for this Aurora-moving-into-our-closet thing."

"I don't know what you're apologizing for?" Jaune asked.

"Being a heel?" Yang asked, "I've been a bitch, you know, attacking everyone?"

"I think it's a serious concern." he stated. "As fun as it might sound, I have no intension of sleeping with anyone else. But that doesn't mean you're wrong to worry about it."

"Even if she, like?," Yang asked, "tried to give you a blowjob?"

"I doubt she would." Jaune stated, and then looked at Weiss, "Unless my Snow Angel told her to, or something."

"Which I have no intension of doing." Weiss stated.

"But what if she did?" Yang asked.

"I would be extremely surprised," Jaune replied, "and probably not know how to react."

"I would have taken leave of my senses." Weiss quipped.

"So?" Yang asked, "I'm just being an ordinary broken girl?"

Jaune pointed at his lap, and Yang looked about nervously. He emphatically pointed and she slowly moved towards him. She looked him in the eyes, but so no clemency there, and so bent over his lap. He pulled down her shorts and panties and started slapping her ass. "You're - not - broken." he said as she slapped her ass. He then pulled her back to her feet before pulling her down to kiss her on the lips. "You are my wife, and I love you. I would not be who I am today without you. There's nothing wrong with being a little jealous, but I have to assure you, you are well worth loving."

"Even more than Ruby?"

"Yang!" Ruby shouted, and Jaune glowered at her. She sighed and leaned back over his legs.

"I am almost certain she is doing this on purpose." Weiss stated.

"Before you spank me," Yang stated, "promise me one thing?"

"Hm?" he asked.

"If I run away, you'll come and get me, and spank me 10 times more?"

"That I can promise." Jaune stated. He then pulled her down beside him, wrapped his arm around her, and pulled her in for a kiss.

"I've got a question?" Ruby asked. Weiss and Blake quickly looked at her. Jaune and Yang looked over when they could finally break each other's gaze. "Alright, if Aurora is Weiss', um, minion?"

"I suppose?" Weiss asked.

"Does that make Ilia, Blake's minion?" Ruby asked.

"We could look at it like that, yeah." Blake stated.

"Does that mean we should let Ilia move in as well?" Ruby asked.

"She raises a valid point." Weiss stated, seemingly lost in thought.

"She, what?" Yang asked.

"Is it weird that I'm starting to understand her logic?" Blake asked.

"Do we really want another girl," Yang asked, "watching us, you know?"

"Implying she has not already?" Blake asked, and Yang started looking around nervously.

"Ilia?" Yang asked, as she turned her head to look around. "Naked butt?"

No one heard anything. "Relax." Blake said, and Yang glared at her, "I saw her spying on Cinder."

"I really don't know what to think about this, so let's vote." Jaune said, "On the assumption she wants to, who's okay with Ilia moving in here? I don't know if she'll be sharing with Aurora or sleeping somewhere else, but in general?"

"Jaune-dear?" Weiss asked, "Perhaps I could clarify?" Jaune sighed and nodded. "Are we comfortable with Ilia moving into the Master Suite, sleeping location yet to be determined, and if she wishes to do so?" Weiss raised her hand. Yang looked over to see Blake's hand already raised. She looked at Ruby who was completely lost. She saw movement and looked over to Jaune, seeing his hand raised.

"Wait, what?" Yang asked, and Jaune shrugged.

"Ilia stalking me has literally saved my life." he simply replied.

"That is a perfectly valid point." Weiss affirmed.

"I... guess..." Yang grumbled. "I mean, yeah, her stalking Jaune HAS been really helpful and all. And she is like nekkid all the time, and Jaune often lets her use our fantabulous bathroom to warm herself after her running around all naked." Yang then hung her head. "Shit, the only thing stopping her from being a sex slave is Jaune."

"And the fact she likes Blake." Ruby interjected.

Yang looked at her questioningly, "Aurora loves Weiss, and told us it wouldn't stop her."

"Would she?" Ruby asked.

Blake sighed, and everyone looked at her.

"Seriously?" Yang asked.

"Not yet." Blake said.

"I really don't like how you said that." Yang said with a scowl.

"I do believe we are forgetting something." Weiss said, and all eyes were on her. She left a dramatic pause before continuing. "That he would not, nor would we accept it if he did."

Blake stood up and walked over to Yang. Yang stood still as she sashayed up, stood beside her, and wrapped her arms around her. "We're a family and a team." Blake warmly stated. "We're not doing anything the others are not comfortable with."

"But, you said?.." Yang asked.

"I know what I said." Blake said with a cheshire grin.

"What did she say?" Ruby asked.

Blake still stared at them with a wide grin. "You'll find out."

"How mysterious." Weiss said, "And vexing." she said with a crossed look.

"Very Blakey." Ruby said with a confused look.

"Blakey?" Weiss asked. "I suppose I can be Weissy, which, if I am correct, or perturbing protection?" Ruby just looked at her with a confused look.

"She nags because she cares." Jaune said.

"Indeed." Weiss affirmed. "Thank you, Jaune-dear. Then, by the same logic, Blake's veiled, vaunted, vexatious, venerated glory."

"I like it." Blake said with glee.

"Contrary?" Jaune asked.

"Yes?" she said with glee.

"Come here." Jaune said to her, and she rushed over.

"Hey!" Yang complained.

"Wanted to pet my kitty-cat." Jaune said, as Blake laid her head in his lap as he pet her head and ears.

"I thought she hated this?" Ruby asked.

"You promised to not do it in front of my parents." Blake simply stated.

"We did." Weiss affirmed.

"Okaaay..." Ruby voiced. "Are we done here? Oh, wait, who's going to ask Ilia?"

"Yang." Jaune said.

"If I might ask, why, Jaune-dear?" Weiss asked him.

"Because she'll try to be nice." Jaune said, "I don't want Ilia to think it's an expectation."

"Why's that?" Ruby asked.

"Hm?" Jaune asked, "Ilia has a bit of a problem following orders."

"I don't know?" Yang asked, "She seems too good at it." Followed as a pause until it dawned on her, "Oh, I got." she said, dropping the left fist like a hammer into her right palm.

"Got what?" Ruby asked.

"Ilia is TOO good at following orders." Weiss said with a wide smile.

"Alright." Yang said, "I'm on it. I'll try to not to be too happy about it."

Jaune blew her a kiss, causing Yang to flush orange. She shook her head and ran away.

Ruby nervously shuffled towards Weiss a foot at a time. Weiss turned to her with a crossed look, causing Ruby to stop. Weiss then lept forward to pull her in for a hug and a kiss.

* * *

The airship decended into the glade, hovering a few feet over the ground. Ciel robotically jumped out and landed on the ground, Penthesilea coming out a moment later.

"Are we certain about this?" Ciel asked, and a great, bellowing shout could be heard from the woods.

"You brought a Human into my woods?"

"Ciel Soleil!" Ciel replied.

"I am Penthesilea." Penthesilea stated, and stepped forward. The darkened wood seems to take the shape of a great, black hart.

"You are curious?" the Black Hart said to her. "Why are you in my woods?!"

"I am here to aid my friends." Penthesilea eagerly stated.

"And they are?" the Black Hart asked.

"Friend-Ruby, Friend-Weiss, Friend-Blake, Friend-Yang, Friend-Nora, Friend-Ren, and last but not least Friend-Jaune."

"My Earl?" the Black Hart asked.

"Indeed, Your Majesty." Penthesilea replied and curtsied.

"Have you brought tribute?" the Black Hart asked.

"I am here to aid my friends, so my service is tribute, Your Majesty."

"Very well." the Black Hart stated. He then looked to Ciel, "And the Human?"

"I am here to aid Penthesilea, your, um, majesty?" she asked, and stood to attention to salute.

"And your tribute?" the Black Hart demanded.

"My service to Penthesilea, who serves the Earl." Ciel stated.

"Then you pledge yourself to service to my Earl?" the Black Hart stated.

"So long as Penthesilea remains as well!" Ciel stated.

The Black Hart grumbled for a few moments. "Very well." he said, before vanishing back into the woods.

"Do you realize what you have done?" Penthesilea asked her.

"I have pledged myself to a feudal lord's service for an unlimited duration." Ciel robotically stated, "Perhaps not the wisest choice of actions."

"I'm sure Friend-Jaune would release you from your oath?" Penthesilea asked.

"He might, but I take my promises seriously." Ciel said and turned to Penthesilea. "As of this moment, I am his vassal, so long as he will take me."

#rwby #firen lhain #faunus au #pollinated knight

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bonjour-rainycity · 4 years ago

Text

Odin’s Ward ~ Chapter 6

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/630198057513943040/odins-ward-chapter-5

Pairing: Loki x Fem Reader

Word count: 2882

Warnings: None

Y/n: 18 // Loki: 20 // Thor: 24

Y/n’s POV

“It is quite surprising that Prince Thor has not yet gotten serious in his courting habits.” Lady Naerys pushes a lock of copper hair out of her eyes in indignation. “For what it’s worth, I am a wealthy, eligible woman of noble birth.”

Lady Kare nods in solemn agreement. “He will be King in the next hundred years or so. It is time he commits to a wife.”

“I don’t know,” I smirk, thinking back to Thor’s gallivanting. “I think Prince Thor is quite satisfied with his current way of doing things. I’m sure when the time is right, he will settle down.”

Lady Naerys rolls her eyes. “Oh, as if you would know.”

Her easy dismissal of me strikes a nerve I did not know I had. I straighten, my voice quickly becoming tight with annoyance. “I would, actually. He happens to be one of my good friends.”

Lady Naerys lifts her goblet as if to take a sip of her wine, but instead uses it as a ‘cover’ so she can attempt to discreetly gossip with Lady Kare. “It seems as if she has shared his bed also.”

I sputter. “I have not!”

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” A cold, mean smile crosses Lady Naerys’ pinched face, and I know her apology lacks sincerity. “You’re more likely to be spending your nights with his brother.”

“Clearly the lesser of the two,” Lady Kare chimes in with a boldness uncharacteristic of her usually demure demeanor.

I grit my teeth and clench my fists so tightly that spikes of pain shoot up my arm. “That is not true—none of that is true!” We’re standing in a central corridor in the palace, and my voice has grown quite loud, echoing easily off the stone walls. I don’t care. “We have grown up together and friends is all we are. Besides! Even if I was spending my nights with Loki, it would be none of your business!” Their eyebrows shoot up at what they likely hear as an admission. I hasten to clarify. “But I’m not. And Loki is in no way the ‘lesser of the two.’ He is thoughtful, and intelligent, and a great friend and one of the funniest people I’ve ever met, and anyone would be lucky to have him!”

Lady Naerys looks like she’s just won a prize. “Loki? You do not use his proper title? How…familiar.”

“Ugh!” I throw my hands up in frustration. “I guess you lack the intelligence necessary to—”

“Hello, Lady Naerys, Lady Kare, Lady…Y/n.” Loki has materialized behind me and I can hear the barely restrained humor in his voice.

Oh he must be loving this.

I mentally roll my eyes. The two women hastily curtsy, and I do a stilted version of the same.

Loki comes to stand by my side, his hands clasped politely behind his back. “May I borrow Lady Y/n? There is a book I would like to discuss with her.”

Lady Kare curtsies once more and immediately goes to leave, but Lady Naerys is slower to follow. I can see in her eyes that she, like me, suspects Loki’s book explanation to be a ruse. She keeps her gaze locked in our direction until she finally turns the corner.

As soon as the two are gone, Loki throws his head back in laughter. “I could hear you yelling from halfway across the castle! My, my, you do get angry. Best not let anyone else see you behave this way. They’ll resurrect Nanny Idsol and place you back under her care.”

“Ugh.” I close my eyes and look to the ceiling. “Do not bring up that horrible woman. I cannot take any more annoyance today.”

He holds up his hands in mock-surrender. “As you wish. What were you arguing about? I could hear the sounds of yelling but not discern words.”

“Oh, you know….” I try to be nonchalant. “Just little, random things.”

His eyes sparkle. “Ah, yes. You are well-known to be upset by the prickling inconveniences of life.”

I huff. “Fine, if you really want to know.” I lower my voice to a hush, and he leans in to better hear me. “Lady Naerys and Lady Kare are quite vexed that Thor has not chosen a wife—specifically one of them—and when I defended him, they turned on me.”

He knows that’s not all of it. “And then…?”

I huff again for good measure and cross my arms. “And then they first insinuated that I am sleeping with Thor, and when that didn’t work, determined that I am sleeping with you.”

Emotion flickers quickly across his face, disappearing behind a cool mask before I can decipher any specific reaction. I consider telling him the true reason for my anger, that they were talking badly about him, but decide against it. It seems too vulnerable to admit that, and I don’t want to make him aware of people’s dwindling opinions of him. Best to just keep that to myself and let him think I was defending my own honor.

Loki expresses his regret. “My pulling you away probably didn’t help. I shall speak to them at once and get this cleared up.”

“Oh, no.” I throw out an arm before he can get away. “Let me stop you right there. You going to defend me would probably just solidify the idea in their heads that we’re together. Don’t worry about it, anyway.” I shrug. “I’m mostly over it now that they’re gone.”

He chuckles. “Though she be quick to anger, she forgetteth fast.”

I roll my eyes and give him a little shove. “So what did you want me for, anyways?”

His eyes light up, and I can’t help but feel warm at the happiness on his face. “I found a lovely spot in the forest while on my last hunting expedition, and I can’t help but get the feeling that you would adore it. Will you accompany me?”

He thought of me while he was away? My heart gives a little flutter.

I freeze.

Why did it do that?

Loki stiffens, noticing my less-than-enthusiastic reaction. “Of course, given the suspicions of the ladies at Court and what that could do to your reputation, I couldn’t possibly expect—”

“Woah!” Getting over my little episode, I stop him before he can take back his offer. “Forget what everyone else thinks. I would love to go with you. When do we leave?”

He smirks and reaches for me.

“Oh, Loki—wait!” But I’m too late, for his arms have encircled my waist and we are catapulted into a sea of darkness.

I’ve teleported with Loki a few times before, yet it surprises me every time. The complete lack of sound and light, the nothingness. I wrap my arms around Loki’s back to anchor myself and bury my face in his chest in hopes of avoiding the nausea I know is coming. Within the next second, I hear the unsettling woosh of air as we re-enter a place with sound and my closed eyes are assaulted with light. The first true sound I register is Loki’s laugh bubbling from deep in his chest.

“You asshole!” I pull a hand from around his back and smack him in the chest. “Every time!” I go to hit him again, but he catches my wrist.

“Attacking a prince of Asgard and using rude words? You’ll be jailed for this, surely.” The mischief in his eyes betrays the words I already know to be untrue.

I shrug and step away from him. “Your call. Just know that you’ll have to come by every day and entertain me, otherwise, I’ll get destructive.”

He chuckles. “I have no doubt about that.”

“Good then, so we’re agreed. I get to torment you relentlessly with no consequences.”

He shakes his head and rolls his eyes, and I give a toothy grin. “So, where’s this place you wanted to show me?”

“If you would turn around, Lady Y/n.”

Fighting the urge to roll my eyes for the umpteenth time since seeing him five minutes ago, I do as he says.

What I see is so beautiful and personal that it can only be the product of magic.

It’s a lovely meadow. Tall trees stretch to the sky, their leafy branches creating a canopy so the ground is shrouded in dusk. To the right edge of the meadow rests a clear blue pond that is the epitome of relaxation. Even the smell is wonderful—light, airy, and fresh. Yet none of these is the meadow’s most impressive feature, for it is filled with flowers in every pleasing shade of purple and green. It does not escape me that purple is my chosen color and green, his.

I exhale, unable to do anything more than stare.

“Well?”

I turn to see Loki looking oddly shy: hands clasped behind his back and an expectant smile on his face.

“Oh, Loki, this is wonderful!”

He lets out a breath he had apparently been holding and beams. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Like is an understatement. This place is…perfect.” I turn to stare in awe once again at the meadow.

“I—” he clears his throat. “I know you like flowers, so…” He trails off and comes to stand beside me, joining in my admiration of the meadow.

I don’t believe for a second that this place exists naturally, nor that Loki just ‘happened upon it’, but I assume he has his reasons for not wanting to tell me he crafted this place himself, so I let it go for now.

“Can we stay? Or do you have business to attend to?”

He inclines his head towards me in a little bow. “My day is yours.”

My heart does that funny thing again, except this time…I’m not as tempted to ignore it.

“Shall we?” He extends an arm to the entrance of the garden, allowing me to walk in first. I do so slowly so I can take it all in.

My first priority is to examine each individual flower in extensive detail. Loki does not protest and accompanies me to each and every one, promising that before we return to the castle, I shall have a bouquet. After what has surely been nearly an hour, I take a break from admiring the flowers and recline near the pond. With a flourish of his hand, Loki procures a blanket and we sit upon it.

Something unsettling occurs to me, and I look nervously over my shoulder. “Loki, shouldn’t we have guards? What if we were to be attacked?”

He smirks. “Not to worry. I am much better equipped to protect us. The guards would only get in my way. Besides,” his smirk deepens. “I feel quite safe in your presence, what with you being equipped with a dagger and all.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “How did you—”

He shrugs. “A clever guess. Why do you feel the need to keep it on you while inside the castle? You know the guards have been ordered to defend you with their lives.”

A feeling of unease settles upon me. I don’t want anyone to die for me. “It’s just a precaution. And even if I don’t ever use it in battle, perhaps one day I’ll finally snap and cut off Lady Naerys’ pretty blonde hair.”

At this, he throws his head back in laughter, and I can’t help but join in.

I like this, I realize. I like when Loki and I are together, alone, just talking and laughing. I like being in his company. And it seems as though he enjoys being in mine, as well.

“Alright, stand up,” he orders, pushing himself off the ground.

“Why?”

He offers a hand that I take, allowing myself to be pulled up. “If you insist on keeping your dagger on you at all times, you may as well be properly educated in how to use it.”

I beam. “You’re going to teach me again!”

He nods, procuring a dagger of his own from who knows where. “Alright, first you want to get into a stance that will allow you to have the most control.”

The next two hours are spent concentrating on my form and different ways to block and land jabs. I’m not especially good, but Loki says it should be enough to defend myself until someone more skilled than I can come along.

We sit back on the blankets, both a little tired. “Will you teach me again sometime?”

He nods. “Of course, the next time we can both sneak away.”

I take one of his hands in mine. “Thank you, Loki. For everything.”

A smile breaks across his face. It’s one of my favorites of his smiles. No tricks, no hidden emotions, just plain joy. “You’re welcome, Y/n.”

We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes before realizing that it’s time to eat. Loki immediately makes a basket of food appear.

I grin teasingly. “Awe, you packed us a picnic!”

He rolls his eyes. “No, one of the kitchen maids did. I simply brought it with me.”

We distribute the food on the blanket and get to eating, having worked up quite an appetite during our lesson. A feeling nags at me, tugging on my stomach. I try to ignore it, but soon realize that I can do no such thing.

“Loki?” I trail off, losing my confidence.

He eyes me with concern, noticing the somber tone of my voice. “Yes?”

I take a breath, then let it out before forcing myself to ask the question weighing on my heart. “When my father calls me home and I’m married off, will we still be friends?”

Now his mood matches mine. He’s silent for a moment, pursing his lips and looking past my shoulder. Finally he speaks. “It is my truest wish.”

I lower my head to stare at the ground. “That’s not the same as yes.”

He sighs. “Once you’re a married woman, it won’t be proper…” he chuckles, surprising me. “But then again, when has that ever stopped us? Look at us now, sneaking away without chaperones to learn tricks with a dagger. Perhaps we can make it work. I will certainly try my best.”

I nod solemnly. “And I will do the same. I suppose that’s all we can hope for.”

He attempts to lighten the mood. “However, you have not yet been called back, so I say we do not let sadness saturate our evening. In fact, I suggest you look up.”

“Look up?” Confused, I tilt my head towards the sky and gasp as he takes me by surprise once again.

The leafy canopy above is slowly retreating to hug the tree branches, allowing us to see beyond them to the night sky speckled with stars. I can only turn and smile at Loki, who has a mixture of joy and fondness on his face. We lay back on the blanket and stare into the night sky. We don’t say anything. We just lie side by side, arms touching, and take in the majesty that is the night.

{***}

“Y/n….” I feel a hand on my arm, gently shaking me awake. “Y/n.”

I squeeze my eyes tightly before opening them, revealing the amused face of Loki hovering above me.

“Hello.”

I chuckle, pushing him out of the way so I can sit up. “Hi.”

“I contemplated leaving you here since you so rudely fell asleep, but I decided to be gentlemen and merely mess with your hair.”

A jolt of panic burns through my stomach and I bring my hands to my hair, dreading to reveal what he could have done to it. Within seconds, I realize that he’s only joking. My hair is fine.

“You are the worst.”

He throws his head back and laughs with abandon. “Your face was quite entertaining.”

“Mm, I’m sure.” I can’t, however, help from laughing a little myself. “Did I sleep long?”

He shakes his head. “Not really. We should be getting back, though. Dinner is soon and I can’t imagine how it would look if both of us were absent from the high table.”

That sets me into motion, and within a minute I am ready to leave. Loki gives me a little more warning this time, so I’m more prepared for the teleportation back to the palace. We reappear outside my bedroom door and quickly step away from each other, not wanting to look suspicious if anyone were to walk by.

“Lady Y/n, I thank you for a wonderful evening. I shall see you at dinner?”

I curtsy. “Yes, Your Highness, you shall.”

He bows, kisses my hand, smirks at the silly rules of Court we must follow, and walks away.

I glance down the hall to make sure nobody saw any of that, and am satisfied at the lack of people around. I open my door and quietly enter my room. The first thing I see upon entering is a beautiful bouquet sitting on my table, made up of flowers from the meadow. Just as Loki promised. Once again, my heart flutters.

Oh, Y/n. You’re in for it now.

A/n Hello again! Let me know what you thought and if you would like to be added to the tag list :)

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/632631074124660736/odins-ward-chapter-7

Tag list: @80strashbag @dark-night-sky-99

#loki #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki x reader #loki x reader fanfiction #loki x reader fanfic #thor #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel reader-insert #thor fanfiction #loki reader-insert #loki x y/n #loki x yn #loki x remale reader #asgard #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki friggason

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otomesations · 4 years ago

Text

Kei scene - Retranslation

Context:

SPOILERS FOR THE LATTER PART OF KEI’S ROUTE

Kei and Ichika have a scene where they make out in chapter 6, and there seems to be some ambiguity within the English-reading community as to how consensual it all is, how pushy Kei is being, and whether they do or don’t… erm… bring it home.

I think the Japanese version makes it clear that it is consensual, that Kei is being quite considerate in his Kei way, and that they do bring it home.

I also thought it would be an opportunity to discuss a few of the scene’s themes - many of which are present throughout Kei’s route and additional content.

So I did a translation pass on the scene and changed the bits that felt inaccurate in theme or meaning. I explained some of the big differences below the translation.

In bold, the parts that I changed from the original localisation.

Translation:

KEI: “More importantly, we can’t really make out if your brother comes home early.”

ICHIKA: “...”

KEI: “I’m just kidding. I’ll wait until you’re completely ready.”

ICHIKA: “... No. You don’t need to wait.”

KEI: “Huh?”

ICHIKA: “I… I also want to make out with you.”

KEI: “...”

Okazaki’s eyes widened, and he blinked a few times.

ICHIKA: (M-Maybe that was too sudden.)

But it was sincerely how I felt.

These might be our last moments together. That was all I could think about.

KEI: “Are you serious about that?”

His hand gently reached for my cheek.

The touch caused my shoulders to tremble slightly, but I kept my eyes fixed on his.

ICHIKA: “... Yes.”

Then we inched close enough that I could feel his breath on mine…

ICHIKA: “O-oh but wait, just a moment. There’s something I want to ask you first.”

KEI: “...”

Okazaki hung his head, clearly disappointed by the sudden interruption.

KEI: “... Ichika. Don’t you think you’re teasing me a bit much?”

ICHIKA: “S-Sorry. But I really need to ask.”

Our faces were still very close, and his eyes invited me to continue.

ICHIKA: “Erm… Okazaki, what do you like about me?”

Although he had confessed his feelings to me, I had turned him away in that moment, and I hadn’t quite believed what I’d heard.

After learning his past and sharing our feelings I thought we’d finally become close, yet…

ICHIKA: (Somehow… I still can’t quite believe it.)

The affection that he had for me was unmistakable. But I was still sure he only viewed me as an ideal.

KEI: “... There are a whole lot of people that I can say I like.”

ICHIKA: (...?!)

Suddenly, he dropped a bomb on me and my mind just froze.

KEI: “I like Yanagi’s team, Yoshinari, my friends in the force, and even girls I see walking by, I guess. I like a lot of people I think are good people. But… I can’t really say that I’ve ever gotten attached to anybody.”

ICHIKA: “...”

KEI: “Even when people confessed to me and went out with me, I was often told that things were different from what they expected. ‘I’m not special to you.’ ‘I’m just another person in the crowd for you.’ … Stuff like that”

ICHIKA: (I think I can understand that)

KEI: “However, you’re the only one who’s special to me. It doesn’t make sense. It’s not about liking or disliking you. You’re someone that I need to live. …Now you’re the proof of my being, you’re my identity.”

KEI: “Isn’t it normal to want to touch that person, or keep her all to myself?”

While he talked, his fingers touched my cheek. The gesture was completely gentle, and I could feel the warmth from this fingertips. It conveyed his feelings much better than his words did.

KEI: “Back when you were mad at me, I thought that I should’ve done a better job hiding it from you. Maybe I should have said my death wish was a joke, and that I just wanted you to feel safe. Yeah… I could’ve lied to you and kept using you. But I couldn’t make myself do it. I wanted you to accept me for the person I really am.”

ICHIKA: “...”

I was rendered speechless by his complete honesty.

I’m not special, my being is not important to anyone else - I was sure that I and everybody else had felt that way before.

ICHIKA: (What should I do? I’m so happy.)

This was more than love or romance - what he wanted was my being.

It made me so happy that I shivered.

KEI: “So, what do you like about me?”

ICHIKA: “Eh…”

KEI: “I was happy to hear that you like me, but it’s still a bit of a wonder to me. You got that angry for my sake, and you even said that you’d rather sacrifice someone else so that I could live because you didn’t want to lose me. I don’t think I’m worth that much. … To be honest, I can’t honestly believe that you actually feel that way. After all, you didn’t like me that much at first, did you?”

ICHIKA: “...”

The sudden question troubled me. I had been attracted to his kindness at first. He was warm and gave me peace of mind. He put a broad smile on my face and made my days gentle.

But he was stubborn and uncompromising. He could be cold and lived by his own rules. He’d ignored my feelings and stubbornly wanted to die for his own satisfaction.

ICHIKA: (When I think about it…)

ICHIKA: “What DO I like about you…?”

I unconsciously let that slip.

KEI: “Should you really be saying that in front of me?”

ICHIKA: “S-Sorry… But I’m the same as you. What I like about you, or dislike about you… I dislike everything that isn’t a part of you. I need your being.”

KEI: “Hehehe. So there are still things that we can’t believe or understand about each other. Yet we still want to be together. Doesn’t that feel pretty special to you?”

ICHIKA: “... It does.”

When we put it that way, I could agree with it.

KEI: “If it’s hard to put into words… wanna try this?”

ICHIKA: “Huh? Try what?”

I tilted my head, unsure what he meant. But in the next moment…

ICHIKA: “Eh?”

My world turned upside down, and I saw stars.

Eventually, I realised I had been pushed down.

Above me, he was smiling calmly.

KEI “Do you dislike it when I do this?”

ICHIKA: “...”

My heart was pounding. This was unfair. Right now, I was feeling… vexed.

ICHIKA: “It’s vexing… But I don’t dislike it.”

Rather than dislike… I felt happy.

When I nodded, Okazaki chuckled.

KEI: “Then, there’s your answer.”

ICHIKA: “You said you were going to try something, but isn’t this a little extreme?”

KEI: “But you understand me now, don’t you? If it was meaningless, I wouldn’t want to do this. Forget about like, dislike, all the small stuff. Right now I just want… you.”

ICHIKA: “...!”

KEI: “If you dislike this even a little, then just refuse me. But if you feel the same way I do… Then please accept me.”

ICHIKA: “... You’re mean.”

Unlike the gentleness from before, our hands held each other so tight it hurt.

He looked at me with hot, passionate eyes, and lovingly ran his hand through my hair…

ICHIKA: (And yet there’s no reason to refuse.)

KEI: “Before, I said there are a lot of people I like, but I rarely find anyone I want to be mean to.”

ICHIKA: “I don’t know… You’re pretty mean to Yoshinari, too.”

KEI: “Yeah. That’s just my way of showing him I care. Obviously, my feelings for you are different. I want to be kinder towards you than anyone, but at the same time, I want to put you on the spot.”

ICHIKA: “I remember Shiraishi saying you’re a selfish man.”

KEI: “Yeah, didn’t you know?”

ICHIKA: “You’re good-looking but bad on the inside.”

KEI: “Heh. That’s right. But it’s your fault for getting involved with this bad boy, so won’t you resign yourself to it?”

Okazaki’s fingers touched the nape of my neck.

There was a slight click as his fingertips landed on my collar.

KEI: “They’re listening now, aren’t they?”

ICHIKA: (He’s saying that at a time like this?!)

KEI: “I’ll never hand you over to the likes of them.”

He threw these provocative words at them.

I knew that I wouldn’t be killed as long as I had some use for Adonis. But now that Okazaki was being targeted, my mind was in turmoil.

KEI: “Don’t break our promise, or I won’t forgive you.”

He said that with an infinitely gentle smile, as if he could see right through my heart.

ICHIKA: “...Okay.”

I couldn’t stop my voice from cracking.

KEI: “If you don’t want to let me die, then don’t run away from me.”

He whispered those words into my ear. They sounded as if he was casting a spell.

ICHIKA: (He’s so unfair.)

I thought that, but contrary to those words, I was filled with overwhelming love for him.

I was unable to take my eyes off his bewitching smile. In truth, perhaps I should resist this. But…

As he had said, no matter how we tried to make each other understand with words, we’d never be able to fully express ourselves that way.

KEI: “I don’t want you to think of anything else. I want to be the only thought on your mind. Because the more you crave me, the more I want to live. Ichika… Be only mine.”

ICHIKA: “...”

I wanted him to take everything. Just for now, I didn’t want to let go of this hand.

That was the only thing I was sure of.

With acceptance and anticipation, I clasped his hand tight.

Comments:

The major translation issues:

They translate いちゃいちゃ at the beginning as “steamy” stuff when Kei uses the word, then as “flirting” when Ichika uses it. It means the same thing in both cases, which is to make out, and is clearly physical. She’s not being coy. She states from the beginning she wants them to fool around.

When he pushes her down, the localisation again uses two different translations for the same word, 悔しさ: “humiliated” and “embarrassed”. Both are wrong. The first one is SUPER strong and very shocking to read, and implies that she’s feeling degraded. That’s not what it means - that nuance is not in the word at all. But it’s not as light as just “embarrassed”, either. What it means is along the lines of “vexed” or “mortified”.

In general, they use different translations for the same Japanese words that are used in close proximity, and often in dialogue. The problem is that it a) breaks the flow of dialogue and b) breaks the themes of the scene. In fact, during the whole scene, Kei and Ichika are picking up on each other’s words and riffing off each other constantly. Among those words are “making out” (as we established), “mean” (that they bicker back and forth on, teasingly, as foreplay), and many smaller bits of dialogue. But more importantly, the big theme of this confession is that they go beyond and discard the concepts of 嫌 and 好き (dislike and like). Instead, they affirm their connection to each other’s being or essence (存在) and their way to reach that connexion is beyond words - by merging those beings in a, well, more direct way, which is what the whole conversation leads to on both sides.

Part of that theme is Kei’s confession. In English they make Kei say that she’s “the reason I’m alive”, which sounds like he’s grateful she brought him back from the brink. But that’s not what he says. He means much more than that. He says that she’s his 存在証明, which sounds more like “proof/justification of my being” (reusing the same kanji for being as I mentioned in point 3 above), and seems to be often translated as “identity”. Kei boy doesn’t mince words lol :D

There’s an unexplained translation mistake at the end. In English Kei says “If you want us to live together, you have to want to live too.” That’s not what he says at all. He says “The more you want/crave me, the more I want to live,” which makes more sense thematically tbh.

#collar x malice #cxm #kei #kei okazaki #okazaki #translation #spoilers #romance #otome #otome game #visual novel

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waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 4 years ago

Text

Shelter (Part Five)

And here it is, the grand finale! Originally, this was actually a little longer but I finally decided that the last part I had in mind didn’t really add enough to the story to warrant including it. I think this ending is better. I also think the story is long enough as it is. I’m pretty happy at how quickly I was able to get this done, considering that I’ve been wrapped up in other (non-writing) things recently. I’m going to put it down to feeling inspired by seeing my delicious rat bastard in the G1.

Pairing: Jay White x OFC

Word count: 3,841

Content advisory: Smut! Nothing too much beside that other than some significant angst

Alone in my damp little rooms, I did my best to hide the sounds of the sobs that overwhelmed me. I didn't want to give anyone, him most of all, the satisfaction of knowing that I'd been broken.

It was true that my life had some worth: my father would not let me die a prisoner of another noble if only because it would make him look weak. But if what I'd heard from my sister's servants was true, then she had lied to me and brought me here as a pawn, a cover for her plot. She was the person I had loved most in my life and she had lied to me and put me in danger. Given that I had run away in the dead of night, I doubted my husband would want anything further to do with me. So if I were ransomed, I would live the rest of my life under the strict control of my family. My future lay either as a despised nuisance banished to a few rooms of the family home or as an embarrassment packed off to a convent. I had never known what it was like to feel truly alone until that night.

I felt rage building in me towards all of them- my parents, Elizabeth, her husband, their servants who refused to exonerate me, and most of all towards Jay White. Whatever intrigue had happened with him and my family, I had been blissfully unaware until I had crossed paths with him. I understood that he had only revealed the rot that was in my life but I could not stop from seeing him as the source of my problems. He must have done something to force my family to embark on such a reckless plan. Elizabeth only used me because she was desperate, I told myself. He was the monster.

I tried not to think about the fact that he had been right about a plot against him, or about me being used as a distraction because my sister knew he had once had feelings for me. Most of all, I tried not to think about what had happened the night before, about the hours I had laid awake remembering his touches, the beauty of his body, and the passion he'd awakened in me. He'd done it to make it hurt that much more when he made me beg for the lives of the others. It had meant nothing to him and I fought to have it mean nothing to me.

Strangely, in the days that followed the departure of my companions, I was afforded a great deal more freedom. One of the guards accompanied me on walks around the grounds, allowing me to breathe fresh air for the first time in what felt like years. Millicent was practically my personal maid and I was allowed to explore certain areas of the castle. I particularly enjoyed being able to read through some of the beautiful books that Jay had commissioned from a nearby monastery, mostly works of philosophy. I took some pleasure in teaching Millicent to read so that she might enjoy the texts herself. After a couple of weeks, I was moved from the sad little corner of the palace in which I’d spent my time there to a proper set of rooms with a real fireplace, a real bed and a sitting room where I could take my meals. The door was still locked when I was not accompanied by a guard but I couldn’t deny that I was a great deal more comfortable. I hesitated to admit even to myself that the rooms were cleaner and in better condition than much of the home I shared with my husband. It was clear that Jay was better off, something that I hadn’t expected. I wondered if this was something that Elizabeth and the rest of my family realized since the old Earl had not been especially wealthy for one of his status.

I tried to avoid Jay as much as possible, seeking to avoid the feelings he stirred in me. I assured myself that the amelioration in my treatment was due only to the fact that I had become a commodity of some value. Like cattle or sheep, I was something he could sell to the right buyers and the right buyers were the people who I had always believed loved and treasured me. At first, I was successful, however the more I took advantage of my newly granted freedoms, the more I seemed to find my way to him.

On one afternoon, while I was out walking under guard, enjoying the colours of the autumn landscape, we encountered him on the way back from inspecting his troops on the marches. A haughty demeanor flowed from him as he looked down on us from atop his horse that made me feel a burning in my chest and I refused to look at him.

“How nice that you’re enjoying the air,” he declared, more to my guard than to me. “But be careful of this one. She’s not to be trusted.”

At that, my eyes snapped to his. I wanted to tear the arrogant bastard from his horse. Instead, I spit back at him, “A rich statement coming from you.”

He gave a cruel laugh and continued back towards the castle. My guard and I continued to walk in silence and the entire time, I felt the fire in me build at his casual remark. I struggled not to think of him but my mind continually returned to the look on his face, the obvious way in which he sought to provoke me. Even after I returned to my chambers I was seething and wanted nothing more than to confront him. When Millicent shyly entered, as she always did when she brought me dinner, I frightened her by rushing towards her just out of the frustration I felt at being cooped up.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry,” she squeaked, curling her body away from me. She carried no trays as she usually did and she seemed extremely afraid of what I might do.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you like that. My mind is preoccupied and it was a nervous reaction, nothing more. You’ve done nothing to vex me or warrant abuse.”

“Thank you ma’am,” she stammered. “I’ve just been sent to tell you that the Master has requested you to have dinner with him, in his chambers.”

“Not in the dining hall?”

“Oh no, ma’am. That’s only used for great events. He always takes his meals alone, unless it’s a night when…”

“When he’s drinking with his friends and entertaining whores,” I huffed. The periodic decadent nights were something I’d certainly noticed, starting with my arrival. The presence of such women, the knowledge that Jay delighted in their company, made me angry beyond my capacity to express. I tried to convince myself that it was my revulsion that a noble of my stature could sink so low. However, I knew in my heart that it was jealousy, unbridled jealousy, that these women got to have him in a way I couldn’t.

Millicent curled back into herself, blushing. “I’ve just been told to bring you to him, ma’am.”

My heart hurt seeing her like this and I reached forward, holding her cheek in my hand. “You are blameless, my sweet girl. You have made my time here more than just bearable. If I seem harsh, it is nothing to do with you. I only wish that, wherever I might go, that I could take you with me.”

She started to cry and I held her to me until she had recovered herself. I then allowed her to guide me to Jay’s apartments, where I was apparently to dine with him.

His rooms were, of course, luxuriously appointed, but even more so than I might have imagined. Once again, I was struck by the display of wealth that, while not ostentatious, was more than I would have thought possible in his circumstances.

The man himself sat at a round table with plates of cured meats and cheeses, along with decanters of wine. As soon as I entered, I felt his lupine eyes lock on me, and my breathing quickened. I took my seat opposite him, still shivering from the chill his stare induced in me, keeping my head turned towards the door even after we were left alone.

He remained silent until I finally looked at him, shamed at how I cowered under his gaze.

“Since when are you so quiet?” he gloated, taking a gulp of wine and pushing a full glass to me.

“Since I understood that my life means nothing,” I snapped, grabbing the glass and emptying it in one gulp. “Since I became aware that I was a commodity like gold or cattle to be used as a commodity in your political games.”

“I suppose I should remind you that it was your choice that I should treat you as such.”

“It was not my choice,” I retorted, grabbing the wine and refilling my glass only to drain it once again. “I merely pointed out that you could use me according to how you already perceived me. You’ve made it clear that I am nothing to my family but a pawn they wish to retain. I have spent my whole life loving people who only wanted to use me in some political gain. I already know that my husband rhinos nothing of me and his family will have no interest in retrieving some fool who abandoned them for no reason. And as for you…” my eyes narrowed as I focused on him, “I am a trinket you can sell, nothing more.”

Once again, I grabbed the wine and poured myself a full glass that was quickly pushed down my throat. Jay and I glared at each other in a standoff until the butler arrived with our main course, a roast with vegetables and potatoes that made me weak with hunger.

The manservant carved away a portion for both of us and while I fought to maintain eye contact with my gaoler, the moment the servants had retreated, I greedily tore into the meal, the best I had tasted in months. I was embarrassed to see that Jay observed me through his dark eyelashes, drinking his wine and taking judicious bites of his food while I behaved like a wild animal. He laughed at me a little, which was more than I could bear. I stood up, wiping my face with the serviette provided and took an uncertain step towards the door.

“I want to return to my chambers now,” I stated, embarrassed at the hesitance in my own voice.

Jay swallowed the contents of his glass and poured himself another, never moving his eyes from mine. “No you don’t.”

He advanced on me like a predator grasping hold of my wrists as I sought to shelter my face from him. I did not fear he would strike me but I knew that my eyes would tell him something very different than what I just said.

“You don’t want to go anywhere. You want me to drag you into my bed and take you the way your husband should have on your wedding night. You want me to ruin you.”

Twisting my arms behind my back he once again captured my mouth with his and once again I felt a fire consuming me from within. Feeling me respond, he released my arms and I wound them around his neck without a thought, trailing my fingers through his dark hair. One of his hands slid up over the back of my head and he pulled me away from him, grabbing a fistful of my hair.

“I only wish I could trust you,” he growled.

“What does that matter? You keep me locked in my room all the time except when you want to use me for entertainment. I told you that I had nothing to do with the plotting against you but you won’t believe me. Once I threatened you and tried to escape because I understood nothing of your political intrigues. Since that time have I ever denied you anything you asked? Did I not beg you on my knees to spare my servants? And as far as...” My throat contracted, unwilling to speak more.

“As far as what?” he whispered, drawing his lips up the length of my neck, smiling against the skin as I let my head fall back. “As far as this? Is this so repulsive to you?”

I twisted to face him, my breath trembling as I spoke. “You know it isn’t. You know I go to pieces every time you touch me. And so I ask you again, why is it that you think me unworthy of your trust?”

In one rush of movement, Jay gathered me up in his arms and carried me into his bedroom, tossing me down on his beautiful bed, plush with blankets and silk. I was a little frightened, unsure what I had actually asked for, but I felt my body aching to experience the pleasure he’d brought me that one night that seemed so long ago. I was almost as frightened when I saw his face, eyes consumed with lust, his expression ferocious. He pulled and tore at my clothing and I helped, struggling free even though I cringed at the idea of being fully naked before a man.

Likewise, I tore away at his clothing until he wriggled free of all of it, my eyes hungrily taking in his body, so much like a beautiful sculpture and yet so much more beautiful because it was real. My breath caught as I ran my hand down his chest, feeling each carved muscle, down to the depression on the inside of his hips, stroking the base of his erect member. His whole body shivered and I withdrew the hand, wondering if I’d done something wrong.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” was all I could bring myself to say, my voice like the squeaking of a mouse.

He gave a small but not unkind smile, shifting onto his side and running his fingers over my stomach to my exposed sex, sliding his fingers around the flesh that had become soaked.

“You liked this when I did it before,” he rasped. “Have never done it yourself?”

I shook my head, unable to speak as he swirled his fingers along the bone and up to the sensitive little nub that had nearly driven me crazy before. He raised himself a little, alternating between stimulating that spot with his thumb and pressing his fingers into the opening, a little further inside with every touch, until he was brushing against some hidden spot inside me.

My head fell back and my eyes closed, I was so lost in his touch. My reverie was broken by a sharp bite to my nipple and I came back to my senses to see him glaring at me with a frightening intensity.

“Keep your eyes open. Look at me.”

He gave a sharp thrust of his fingers and my eyes fluttered shut once again, although I forced them back open a second later. “I don’t know if I can,” I pleaded.

“You can and you will.”

Just as I had before, I felt something building in me, in my sex, in my stomach, and gradually filling my entire body. I dreaded the moment he was going to stop but he continued, increasing in speed and force until I could feel some invisible thing break inside me, flooding me with the most incredible pleasure I had ever experienced. Fighting to maintain the eye contact he demanded, I was moaning, crying out involuntarily, my breath ragged. I marveled at the look of excitement and pleasure on his face, wanting to kiss him but unsure if I was allowed.

He slowed the pace of his movements and slid down so that his face rested between my legs. He gave me a little wink and pressed his lips to that aching bundle, licking at the juices pooled there and softly sucking. I felt wave after wave rolling over me, not as intense as the first but sweet nonetheless, until the space became so sensitive that I twisted and mewled in pain. He held me down and continued his ministrations, rougher than ever until I was almost in tears. Once he was satisfied, he licked his fingers clean once again and leaned over me, grabbing hold of my jaw and thrusting his mouth against mine.

I resisted just a little, shocked at the taste, but relented when he squeezed my throat. As the kiss continued to build in passion, I felt him pressing against me, the tip pushing against the opening that felt swollen with what I’d already experienced.

Pulling back, he grasped both my arms in one hand, easily pinning them above my head and he leaned down to whisper, “It hurts the first time for a woman. Is that what you want? Do you want me to hurt you?”

“”I want you,” I whimpered. “I don’t even know what it means but I know I want you.”

He guided my legs up so they were around his waist, showering kisses over my neck and chest. I felt his prick brushing against the folds of flesh, the head gently pressing inside. As he’d done with his fingers, he teased a little bit at a time and I wondered if that was how it was done, even though it didn’t feel quite right. Then he grasped my hips, fingers digging into the flesh so hard I could immediately feel the bruises forming. He forced my legs up a little higher and with one strong movement pushed himself all the way inside me.

As he had warned, it did hurt, enough that I gave a little scream at his first thrust and continued whinnying as he pushed forward. Before long, however, he slowed his pace, his lips capturing mine and then sliding all the way down to my breasts.

“Just try to relax,” he murmured into my skin. “Relax and it will feel better.”

Breathing in deep, I was able to let myself go just a little more and it did feel better. It continued to feel better and better as he stroked that magical spot inside me with unerring precision and I once again felt the tension building inside me, my core tightening around him as he pushed harder.

His thumb traced gently along my jaw and as I looked at him I saw his expression untainted by suspicion or anger.

“Again?” he breathed.

“Yes. Please.”

And within seconds I was once again in ecstasy, that early pain forgotten, washed away in a tide of mewls and gasps.

“God,” I panted, “does it feel that good for you?”

“It will. Don’t worry, you’ll know when it does.”

Feeling the increased urgency of his movements inside me, I held onto him as tightly as I could, determined that he should get as much pleasure as I had. Watching his face as he reached his climax, I felt giddy with the idea that I had done that.

I pulled him close to me as we both caught our breath. The return to Earth, to the castle and the realities of our world was heavy, the looming darkness a crushing force.

“How much have they offered you for me?” I rasped, once I was sufficiently recovered.

He raised himself so that he could look me in the eyes. “A great deal. Your father has at least. Your husband has had nothing to say.”

“What if I refuse to go back,?” I asked flatly, shocked at how my mind seemed clearer than it had ever been. “What if I told you that I’d throw myself out of a window here rather than spend my life as an outcast or a nun?”

He eyed me, some of the suspicion returning. “You’d rather spend eternity in hell than your life in the care of your family?”

“Or I’d rather risk hell than leave here. Collect my father’s money and send me off if that’s what you want. It’ll end the same way.”

Once again, his eyes flared. “So I’m supposed to feel afraid of the guilt if I drove you to suicide?”

“I’m saying that while I have no reason to believe that I can trust you with my welfare, I’m willing to do so.”

“You’d be willing to be kept here as my mistress, knowing that I could grow bored and dispose of you at my will?”

“I would rather live here as your wife, since even the Pope would see fit to annul my marriage,” I said, mustering all the pride I could. “But in lieu of that, I would rather live here as one of your numerous conquests than to be returned to any part of my old life.”

His eyes softened a little, and suddenly I could see the young man I had known in my youth again.

“I think you wanted to marry me once” I ventured. “Perhaps my family rejected the offer because it was not politically advantageous.”

He made no motion to confirm or deny my statement but the way his eyes turned bitter and prideful told me that I had come close to the truth.

“My family doesn’t have that power now. I am asking that you consider any monetary offer you receive for me against this: I only want to be with you and I would rather die than be sent off to some miserable, lonely fate without you. You’ve already claimed what my husband should have. Anything else is entirely in your hands. And I trust you with that power.”

I felt his body tremble just a little before he spoke. “I want you to know that when I dispatched your companions, I ordered the men to convey Hannah to the safety of a town. Only the men were left on the road.”

“A fair solution,” I mused.

“I won’t ever make you live in any kind of infamy,” he sighed, dropping his head to my chest. “The fact is that part of me doesn’t want to trust you because I don’t believe I could withstand being rejected again.”

“And you have to choose whether to let that part dictate your future or to believe me.” I took his face in my hands and forced him to look me in the eyes.

“There is going to be a fight,” he murmured. “Your family is going to come for me.”

“And they will lose because they underestimate you.”

His lips were on mine once again and I grew dizzy with the intensity of the kiss, my body constricting around him involuntarily.

“Mine?” he hissed, burying his mouth against my neck and biting at the flesh.

“Yours,” I sighed, feeling a sense of relief I had never known before. “Yours.”

#jay white imagine #jay white fanfic #njpw fanfic #wayward wrestle writing #njpw imagine

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whatdoesshedotothem · 3 years ago

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Tuesday 22 July 1834

8 40

3 40

She came for an hour and half to me this morning quietly talking. Fine morning F70 ½° at 8 ¾ am - breakfast at 11 ½ - had been repacking. Off from Bonneville at 12 20 – fine valley as far as B- from there the mountains wear out into rounded, beautiful, green wooded hills and extensive valley – very good road – stopt 3 or 4 minutes at 1 43 to water the horses. At 2 50 stopt at [Amenas] to shew passport – the Douaniers very civil – would not take money – explained the trick the postilion Chaumantois from Geneva had played me in demanding money for them on the 3rd inst. and they were vexed and promised to do what they could do with him - thunder and forked lightning and rain in passing thro’ the nice little town of ...... at 3 20. At 3 50 stopt at Hentsch’s bank – sent up to them and they brought me down the money for tow £25 circulars - alighted at the hotel de Bergues at 4 – full – only a double bedded room and 2nde and a little apartment 3me – took the latter (salon and 1 double bedded room) at 16/. a day – the 2 servants above at 2/. a day for both – siding - A- and I out at 5 to 6 – at Baute’s – bought a brooch for M- or Mrs. Sutherland? Dinner at 6 20 to 8 ½ - got at the bank letter from my aunt dated 27th June 3 pages and ends – she has a better day and a worse – Mr. Sunderland very attentive – on the whole good account – she writes on the 27th to A- and on the 28th page 3 and ends and 2 lines under the seal to me - ‘I may now I am quite well, except this never-ceasing pain’ - all going on well - my father well and has ordered a little carriage to go about in – very sorry for M- - got at the post restante letter from my aunt Shibden dated 9th inst. 3 pages and ends all to me - My father ‘tolerable but very feeble, he does not appear to gain strength at all – he walks out a little every day, generally to the top of the bank, and in the course of the day 2 or 3 times a little in the garden – as to myself sometimes I have a very poorly day and then better - Mr. Sunderland is very attentive, and upon the whole, I think I am much the same as when you went’ - very anxious about me – begs me not to hasten our return on her account – hopes there will be no occasions for me to be at home before the end of August as Marian will not go to Market Weighton until she can leave my father with more satisfaction – she had a letter that day (9th inst.) from Mariana to make inquires after me – said it was 5 weeks since she heard from me – had been very ill – did not know of my being abroad – my aunt begs me to write to M- immediately –

SH:7/ML/E/17/0062

‘William Milne died rather suddenly during his mother’s absence in London’ – has received a parcel for me Bibliotheca Hiberiana [Heberiana] - George Robinson had been at Shibden and paid £50 promising the rest the following week - Mr. Parker will deliver the notice to quit himself - has sent the one to John Pearson - the Staups purchase papers will not be ready before the end of August - trades unions over - ministers very cautious and likely to keep in sometime longer - all going on well at home - Mr. Freeman wishes to see me on my return - Thomas Greenwood knows of a gentleman who wishes to ‘purchase Northgate house and a little of land’ - Letter at the poste restante 1 ½ p. from Lady Gordon dated Saltzburgh [Salzburg] 10 July - Henry Devereux (her nephew) ‘seems rather épris with you’ (I must have met him at Miss Berry’s) writes her that I am gone touring to Geneva for a month - she fancies this means Chamonix ‘perhaps Mt. Blanc etc etc’ - wants me to join her at Munich where she will remain 7 or 8 weeks - country beautiful - walks long and fine views - they have seen the Hallein salt mines - will be in England in October - fidgetty to be very long and far from her mother - ‘what a sensation Charlotte Stuart seems to have produced in the world!’ - to write to Lady G- Poste Restante à Munich - they go to the Cerf d’or - I ought to go to M- if only to see the Egina marbles - Letter (at Hentsch’s bank) from M- Leamington 3 pages and ends dated ‘Leamington June’ - ‘For the 1st time in my life, my dearest Fred, 3 weeks have passed without my hearing from you, and for the 1st time in my life you are in England and Mary knows not where to find you; what can all this mean’....... 3 weeks the day she wrote since she got my letter saying I was going for a few days to London – asks if I got her letter directed to Dover street (yes! But she did not get mine sent to Warrens) – her journey to London put off from illness- the gaieties of the Oxford business more than she could bear – very reluctant to give up London. ‘As there were many inducements to prosecute my 1st intention; I might have seen you’ etc etc. Mrs Milne and Hamlyn there . Mr. Crewe and his boys spending their weeks in England in Hill street etc........ ‘I have been diligently trying to get well and in due time hope to succeed, my complaint seems to be a low fever, which has pretty fast [melted] away all my fat; I am little more than skin and bone, and can neither coax appetite, nor rest, I have lived for the last fortnight on port wine and jellies, and have a bed to myself..... On Monday I began with the shower bath, and hope in a few weeks to be allowed to ride, I can’t walk much, my chief exercise therefore is in a pony carriage’ – their going to Harrogate given up – they go to Worthing in August - ‘Your happiness and comfort is very dear to me, and I am not the last of your friends to rejoice that you are satisfied of having secured both - may it be so! But for all our sakes perhaps it is best that at present I should tell you this on paper. An unsophisticated mind I think is more likely to secure your permanent happiness, than any such worldly one as that which falls to the lot of those who of late years have been the associates - One may live in the world, and have no traffic in hearts, but the quiet country fireside would be cruelly insipid had it none of this ingredient to flavour it, and God forbid that in yours it should be wanting – you have lived long enough on hope, dearest, now the desire has come I trust it brings with it all you have so often longed for – your friend will always be a source of interest to me, and I will never rob her of her due; but you can tell me about her, and I will believe all you say which at least will be much for her advantage, because I am by no means sure that I could be an impartial judge’ - Mrs. Milne tells her as they have not seen me in town, Mrs. Norcliffe cannot believe I have been there - A- found letter (good - all well and right) from her sister at the poste restante office. She wrote to her sister while I wrote 2 ½ pages very small and close to my aunt and A- wrote the rest of page 3 and the ends to my aunt while I wrote 3 pages to M-. We both sat up writing till 2 tonight – answered the business part of my aunt’s letter - Glad George Robinson prospects better - said he had a lease of the mill - sure Mr. Parker would do all right - begged him not to forget the Hipperholm fields in the notice - should not trouble myself about Northgate - not inclined to sell the house with a little of the land - glad of the so fair account of herself and hoped my father would be better – mentioned our tour of Mt. Blanc and A- and I being well – left her to tell her the little particulars – said the weather had changed and driven us here from Chamouni [Chamonix] – depended upon the weather whether we should go for a few days more to the mountains or not – will add a line or 2 tomorrow - wrote very kindly to M- said we had been mutually disappointed - I had expected hearing from her in Paris - sorry she had not got my long letter left for her at Warrens – should have written from Paris but had no time – impossible to write form the mountains – assured her my thoughts could not play truant long – grieved at the bad account of herself – should be ill at east till I heard she was better – beg her to write to Rue St V- n°27 and let me find a letter in Dover street- very fine day F70° at 2 tonight.

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that-one-girl-behind-you · 5 years ago

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Illicio 6/?

Part 5

"Wh- no, not at all," Jon shakes his head. Great, just great. Just go ahead and screw it up with the only person who for whatever reason seems to like your presence anymore. "I was just wondering."

"Yeah I just thought with the Dark people coming closer-" Gerry's voice fades gradually, until he's looking at the coffeepot in a sort of contemplative silence. He turns his head to look at Jon again after a moment. "I just like being here."

Jon feels his mouth dry up, and the space where his missing ribs should go aches as if to remind him he's betraying Gerry's trust even as they speak. He'll- he'll probably stop liking it -liking Jon- when he finds out he's been lying to him.

"That's- that's good. I like having you here," Jon mutters.

Basira's capability to work through bullshit is, it turns out, incredibly high.

It's basically a requirement for all sectioned officers, but Basira's been steadily pushing her threshold back since she started noticing her partner and friend with benefits could track down a suspect better than the K9 units. As it stands now, she looks at Sylphie Fairchild, and ignores the way her ears feel blocked, like every sound is dimmed and muffled before it reaches her. She knows they're standing in a shop on a busy street, the avatar's acoustic tricks are not going to fool her.

"A diving school?" Basira asks. The shop is all painted a single hue of deep blue, from the door and the floor to the counter, and if Basira loses her focus for a moment it becomes unclear if the walls are even there at all.

"Best one in Malta," Sylphie smiles. It's difficult to believe there's something inhuman about her, when she's not spewing bugs or sprouting limbs. "We specialize in nighttime excursions. Only you and the sea and the stars above yo-"

"Sounds charming," Basira interrupts. The woman leans across the counter slow and flowingly, like she's moving through water. The folds on her flannel continue moving long after she's stopped, as if pushed around by currents Basira can't see. "I thought drowning was a Buried thing."

It's why she'd come here in the first place. Surely a Vast avatar that deals in the Buried's domain will know something about the coffin, or how to crack it open.

"Hmmmmm, it depends on what you get from it." Sylphie, voice turns amused. "Should you be asking questions? I thought that's why you had an Archivist."

Basira sighs. That does explain why this feels so wrong. When Elias gave her the name, it had been easy to find Fairchild, her path illuminating in her mind like a neon trail. But that's it. She's meant to find information, not add it to the Archive, she guesses.

Whatever. This is not about Basira and what she may or may not be turning into. This is about Daisy, and that makes it worth it.

"He's busy. I want to-"

"Ah, pity. I wanted to meet him! Michael always gets all the fun- or he used to." Sylphie chuckles darkly, and it sends Basira's nerves on edge. A good reminder that this is not just a young woman playing dumb, but a predator. She wonders how many people have jumped into the sea in the middle of the night and then never found the boat again. "You Eye folks really like sticking your noses in everybody's businesses don't you?"

Basira's nape prickles. The counter is gone, and she's standing in the middle of a deep blue expanse, much colder than it ought to in the middle of the Maltese summer.

"I'm not scared," says Basira, and she means it. She rationalized her way out of the Unknowing, it takes a lot more than a Fairchild with bad taste in decoration to mess with her mind. "Do you know anything about the coffin?"

Sylphie rolls her eyes. "Tsk. You're no fun at all." She snaps her fingers, and the reassuring presence of walls and floor and ceiling start to fade in again. "It's a pocket dimension, I don't deal with those. Too constricting. Couldn't help you if I wanted to, sorry!"

"Do you know anyone that could?" Basira asks, and Sylphie gives another laugh, delighted this time.

"Sure, don't know if he would though. Go look for Matthew."

The words light up like a beacon in Basira's mind and all of a sudden she has a purpose again. This is what she's supposed to do, and the first steps of the way towards finding the next target are already forming in her head.

"Not even a thank you?" Sylphie's amused smile is audible in her voice as Basira walks towards the door. "Come back when you get whoever it is out of the coffin! We do couples outings!"

Basira slams the door so hard that the glass panes of the windows vibrate furiously, even after she walks away.

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

The depression on his ribcage is fairly noticeable, when the steam on the mirror clears. Jon is not too used to looking at his own body, especially in the past years, when every time he looks there's a new scar to hate.

He presses his hand to the skin, and the beat of his pulse is much easier to find without the protective barrier of the ribs, and much more comforting than it should. It has to mean something, that he still has a beating heart.

"You've been staying the night a lot more lately," Jon observes when he walks into the kitchen to find Gerry brewing a pot of coffee. Gerry looks at him for a second and then immediately back at the pot. Jon goes to push his wet hair away from his face, suddenly self conscious.

"Does it bother you?"

"Wh- no, not at all," Jon shakes his head. Great, just great. Just go ahead and screw it up with the only person who for whatever reason seems to like your presence anymore. "I was just wondering."

"That's- that's good. I like having you here," Jon mutters. At least he isn't lying about that. Having Gerry around makes him feel a bit more human, and the man is awfully patient in the face of Jon's awkwardness and bad habits. "I- do you need me to read something tonight?"

Gerry rolls his eyes as he pours coffee in two mugs, and Jon feels his stomach do a flip. The gesture doesn't look annoyed at all. It's the kind of eye roll Georgie used to give him before, all fond exasperation he doesn't deserve.

"I don't come here just to get my fix, Jon," Gerry smirks, passing him a mug. "Let's just watch a movie, I could use the distraction. I'll even let you sit on the sofa, come on."

He walks out into the sitting room, and Jon watches him go. The warm drink in his hands brings to mind a comparison he doesn't want to make, because it didn't end well for Martin.

Jon follows, and finds that Gerry has indeed left him a spot on the sofa, just wide enough to sit with his legs under him, which Jon miraculously manages without spilling hot coffee on himself. "How considerate."

Gerry winks. "Your own fault. Don't go adopting stray undeads if you don't have enough sofa space."

Despite himself and his earlier thoughts, Jon smiles. He often finds himself relaxing around Gerry.

"Terribly sorry, the Eye didn't mention anything about your furniture hoarding habits when it dropped you off." Jon sips at his coffee as Gerry snorts.

"I do wonder sometimes, you know?" Gerry asks after a while. The remote sits untouched on the coffee table before them. "Why exactly did the Eye choose me. I mean, we know it was putting on a show for you, so why bring back the sad book ghost instead of your actual friends?"

"I don't think it wanted to lose another Archivist so soon, and you were the only option that wouldn't try to kill me as soon as you woke up," Jon shrugs. It's a tough truth, but a truth nonetheless.

"Hm. Well yes, but it still, " Gerry's started spreading over more and more of the sofa as he speaks, and Jon gets the feeling he's going to end on the coffee table again after all. "It would've made you happy to have them again, and I think that was the point in-"

"It chose just fine then." Jon looks stubbornly at the dark coffee in his mug. He's aware enough that he's just on the verge of making things awkward- Gerry's already gone suspiciously quiet by his end of the sofa, but he needs to say it. "I'm just- I'm sorry it wouldn't let you rest. Having you around is- but you earned it. You deserved a chance to be free of all this."

Gerry clears his throat. "That means a lot, Jon." His voice is a little strained, and Jon sighs. Another interaction turned uncomfortable, great. "So- how about a comedy? I'd suggest a thriller, but we'll both probably Know the twist before it happens so what's the case?"

Jon's head whips up at the change in tone. Gerry's stopped slipping down the couch, his socked foot just shy of touching Jon's knee, and he's reaching for the remote. Usually these conversations end with the other person storming away from him, not just- moving past to the next thing.

Maybe Jon is right, and the Watcher brought him Gerry because he's the only one that could possibly sit down and watch a movie with a monster.

The gap in his ribcage aches again, and Jon has to remind himself that Daisy's life is more important than his regret.

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

She hadn't expected to find a Vast avatar in the middle of New York's downtown, where every space is crowded to its maximum capacity. Perhaps this is a more metaphorical empty space? The unbreachable distance people build around themselves, that sort of thing.

"Matt," says the man at the top of the line, handing the barista a crisp hundred dollar note. "Keep the change."

Basira rolls her eyes before approaching him. The duality of these monsters is without a doubt their most vexing aspect, tipping a barista 95% on a mocha before shoving another innocent off a bridge or however this one does his business.

"Matthew Fairchild?" she asks once she's within a few steps' range. "I have some questions."

The man -teen, really, Basira doubts he's a day over twenty, if he even reaches the number- gives her a sideways look, before his eyebrows arch in recognition.

"Oh you're the Eye fella aren't you?" He smiles. Basira blinks. Suspects aren't usually this thrilled to see her. "Sylphie told me you'd be coming, that was quick! Let me just get my coffee and we can move somewhere more comfortable."

"Thats- no. I just want to know-"

"Matt?" Another barista calls from the end of the bar, and Basira has no doubt the extra ninety something dollars helped push Fairchild's order to the top of the queue. Matthew grins and dashes away to pick up the steaming cup, leaving Basira's ears whistling a little.

"There, thanks for waiting," the young man returns to Basira's side with a whipped cream monstrosity, and she can feel her lower lid begin to twitch. "So where's your Archivist? I heard he killed Mike-"

"He didn't," Basira interrupts him immediately. "That was a hunter. The Archivist was just lucky she stepped in at the right moment." It should feel wrong, using that term to describe Daisy, or praise her kills when she's so much more than what the Hunt made of her, but Basira won't let her achievements go uncredited.

"Hm. Yeah makes more sense I guess," Matthew shrugs. "Anyways, what do you want?"

"The other- she said you knew about pocket dimensions," Basira says carefully. This one seems a bit more cooperative than the last, but she knows better than to trust avatars.

Matthew laughs. "Well, I got mine. Is that what you mean?"

Basira looks around. The Starbucks is gone, and they're standing at the edge of a sickly yellow grass field ending on a cliff, a mirror copy of it a thousand miles below them. That one too ends in a cliff, and Basira can just about see the same field and the same cliff repeating over and over again as far as her eyes can perceive.

She rips her gaze away from the unending space and focuses on Matthew, who's watching her with an amused smile edged in milk foam and chocolate syrup.

"Yes, this is what I mean." Basira hopes her words and tone can convey just how not impressed she is, but the avatar seems far from offended. "How would one break out of it?"

"Now, it wouldn't be too smart of me to tell people that, don't you think?"

Down by the third cliff -or the fourth? Sixth?- Basira catches the movement of a lonely figure as they fall to their knees and begin tearing at their hair, calling out to the empty expanse of white sky above them.

"I don't care about them," Basira says. She should feel guilty, and in some way she does. But they aren't Daisy, and she can't save them. "I'm talking about the coffin."

"Ew, don't talk about that thing!" Matthew cringes, and the sounds of the busy coffeeshop around them start again like someone just pressed play on a recording.

"I need something that will work on the Buried," Basira says. Matthew rolls his eyes.

"Don't know, don't care. You really should've brought someone who could get answers, if you really wanted them," he takes another sip of his coffee, "I'm gonna go no-"

Basira's hand shoots forward to clamp down on his wrist. "I will find you again," she warns, "I am not the Archivist, but I am good at finding people. And I will keep finding you and yours again and again, until you. Tell. Me."

Matthew arches an eyebrow at Basira's white-knuckled grip on his forearm, and Basira feels wind whipping up around her again, smells the sickly grass and hears the faint, distant screams. She doesn't look away from him. If this is a pissing contest, she will win it.

It feels like an eternity goes by before Matthew sighs, and Basira's once more assaulted by the scent of overpriced coffee and the sounds of people purchasing it.

"Like a dog with a bone. Are you sure you're not with the Hunt?" he asks. Basira doesn't move an inch, and Matthew rolls his eyes. "Fine. The ones your sort gets statements from are the ones we let out, usually. They have anchors. Don't know if it'll work in the coffin. My thing is a gateway into the Falling Titan, the coffin is the Buried. Can I go now?"

Basira narrows her eyes. "If you lied, I will find you, and I will bring him with me. You won't like how he asks questions."

"Bring him, I have nothing to hide." The man snatches his wrist free, and as he walks towards the crystal doors they slide open with a burst of air and he's gone, Basira suspects back to his own little reality.

There's... A lot to think about.

She takes a seat on an armchair by a corner. An anchor. This should make things easier, but it really doesn't. Basira lets out a low, slightly hysterical cackle. Now she just needs to find an anchor to go save her anchor from the damned box.

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

He needs to stop coming here, Martin thinks.

The scent of brewing tea, the warmth from the mugs and the steam from the kettle -so different from the white fog that's started following him, even outside his flat- serve only to bring him back. To the time when the break room meant life and company; or even worse, to the time when the break room was already either empty or full of tired, wary looks, but it meant a preamble to a small lopsided smile and a single muted thanks after handing out a warm mug, and that brought Martin all the strength he needed.

The hope's still there, however faint, but Martin doesn't want it anymore. Doesn't want to want it, if it makes sense. Peter isn't lying when he insists life alone is much easier, but something in Martin keeps clinging stubbornly to the feeling of belonging. There's a click behind him, and Martin sighs and turns to give the tape recorder another reminder that he needs to be left alone.

Jon's startled eyes meet his from where he's frozen by the door, and Martin wants to scream.

"I- sorry," Jon apologizes immediately, "I thought Melanie-"

"She's out. She left with Gerard this morning." Martin saw them leave through the cameras, but he also felt them leave. He can often tell how many people are still in the Institute lately.

"Uh- yes I- they've been going out, I forgot," Jon mumbles and Martin feels that ugly, useless, misguided hope rear its head up again. "They've been hunting. A Leitner, I think Gerry said." Oh, there it goes. Dead again.

"Back on his old business, then."

"Yes, he's- I don't think he knows how to give up on helping people," Jon says. There's an undeniable warmth in Jon's dark eyes when he says that, and Martin has the thought that maybe he came here today because the Lonely wanted him here for this very encounter. "You'd know about that, I guess."

Wait, what?

Jon's eyes are still soft, fixed on some point behind Martin, and he realizes with a start that he still hasn't poured the extra mug of tea down the drain.

"I-" Martin starts, but he has no idea how to follow it. 'I love you, please forget about me' is maybe too on the nose.

"You need to go, that's-" Jon's resolve, whatever it was, seems to deflate. Martin winces. "I understand, I need to go out anyways, I- sorry. "

He turns to leave, and Martin is left alone with the bitter thought that the only thing worse than Jon not respecting his wishes is apparently Jon doing just that.

He needs to stop coming here.

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

"You look distracted," Melanie says when they stop for lunch at midday. She's got some fish and chips, and Gerry is -as usual- picking unenthusiastically at the smallest item in the menu. She often wonders if he doesn't really need to eat and does it only to appease her- in which case his solution does a lot more to feed her suspicions than to ease them. "What is it?"

"Hm? I mean, we're hunting a book that makes you grow organs until they start coming out of your body cavities, isn't that enough?" He flicks a chip around the plate, glaring down at it like it personally wrote the offending book.

"Yeah, and we know exactly where it is. We just need to wait until tomorrow when the shop's open. That's not what's worrying you." Melanie's not sure where the certainty comes from. She's either been spending too much time with Gerry, or the Eye's mark is starting to affect her more now that the bullet is gone and she spends most of her day out looking for leads on avatars and Leitners. "Gerry?" she asks again, because he clearly stopped listening to her about a word in.

"I don't know. I'm just on edge, for some reason." And his eyes drift away in the direction of the Institute again. Melanie groans, because she thought she was done listening to relationship trouble involving that freak forever, but her life is a joke and she's two Jon-related comments away from inviting the Slaughter back in. "What?"

"Did you two get in a fight? Is that it? You're trying to save who knows how many people from vomiting their organs until they're empty meatsacks, and you're worried about Jon?" she snarls, stabbing at the piece of fish on her plate so hard she hears the fork clink against the plate underneath. Therapy, Georgie, Gerry and bullet removal have done a little to fix her animosity towards Jon, but she seriously doubts she'll ever like him. She never did in the first place, so she figures it's ok.

"I- no? We're alright," Gerry frowns at her like she's the crazy one. "...but maybe? It does feel like there's something back at the Institute. But I don't know what. Maybe the Eye wants me there for some reason."

"Got it. Then we should keep you away, right?" Melanie looks at Gerry. Gerry looks back. The silence stretches. Melanie narrows her eyes. "Right?"

"Melanie..." Gerry's look turns pained, and Melanie groans again.

"I thought we weren't doing what the entities wanted!"

"We're not, it's just- last time it felt sort of like this, you know?" Gerry shrugs. He looks apologetic, biting at his stupid lip piercing with a thoughtful frown. "When the deliveryman went in. They might be in trouble."

Melanie rolls her eyes. Since Basira's away on whatever lead she's chasing there's only three people at the Institute that would theoretically be in danger, two of them are technically unkillable, and she really only cares about the one that could escape most easily.

"Helen will let him into her door if it's anything too bad," she tries. It's probably true, but Gerry's frown doesn't fade.

"I'm not too sure about that," Gerry says, and Melanie remembers in that moment that they lied to him to cover the ribs thing and he thinks Helen and Jon got into some sort of monster brawl. Funny how lies come back to bite you in the ass. "We can't do anything else about the book today. Let's go back early."

Melanie pinches the bridge of her nose. Gerry probably won't leave her alone and go back by himself. Outside the Institute the only safety they have is their numbers, and he wouldn't just let her get taken, she's sure. She's also very sure he'll be insufferable until they go back. She was enjoying the break, goddammit.

"I hate you." She lifts a hand to call the server over, and pulls her phone out to send a text.

"Your ex continues to ruin literally everything in my life" she texts Georgie while they wait for the food to be packed up. Gerry's not even trying to peek at her phone, so he must be genuinely worried. Georgie sends back some kissy emojis, and Melanie feels a little less murder-prone. "Some insight on this? You hid him in your house during a murder investigation. Is it mind control?"

"I'm very weak to cute short people who make bad decisions. Lucky you." Georgie responds. Melanie smiles. She'll take the compliment and the implication, even if it's lumping her in with Jon.

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

"I thought you were going to wait for Basira," Helen opens her door on the ceiling this time. It's fun to inconvenience the Archivist, she thinks, as he twists his neck to look up at her. The chains are undone, and the coffin hums a delighted purr, having been promised a willing meal.

"I can't anymore," Jon mutters. There's no animosity in his tone when he looks at Helen, which is both new and pleasing. "We don't know what Daisy's going through in there. Waiting however long until Basira comes back when I've been ready for days... it feels unnecessarily cruel."

"Hmmm... had some snacks for the way, didn't you?" Helen asks. The Archivist's eyes are not usually green, but they're glowing like neon since he walked back into the Institute.

"Don't- don't mention it, please." Jon closes his eyes, but the lovely green glow is visible even through his eyelids. "I'm- if I don't-" he starts again, before cutting himself short with a huff.

Helen arches an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"I... I know you're not her. Helen, I mean," the Archivist starts again. "But- they're all human." He says it as though he expects her to understand, and Helen nods. They're all so easy to break, thin boned and fragile minded, so fascinating to watch in this world of nightmares they've stumbled into. Helen likes them an awful lot.

"And you trust me to keep them safe?" Helen asks. Truth is, the Archivist is not wrong. She's not Helen Richardson in the way a hand is not a body. She's not even really an avatar either, because the Distortion spawned from the Spiral itself, but sometimes she wonders if there is too much human in her now, polluting the purity of her concept. The Distortion likes humans, but not in the way that Helen does, and the clash is... disconcerting.

Jon gives a soft, humorless laugh. "I don't know that I trust me to keep them safe. But I'm all there is... and if I'm gone, then-"

"I'm not exactly a fighter, Jon."

"You found a way to help Melanie- a way to help me." Jon looks up at her, and Helen averts her gaze. His eyes are too much, this up close. A recently fed Archivist is not something to be taken lightly.

"I thought you said I wasn't Helen," she says. Jon bends down to lay his rib on the ground next to the coffin.

He shrugs. "I still feel like Jon, sometimes." He straightens up, and takes a deep breath, before stepping into the coffin. "Goodbye, Helen."

"Good luck, Jon." Helen waves him goodbye, the tips of her fingers grazing strands of his hair before he descends too far for her to reach.

The coffin closes.

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

Gerry likes to think he's both fairly smart and intuitive. The Beholding wouldn't have marked him otherwise, tattoos or not. The uncontrollable curiosity was always a part of him, and his mother loved it. As Gerry grew older he realized it was because she thought his Beholding mark would make it easier for her to get information for her ritual; very on brand for Mary Keay, to encourage her six years old into becoming bait for an entity of eldritch horror.

He's no Pupil, no Archivist and no Detective, but Gerry knows things others don't. And as they get closer to the Institute, what he knows is that something is deeply, impossibly wrong.

The Eye is calling him back at full force, the tether born where his heart used to be pulled taut like a harp string, and Gerry realizes with a start that this has something to do with Jon. But it makes no sense, Jon was just fine this morning, and judging on what he did to the Stranger's errand boy a few weeks ago, he's powerful enough to handle whatever comes his way. Jon will be fine, he has to be fi-

"Slow down!" Melanie snaps, and Gerry realizes she's almost running to keep up with his longer, hurried strides.

"Sorry. It just- it's bad," Gerry grunts out as they bend around the corner, and the Institute comes into view. His worry seems to have caught on with Melanie, and she keeps up with him without another complaint. "I don't know what it is, just-"

"I still feel like Jon, sometimes." Jon's voice is as clear as if he was talking by Gerry's ear, even though he's nowhere in sight. This is definitely the furthest he's been able to hear Jon, provided he's all the way down at the Archives, but Gerry doesn't give the realization much thought, focused as he is on the serious, resigned cadence of Jon's voice. He certainly doesn't sound like he's in danger, but Gerry still doesn't like- "Goodbye, Helen."

And it all clicks in Gerry's mind.

"Fuck-" Gerry takes off running towards the building, not knowing or caring if Melanie keeps up. Jon promised he wouldn't do this, Jon knows this is crazy, it-

He hears a sound like a slamming door, and Gerry falls like a puppet whose strings have been snipped in a single cut. It's only his remaining inertia that takes him a few last inches towards the Institute, before he's collapsing on the pavement. He feels his lip and forehead split against the entry steps with awful clarity, but he couldn't care less, because whatever pain his body's experiencing pales in comparison to the agony inside him right now.

It feels as though they have taken all the air from his lungs and replaced it with red hot nails, like someone is digging at his brain with an awl, like his very soul is being ripped out of his chest, and he knows this is a punishment. The Eye tried to warn him, and Gerry ignored it, and now Jon is gone.

"-rry? What's going on?!" Melanie's voice is frantic, like she's looking for something she can kill to fix this, and it's the last thing he hears.

When he comes back to, Melanie's half dragging, half pushing him -he thinks, detachedly, that it must've looked funny as she dragged his semi conscious bulk around the Institute, Gerry's not a small man and Melanie hides a surprising amount of power in her tiny frame- onto the break room sofa. Gerry tries to support some of his own weight, and she drops him with a start. Whatever injuries the pavement gave him ache at the sudden movement, but he's got bigger things to worry about.

"-ffin. Coffin," Gerry mumbles. Melanie gasps, and when he parts his eyelids he finds her looking at him in concern. It's not a look he's ever seen on Melanie, and he has enough presence of mind to feel flattered. "He's gone. He-"

"Gerry, it's alright," Melanie tries, as clumsy as Jon in her attempts at softness. "He- he said he'd be, he has his rib-"

"His what?"

Melanie's expression quickly turns to guilt, and she squeezes and pulls at her fingers in what must be nerves. "He wanted- I took him to the Bone Turner. He was trapped in Helen, and Jon got him to take out a rib. He said it would work as an anchor, and he'd be able to come back with Daisy."

"Oh god-" Gerry groans. Of course, of course Jon would- "That won't work. That's not- Melanie it has to be something he loves!"

He'd thought Jon understood that much at least, but apparently he misunderstood just how oblivious Jon is. Gerry knows with devastating certainty that a rib -or any other part of his body- just won't cut it, because he's never met anyone who hates himself so stubbornly and undeservingly as Jonathan Sims.

Melanie arches her eyebrows at his outburst. "Well, then you could-"

"Where's Martin?" Gerry cuts her short, pushing heavily off the sofa. His energy's coming back, and he thinks bitterly of how Jon practically insisted on reading to him for hours these past days. The Flesh mark, the sad looks… a lot of things make a lot more sense in retrospect. He hears Melanie call out after him, but he's already off the door.

This is a terribly Jon thing to do, he thinks as he stumbles down empty corridors, using a bit of juice to Know the way towards Elias' office. Gerry's fuming. For all her oversights as a person, Gertrude was at least aware of her importance. To the world, and the people around her, regardless of whether she considered the latter nothing but a handy tool. Jon thinks his only value lays on the people he saves, and Gerry's going to kill him if he gets back.

When he gets back, Gerry corrects himself fiercely as he bangs on the luxurious oak door. The only signs of life behind it are the thin wisps of fog curling out from below it, and the gold plate with Elias' name reflects his face mockingly.

"Open the door!" Gerry bangs harder. "I know you're there, I'm not leaving!"

Once again there's no answer, and Gerry starts backing up to the opposite wall. He's going to get Jon back even if he has to break the door down and hoist Martin over his shoulder to drag him to the Archives.

The door swings open. "What do you want?" Martin asks, still mostly translucent other than his white-knuckled hand around the doorknob. "You're bleeding. Or something."

"Jon went into the Buried." Gerry wipes his hand against the cut on his forehead. It comes back stained in a pitch black fluid with a tangy metallic smell he recognizes quickly enough, and he wipes it clean on his jeans. He'll worry about that later.

"He what?" Gray seeps out of Martin's eyes, leaving behind a nice forest green, and Gerry feels a crashing wave of relief wash over him. His suspicions were right; whatever the hell Martin thinks he's doing with Lukas, he loves Jon, and Gerry's not alone. "Why would he do that?"

"Apparently there's a Daisy in there? Come on, the coffin's at the Archives," Gerry shrugs, and he gestures back the way he came.

"... Daisy the cop? The one who tried to slit his throat?" Martin arches an eyebrow as they walk, and Gerry has to stop and take a grounding breath. Of fucking course.

"I'm guessing that's the one." Gerry pinches at the bridge of his nose. Maybe this is actually how Archivists hunt- maybe they don't need any statements, they just drive you crazy. When he opens his eyes Martin is looking at him with a decidedly amused glint in his eyes.

"It's not an easy job, eh?" Martin asks with a soft smile, and he starts walking again. "What do you want me to do?"

"You're his anchor. Call him. If he's not too far already, he should be able to hear you." It has to be enough, Gerry thinks. It has to, because otherwise he'll have to accept that Jon slipped through his fingers when he should've seen this coming from a mile away. That Jon is gone because he couldn't stop him.

"Oh." Martin stops on his tracks, the determination on his face giving way to something more guarded. "I'm- I don't think I can help, then-"

"Oh my God! Are you kidding me?" Gerry groans. These two are pathetic. Gerry's lost count of how many times he's had to bite back on how he doesn't think Martin deserves the sheer longing and pain that radiates from Jon's face every time he even mentions the man. "This is ridiculous, and I don't have time to discuss with you. For whatever reason, he-"

"You're still bleeding. Why is it black?" Martin interrupts him, and Gerry holds back the urge to scream. Is this why they like each other? Because they're both stubborn and mulish and refuse to accept they might have value for someone else?

"Fuck it. We don't have time for this." He's going in himself, he's tied to Jon, that has to count for something. He goes to sidestep Martin, when a hand clamps down on his wrist. Gerry looks back at him, and Martin's bright green eyes are filled to the brim with intense suspicion. "Martin, Jon doesn't have time for th-"

"How do you know he can still come back?" Martin asks, his voice heavy with mistrust and hope in equal measures.

Gerry wants to say something scathing, or at least something that will get Martin moving, because Jon needs them. And if the truth is what it takes, then so be it.

"I don't know. Nobody knows. But I'm still alive, and that means he still exists," Gerry says. The acrid smell of ink fills the space between them as it drips from the cuts on his face. Martin's eyes are sharp as he starts connecting the dots, and Gerry has no trouble whatsoever believing that this is the man that outsmarted the Eye's Pupil.

"So- so what does that mean? You know how to find him?" Martin asks, and Gerry shakes his head.

"I can't hear him anymore," Gerry sighs. A fat drop of ink runs down the side of his face. "He's no longer here."

"That's- don't say that." Martin says firmly, and there's something steely under his soft, gentle features. "He'll find a way back, Jon always does. We just have to trust him. Now is there anything we can do so you stop bleeding all over the place? Inking? Whatever it is, let's- let's stop it."

Gerry blinks as Martin pulls out a package of paper tissues from his pocket and offers it to him, a man he neither likes nor has ever been even remotely kind to him. Knowing Jon like he does now, this explains a lot.

"I doubt it's going to stop anytime soon," he says, grabbing the offered tissues. "Not without Jon here to talk to me. His voice is what keeps my body working."

Martin seems to mull this over for a bit, as Gerry soaks up tissue after tissue. Is he made up entirely of ink? Should they be like... keeping this in a bucket, if only to use it later? Gerry gives his hands a quick once over, and sighs in relief when he finds his tattoos are still there.

"...Oh" Martin lets out a little surprised exhale. Gerry whips his head up to look at him.

"What? What is it?" Gerry asks. A slow smile is spreading over Martin's lips, and Gerry can't help but to feel hopeful. Martin might be a naive idiot who thinks he can play the Lonely to his favor, but if anyone has the slightest chance at saving Jon-

"Come with me."

#jongerrymartin #jonathan sims #gerry keay #martin blackwood #j/g/m #i feel a bit guilty swamping the tag #but i dont know where else to put this #vit writes

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elfrootaddict · 4 years ago

Text

HERALD OF ANDRASTE - Chapter 4/4

DESCRIPTION: El'lana’s entire world is turned upside down when she, a proud Dalish elf, is bestowed the title “Herald of Andraste”.

SERIES: Halla & Wolf

VOLUME: 3

Lana bursts into her cabin, slamming the door shut behind her and drops to the floor. Releasing her belongings from her tense grip, she allows them to fall where they may. Her breathing is heavy as her heart thrashes wildly inside her chest. With so much adrenaline surging through her body, her hands begin to shake uncontrollably as she brings them to her face.

Lana is all too familiar with having a temper, but the pure rage she’s feeling from this outburst has never happened before. Not ever. Especially towards someone she barely knows. How is it that possible that only moments ago she was laughing and enjoying his company. But now? Now she feels like a wild, savage beast wanting to claw Solas’s face off.

How dare he say such things? How dare he have such hatred towards people he’s never even met before? People, who I love more than life itself!

And yet, how can she allow herself to get so provoked? He was only expressing his opinion. Is she to get this enraged every time somebody vexes her? Shouldn’t she be used to the notion that the Dalish are ostracised, perhaps even by her own kind?

Lana brings her knees in towards her chest as she scrapes her fingers through her hair. She closes her eyes and takes several minutes to try and calm herself down; taking in deep breaths through the nose and exhaling out the mouth, just like the Keeper always instructed her to do.

Except this time, it isn’t working.

Resting her arms on her knees, she drops her head and quietly begins to weep. Her chest pounding at a rapid rhythm until finally she takes in one deep breath and releases a much louder, desperate wail. She brings her head back, hitting the cabin door, and brings her trembling hands up towards her face to help quieten down the volume of her cries.

And the tears keep falling. And falling. And falling.

Is she really that angry at Solas? No, not particularly. She is indeed offended towards his tackless accusations but when it comes down to it…

Lana is terrified. Beyond belief.

“Blend-in as best as you can mir da’vhenan, and discover the nature of this meeting. Return to me and report what has happened. Nothing more and nothing less. Ar lath, ma da’len. May the gods guide your steps.”

Lana realises that once word of the Conclave got to the Free Marches, and then to her clan, the Keeper would logically assume Lana had died with all the rest. In fact, Keeper Zatlen of clan Alassan has probably already sent word to the Keeper, and the clan has already planted a tree in Lana’s memory somewhere in the forest. Knowing the Keeper’s cautious behaviour, she would most likely move the clan to the safest location she knows because of the anticipated chaos between the mages and the templars.

And Lana knows that once they move, there would be no possible way of finding them again on her own. She is no scout or hunter, and only just managed to get here by following the Keeper’s strict instructions. Sure, she could go back to Kirkwall’s harbour somehow and travel through the cravis in the Vinmark Mountains, but then where would she go? East? West? North?

I will never see them again. The Keeper. Lhoris. Tamara. My home. I won’t be there for Lhoris and Tamara’s bonding ceremony. I won’t be able to see them raise their little ones. I won’t even be there to help the Keeper as she ages.

Lana looks down at the papers scattered around her with the ink spilled across the floor, and quietly whimpers as she begins to clean up the mess.

Lana wipes the tears from her face and looks around the cabin. With the sun almost completely set, the cabin is nearly pitch dark, and she can hardly make out much, save for a single candle’s silhouette on the windowsill. With only a flick of the wrist, Lana murmurs a spell and lights the wick. The small flame fills the room with a warm, soft glow which is when she notices a large bowl laying on the table.

Taking in a long, deep breath, and feeling somewhat calmer after that much needed cry, she forces herself up as she wipes her dripping nose with her sleeve, and slumps towards the bowl.

Lana murmurs a basic enchantment and fills the bowl with cold, fresh water. She then cups her hands in the liquid and splashes the water against her blotchy and tired face.

Lana leans against the table, hands placed on either side of the bowl and stares at her distorted reflection in the water’s rippling surface. As the water slowly begins to settle, Lana leans in closer and notices a large, dark line across her mouth. And with a quick gesture, she stills the water to get a better look.

“Creators…”

Still struggling to see under the current light, Lana glares at the meek, little candle light and significantly enhances its flame size.

Now satisfied by the more sufficient lighting, Lana uses one hand to hold her hair back as she leans in even closer to the water’s surface. And that’s when she gasps.

Using her free hand, Lana slowly glides her fingers across the massively brazen laceration starting from the left corner of her top lip and all the way down to her chin.

By the dread wolf, how long have I had this?

Lana turns her face from side to side and notices another laceration across her right cheek. This one is not as large, but it's deeper and also new. She’s grateful that at least her vallaslin is still intact.

Suddenly, a knock at her cabin door startles her. Lana whips her head around, stabilises the candle’s flame, and pretends she isn’t there. She is in no mood for any company.

“Lana?”

Nope.

“It’s me... your friendly neighbourhood dwarf.”

Funny. But, still no.

And for a short while, neither one says anything until…

“I have food...”

Lana’s stomach instantly grumbles. Releasing a soft sigh, Lana realises that she needs a warm meal more than pretending to not exist at the moment.

Desperate to appear nonchalant, Lana quickly brushes her fingers through her hair and straightens out her clothes as she walks towards the door. Taking in a deep breath, Lana opens the door by only a few inches, and peers through the small gap, as she is still in shock and deeply insecure about the scar across her lip.

Standing in the cold on the cabin’s porch is Varric, with two steaming bowls of Fereldan’s typical, hearty stew; chunky vegetables in a broth, and if the hunters had been lucky, there would be a few pieces of animal meat, too.

Varric stretches his arm out with one and Lana takes it gratefully, “Thank you, Varric. That’s really nice of you. I could have helped myself, you know? You didn’t have to come all the way here.”

Varric huffs with a playfully dismissive hand wave, “It was no trouble. And I figured with everything going on, you most likely haven’t eaten anything today, have you?”

Lana releases a gentle smile and sways her head from side to side.

“Thought so. Well, now that I’ve fulfilled my neighbourly duty for the day. I’ll see you ‘round, El.”

Lana smiles sheeply at Varric for calling her El, as it reminds her of Lhoris, and as much as she wants to wallow in self-pity, she could really talk to somebody who isn’t in the Inquisition's inner circle, a Chantry priestess or Creators-forbid… Solas.

She could use a good evening with somebody who could potentially be called a friend.

“Varric...” calls Lana, and Varric turns around to regard her with a gentle smile, “You can come in if you like? If you want to, of course. I don’t want to intrude on your evening plans or anything.”

“If by ‘plans’ you mean waiting around for the world to end?” and shrugs his shoulders sarcastically. “I think I can push that back.”

Lana laughs and lets Varric in.

Once Lana closes the door behind them, she frantically looks about the room for a place to seat her guest, “You can sit... here.” and quickly puts her evening meal down on the table as she drags the only chair in the cabin out for Varric.

“Hey, don’t worry about me, I’m happy standing.”

Lana stops moving the chair towards him as she is unsure of what to do next. She isn’t used to entertaining “guests” and doesn’t know what the “rules” are. So instead, she settles for an awkward stare down.

“Come on,” persists Varric as he moves himself to the corner of the table, placing his bowl down. “I insist.” and gestures for Lana to take the chair.

Lana releases a sheepish grin, brings the chair in towards the table and sits down, “Thank you.” and brings her bowl in closer as they both dig into their meal.

“So,” begins Varric. “Now that Cassandra’s out of earshot, are you holding up alright? I mean, you go from being the most wanted criminal in Thedas to joining the armies of the faithful. Most people would have spread that out over more than just one day.”

Taking a big gulp of her stew, “I have no idea what’s happening anymore.”

Varric chuckles, “That makes two of us. For days now, we’ve been staring at the Breach, watching demons and Maker-knows-what fall out of it. ‘Bad for morale’ would be an understatement,” Varric pauses and looks down into his steaming meal. “I still can’t believe anyone was in there and lived.”

“If it was that bad, why did you stay? Cassandra said you were free to go.”

Lana brings a spoonful of hot broth up-to her mouth and then slowly sips at the edges of the spoon.

Varric stops stirring his vegetables around and sighs, “I like to think I’m as selfish and irresponsible as the next guy, but this,” shaking his head and looking mournfully at Lana. “Thousands of people died on that mountain. I was almost one of them! And now there’s a hole in the sky? Even I can't even walk away and just leave that to sort itself out.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, thank you for staying. The Breach needs to be sealed. The sooner the better.”

“If it can be sealed,” Varric leans against the cabin walls and looks at Lana for a moment as he contemplates something, and then moves in closer to whisper. “You might want to consider running at the first opportunity. I’ve written enough tragedies to recognise where this is going,” and leans back to take a spoonful of stew. “Heroes are everywhere. I’ve seen that. But the hole in the sky? That’s beyond heroes. We’re going to need a miracle.”

Lana looks down at her bowl and begins to lose herself in the bobbing vegetable chunks in her stew, “I wish everybody else saw it that way. I’m just... me.”

Varric pushes away his empty bowl and sighs. “Look, I’m just going to say it…” and Lana looks up at Varric puzzled. “That stew was... terrible!”

Lana relaxes and laughs with a light and pleasant sound, “It’s not the best, is it?”

“Are you kidding?” Varric fans his fingers across his chest dramatically. “Even I could make a better stew than this nug-shit, and that’s saying something.”

“Yeah, I’m not a very good cook either. I suppose I never had to really learn. We always had at least two people dedicated to preparing the meals back home.”

Varric leans against the cabin wall again and crosses his arms over his chest, “You’re from the Marchers, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

Pointing his thumb up towards himself, “Kirkwall.”

Lana smiles widens as she cries out, “I had no idea! What a small world! I’ve only been to Kirkwall once, although I’ve only been in the harbour mind you. Up until recently, I had never been anywhere else. Only Tamara would go to the towns or cities to trade with the shems.”

“Tamara?”

Lana shakes her head at her foolishness, “Oh right, sorry. Tamara is one of my clan’s merchants,” and pauses before murmuring. “But to me, she’s more like a sister.”

With kind and caring eyes, Varric attempts to console Lana. “You must miss her. Has Liliana managed to contact your clan yet?”

Digging and fumbling around in her almost empty bowl, Lana looks up at Varric with confusion. “No?”

“Maker’s breath!” cries Varric. “Okay, first thing tomorrow morning, find Liliana and tell her you need to contact your clan.”

“That’s sweet Varric but news of the Conclave would have reached them by now. They probably think I’m dead and moved on. I wouldn’t know how to find them.”

Varric leans across the table and looks at Lana with a confidant grin. “Trust me, Liliana can find them. Don’t you worry about that, kiddo.”

“Really?”

Varric stands up straight, crosses his arms over his chest and simply nods.

Lana quietly judges Varric’s confidence, and realises that if Liliana really can find her clan, then that means she can allow herself to hope to be reunited with her family once everything is over.

“I would be truly grateful! Thank you, Varric.”

“No problem,” Varric drops his arms and scratches the back of his head, “Man, I’m glad to have a warm meal but Maker’s breath, that was just awful.”

Lana releases another carefree laugh but is instantly interrupted by another sudden and unexpected knock at the door.

Varric turns his head towards the door and looks back at Lana with a cheeky smile and raised eyebrow, “Expecting someone?”

Realising his carnal insinuation, Lana blushes and cries out, “Creators! No!” and Varric laughs wildly while she calls towards the door, “Who is it?”

And a quiet, soothing voice answers back, “Solas. Apologies for the intrusion, but I was hoping for only a moment of your time?”

Lana's pleasant mood visibly dissipates and she slumps into her chair, rolls her eyes and releases a loud groan. Which causes Varric to raise both eyebrows in surprise at her sudden, dramatic shift in mood. She then shoves the chair back, causing a loud screech on the wooden floor and marchers over to the door.

With one swift motion, Lana opens the door wide enough to clearly indicate she isn’t alone and that Solas is indeed intruding on her very pleasant evening.

“Oh,” gasps Solas as he looks at Varric, who waves back at him awkwardly. “I didn’t realise you had company.”

With one hand on the door and the other resting on her hip, Lana snaps. “Is there something you need, Solas?”

Solas looks back at Lana, “It’s no matter. I will find you-”

“You know what,” mutters Varric from inside the cabin as he grabs both bowls. “I was just about to leave anyway,” and walks towards the door, and past the two very clearly, upset elves. “So if you don’t mind me El, I think I’ll be heading off. It was good catching up.”

Varric staying is the only reasonable excuse Lana can use to dismiss Solas. But with her excuse literally walking out the door, Lana desperately cries out, “Varric, there’s really no need-”

“It’s no problem,” insists Varric. “I need a few mugs of ale to wash down this stew anyhow,” and begins walking questionably fast as he shouts without looking back, “See you kids in the morning!” and leaves Lana and Solas to watch him disappear into the darkness.

Eventually Lana murmurs, “Good night...”

Shit.

With his arms behind his back, Solas turns back around and looks down at Lana, who is still blocking the entrance to the cabin.

Feeling his gaze on her, Lana ultimately looks back at him in return. Neither one says anything.

Well, this is just GREAT.

And as if they were in one of Varric’s cheesy romance novels, they both speak up at the same time.

Lana releases a forced, awkward laugh and averts her gaze while Solas holds his own without managing to break eye contact.

Clearly uncomfortable and wanting to get out of the cold, Lana attempts to speak first, “Do you... do you want to come in?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Lana steps aside, allowing Solas in and closes the door behind him. Still lingering at the entrance, she turns around and watches him stride to the middle of the room and then turn back around to face her. His shoulders pulled back, standing perfectly poised and straight.

Lana isn’t sure what to do now, so she folds her arms across her chest and looks around the room awkwardly.

Why is he just staring at me?

With a calm and controlled voice, Solas finally breaks the tension, “I wanted to apologise. Again. It seems I am constantly finding new ways to offend you,” Lana flicks her gaze back at him, visibly surprised. “I should not have allowed my previous experience with the Dalish to cloud my opinion of your clan. I regretfully admit that I have indeed ‘painted you with the same brush’ so to speak. And for that, I’m sorry.”

By his mannerism and delivery, it is clearly evident that Solas really means every word. He truly is regretful and Lana finds herself shamefully surprised.

After their confrontation, she had decided that he was an arrogant, selfish man who relishes in being superior in knowledge, intellect and rare experiences as a dreamer.

But now?

Lana visibly relaxes her tense shoulders and feebly murmurs, “Thank you.”

Solas turns his gaze away from Lana and walks towards the window, the candle’s light subtly highlighting the edges of his silhouette, “You see, I have wondered many roads in my time, and crossed paths with your people on more than one occasion. I have offered to share my knowledge, only to be attacked for no greater reason than their superstition. Most care very little about improving their lives. They already consider themselves perfect, the sole keepers of elven lore,”

Solas drops his head and closes his eyes, “Liar. Fool. Madman. There are endless ways to say someone isn’t worth listening to,” and he turns his head around with his eyes giving away his pain. “Over time, it grinds away at you.”

Lana can’t stop herself from staring at him as she left completely lost for words. His misery and suffering tugging at her empathic heart.

Lana takes a small step forward, “Solas-”

“Until today,” interjects Solas as he turns around fully with a gentle smile. “You are the first of your people to ask me about my travels, my stories,” and awkwardly tugs at his sleeves. “It’s been... a long time since anyone has shown genuine interest in what I have to share. And if you’d like, I would be more than happy to answer any of your questions, to the best of my ability.”

With a subtle nod, Lana smiles sincerely, “Thank you, I would like that very much.”

Solas smiles back and moves closer to Lana, his tall and broad physique blocking the candle’s light.

“Before I take my leave, I have something of yours,” and removes a rolled piece of parchment from his belt, and hands it over to Lana. “I believe you might be missing this.”

Confused, Lana takes the parchment, looks at Solas for a moment, and proceeds to slowly unravel it before him as she gasps. It’s her unfinished sketch of the Keeper.

“I had no idea I dropped it!” and looks up at Solas with a sincere smile, “Thank you.”

Solas nods with a gentle smile in return, “You’re welcome. And I believe I’ve taken up enough of your time.”

Solas walks towards the door as Lana follows him. He opens the door, steps outside and looks down at Lana with a sincere smile, “I will see you in the morning.” and begins closing the door.

Impulsively, Lana leaps forward and grabs onto the side of the door and calls out, “Solas, wait...”

Solas lets go of the door handle, turns around and stares at Lana curiously.

Lana opens the door a little further and looks down at the ground for a moment before looking back up at Solas with remorse, “I would like to apologise for my behaviour, too. I said a lot of things to you which were unkind and hurtful, and I let my temper get the better of me... ir abelas, lethallin.”

Solas releases a heartfelt smile and nods, “Thank you.”

After hearing Solas’s tragic story about how the Dalish have treated him in the past, she cannot help but feel embarrassed and ashamed, and feels she needs to apologise on behalf of her people, too, “And I’m sorry for how the Dalish have treated you in the past. I truly had no idea,” and with her deep set frown and pale, lavender eyes peering up at him, she bravely declares, “It isn’t right and if I am ever in the position to change things, I know exactly where to start.”

“You are a rarity amongst your people, da’len. And thank you for allowing me to speak with you this evening. I look forward to our many academic discussions moving forward.”

And with that, Solas turns around and walks away. Only once she can no longer see him, does Lana slowly close the door and look down at the unfinished picture of Keeper Deshanna. A bit crinkled, but no matter. She’s just happy to have the Keeper back with her.

Unbelievably exhausted, Lana decides to call it a day and puts the Keeper back with the others. She then takes the candlestick from the windowsill and places it in the middle of the room.

She then proceeds to take apart her nicely made bed and apologises, in her mind, to whomever makes her bed for her as they will find everything on the floor. Again.

Using the thin cotton sheet, she lays it neatly on the cabin floor next to the bed. Then, taking her loose wolf fur, she lays it down on the sheet and immediately follows with laying out the softer, stuffed blanket on top of that.

Once nicely centered, she visually divides the blanket into thirds, folding the right-third inwards and then the left-third over that. Then she tucks the bottom of her makeshift cocoon underneath itself and stands back to admire her work.

Well, if this is the closest I’ll get to what I have back home, then that's fine with me.

Satisfied, Lana grabs the last crucial element of her creation - the pillow.

Once changed into her sleepwear, Lana wiggles her way into her bed and turns around to face the candle, and stares into its dull, dim glow as it reaches the end of its wick.

First thing tomorrow I will find Liliana, so that she can try to contact the Keeper before Cassandra keeps me busy all day.

Then, I’ll find Solas in the evening to learn more about the ancient elvhen.

Lana closes her heavy, tired eyes and its not long until the flame of the candle runs out.

Oh, and don’t forget to ask him about that strange shoe-thing across his neck.

Oh wait, it can’t be a shoe - doesn’t it have teeth?

Elvish to English Translation:

“Mir da’vhenan” = my little-heart

“Ar lath, ma da’len” = I love you, my child

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

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Halla & Wolf Series

#ElfrootAddict's Halla & Wolf Series #ElfrootAddict's Herald of Andraste #ElfrootAddict's El'lana Aemma Lavellan #Solas #Varric #Lavellan #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dalish #herald of andraste #fanfic

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griffinsandpeacocks · 4 years ago

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Get Up And Write Week 4: “This could be love, how could that be? I’ve fallen for a perfect little heaven of a thief.” Dangerous, Before You Exit

There had always been an aura of power about the elf. Most chalked it up to his magic. As he gave off a strange sensation with his mere proximity. Thus no one took him seriously as a sneak. He’d be felt long before he could get close; his odd aura would give him away after all. He smirked at Brynjolf as the man scoffed at him for the request to join his group.

"Yet here I have your coin purse and no one noticed." The mer purrs smoothly as he saunters away Brynjolf running after him.

"How!?" He asks and the elf looks at him and tilts his head.

"I'm sorry, thought I wasn't worth your time." He says frowning and Brynjolf grits his teeth.

"A man can be wrong once in a while, lad." He says and the elf smirks and turns gesturing the sneak follow him. They go to the docks and the elf plops down at an edge danging his legs and his boot toes barely skim the water sending ripples over the lake.

"I'm skilled, and tired of being the hero and good boy. I want a new life. I want to take, I'm done giving. So, now that I caught your eye... How can I prove I'm worth a new face showing up in your rat nest?" He asks and Brynjolf plops down nest to him and stares at the elf.

"You stole from a master lad, I don't think I need any more proof..." He says watching him and the elf laughs and leans into Bryn and drops the coinpurse back into his lap.

"Then, Little Emerald, where do I sign?" He asks and Brynjolf chuckles noticing the bag's a little lighter.

"Well, lad my purse is a bit lighter..."

"Shouldn't insult a master." The ef shoots back smiling. Brynjolf laughs and the elf just swings his legs making a ripple split the lake and the light glitters from the setting sun.

"Meet me in the market tomorrow I'd like some help getting a job done and you'll get paid and earn the hints you'll need to get down to the hide out in the rat way." Brynjolf says and the elf chuckles and stands. Brynjolf follows trying to slide his fingers into a purse but the elf swats his hand every time.

"Now I'll just have to get better won't I?" Brynjolf jokes and the elf grins.

"Tell you what, you manage to steal from me, I'll fulfill one wish that is within my powers for you." The elf says and Brynjolf smirks.

"Then it's on then, lad. Eventually your purse and that wish'll be mine." Brynjolf purrs and the elf laughs and slinks into the shadows waving. The next day the elf is sitting at the side of the well early morning and Brynjolf slides up next to him. He looks over and smiles softly.

"Good morning, lad." Brynjolf greets and the elf waves lightly in reply.

"So what was it you needed my help with?" He asks and Brynjolf nods to the lizard then the dark elf walking up to the market.

“Alright simple enough.” The mer says frowning a bit but he can easily do this even if he doesn’t want to. As Brynjolf get’s their attention the elf manages to pick the lock get the ring and some other loot and set the ring in the dunmer’s pocket before sliding around to lean against the low wall circling the stalls.

“You did it.” Brynjolf says impressed and the elf shrugs.

“Now what?” He asks ignoring the guards that are harassing the dunmer. Brynjolf tells him to find the ragged flagon under the city and the elf sighs and walks away. He goes to the sewer his nose wrinkles as he walks in he dispatches the two thugs with simple magic and jumps down seeing no bridge he sees the gate picks the lock dispatches one last thug and loots their enchanted gloves and saunters in smirking as he hears his naysayers.

“Well so sorry to disappoint you, shall I leave then?” He asks as he walks up everyone blinks in shock and Brynjolf smirks triumphant and smug as a cat with a bird in it’s jaws.

“A dying bread, eh, well what do you call that?” He says and goes up to the elf. The mer stands near a bald man whose looking at him like he may have shit himself as no one had seen him walk up not even the thug for security.

“Bleeding shadows how’d you do that?” He asks and the mer smiles and winks vanishing into shadow as he steps back.

“I have a lot of magic, I can wrap it around myself making it easy to disappear in shadows or bright places. I’m just good with magic and I have silent feet. Don’y get me wrong I’m not all magic no skill. I can pick locks it’s how I got here so fast, I can pickpocket too. I can prove that if you all don’t believe me, but Bryn here could tell you all about it.” He says smirking coyly as he steps back arms crossed one hand up by his face as he tilts his head and taps his lips with a finger. He’s smirking as Brynjolf coughs and goes pink when eyes turn to him.

“Alright lad, you’re first official job’s to go gather protection money from three stubborn clients.” He switches the subject and glowers at the elf who laughs softly and nods asking what he’ll need to know before sweeping off. It only takes him a few hours as he tries to handle the disputes as easily as possible and manages to get a nice statuette out of it.

Over the next weeks which turn to months and soon it’s been about three years, the elf’s done nothing but good seemingly the only one not suffering from ill luck and slowly managing to get the Guild back out in the open. New faces and some even manage to start turning the tides but it seems even the masters are getting struck time after time with bad luck. He is drinking with Brynjolf at the flagon and he’s unsettled. The huge jobs he’s been doing... He’s just found out it was Karliah an old Guild member whose been causing the waves. He looks at Brynjolf.

“I have a really bad feeling about all of this. Like a really, really bad feeling about this.” The elf says softly it’s late so it’s him, Brynjolf and Vekel.

“What’d you mean lad?” Brynjolf asks he still has yet to manage to steal from the elf. Not for lack of trying though he shakes his hand yet again swatted by the mer.

“I mean something isn’t right about all of this. I don’t know what it is but... It’s a bad feeling. Something bad’s going to happen soon.” He tries to explain and Vekel sighs.

“You going off like Delvin now?” He asks and the mer shakes his head and sighs he drops his magic aura revealing his real face for the first time. Gone was the plain looking altmer. Instead long white hair spills down his back and his bright golden eyes flicker over to Brynjolf as the tattoo around his eye is on display. Everyone knew the Dragonborn had the tattoo of a dragon curling around his right eye. Both men gape at him there’s a scar that mars that side distorting the dragon making it look as if it’s head had been cut off and that eye is milky and blind. The mer takes a long drink staring down into his cup.

“I felt this before, in several different places for several different reasons. All of them had something terrible follow. I’m not preaching we’re cursed, I’m sayings something is about to happen and it’s gong to be bad and I’ll possibly be in great danger because of it. He pulls back up the glamour and drinks again as the two are silent Brynjolf leaves to go to bed saying he has no idea what will happen but he’ll keep his eyes peeled.

“So... Kalail what are you going to do?” Vekel asks and the mer looks up and drains his cup.

“I’m going to do what I always do go head long into it and pray to lady luck.” He sighs and he sets his tab down and walks into the cistern to turn in. Mercer was supposed to be back in the morning so he could report and talk about the next steps. When Mercer comes back and he and the elf leave Brynjolf’s tense and the whole Guild feels it and soon everyone is on edge. When Mercer comes back alone the Guild’s in an uproar. Kalail was dead and they were furious all of them baying for Karliah’s head. Brynjolf though, he sits at the Flagon and drinks. Vekel watches sadly as the Master thief drinks away the rage and pain.

When the elf walks back in he freezes them all with a spell it glitters in his hand and he looks tired and worn.

“None of you are going to like this, you might not believe it but please, I’m already in too much pain as it is, I can’t do much but please, listen to her.” He says and drops his spell Brynjolf is equally overjoyed and angry. No one said they��d seen Kalail, only that she’d shown up.

“What is it lass? Why shouldn’t we hurt you?” Brynjolf asks and she shows them the proof. Brynjolf’s flabbergasted. This can’t be right... Can it? He goes to the vault too on edge to care to listen to the others insist it was impossible. When it’s empty he’s almost to the point of murder he stays quite as Vex voices everyone’s opinion and Karliah says she wants him and Kalial to meet her somewhere near Riften. He follows the elf seeing he’s definitely hurting he holds his midsection like it’s in pain as he walks. When they swear themselves away to Nocturnal Brynjolf watches the elf. He seems better now but he’s still slightly sluggish and slow on his feet. Brynjolf slides up to his side as they discuss taking on Mercer.

“You’re hurt?” He asks softly and Kalail nods Brynjolf listens to where they need to go and says first they need supplies. When Karliah goes to fetch what she wants for the journey Brynjolf sets the elf down and strips him seeing the nasty bruise on his side he asks if he can heal it and Kalial sighs and shows how badly his hands are shaking.

“Since that son of a bitch stabbed me I’ve been pushing myself nonstop. I shouldn’t use more mana until I’ve had proper sleep and a chance to heal up.” He says and Brynjolf tells him to rest and goes to the potions shop he gets several healing potions and a few mana potions. When he gets back he has the elf drink a few after waking him up. Kalail heals after that what he can. He’s drained though and tells Brynjolf that.

“Drained?” He asks.

“Like I can’t use my magic till I’ve rested up drained.” The elf sighs and Brynjolf nods.

“You’ll ride behind me. Rest while we get to Irkinthad, alright?” He says and the elf looks at him strangely a moment but nods curling against the nord and sleeping while they wait for Karliah to return. When she does they head out to get the traitor. When they get there Kalail takes care of the bandits utterly obliterating them either with his shouts or a blade and Karliah takes some out with her bow but most are dead by the time Bryn can get close. When they get deeper Kalail stops using his thu’um and relies more and more on his blades and Karliah’s arrows to back him up. Bryn takes out what he can. When they get to Mercer and he has them fight Bryn sees Kalail snap and he says something in altmeris and just starts shredding into the man soon Mercer’s in pieces and Kalail has the eyes and everything Mercer had been carrying but he’s bleeding again. Heavily and their stuck. Bryn’s cursing up a strom as he helps drag the gold mer up the steps as water floods in the elf looks terrified.

“Gods... It’ll end with me drowning... Gods no...” Kalail looks like he might be having a panic attack and Brynjolf forces several potions down his throat to try and heal him as the water gets higher. they climb atop the statue’s head as the mer admits he doesn’t swim too well. When they make it out they all take a break Kalial lays on his back and passes out and Bryn takes the moment to nick a small gold knickknack out of the elf’s side pouch. He sets it in his own smiling and the next weeks are a blur. The elf goes to restore the sanctum and Bryn waits at the guild. When Kalail walks back in Brynjolf sets the gold trinket down and the elf laughs.

“I guess I owe you that wish.” He says tiredly and Brynjolf shrugs.

“Tell me one thing lad, this has nothing to do with the wish, do you fancy me?” He asks and the elf laughs and moves closer grabs his gold trinket and purrs inside the redhead’s ear.

“I fancy many things, pretty things, dangerous things, things with a great many uses. I do. Now if that wish get’s wasted on you shagging me I’ll be disappointed.” The elf chuckles as he pulls back. Brynjolf drags him into a kiss and chuckles after they part both breathing a bit heavier.

“No, that wish lad is that you stay with us.” He says and Kalail laughs and leans their foreheads together.

“I’ll move Oblivion and Sovengard to do so.” He promises as he gives a chaste kiss to the nord.

“Cause I’ve got all the time in the world now.” He sighs as there’s no war, no threat on all Tamriel so he’ll be free to do as he pleases for a long time.

#skyrim fanfiction #dragonborn #male dragonborn #altmer dragonborn #brynjolf #vekel #vex #delvin #Dirge #karliah #fanfiction content #get up and write!#get up and write! challenge #Mercer #Nocturnal #Mild swearing #brynjolf x dragonborn #dragonborn x brynjolf

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shipping-receiving · 5 years ago

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Fictober 2019 Day 7: “No, and that’s final.”

Rating: T | Word Count: 2219 Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire / Game of Thrones Relationship: Jaime Lannister / Brienne of Tarth Tags: Alternate Universe – Modern Setting

(read on AO3)

//////

“Please.”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Please, Jaime.”

“No, Brienne.”

“I promise I’ll do that thing you like, as often as you want.”

“You like it too, and you already do it as often as I want.”

“It’s still honest work!”

“And the answer is still no. In any case, I no longer trust any of your promises.”

“Why not?”

“You said we were just coming here to volunteer for the day. It’ll be a good distraction, Jaime, from everything that’s going on, you said. You promised we weren’t going to leave this shelter with a cat. All. Lies.”

“Those things were true when I said them!” Brienne snuggles the cat in her arms. “But this one has been stuck here for so long, Jaime. Look at it. It looks so sad.”

Jaime does look at it, and it does not look sad. It looks extremely grumpy and fed up with this whole situation. It might even be trying to escape from Brienne, though it’s no match for her strength. Do cats even come in that colour? Or shape? Or size? It looks like an average-sized cat in Brienne’s arms. And Brienne is not average-sized.

“Maybe it’s been here for so long because it barely even looks like a cat. People probably thought it was a mistake.”

Brienne glares at him. “Jaime! Don’t be mean!”

“It’s not as if it can understand what I’m saying!”

“The first time we met, you said I barely looked like a woman. And look where we are now.”

Oh no, she did not just— “You do not get to pull that card just so you can adopt a cat. I have more than redeemed myself for that comment.”

This must be one of the strangest arguments he’s ever had with Brienne. And that’s counting the ones they had before they were even friends, let alone… boyfriend-and-girlfriend? Lovers? Partners? Life partners? They had never really talked about labels. At first, they had hated each other. And then they didn’t. And then they were spending more and more time together, besides that one month—never mind, he doesn’t want to think about that. And then it was kind of like they were dating, maybe? And then she was barely sleeping in her own bed, at her own apartment. One day, he asked her to move in with him. She thought about it for the next month, then broke her lease. And after all of that, there’s been all the… the everything-that’s-going-on.

Jaime would never regret asking her to move in with him in the first place, but now she wants this ‘cat’ to move in with them too, and that had never been on the table. Brienne likes cats, he knows, but he thought it was at the level of petting stray cats on the street, and feeding them a treat if she happens to have some on her. She never said anything about owning one until now, and the one she falls in love with is this. This… ‘cat’. It is not only a very strange ‘cat’, it is also a very furry ‘cat’, and he doesn’t want its fur all over his very expensive furniture.

In addition to that crucial point, Lannisters don’t have pets. They just… don’t. He wonders what his father would think of all of this, if his father were still alive. Tyrion, he knows, wouldn’t be able to stop laughing. “Even if I could believe you enjoying the company of a non-human life form, Jaime, that looks nothing like a cat,” his brother would say, upon seeing the beast. Cersei would—

Well, best not to think about his sister. She’s part of the reason Brienne dragged him to the shelter in the first place. A good distraction, Jaime scoffs in his own head. I am the victim of a con.

“Come on, Jaime,” Brienne pleads again, and widens her blue eyes at him in exactly the way she knows he can’t resist. “I swear, I’ll do all the work. Feed him—” oh, it’s a ‘him’ now, not just an ‘it’— “change his litter, take him to the vet, everything. I’ll carry a lint roller on me at all times. I’ll carry two lint rollers. You won’t even have to lift a finger.”

“No, Brienne, and that’s final.”

It was not final.

Jaime found, once again, that he could never be entirely immune to Brienne’s inexplicable charms. He doesn’t even know if charms is the right word for it. She just manages to make him feel so heartless and—he thinks the right word might be dishonourable, even in this day and age—when he doesn’t go along with what she wants. What she wants, in fairness, is usually something honourable, like giving a ‘cat’ a good home.

In his defence, she did do the whole… eye thing. When they had first met, she walked around like she wanted to fold her body into herself. Now she’s learned to maximise her best assets. She has an eye thing, and it is immensely persuasive.

Jaime did, however, manage to wrangle naming privileges from Brienne. And so Jaime dubbed the beast ‘Bear’, much to her chagrin, even though she had to concede that Bear does look more like a miniature grizzly than his own species. Jaime did also offer the alternative name of “Cat”, on the condition that they include the quotation marks on any paperwork, and do the stipulated air quotes every time they refer to the animal by name. Brienne refused immediately. You can’t give him a name with punctuation, Jaime, she groaned. Alright then. Bear it is, he responded, triumphantly.

Bear is curled up in Jaime’s lap right now, purring away. Gods, it’s really much uglier in daylight. It’s been three months and he still thinks so. But the damn thing loves him. Oh, Bear shows Brienne some cursory devotion when he needs to. He’ll rub against her calf, ask her for the food and treats he knows she’ll give him. But if Bear has to choose between both of their laps, he always chooses Jaime’s. Jaime is even starting to think that Bear only tries to scratch his very expensive furniture because he knows Jaime will pick him up immediately. And then Bear holds on to Jaime for dear life, and refuses to let go. If Jaime manages to get him off, he goes right for the couch, claws at the ready, until Jaime grabs him again, and gets swindled into another cuddle. What was all that crap about cats being antisocial? He’s got himself one manipulative, overly-affectionate brute.

Nonetheless, Jaime has to be grateful to Bear for one thing: ever since they got him, it’s gone some way to mend the rift between him and his niece and nephew—his children. It was a rift that had formed after they had discovered, in the process of Cersei’s divorce from Robert, that Jaime was their biological father (how they managed to keep that out of the papers was some kind of miracle).

Of course, Bear had no impact on his relationship with their eldest. Joffrey is a lost cause, off wreaking havoc at some university to which Cersei must have donated a generous amount, given that the boy has neither the brains nor the discipline to get accepted legitimately. Jaime doesn’t want to be a father to Joffrey, quite frankly. He is the worst parts of Cersei and Robert combined, even if his blood is all Lannister.

But Jaime does care about his relationship with Myrcella and Tommen, which had been tender, if distant, before the paternity tests, and had taken an understandable turn for the worse after. And that was made considerably more painful by the fact that since the divorce, Cersei—whether out of instability, or nonchalance, or just being Cersei—has taken to leaving Myrcella and Tommen with him for extended periods. Days at a time, even, and going off to do Gods-knows-what. Thankfully, Jaime has an extra bedroom and a comfortable pull-out couch in his home office, which is a room he barely uses anyway. Plus, his apartment isn’t too far from either of their schools.

And Brienne has been a saint about it all, of course. Even though Cersei often couldn’t decide which was more vexing to her—Brienne’s presence in Jaime’s life, or Myrcella and Tommen’s presence in her own.

Still, the first few times the children had stayed with their uncle-turned-father were… trying. At least, it had been that way with Myrcella, who seemed to fluctuate between sullen and irate, all her negativity directed at him, at her mother, at Robert, at the world in general, and even on rare occasions at Brienne. Tommen just seemed unsure as to what to do, and took to following his sister’s example, in terms of the sullenness, if not the irateness.

In the era of Bear, though, things seem to be looking up. Tommen was beyond excited when he found out that Jaime finally has the cat that Cersei would never let Tommen have. Jaime’s neph—his son—began opening up to him in a way that he thought would never happen. Myrcella, too, is starting to warm up to Jaime, swayed as she is by Bear and how much the ‘cat’ loves him. It seems that Bear, like Brienne, has his own inexplicable charms.

“You planned this all along, didn’t you?” he had asked Brienne one night, nodding towards Bear. The ‘cat’ was nestled at their feet, on Jaime’s ludicrously expensive duvet cover, instead of in his own ludicrously expensive heated cat bed. “Bear, and the kids.”

“Maybe I did,” she had said, with a small smile. “Tommen told me how much he wanted one when we saw one of the strays out on the street. I thought it was worth trying, to help with the kids. But I didn’t want you to get disappointed if it failed, so I didn’t tell you. I’m glad it turned out better than I expected.”

“You’re better than I deserve, you know that?”

“I wouldn’t be with you if you were less than I deserve, as I always remind you when you say such things.”

“I know, I know. Speaking of the kids, I… I’ve been thinking.” Jaime had been thinking about it for weeks, actually, but he had felt too nervous to broach the subject with Brienne till then. “About… custody. I haven’t spoken to a lawyer yet, so I’m not really sure what my options are. But they’re here so often, these days. And… I don’t think things are going very well back home, with Cersei.”

“No. I don’t think so.” Myrcella had told Brienne some things, Jaime knew, though Brienne had promised his daughter to keep them secret for now.

“Will you mind, if they’re here even more often? Or… permanently? I—I know you didn’t sign up for all of this. My past, and… everything.”

“I signed up for you, didn’t I?” was her reply. “I knew enough, before we even started dating.” In fact, when she had first found out—or rather, first confirmed the rumours that had swirled around the Lannisters for years—she hadn’t spoken to him for a whole month. He had thought he had lost her friendship forever, young and shaky as it was back then. “People have their histories,” she continued, as if Jaime’s history isn’t infinitely more fucked up than most. “You’ve had to deal with a fair share of mine.”

Jaime had kissed her, then.

As he runs his fingers through Bear’s fur, he thinks about how he’s had to deal with Brienne’s histories, all her traumas. They still manifest, in small ways, every day. But what he’s done for her, it seems like nothing compared to what’s he’s asking her to do. She didn’t think she was going to be living with anyone other than him when she moved in, first of all, and now there’s a child and a teenager in their apartment more than half the time. And she’s had to become a sort of—guardian to the kids, alongside him. He doesn’t really know what else to call her, or himself, since Robert is still their father on paper. Of course the man hasn’t been around lately, not that he was a particularly present father for the two younger children when he and Cersei were still married, between his businesses and his mistresses.

But if Jaime does become their father, legally—he’s not looking forward to discussing this with Cersei—what would Brienne be, then? He supposes she’d be their stepmother, perhaps, if she agrees when he finally asks her to marry him. He expects she will take weeks, maybe months, to give him an answer. She knows what she’d be signing up for, marrying Jaime. That’s a decision that will take time.

Anyway, they’ll work it out eventually. They always do, him and Brienne. In the meantime, he will sit here with this ‘cat’ that looks nothing like a cat, a ‘cat’ who couldn’t care less about Jaime’s history. Even if his feline brain could comprehend any of it, Jaime has the sneaking suspicion that Bear might love him regardless of it all.

Once, Jaime thought he had done far too many terrible things in his life to warrant such a love. A love, regardless. But—that was a long time ago.

That was before Brienne.

#fictober19 #jaime x brienne #braime #my fic #HOW DID THIS HAPPEN #THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A CUTE FIC ABOUT CAT ADOPTION

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