#at times indeed almost ridiculous—almost at times the FOOL.
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
when he when he when he when he when he ( src )
#do i dare disturb the universe? ∶ ( ooc. )#at times,indeed,almost ridiculous—almost,at times,the fool. ∶ ( tbd. )
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
☾ Seeing you cry in your sleep
How they react to finding you crying silently in your sleep.
☾ Characters: Argenti, Blade, Dan Heng, Dr. Ratio
☾ Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, GN Reader, StellaronHunter!Reader in Blade's, Ratio (affectionately) calling you fool in his part
Might write a 2nd part with Gepard, Jing Yuan, Welt and Luocha (and maybe Sampo) in the future :)
Argenti
Upon entering your shared cottage, Argenti finds you sleeping on the chair by the window. They must’ve fallen asleep while admiring the scenery of the falling snow outside, Argenti thought with a fond smile.
For a moment, Argenti found himself unable to move, for his emerald colored eyes were transfixed upon the serene beauty of the scene before him. The falling snow, the white winter wonderland serving as the perfect backdrop to accentuate the beauty of your resting figure.
Still, he realized it probably wouldn’t do well if you were to fall sick from the cold. So, he quietly made his way through the room and draped a blanket over your figure.
That was when he noticed the presence of tears on the corners of your eyes.
For a while, Argenti thought his eyes were deceiving him. It wasn’t until he saw a lone tear fall from your eye that he was finally hit by the fact that you were, indeed, crying in your sleep.
His heart ached upon the sight and he instinctively reached to cup your cheek; his thumb gently caressing the corner of your eye, wiping away the stream of tears that began to fall like tender snow.
After some deliberation on how to proceed, Argenti would kneel before your sleeping figure before carefully stirring you awake with a gentle squeeze to your hand and softly calling out your name.
“Good morning my dear,” He would greet you with a tender smile, though you could easily sense the twinge of sadness and melancholia lingering in his voice. “I apologize if this may sound unpleasant to you but … you were crying in your sleep. Is … Is everything alright?”
He would fret over you, but he would try to keep it to a minimum lest he were to accidentally do more harm than good. He was obviously worried about what ailed you, but again, what mattered most to him was your comfort.
Regardless of whether you choose to speak of the reason for your tears, Argenti would remain by your side, kneeling before you as he held your hand in his.
If he could, he would do anything in his power to vanquish the reason behind your tears. He never wants you to shed tears, neither in sleep or wake, ever again.
Blade
It was almost time for the opening act of Elio’s Script. Blade comes to searches for you in the meeting spot, and finds you asleep above one of the many wooden crates of the abandoned factory.
How carefree, Blade thought with a scoff. Even so, Blade’s heart blossoms with warmth, that very same warmth that is born from his affection and adoration for you and all your silly antics.
If he could, he would let you rest for longer and perhaps even join you in your restful slumber, resting your head on his shoulder. But alas, the Script takes priority and it was almost time to begin.
So he reaches to shake your shoulder … but then froze upon the sight of tears falling from your eyes.
Blade has never been one for tears. In a different life, perhaps, he would have been. But tears have no meaning for Blade. Crying does not provide one with salvation, no matter how much one cries, what was lost could never return.
And yet, the sight of your tears shook him to his core.
Blade didn’t know what to do. What could he do anyway? Reach for your face and wipe away your tears with his thumb? Lean towards you and kiss the corners of your eyes, all in hopes for your tears to stop cascading from your eyes? How ridiculous. As though that would solve any of your problems.
So, he does what he is supposed to. Grab your shoulder and gently shake you awake.
“Wake up. It’s almost time to begin.” He says brusquely, already turning around for his back to face you. “Wipe your tears. Don’t let the enemy see even a single hint of weakness.”
You would be shocked upon realizing you were crying in your sleep and hurriedly wiped away the remains of your tears. Not soon after, you join him by the ledge of the building, watching over the city with puffy eyes. Blade would steal a glance at you and then he would say,
“Do not be hasty. I am with you.”
You didn’t need to try hard to know that he wasn’t just talking about the battle ahead.
Dan Heng
The hour was late when Den Heng jolted awake from his sleep. He dreamt of a vague memory of his past incarnation and saw a nightmare where his friends were swept away by the waves; of you disappearing in the dark sea of clouds.
Inhaling and exhaling slowly, Dan Heng takes a moment to recompose himself before shifting to rest on his side, thus meeting the familiar sight of your back. They’re here, Dan Heng thought to himself, breathing a quiet sigh of relief. It’s all just a dream.
Not wanting to wake you, Dan Heng simply stares at your back. The steadiness of your breathing, a reminder that you are alive. Gingerly, Dan Heng reaches to subtly trace soothing lines on your back. Truth be told, it was probably more soothing for him than you.
Then suddenly, there was a slight change in the pattern of your breathing. More feeble and erratic. Concerned that he might have woken you up, Dan Heng pushed himself up to check on your condition …
… Only to find you crying in your sleep.
Upon the sight of your tears, falling so steadily onto the fabric of your already damp pillow, Dan Heng’s breath hitches. He shakes your shoulders, calling your name again and again until your eyes open and meet his pairs of jaded blue.
“You’re crying.” He said bluntly, his brows furrowed as a tell-tale sign of his bleeding concern for you. “What? No, I’m fine. Yes, I woke up because of a nightmare but I’m more concerned for you.”
The two of you would both end up sitting on the bed, both fretting over each other’s condition. You asked Dan Heng about his nightmare and he would reply that it was the usual. He asked you about your tears, and you replied you didn’t even know you were crying until Dan Heng pointed it out.
In the end, the both of you would end up embracing each other tightly, providing both comfort and strength to one another. You both wind up laying on the bed in each other’s arms.
Dan Heng would stay awake for a while after you’ve fallen asleep, gazing at your resting figure in hopes that he would never have to see you cry in your sleep once more.
Dr. Ratio
After a long day full of shameful displays of stupidity from the people around him, Dr. Veritas Ratio was done for the day and is free to visit his beloved. I cannot wait to see them, Ratio thought as he made large strides towards your office. It has been far too long since I’ve had an intellectually stimulating conversation!
He thinks of all the topics he could talk with you, ranging from the most mundane things such as how each other’s days went and the more complex like the discourse regarding a recent hot theory.
Imagine his disappointment when he enters your office and finds you dead asleep on your desk.
Frowning, Ratio rationalizes that you were probably just as exhausted as he was and that there were plenty of chances for conversation when the two of you have rested up. Still. He was disappointed.
He walked towards your desk and took a moment to observe your resting figure. You were sleeping above your paper reports. Now that’s a lark. But then, he noticed something else.
Your papers were soaked, all from the tears that were still cascading from your eyes.
Upon the sight of your tears, Ratio’s heart seemingly ceased to beat. There was shock, confusion, concern and all these strong emotions that meld with one another. In a rare moment of panic, Ratio shook you awake, forcing you away from your stained papers.
“You fool, just what do you think you’re doing?!” He shouts, worry bleeding through his tone. “Don’t ‘What the hell, Veritas’ me! You’re the one crying on your reports and making them unreadable!”
You would be confused until you realize that you were crying in your sleep. You touched the lingering wetness on your cheeks and laughed feebly. It was probably the pent up stress, you offered weakly, annoying Ratio once more.
You expect a lecture, but unexpectedly, Ratio places hand behind your head, brings you to rest against his broad shoulder.
“You are a fool for ruining those reports. If you must cry … cry on my shoulder instead.”
It was a silly attempt at cheering you up, but you appreciated it all the same.
Hehe this was a super fun prompt to write! Might write a second part with Gepard, Jing Yuan, Welt and Luocha when I feel the inspiration hitting me 👀
Also still semi-working on banners ... sigh, lets hope I find a good theme soon enough.
Thank you for reading 💖
#honkai: star rail#hsr x reader#argenti x reader#blade x reader#dan heng x reader#dr. ratio x reader#ratio x reader#angst#hurt/comfort#hsr imagines#hsr headcanons#StarTearsWrites
5K notes
·
View notes
Text
KoH - April Boops
Inspired by the occasion here on Tumblr, I decided to try my hand at one of these (Y/N) reader fics that are so popular in the KoH fandom. 😄Enjoy!
(Featuring Baldwin IV x Time Traveler!Reader [gender neutral])
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Y/N snickered a little as they realized the date. April first. A day of friendly – and sometimes not-so-friendly – pranking back home. Not so much here. In a way, Y/N missed it, and memories of a particularly humorous online event elicited the briefest of smiles…
“You’ve found something amusing?”
Y/N glanced up from the book at the sound of His Majesty’s voice. He really could be too perceptive for his own good, sometimes.
Carefully holding a finger to mark the spot in the book Baldwin had generously lent for leisure reading, Y/N closed the cover and grinned sheepishly. “No, I was just reminded of something. A tradition back home.”
“Oh?” His interest seemed well-and-truly piqued, then. Something about the way his eyes squinted briefly behind his mask. “Would you care to share this tradition of yours?”
Y/N glanced away for a moment, unable to say no but wondering how he would react to the explanation of this – frankly ridiculous – event. “Well, it’s the first of April, you see. And we call that day ‘April Fool’s' day.” As soon as Y/N returned their attention to him, there came the signature head tilt of curiosity that confirmed the suspected interest. “It’s a day of mostly-friendly pranking. Teasing. That sort of thing.” Y/N laughed a little, partially out of true humor and also partially out of awkwardness. “I just remembered a rather funny community event I took part in one year that was… oddly popular.”
“Do tell.”
Make that an interest that was starting to sound strangely like a potential hunt for blackmail material…
“Well,” Y/N continued slowly, “it was an event where we went around poking our friends in the community by surprise. We called it ‘booping’. After what we sometimes do to our pets as a greeting.”
Baldwin made absolutely no movement as he echoed questioningly, “‘Booping’?”
That alone caused Y/N to snort with laughter. Never had the thought crossed their mind that Baldwin IV of Jerusalem would ever say the word “boop” in any way, shape, or form, much less with the serious tone he employed.
Still chuckling in amusement, Y/N stood up to demonstrate. “Like this.”
Before he could react, Y/N approached where the king sat, reached out with a finger, and as one might with a dog or a cat, poked the sharp nose of his mask. “Boop!”
Indeed, much like a cat, Baldwin leaned backwards a little on reflex the moment before impact, his eyes almost crossing in a way that only made Y/N laugh harder.
He blinked, his manner suggesting slight bewilderment. “That’s… all?”
“Yes!” Y/N squeaked.
A dreadfully-long moment or two passed before he shook his head, a light laugh echoing behind the mask. “Well, then. In the spirit of your tradition…”
A white-gloved finger lifted and gently tapped the end of Y/N’s nose.
“…boop.”
#kingdom of heaven#kingdom of heaven 2005#baldwin iv#king baldwin iv#baldwin iv x reader#reader fic#baldwin iv of jerusalem#the leper king#fanfiction#my fanfiction
423 notes
·
View notes
Note
HI IT’S THE CHILLY ANON, first off thank you sm that fic/drabble was absolutely tasty, very delicious
secondly !! if requests are still open (I tried to scroll back on your page to double check) could I perhaps! Request another astarion x tav/reader that’s afraid of the dark ?
giving you big hugs and a glass of water ^^
notes: thank you anon I am slurping it down mwah xx if you like my work, please reblog!
words: 1.1k
rating: T
pairing: astarion x reader
He hates the Underdark.
More than anything because it reminds him of his life before, chained into the shadows without the possibility of being free in the sun, and he hates the idea of returning to that voluntarily. But the group insisted that it was the safest path to the Shadowlands - and gods know that sounds like a barrel of laughs, too - so here he is. Trudging.
The excursion itself was bad, with its exploding fungi and minotaurs charging from nowhere, but things got catastrophically worse when that damned Bulette had appeared. Astarion is never a fan of enemies he can’t keep an eye on at all times so that thing surfacing scared the un-life out of him, and when you called a retreat the damned group got carved into two halves: Shadowheart and Karlach headed one way, towards the wide open mushroom fields, and the two of you another - into the shadowed safety of a cave.
And then there was a bloody rockfall.
It closed you off from them, splitting the bloody party like fools. Both of you trapped in a tunnel, covered in dust and dirt and feeling incredibly stupid indeed.
Alone together.
Luckily Shadowheart had used a Sending spell to let you know they were attempting to find a way out, but it might take a while. Looks like they’ll have to source some explosives from somewhere in order to clear the debris from the cavemouth. With little else to do, you stayed put.
So here the two of you are, waiting for your rescue to be sprung with no real idea of a timeline. Astarion has been pacing, complaining as loudly as he can about the situation and listening to the echo of his own gripes, but you’ve been oddly… still. Sat against the rocky wall with a torch gripped so tightly in your hands that it’s changing the colour of your knuckles. The torch which, now he comes to think of it, you haven’t let go of since you climbed down that ridiculous ladder into this wretched place.
“We should have risked the damned mountain pass is all I’m saying. A handful of githyanki are hardly the worst choice when you compare them to all this bloody… gloom. I mean gods, I’ve not seen the sun in two hundred years and now we are actively choosing to hide from it. What’s the point of this damned tadpole if I’m hundreds of feet beneath the earth?!”
“Can you not?” you say, voice so quiet he almost misses it. For a moment, Astarion pause, turning with his whole torso to look at you. He inspects you through narrowed eyes.
“You’re the one who led us down here,” he sniffs, as if this justifies his bitching.
“Yes, because the group voted. Everyone but the two of us and Lae’zel chose Underdark.”
Your eyes don’t meet his when you speak. They’re locked solidly on the flame in front of you, a flame which is beginning to dwindle. A gentle sheen of sweat has broken out on your face and Astarion doesn’t think it’s from your proximity to the heat.
You’re right. You didn’t want to come down here either. A couple of things click into place for him, and his eyebrows raise as Astarion uncovers a secret about you.
“Are you… are you afraid of the dark?”
“Fuck off, Astarion,” you sigh. This is totally unlike you. Usually you’re willing to parry his teasing with your own, engage in a little sharp-edged banter. It’s one of his favourite parts of the day, actually - when he can volley back and forth with you. But right now you simply lack your usual gumption. When he attunes his attention to it, Astarion wonders how he was so obtuse; he can taste the fear in your blood without a drop of it needing to hit his tongue, the way it courses round your body, flooding you with adrenaline.
He hesitates. Part of him wants to slip back into pettiness and attempt to goad you into an argument, at least that way maybe you’d be a bit distracted. But another, far larger part of him, a part which he knows is going to win out, wants to reach out in genuine kindness.
“Ignis,” he mutters under his breath, and a Firebolt appears in his hand, flooding the cave with light. He doesn’t launch it at anything, and the flame is hot and uncomfortable against his palm - but not enough for him to care when he sees how you let out a held breath at the sight of it. The cave is bathed in warm light which illuminates every crag and cranny, a couple of spiders skitter away into splinters in the rock, but you don’t seem to care - quite the opposite. This is the most relaxed he’s seen you in a while.
“Better?” he asks. You nod, grip finally loosening a little on your torch.
“Much better. Thank you, Astarion.”
He saunters over, back against the wall and sliding down the stone as carefully as he can. Your eyes soften in the light he casts. From this close, he can admire every inch of your face. It’s a nice face. He’d like to admire it more.
“Didn’t pin you as the type to be afraid of anything. Well, except for the whole possibly turning into a Mindflayer thing, but that’s a given,” he reasons. You groan in frustration.
“I know. It’s silly, really. I’ve hated it since I was little, and as I got older�� well, it became less about the dark itself, and more what might be hiding in the dark,” you sigh. Astarion nods. It’s a simple but honest explanation. It seems that, around every corner in this damned place, there’s another beast waiting to jump out at you. He’s been surprised more times in the past few days than he’s been in his entire life.
“Well, we’ll be out of here soon. Here,” he nods at the cave-in, “and here,” he gestures widely with his free hand, as if to indicate the Underdark itself.
“Yes. And into a place literally dubbed ‘the Shadowlands’.”
“Exactly!” he agrees, and then, “...oh. Right. Shit.”
His genuine reaction of regret makes you laugh, and he realises he hasn’t heard that in days, either. You let your head fall to the side until it lands softly onto his shoulder. Astarion is filled with warmth, and it isn’t just from the fire.
“If I was going to be stuck with anyone in here, I’m glad it’s you,” you mutter. He’s worried it would show too much of his heart to reflect the sentiment, so he just lays his cheek against your scalp, and waits for the others to find you.
taglist: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13 @trappedinlimbo15 @infinitely-kate @dhampling@wereallbrokenangels @tilldeathdousnugget @somethingblu3 @hopeful-n-sad
#astarion x reader#astarion x you#astarion x tav#request#my writing#Cw: incorrect use of the fire bolt cantrip
144 notes
·
View notes
Text
Devil's flu
a stubborn devil gets sick and learns how to appreciate his sensitive side.
ps: i just reviewed this once so pardon me if there's anything wrong <3
pss: i'm cheesy
You take a moment to just stare at Vergil sleeping peacefully on your lap, wrapped around a fluffy duvet to keep him warm, his cheeks and nose slightly red, shallow breathing and messy hair that painted his sick state. Slowly, his ocean eyes open, taking a look at the TV screen and then up at you, his voice was more husky than usual and a bit weak. “You're still watching this channel?”
After so many hours watching Discovery H&H, you were already entertained with the granny style TV shows, losing count of how many programs about cakes and house renovation you watched just this evening. Here and there, Vergil starts to spasm softly on his slumber, catching your attention from the strawberry cake recipe on the screen, placing a hand on his forehead to check his temperature. “Great, he's not so cold anymore.”
To your surprise, Vergil caught some sort of flu that only infects demons, even if he was half human, his half demon part didn't get out of this. He tried to deny telling you everything was alright, but who he thinks will get fooled? Vergil was coughing and sneezing all the time, having headaches and sore throat, runny and stuffy nose and of course, a fever. Actually, you're not certain if this should be called a fever. With devils, instead of their body temperature rise, it decreases. It was so strange to touch him and not feel the usual inhuman yet comforting warmth.
Chuckling, a warm smile spreads across your face as you pet his head. “Oh, but you were the one who wanted to watch this, remember? Hey, how are you feeling?”
"I'm fine, just a little sore...” Sighs, a whispered honest admission, running a hand through the messy silver locks of hair. His honesty makes a sweet feeling of relief wash over you, making Vergil understand that he needs to be open to you was a hard task, and the process was still ongoing. To make him admit he was sick, god... What a headache, it just took Vergil to almost faint and a pinch of stubbornness. To make him take the medicines then? Even worse. You took thousands of deep breaths to steady yourself, it's not like he's doing this to be a pain in the ass, this man haves so many scars on that heart, and you're happy that Vergil is managing to heal them, even if slowly, very slowly...
“Do you want to take another hot bath, perhaps?” Places a hand on his forehead to check his temperature again, indeed more warm than before.
“By that you mean give me another hot bath, right? You're spoiling me, little one, I still know how to clean myself.” He chuckles a bit, oh, that soft wrinkles on his face when Vergil smiles... To see that the devil doesn't show anymore that bittersweet expression when you offer him help or care, the one of annoyance and insecurity, scrunching up his eyebrows, that was replaced by a shy yet sincere smile, it fills a clenched heart with joy.
“I feel like a burden like this, you've been doing things for me...” Before he could finish, you interrupt him, cupping Vergil's face, playfully (and nervously) squeezing his cheeks to make him pay attention.
“Hey, hey! what we talked about?” You keep looking at him like waiting for Vergil to say something very specific.
“I... you really will make me repeat this again? It's embarrassing...” His cheeks are flush as you release them, a slight frown on his temple, you only raise an eyebrow and grins, Vergil sighs while closing his eyes and repeating “I'm loved and cherished and it's okay to not be ok— oh, please, that's ridiculous!”
That causes you to laugh a little, messing up his hair white hair. “Alright, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...” your hands hover in the air as a sign of surrender, “ I just want you to remember that it didn't bother me at all to groom your hedgehog hair every morning the last three days and that I love you.”
“Groom what?” Seeing him making that challenging face makes you burst out laughing, but it immediately stops when hearing him speak again with a low voice, “I love you too, thank you for everything.” Vergil reaches one of his lukewarm hands to your cheeks, brushing his thumb back and forth.
Just for a moment, you both remain silent, just looking into each other's eyes, your pupils must be dilated like the full moon right now, because that's what love does, it makes us feel like fools, our bodies betray us with uncontrollable reactions, and it feels good to be a fool for this devil with the flu. Ah, but love is not supposed to be hard, loving him was never like that, we all are a little damaged inside, what changes everything is learning how to deal with that damage without harming the others, when you love, you're up to sit down with that person under the rain, let it pour, let it wash away. Blue always was the hottest color, maybe so hot that's why not everyone wants to touch it, but you did.
“Come on, I'll bake a cake for us, I know tons of recipes after this evening, I bet I'm an expert now.”
After hearing you, Vergil starts to free himself from the barrier of duvets you built over him, and you have to hold another laugh when your lover stands up wearing the "Girls ♥ my autism swag" you gifted him as a joke, that damn fucking shirt, the fact that he really wears it to stay at home...
“Good, I can't stand eating soup anymore.” Vergil runs a hand on his hair to fix it, roll your eyes, even when this guy is sick he's still the same as always, the one that you fell in love to. You have no idea of how long this flu will last, of how many days you'll spend the evening watching Discovery H&H shows with Vergil, all you know is that you couldn't be more glad than to take care of that grumpy blue devil.
#vergil sparda#vergil x reader#vergil#devil may cry#devil may cry fanfiction#vergil fanfiction#vergil sparda fanfiction#writing#i'm so fucking gay
139 notes
·
View notes
Text
it's been a week and it's only tuesday. my brain is so tired i almost uploaded a snapshot of my dog's vet records. here's the greatest hits of everything i've read in the last week. (mind the tags on a few!)
masterlist
might blow up in your pretty face by crybabie
“I see you liked my gift,” Alex’s voice was light, but lower than Henry had ever heard it. His belly swooped at the sound. And then the words caught up with him. “Gift?” He felt the color drain from his face and frantically reopened Snapchat to confirm his worst fucking nightmare: his most recent outgoing messages had been sent to Alex, and all of them had been opened already. “Playing dumb doesn’t suit you,” Alex told him, still teasing, but he sounded muffled through the ringing in Henry’s ears. “I gotta say, I wasn’t expecting you to even acknowledge them, let alone send pictures. They look good on you.” - or, the next box was indeed full of thongs :)
When I Met You (I Could Not Speak) by @sparklepocalypse
Following the latest string of disastrous first dates with beautiful women to whom he’s decidedly unattracted, and with yet another circular argument with Philip about duty still ringing in his ears, Henry’s summarily fled to the countryside. Here at least, he reasons, there’s no pressure to woo the locals. (A modern fairy tale AU.)
A thousand dreams that would awake me by @kiwiana-writes
“It’s not about punishment.” Alex just nods; Henry had been very clear on the form that he wasn’t looking to be dominated or put in his place, so that won’t be new information. “And it’s not the pain as such.” He runs his fingers along the edge of the mug. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like to feel it, but I’m not looking for pain for the sake of pain. It’s more about… control, I think.” There’s a long silence. “Taking it?” Alex prompts finally. “Or giving it up?” “Does it sound ridiculous if I say both?” Or, Henry visits a sex club to get spanked the way he's craving.
Foreign Bodies by clottedcreamfudge
“We both know it's not a doctor you need,” Henry says, sharp and beautiful, hands hovering just in front of him like he wants to touch Alex, but knows exactly how it would be received; like he knows Alex would burst into fucking flames at the first brush of his fingertips. Three hours ago, Alex had been quite happy to live without being burned. Now, he thinks he'd pay for the privilege.
Well It Ain't Missionary by everwitch
Alex Claremont-Diaz, a ballet dancer, is asked to list his ‘favorite positions.’ His hilariously suggestive answer goes viral, as does the unexpectedly flustered reaction to it by the Internet’s very own FoxySexEd. So obviously, Alex has to slide into Henry’s DMs. How could he resist? When a man that attractive wants your dick, only a fool would pass. Henry is surprising. He wants to be pushed around, thrown for a loop, and he wants Alex to do it for him. But whenever Alex tries to soften his landing, Henry clams up like he’s been burned. Alex can work around that, obviously. He's a dancer. If you're gonna toe the line just right, pointe shoes are a must. Or: Alex and Henry fuck. Not in missionary.
all my time is yours to spend by smc_27
Any way you look at it, Bea is not meant to be here, and if it were just the lights, he’d assume she forgot to turn them off. The fire burning is another thing entirely. The weather has been dreadful, and perhaps her flight was canceled. Surely, she’d have told him as much. He should investigate.
i told myself don't get attached (but in my mind i play it back) by coffeecatsme
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Claremont-Diaz,” the woman behind the counter says, eyes wide and apologetic. Alex grits his teeth so he doesn’t say something inappropriate in a lobby full of scared families, crying kids, and the obscenely tall British guy that’s currently giving him a fucking migraine. “Due to the snowstorm warning, all the flights are cancelled, and unfortunately the room you’ve booked is currently occupied.” “Occupied,” Alex repeats dumbly, nails digging into his palm. “I booked this room three months ago.” “Yes, well, the previous occupant—” “Should’ve been out of here by now.” Alex knows he sounds harsh, he knows the stupid blond is hovering somewhere behind him listening to the whole conversation, but he can’t help it. He’s not spending what’s supposed to be his vacation alone with another guy in his room. Or, Alex and Henry are stuck in the same room in a hotel during a sudden blizzard
how do you want me? by rizcriz
“Christ,” Henry curses quietly, lowering the camera. “You’re beautiful.” Kneeling on the bed, his ankles crossed behind him, a hand tucked into his briefs, the other carefully weaved through his hair, is Bea’s friend Alex. The light sits on his skin, a delicate shadow of eyelashes fan over his cheeks, and when Henry speaks, he opens his eyes and looks at him from beneath those eyelashes, a careful smirk slipping over his lips. He doesn’t move from the pose, though, as he says, “You’re not so bad yourself, sweetheart.” - Or Henry’s in over his head.
The Next Draft by graceofgrayskull
“This is so unfair,” Alex says, still eyeing Henry. “What?” June asks. “That Henry Fox is talented, successful, and also mind-numbingly good-looking?” says Nora. Alex nods. “Exactly. Like my perfect nemesis. He’s coming for my brand.” -- Alex has read Henry Fox's debut approximately three times in the past three months. The novel, featuring a wary protagonist coming to terms with his sexuality, is garnering Fox critical acclaim. And maybe Alex is a little jealous — his own novel generated a surprising amount of success last year after going viral online, but it just wasn't cut out for the type of buzz Fox was receiving. So Alex jumps at the chance to meet Henry at a book signing, despite knowing very little about the man himself. What starts as a bad first impression quickly leads to fast friendship, many Instagram DMs, and a whole lot of mutual pining.
Shoot Your Shot by RoseHarperMaxwell
Jimmy raises his eyebrows in anticipation. “First celebrity crush?” As usual, Alex’s mouth is moving before his mind can catch up. “Oh,” he gestures, like this is both obvious and the easiest question he’s ever been asked. “Prince Henry.”
No Laughing Matter by inexplicablymine
Ellen is leaning over him, her blonde hair pulled back in a perfectly coiffed updo. He had never managed to understand why exactly she was always dressed so impeccably in her scrubs as a dentist. But she seemed almost presidential, even with the eyeglasses that had magnifying glasses sticking out of them making her look a little like some kind of bug. She only needs a quick look before she is snapping her gloves against her wrists pulling away. “Wisdom teeth come in and then they come out,” she says, and then as an afterthought tack on, “just like you.” Or, who said a meet cute couldn't happen while getting your Wisdom Teeth out?
Love and Hate at the Farmers' Market by @myheartalivewrites
Alex and Henry both work at a farmers' market and they hate each other, until suddenly— oops! They don't!
i'll bet it all on me and you, i'll bet it all you're bulletproof by anincompletelist
“Let’s do this,” he says. “Let’s,” Alex agrees, pushing down on the handle until the door swings open. “After you, boyfriend.” This is most definitely not his finest idea. Henry usually practices much better self preservation skills. Much better common sense skills. He steps over the threshold of Alex’s room and it feels like sealing his fate. They’re doing this for Alex to win over their bosses in a lighthearted game with a harmless lie, but Henry can’t fight off the bitter knowledge that, regardless of how tonight goes, Alex will be fine, but Henry has so much to lose.
in an emergency by metacrisis
Alex gets in his own head about a meme Henry liked and decides to take matters, quite literally, into his own hands. OR, Alex gets a sex toy and other nonsense.
(Valen)Tie Me Up by happinessofthepursuit
“Well, I actually made your gift at one of Pez’s workshops, though I’m sure they would’ve gotten it out of me anyway,” Henry says, voice fond. Alex’s mind is whirring, going through the monthly calendars from Seize the Play. Pez leads classes multiple times a week, but there’s only a few that Henry could’ve attended, and one in particular that would explain his own gift… “Which one?” Alex asks. “I think that’ll immediately be clear.” Or, Alex and Henry exchange gifts for their first Valentine’s together—then proceed to use them.
More Amour by surveycorpsjean
Alex discovers something in Henry's closet that changes everything.
Confidential Memorandum by sherryvalli
"Hello, Mr. Fox-Mountchristen's office. How may I help you?" "Hello, can I speak to Mr. Fox-Mount-krishen, please?" Alex blinked. After two weeks of hearing nothing but the voices of snooty men and frazzled secretaries calling in, the person on the other line now sounded decidedly neither snooty nor male nor in any way adult. It was a little girl. "Mr. Fox-Mountchristen's unfortunately in a meeting right now,” Alex began slowly, “but I could take a message?" "Oh." The girl paused. "You're not Mr. Hunter." Alex starts a new job as Henry's new assistant. Henry's daughter keeps calling the office and leaving him messages.
in bloom by stutteringpeach
Yoo, can u hook me up with some flowers?? It's the busiest day of the year for florists. Alex texts Henry with a last minute request.
don't want you like a best friend by @priincebutt
The thing about marrying your best friend who you also happen to have a very secret crush on, is that you don’t take into account how much it will hurt. When they’re around his family and Alex holds his hand so easily, like it’s second nature, it makes Henry’s heart skip a beat, but when they return back to his apartment the distance is deafening. Alex purposefully sits at the opposite end of the couch, and Alex sleeps in the guest bedroom, and Alex calls him ‘man’ like two bros who definitely aren’t in love with each other. So he pines, and he’s heartbroken already, because he knows how much this is going to shatter him when it’s over. Because Alex is integrating into his life like it’s nothing, like it’s easy and this could be their new normal, and that kind of thinking is fucking dangerous. Or, Alex and Henry get married, conveniently.
everyone adores you (at least i do) by matherine
Rain is coming down in sheets against the stained glass windows of the brownstone when the door swings open, ushering in the howl of the wind and the man Henry loves more than anything in the world. “Why didn’t you use your colonizer blood money to buy a place closer to the train station?” Alex calls from the doorway. Henry hears the familiar rhythm of the lock tumblers turning and Alex’s copy of the key to the brownstone clinking against Henry’s signet ring and the key to the Austin house on his chest, only vaguely muffled by the rain. “It’s miserable out there.” Or: Alex comes into the brownstone in the midst of a rainstorm, and Henry realizes he never wants him to leave.
know how to cover up a scene by HypnosTheory
“That’s how Alvie kisses Harry,” Alex says, squeezing Henry’s wrist. Henry’s eyes dart down to the slight red mark on Alex’s cheek. He hit Alex the last time they were together. Henry didn’t get to watch the bruise form then with Alex between his legs. “That’s why Harry wanders, but he always comes back.” Henry draws in a shaky breath. “Alvie’s a lucky man.” Alex’s eyes drop to Henry’s neck, where the diamond of his pendant hangs amid the forming marks Alex left behind. “Sure is." __ Henry Fox, needing an extraction, must rely on his part-time rival, full-time problem Alex Claremont-Diaz. To get that extraction, Henry needs to pose as Alex's date for a high-stakes dinner. They get in character - and stay that way behind closed doors.
as always, let me know if you want to be tagged, and i'll see you next week!
tagging: @starkfridays @stilesgivesmefeels @midnightsfp @sarahjswift
#RWRB rec list#rwrb#RWRB fic#red white and royal blue#firstprince#firstprince fic#RWRB fanfiction#alexhenry#alex claremont diaz#henry fox mountchristen windsor
76 notes
·
View notes
Text
EUPHORIC FEELING 1 ╰► MARAUDERS ERA
SUMMARY — The Marauders are… utterly fascinated with the Slytherin Girl
WARNING — Cursing, Fem!Slytherin!Reader, Stupid Teenage Boys
IT WAS UTTERLY RIDICULOUS, the whole situation. The green versus the red, like a cosmic joke played out on the grounds of Hogwarts. A ridiculous rivalry meant to separate them, keep them apart like the forbidden fruit that no one dared to touch – or even cast a glance towards.
Yet there they were, the Gryffindors, acting like a bunch of bumbling idiots. Instead of discussing the next Quidditch game strategy, practicing spells, or planning yet another harebrained prank, their thoughts were inexplicably fixated on one particular girl – a girl draped in the very color they were sworn to loathe.
It was almost comical how they tried to mask their fascination with her, like lovesick fools attempting to maintain a façade. They'd shoot furtive glances her way, only to quickly divert their eyes or feign disinterest with well-timed pranks and scoffs.
Remus, concealed his infatuation behind the cover of his books. To anyone passing by, it seemed as if his gaze was glued to the pages. Yet, upon closer inspection, his eyes subtly traced the path of the girl in green as she wandered close to the Black Lake.
Peter, hid his feelings behind his incessant eating. He constantly had something to munch on, whether for himself or to offer to others. As the girl approached, he'd stuff his mouth with food, determinedly chewing to keep his nerves at bay.
His cheeks puffed up, flushed with the hidden fact it was from the sight of the girl and not the amount of food that pushed the inside of his cheeks to the limit.
James was an embodiment of chaos when it came to concealing his feelings. Subtlety was an alien concept to him. Whenever he found himself in her presence, he was like a bull charging through a china shop, ready to declare his affection to the world. His friends often had to physically restrain him from belting out his emotions in a grand display.
On the other hand, Sirius was a master of disguise. He carefully kept his gaze from constantly following her every move, a feat that required considerable effort. Instead, he channeled his energy into extravagant sighs and dramatic gestures in front of his friends, particularly when she was around.
Even when she wasn't, he maintained his over-the-top persona, hoping to capture her attention, if only for a fleeting moment.
But one day, all their efforts at subtlety seemed to shatter with just one word.
Remus Lupin charged into their shared dorm room, his hair wild and his eyes wide, flushed cheeks adding to his disheveled appearance. Instantly, his friends abandoned their respective activities.
James and Sirius halted their game of exploding snap, and Peter shifted back to his human form from his rat Animagus form, his small figure now standing upright.
"Merlin, mate, what happened to you?" Sirius teased with a chuckle, amusement lacing his voice. Remus did indeed look like he had been through a storm. His sweater was askew, trousers wrinkled, and his hair seemed to have battled a gusty wind.
"She's coming to our dorm," Remus announced, his breath coming out in uneven bursts, his chest rising and falling as if he had just completed a sprint.
"Who?" James inquired, his brow furrowed, his round glasses perched crookedly on his nose, and his attire limited to a pair of trousers.
Sirius shifted his attention from James to Remus, his curiosity piqued but still mixed with confusion.
Remus took a deep breath before practically exclaiming, "Y/N!" His voice cracked with the intensity of his announcement.
At Remus's revelation, the other boys sprang to their feet, and Peter emitted a small squeak of surprise. "Merlin, mate, you can't just drop something like that!" Sirius interjected, his words rapid.
James surveyed the dorm room, recognizing the chaos: clothes strewn haphazardly, wrappers and papers scattered across surfaces, and an unmistakable scent of body odor permeating the air.
"Why?" Peter chimed in, his voice tinged with confusion as he unconsciously began tidying his own area, his blue eyes reflecting his bewilderment.
Remus let out a rushed explanation, his words tumbling over one another, "Well, we've got this project for our NEWTs class, and she asked if we could collaborate in our dorm, and I kind of panicked and blurted out 'yes'!"
"And why in the name of Merlin's saggy left—," James began, but his language abruptly shifted as he looked around the cluttered room, "—sock would you do that?"
Sirius raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his expression, "Mate, I thought your legendary Marauder pranks and smooth demeanor would have extended to handling a simple invitation."
Peter chimed in with a shrug, his rat-like tendencies showing, "Yeah, you usually handle stress by wolfing down chocolate frogs and giving our transfiguration notes a menacing glare."
Remus sighed, running a hand through his already disheveled hair, "Well, this time I couldn't exactly employ those tactics. Besides, we're supposed to be responsible adults, remember?"
James let out a half-hearted laugh, "Oh right, responsible adults who are about to introduce our dorm's chaos to an unsuspecting soul."
Sirius grinned, "Well, at least it'll be an adventure. Who knows, Y/N might end up joining our ranks and become a honorary Marauder."
Peter chimed in with a snicker, "Or she might run out screaming and never speak to us again."
"Well," James trailed off, taking in a deep breath and puffing out his chest. "We cannot, under any circumstances, allow her to witness the chaotic state of this place. So..." He spoke with an air of authority, his eyes dramatically narrowing as he shot the other boys a sly grin.
And just like that, James Potter transformed into a mother on a mission during a spring cleaning spree.
˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗
Y/N WASN’T entirely sure what to anticipate upon entering the marauders' dorm room, but the fragrance of lemons mingling with the soft glow of candles placed on every available surface certainly caught her off guard.
The beds were immaculate, and there wasn't a towering heap of rubbish that might have hidden a lurking trash monster, as she had half-expected.
It was a vision of order, a far cry from what she had imagined. Yet, she ventured into the room with cautious steps, her green robes contrasting with the predominant red hues of the decor. She clutched her book and satchel tightly, containing notes, ink, and quills. Each step was cautious, as if the wrong move would trigger a cascade of pranks.
Additionally, Y/N wasn't prepared to find Sirius Black and James Potter... reading. The sight almost caused her heart to skip a beat out of sheer astonishment.
And they appeared well-groomed. It was a departure from the usual view of James with his unruly brown curls and Sirius with his perpetually tousled black hair.
Their outfits seemed carefully chosen too. Instead of their customary half-done ties and rumpled robes, they were wearing oddly formal clothing for being in their dorm room.
Suppressing a chuckle, she ignored the apparent disappointment on Remus's face when his gaze fell upon his two best mates. Meanwhile, Peter was sprawled out in his bed, his head buried in the covers, presumably fast asleep.
"Uh... so, where should we start?" She directed the question to Remus, feeling a bit awkward. Remus seemed momentarily lost, his attention momentarily consumed by her features, his own body heating up.
"Right," Remus eventually replied, tugging at the hem of his sweater as he moved towards the desk. He indicated for her to take a seat while he perched on the corner of the desk.
"We're supposed to write a seven-inch essay on Amortentia – its effects, how it's made, the whole lot," Remus explained, his eyes fixed on her with a keen intensity. He attempted to shake himself out of the daze that seemed to settle over him every time he looked at her.
In the background, he heard suppressed laughter, recognizing that Sirius was imitating him while Y/N's attention was on him, and James was doing something similar with giggles.
"Right..." she trailed off, her eyebrows arching slightly as she shot a playful yet quizzical look towards the source of the giggles – the other two boys in the room.
Remus cleared his throat, his cheeks tinged with a light pink as he shifted his attention back to the task at hand. "So, um, the essay. We could start with the history of Amortentia and its usage over the centuries."
Y/N nodded, relieved that the focus had returned to the assignment. "Sounds good. And then we can move on to its effects on individuals and relationships."
Y/N's focus remained steadfast on the task at hand, despite the playful antics of James and Sirius. Remus, on the other hand, seemed to be getting slightly exasperated as he attempted to concentrate.
"Guys, seriously," Remus huffed, trying to hide his amusement. "We're trying to work here."
James let out an exaggerated sigh, his eyes widening innocently. "Oh, I'm sorry, Moony. Did we interrupt your riveting discussion about the history of love potions?"
Sirius chimed in, grinning mischievously. "Yeah, because we all know how exciting that is."
James grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he sauntered over to Peter's bed. "Is Wormtail seriously sleeping?" he exclaimed in an exaggerated tone, leaning over to inspect the lump that was Peter.
Sirius couldn't resist the opportunity to play along. With a dramatic sigh, he raised his hand as if to answer a question. "No, no, I'm Sirius," he chimed in, a sly grin curving his lips. He burst into laughter when James retaliated by flicking a pillow at him.
Y/N's concentration was momentarily broken as Sirius dramatically threw himself onto Peter's bed, causing a yelp and a sudden movement from Peter.
She glanced over, her eyes widening at the unexpected commotion. Remus shot Sirius an exasperated look, shaking his head in disbelief at the antics.
Peter, now wide awake, blinked rapidly, trying to process the sudden chaos that had unfolded around him.
He glanced around the room, his eyes landing on Sirius with a mix of confusion and annoyance. "Merlin's beard, Sirius, what's gotten into you?" he grumbled, his voice still groggy from sleep.
James, unable to resist the opportunity to join in, grabbed another pillow and playfully whacked Sirius on the back. "You're worse than a blast-ended skrewt," he teased, a mischievous grin on his face.
Y/N let out an amused chuckle, shaking her head as she returned her focus to the book. The boys' attempts to capture her attention might have been over the top, but it certainly wasn’t unwanted.
As the hours passed, Y/N remained engrossed in her reading and note-taking, occasionally exchanging ideas and thoughts with Remus.
The two of them worked together in a surprisingly synchronized manner, their focus strong in the way they discussed the various aspects of Amortentia's effects.
Meanwhile, James and Sirius continued their playful attempts to catch Y/N's attention, their antics ranging from exaggerated yawns to whispered commentary on the material being covered.
Remus seemed to be handling their disruptions with a mix of patience and exasperation, occasionally shooting them disapproving looks that were met with innocent smiles or exaggerated expressions of innocence.
Peter's silent observation remained a constant throughout the day. He found himself captivated by Y/N's presence and the easy way she interacted with his friends.
Her passion for learning and her ability to remain composed in the midst of the boys' shenanigans intrigued him. While the others vied for her attention, he preferred to stay on the sidelines, content to watch her from a distance.
Despite the interruptions, the collaborative effort produced tangible results.
The essay slowly took shape, combining Remus's meticulous writing with Y/N's well-organized thoughts. By the time the sun began to set and the golden light filtered through the curtains, they had made significant progress.
As they wrapped up their study session, Y/N stretched her arms above her head, feeling a sense of accomplishment. Remus let out a content sigh, rubbing his tired eyes as he glanced at the nearly completed essay. James and Sirius finally relented in their attempts to distract Y/N.
As Y/N packed up her belongings, her conversation with Remus took on a more serious tone. They discussed the final touches for the essay and set a plan to complete it by the following Tuesday.
Remus handed her the items she needed and watched her straighten her robes, giving her a warm smile as she waved goodbye to the others in the room before leaving.
However, as soon as the door closed, the room erupted in laughter. Sirius couldn't hold back his amusement, his eyes sparkling mischievously as he mimicked Remus's voice, repeating his words, "'So next Tuesday'."
James, always ready to join in the fun, pushed up his glasses with a grin. "Come on, Moony, we thought you were better than that."
Remus's cheeks were still tinged with pink as he shot them a glare. "As if any of you would do any better. The first time she tries to talk to you face to face, you'll all be blubbering fools."
James opened his mouth to retort, but Peter chimed in with a dreamy look on his face. "Honestly, I can't believe she was here in our room." He flopped back onto his bed, his voice almost swooning as he buried his face into the pillow.
Sirius raised an eyebrow playfully, nudging Remus with his elbow. "Did you see the way she looked at you, Moony? It's a miracle you managed to speak at all."
James leaned against the wall, his grin turning into a mischievous smirk. "Yeah, next time, maybe just stick to writing love notes. Might be safer."
Remus sighed, rolling his eyes at his friends' teasing. "You're all insufferable."
Peter lifted his head slightly from the pillow, a cheeky grin on his face. "But you love us."
Remus couldn't help but crack a smile at that. "Unfortunately, I do."
Sirius grinned, leaning against a desk as he looked toward the ceiling. "I can't deny it, mate. We might as well be first years all over again, fawning over a pretty girl."
Remus let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "It's not like that," he muttered, though the pink tinge to his cheeks said otherwise.
James chuckled, crossing his arms. "Yeah, yeah, Remus is just tutoring her in more ways than one."
Remus shot James a narrowed look, his amusement evident. "Oh, come on, James. Don't pretend you wouldn't be blubbering to us about her if you were in my shoes. You'd be going on about how her eyes sparkle or how she looks when she smiles." He teased, earning a laugh from the others.
Sirius, always one for pushing the boundaries, chimed in with a devilish grin. "Oh, if I had a project with her, it wouldn't be potions we'd be brewing, if you catch my drift." He lowered his voice suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows as he spoke.
Peter, caught in between the banter, rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his blonde hair. Remus simply stared at Sirius, shaking his head in mock disbelief. James, on the other hand, nodded with a cheeky grin. "He's got a point there."
Laughter echoed through the room as the teens teased each-other, there minds lingering on the girl in Green.
#keeperofthestars#harry potter#james potter imagine#sirius black imagine#harry potter imagine#james potter x y/n#sirius black#fred weasly x reader#peter pettigrew#remus lupin imagine#remus lupin x you#remus lupin#remus lupin x y/n#siriusblack imagine#siriusblack#sirius black x female reader#sirius black x you#sirius black x reader#james potter#jamespotter#james potter x you#peter pettigrew x reader#peterpettigrew imagine
283 notes
·
View notes
Note
How would the sisters react when reader is in a bad mood? What would they do to get reader in a better mood? 😏
Hey, 😏!
And so sorry for getting to your ask(s) only now! I got two more of yours next in line, so keep an eye out! 👁️
Right so, I think it's safe to say that this:
-would roughly be their initial reaction. 🫠
Like, moody hooman means either one or ALL of those things:
they´ve done something
they got caught doing something
they failed to do something
they forgot to feed hooman (their doom is certain, if that´s the case)
No matter which one it is:
They better fix it, and soon. Lest they wish to spend the next few weeks in the doghouse. They despise the doghouse. It´s cold and lonely and lacks the mouthwatering smell and it´s not soft and smooth and-
...They gotta fix it, ASAP.
OR:
What the sisters would do to get out of the doghouse make their moody hooman feel better:
.
.
.
Tanya Denali: The Strategist 📝
as a leader, she´s nothing if not attentive to the needs of her coven members
and especially her mate
also, as a leader, she´s got a battle plan prepared
a leader always has a plan
Step 1: Communication
she will talk about things before making rash decisions that might end up doing more harm than good
in her opinion, communication is almost always the key
if that fails (which is hardly ever the case because she just has a way with words, sexy mf), she´s gonna proceed to-
Step 2: Proximity
she´s just gonna...remain for a bit
yknow, just being there to gauge MC´s reaction to her prolonged presence
(it´s like treading a minefield: every step must be thoroughly considered)
if Step 2 is a success, it almost always ends with her getting Some
she loves Step 2
if Step 2 fails (this world is cruel, truly), she´s gonna proceed to-
Step 3: Entertainment
this is the tricky one, the last resort
what she wouldn´t give to be neck-deep into Step 2 rn
but, instead-
she´s gonna try and be...funny
this feels most alien to her
that´s Kate´s thing
ofc she has her funny moments, lots of them
she´s a blast to be around, tyvm 😤
but this? making a fool out of herself?
ridiculous, laughable, utterly insane-
*a light smile that´s totally still full of grump starts spreading across MC´s face*
Tanya: ... 🫠
for her mate? with that beautiful smile as her reward?
she´d make the biggest fool out of herself anytime without hesitation
Kate Denali: The Clown 🤡
out of the three of them, she´s the funniest to be around
she knows this
everyone knows this
cmon
it´s Kate the Great
bish pls
she´s got this
*cracks her knuckles*
unlike Tanya, she has no plan
at all
she´s all about improvisation
no risk no fun and all, yknow
but also: she´s a warrior
which means she´s gonna face the foe (her Mate the Grump) head on:
(bad) jokes
funny faces
stories about the times she bested her sisters in whatever (good times indeed)
when that doesn´t manage to make MC burst out laughing (she doesn´t get it, those stories are the funniest shit), she opts for a more...serious approach
(believe it or not, she is capable of such a thing)
like, yknow, she´s always down for shits and giggles
but she also realizes when those are neither needed nor wanted
"Hey..."
no reaction
"Princezná, please...talk to me."
still no reaction
right
time to pull out the big guns:
"...Pretty please?"
all pouty lips and big eyes
MC: 🙄
...
also MC: *the lightest of smiles starts spreading*
also MC: *lightly shaking her head*
also MC: "...You´re such an idiot."
Kate: 😁
also Kate: ❤️ "Yours."
Irina Denali: The Disciplinarian 📏 (❤️)
unlike her sisters, she´s not one for jokes in such a situation
her mate is displeased
which means she´s displeased
she cannot stand the sight
no matter if she´s the cause of it or not
it pains her
even more so if she was the cause of it
she will fix this, if it´s the last thing she does
like Tanya, prefers communication above all else
unlike Tanya, won´t let up until her darling mate opens up
she can be a bit...overbearing, when it comes to these things
but she means well
truly
(she´s like a hound scenting its prey)
(sniffing for every little clue)
(won´t let up until she´s got a tight grip)
she´s gonna be most considerate in her choice of words
but she´ll also be honest
yknow, some tough loving
"Maličký, how am I meant to help if you won´t tell me what troubles you?"
all stern ☝️
but in a loving manner 🫶
big eyes and all 👁️👁️
when MC does crack (and she will, you can´t say "no" to all that tough love), Irina will reward her by giving her anything
literally
anything that might make it better
ice cream? chocolate? a movie night? a romantic walk in the park? a candle light dinner? a bath? a massage? hugs? cuddles? kisses? declarations of love? the moon and the stars?
(if she could, she would)
if she can, she will
anything for her sweet Angel
.
.
.
Thanks a lot for your ask! 💋
#tumblr asks#twilight#the twilight saga#the denalis#denali coven#the denali sisters#tanya denali#kate denali#irina denali
14 notes
·
View notes
Text
So It Goes - Chapter 41: Anarchy
[X]
The hallway exploded. Concussions rippled and wracked the air, followed a millisecond later by the shredding of glass and metal. Shock waves sent stray bits of shrapnel rocketing past to lodge in the carpet while chunks of concrete catapulted in a spray of dust and battered the walls. Screams; the bang of the starting guns. The timer started.
I'm nearing the end of this fic, and, well, no more poems after this. (At least, I don't think...) So, I did something a little special for the occasion. Maybe kinda spoilery if you're reading the fic, but if you've played the game, you already know.
Transcript below the cut if you don't want to listen to me read remixed poetry for 4:20. (ha) Not quite formatted correctly since there aren't any justification settings here and I skipped my playing around with blank space, but you get the drift:
The Sailing Rime of J. Alfred Prufrock and The Ancient Mariner's Love Song to Byzantium
I should have been a pair of ragged claws Scuttling across the floors of silent seas. To ask a question: Would you take a bullet for me? And some in dream assured were Of the Spirit that plagued us so; Nine fathom deep he had followed us From the land of mist and snow. The self-same moment I could pray, And from my neck so free The Albatross fell off, and sank Like lead into the sea. Let us go then, you and I... And would it have been worth it, after all, Would it have been worth while, After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor- And this, and so much more?- It is impossible to say just what I mean! But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: Would it have been worth while If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl, And turning toward the window, should say: "That is not it at all, That is not what I meant, at all." No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; Am an attendant lord, one that will do To swell a progress, start a scene or two, Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, Deferential, glad to be of use, Politic, cautious, and meticulous; Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; At times, indeed, almost ridiculous- Almost, at times, the Fool. That is no country for old men. The young In one another's arms, birds in the trees, -Those dying generations- at their song, The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas, Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long Whatever is begotten, born, and dies. Caught in that sensual music all neglect Monuments of unageing intellect. I grow old... I grow old... I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. An aged man is but a paltry thing, A tattered coat upon a stick, unless Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing For every tatter in its mortal dress, Nor is there singing school but studying Monuments of its own magnificence; An therefore I have sailed the seas and come To the holy city of Byzantium. Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach? I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. O sages standing in God's holy fire As in the gold mosaic of a wall, Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre, And be the singing-masters of my soul. Consume my heart away; sick with desire And fastened to a dying animal It knows not what it is; and gather me Into the artifice of eternity. I do not think that they will sing to me. Once out of nature I shall never take My bodily form from any natural thing, But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make Of hammered gold and gold enamelling To keep a drowsy Emperor awake; Or set upon a golden bough to sing To lords and ladies of Byzantium Of what is past, or passing, or to come. I have seen them riding seaward on the waves Combing the white hair of the waves blown back When the wind blows the water white and black. We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner by Samuel Taylor Coleridge The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot Sailing to Byzantium by William Butler Yeats
#cyberpunk 2077#writing#fan fiction#fic: so it goes#oc: valerie hye jin li#my grandpa v#stinky not fresh#v x river ward#though to be fair this chapter is the v and johnny show#v and johnny - back on my conjunction bologna#all the poems#i dropped the texas this time so y'all know what i sound like for real now#my face on the other hand nu-uh
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
2. horizon
Aymeric woke in the early morning hours to his bed empty and the smell of crisp, snowy mountain air overpowering the typical wood-and-fire scent of his bedchamber. With a sigh, he dragged himself from the still-warm sheets, snagged a dressing gown, and padded to the door of his balcony.
His wife was exactly where he expected to find her: perched on the stone railing, staring out at the western horizon, mug of steaming spiced tea in her hands her only ward against the cold. Melancholy seeped into his bones at the sight – he had known Kaede long enough, loved her long enough, to know exactly what her faraway expression heralded. Perhaps not today, but soon, she would be leaving again, her wanderer’s heart calling her out to the unseen distance.
Closing the balcony door quietly behind him, he crossed the distance between them, looped his arms loosely around Kaede’s torso, and was rewarded with her leaning into him without even a twitch of surprise. She was gloriously warm in his arms, as if she had been sitting by the fire, not outside in the cold Coerthan air wearing naught more than one of his shirts, and her lack of reaction to his presence told him clearly that she had heard him approach, as she normally did. Indeed, he could tell absolutely no difference in the woman in his arms now from the one who departed to Ultima Thule, the last of the lingering damage truly healed. There was no need to worry.
Not any more than he ever did, at any rate.
Pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, he murmured, “When do you leave?”
Thankfully, she did not waste either of their time dissembling or playing the fool – instead, he felt her sigh in acknowledgement. “A ship leaves from Sharlayan to Tural tomorrow. Shtola and G’raha are going, as well as all the the Turali who had their artifacts stolen. They’ve asked me to play escort. I was thinking of accepting.” Her tone was almost a question, as if unsure of his reaction.
This would be her first true journey after becoming his wife. Brief sojourns into the Void aside – and wasn’t that a ridiculous thought, that her venturing through time and space to save the world once again barely even registered to him – he had had her in his arms most nights for well over half a year, the longest span that fate had ever afforded them. But as the days grew longer and warmer, he could practically feel her restlessness building, tense and coiled beneath her skin. Taking up the viper’s arts had dispelled some of that pent-up energy, but he'd known it wouldn't last. To say that the thought of her leaving didn’t make his heart ache would be a lie, but she was who she was, and he would not have asked her to be anyone else.
Brow furrowed in mild frustration, he shifted until he could look her in the eye. “Kaede. I knew full well that a ring and a ceremony would not change your nature.”
Blue eyes flicked down to her tea, and then back to the horizon as she took another sip. Her voice was soft when she spoke again: “At times, I wish it had.”
“Well, I do not. If I wish anything, it is that I had the freedom to accompany you – I would not bind you to Ishgard merely because I am.”
Truly, the thing that galled him the most was the fact that out of everyone he loved, only he was expected to remain in one place, the solid stone around which the winds twisted as they wound their own paths through the sky. Kaede, Estinien, hells, even the normally ever-present Lucia – they cast themselves out into the world as they would, while at times it seemed he had to barter like a Lominsan fishwife for every moment of time he spent outside the city's gates.
Leaning fully against him again, Kaede tilted her head back to smile at him, her face a mixture of gratitude and apology. “No chance of you coming with me, I suppose? To… establish diplomatic relationships with another nation? It should just be a quick visit. Perhaps a moon or two.”
Thinking back to the pile of work and multiple nearly democracy-ending problems he’d come back to after their honeymoon that spring, Aymeric grimaced and shook his head. “I’m afraid not. As much as I would prefer it to be otherwise. And only you, my dear, would call crossing an ocean to explore an entirely separate continent ‘quick.’”
“Well, once I’ve seen Tentoawa and Loazenikwe back to their village, perhaps checked in on Marz and Estinien and the twins, I imagine I’ll be headed right back. Unless there’s some horrible world-ending crisis going on over there that I’m yet unaware of,” she said with a grin, but it faded as she took in the vaguely horrified expression on his face.
“My lady, with the life you lead, I dearly wish you would not tempt fate this way.”
Kaede put her teacup on the railing beside her, then turned to face him and twine her arms around his neck, drawing him down to her. “You’re right, as always. Forgive me. I can’t imagine you want to spend the morning standing around into the cold, anyway.”
Breath mingling in the space between them, Aymeric allowed a wolfish grin to come over his face as he cast a long, considering look down at the ample view of her cleavage that such an angle – and lack of proper dress – afforded him. “You’re right, as always,” he echoed back at her, and drank in the sight of her answering smile like a flower basking in summer sunlight, that it might live on through the cold dark winter. “Shall we go back to bed? Perhaps I cannot steal away to another land for a moon or more, but a leisurely morning should be well within my power. And I would not have you leave me without ample reminders of what you shall be missing.”
Lean-muscled legs curled around his hips as Kaede’s mouth found his, her attention finally, fully his, at least for the moment. For the brief span of a heartbeat, drunk on the heat and closeness of her, he thought of simply staying here, rather than lose even the fraction of time with her that it would take to get back inside, but then a rogue gust of wind made his breath catch in his throat and skin shiver. He felt, rather than heard, Kaede’s chuckle, and then nearly groaned at the loss of her warmth as she disentangled herself from his arms and hopped down from the railing, sashaying back into their bedroom with an exaggerated sway of her hips, solely for his benefit.
For one more moment he watched her, the dawn’s light catching on her scales and hair, as he committed the sight of her to memory once again, as he had dozens of times and would, Fury willing, do many, many more times to come. As soon as she disappeared inside he followed her, leaving naught but the abandoned teacup to witness the waking of his city, as the sun broke fully over her horizon.
#ough I'm late I hate that#labor day traveling and allergy season starting kicked my ass but hopefully I can get today's done tomorrow morning#until then have some DT-era kaedemeric light angst/fluff#ffxivwrite#ffxivwrite 2024#wolmeric#aymeric de borel#tales from the dawn#love and its decisive pain
8 notes
·
View notes
Text
Maybe there was an ending out there where Darda could've succeeded. Killed Marika himself, taken up the mantle of the Frenzied Lord. Burned it all down, every bit of it, this disgusting and loathesome world that his family had set into ruin. Finally brought everything toward unity and peace within the ashes, if nothing more.
But this was not that ending, and he had not won. Darda was here, in the evergaol set for he and he alone, the true hero of this story sneering over him.
A watchful eye was kept steeled upon him- the single and sole eye left between the two of them, laughably enough. Keziah was armed, as he was no fool, but his sword was not drawn. He knows full well that Darda no longer has anything left to lose, nothing to gain in overpowering him.
"Ranni sure was generous enough to make a place for you. There's worse places to spend the rest of eternity than these gaols, that's for sure."
Darda's scorched eye sockets scrunched at the corners. Bemusement? Ridicule? Perhaps cynical disgust, or a mix of all this. He doesn't really give a shit about Keziah, but Ranni has always been more than enough conniving trouble. Before he can manage some comment toward this end, though, Keziah finally draws his weapon- no, it's a different one, a sword he's never seen the man wield before.
There's a distinct, holy glow to it. An odd, unmistakeable thrum of power. Keziah turns the blade over in his dragon-clawed hands, admiring it himself.
"... This is all that's left of Radagon. Marika too. But... I have no use for it, I think."
The glowing blade is tossed onto the grass before Darda, thumping where it lay. The larger man tilts his head toward the sound, instinctive, and after a moment he reaches for it.
... It's warm. Alive. No, perhaps that's just the hum of latent power, still coursing through the sword-corpse. A sorry state for Radagon, that's for sure. But again, it's still...
His mother. The god, the woman. The stranger he'd never known. Is this truly all that's left of such a legendary being?
....
Carefully, the sword is pulled toward himself. Cradled into his arms. A laugh, hoarse and mirthless, finally escapes him.
"And you're just giving it to me? After all this? My, you are a bleeding heart, aren't you. Gifting your ferocious prisoner a god-sword."
Keziah shrugs, roll of the shoulders. The smile he bears is also without warmth.
"You've got no reason to use it. Even if you manage to escape, there's nothing left. You've lost." And... well. He sure won't voice it. But as much as he detests this man, for almost ripping away what little Keziah himself has left. He does pity him, too. Can't say his intentions were altruistic, but at the least... he sympathizes.
....
And besides. It's terribly difficult for a man to kill himself, imprisoned, without at least some sharp manner of instrument.
"You will never leave here again, for as long as you live. Perhaps even past that. The very least I can offer is to return the body of your mother to you."
Darda sneers, lips pulling back until teeth bared. But he does, indeed, hold the weapon closer. His only company, it seems. What a shame.
"... Ranni's full of shit. She doesn't know the way ahead any more than the rest of us. A right shame."
Keziah rolls his eye. Unperturbed, he steps back, and begins to turn away. One single wave of a hand.
"Enjoy the rest of your sorry life, Darda. The good thing about almost everyone dead, at least, is there'll be almost no one to miss you."
His form fizzles out of the confines of the gaol, and he disappears. There's only the faint rumbling of the prison's magic, now. Darda sinks against the grass, cold and unwelcoming.
"... Ha. Hahaha. Well... good a time as any to catch up, isn't it? Mother."
The sword is silent.
29 notes
·
View notes
Text
Cookies and sleep (Klaus Goldstein AU)
A/N: literally ever since I saw this ask I've been wanting to write it the feeling I get from it is just aahh 💞💞💞
Genre: ?
(Third person point of view)
8:04 AM
"Shit." The blond mutters, realizing he'd overslept. Yes, indeed, it is his day off, but that doesn't make it any less busy than a work day..
He practically falls off the bed in an attempt to sprint to the bathroom, silently cursing his phone for the missing alarm all the way.
He skips his morning shower, knowing he'll come back sweaty and gross in an hour or so after he goes running.
Yes, the perfect time for a run would've been around 6 am, but this damned phone decided it was okay to let Klaus have an extra two hours, which he probably needed after staying up late working on a PowerPoint, but still: Klaus wasn't very thankful. He now has to push all his plans 2 hours back.
Grabbing his phone and earphones along with his jacket, he runs into the street madman style. A very late madman.
The cold air stings his skin like a thousand invisible needles. "Fuck." He breathes out, attempting to wear his jacket without really slowing down, which he's almost sure looks absolutely ridiculous, but he doesn't have time to waste, so if he needs to make a fool out of himself to get things done then so be it.
He eventually reaches the park where he usually goes for a run; it had a huge running track surrounding it, making it both challenging and fun. However, at this moment, Klaus could only view it as challenging, seeing as he's already panting after all the rush he was in ever since he woke up.
"No time for breaks." He mutters, forcing himself to push through the exhaustion while continuing to pant like a dog on a hot day.
He passes by another runner who just gives Klaus a sympathetic smile, as she proceeds with her routine, keeping her breathing steady. Klaus wanted to yell that he wasn't normally this pitiful and that he's actually fairly athletic, but he didn't have it in him to even speak, so he just displays a pained smile on his face instead, letting the random stranger think of him as pitiable.
10:23 AM
Klaus sighs. He knows he shouldn't hold onto the clouds of gloom surrounding him ever since he woke up, but it was very unlike him to be late. In fact, he's scolded countless people for being late, assuring them this could never be him.
Life is funny like that.
"No one will know. We'll take it to the grave." He assures himself, as he reaches for his keys.
His keys.
His keys?
Where are his keys?!
Did he drop them while running? No way; he would've known!
Did he even grab them before leaving?
"Fuck me." Klaus curses.
There's simply no way for him to open his door from outside except with the keys. He basically locked himself outside.
Elias has a spare key, but calling him would expose an unorderly, late, uncomposed Klaus. A version of him that should never see the light of day.
Klaus is not dramatic about this or anything.
10:37 AM
Klaus wonders if he needs a shower more or hisdignity and pride.
His stomach growls.
Klaus wonders if he needs a shower and food more or his dignity and pride.
He pushes himself off his front porch and circulates his house, sort of like a burglar tryna find his way in.
A miracle.
A thought shone through his misery, possibly saving the day.
Who would've known that delaying getting a window's broken lock fixed would bring such happiness to a perfectionist like him?
Klaus pushes the window open with one swift movement and kicks his leg up, hooking it on the window sill and pulling himself up.
The excitement had erased the dimensions of the window from Klaus's memory, but he was to be reminded immediately with a loud bang once his head collides with the top if the window.
He grumbles in pain and annoyance but pushes himself inside anyway.
He rubs his head and moans in pain, "Today's just not my day." he mumbles.
Klaus drags himself into the hot shower, relieved bythe only relaxing thing he's experienced this morning.
10:58 AM
Klaus isn't a fan of brunch, but he was too hungry to complain.
Hey, at least the waffles taste as good as they would've at 6 AM. He smiles to himself.
Meow
Klaus stiffens.
Would it be too farfetched to assume Elias came over with his kitten?
The source of the noise reveals itself. Lo and behold it is, in fact, not Elias's tiny black kitten. Instead, struts in a chubby orange cat that Klaus has never ever seen before.
"Rude." Klaus mumbles.
The cat meows back as if to object to his insult.
"Come on you invited yourself in! How did you even get in here?" His gaze pans over to the broken window. Aha.
"Well, whatever." He had no energy left to argue with the entitled feline. He wanted to eat his breakfast and relax.
11:14 AM
"You really shouldn't be eating so much; you're already a bit chubbier than you should be." His fingers lovingly rub the top of the stray's head, heavily contrasting his words. Thankfully, cats don't speak human.
Occupied with the tuna, Little Stalker -as Klaus called her- ignores Klaus's health advice and stuffs her face.
"Don't say I didn't warn you!" The blonde rolls his eyes, before proceeding to shower the cat with physical affection.
He almost melts when she purrs in response, but no, he must play hard to get.
12:03 PM
"Yes you're a good girl; you're the best girl! Good job!" He squeezes the towel-wrapped cat into his arms.
Hmm...how's 49 mins for hard to get?
At least he found it in him to force her into a bath, right?
The cat hisses at him, clearly unhappy with the progression of events, perhaps reconsidering its choices of houses to break into.
3:45 PM
Klaus groans at the doorbell, willing his sibling (probably) to go away. Not because he didn't miss him, but simply because he was comfortable in bed. So was Cookie, who'd gotten comfortable on his chest.
He admires his new furry friend, spotted with brown "chocolate chips" that inspired ber new more appropriate name. Alfonse or Elias better have have something worth moving the cat and getting up for.
He sighs and forces himself towards the noise of possibly the third or fourth round of knocks and bell rings.
"Why are you so persistent?" Klaus rolls his eyes.
"I missed you too, Klaus." Elias pushes past his older brother, tentatively followed by a giggly Alfonse.
Klaus glares at his older brother, scaring him into giving a better performance of totally not finding this funny.
Alfonse isn't very good at this role.
"W-when did you get a cat?" As confused as Elias is, that doesn't stop him from pulling the furball into his arms.
"Today. I also didn't get it; it sort of forced itself onto me, really." He shrugs.
"Explains a lot" The youngest retorts sarcastically but moves on nonetheless, practically adopting Cookie for the time being.
7:36 PM
"I told you I won't forget; now leave!"
"Okay, okay, you're so pushy, jeez."
Klaus practically shoves his younger brothers out the door.
"See you later; have a safe ride home; bye!" Door slam.
Klaus sigh, resting his back on the front door.
Cookie curiously approaches him, meowing in the process, earning herself a smile from the tall blond.
She rubs her head against his legs, so Klaus gives in and pulls her into his arms. "You're such a lil manipulator, y'know that?"
Klaus takes his new companion and goes back to his room.
9:49 PM
Cookie buries her face in the crook of a sleeping Klaus's neck, not very keen on making sure he doesn't wake up.
Alas, the blond was too far gone to be woken up by the furball.
After all, he'd had a pretty long day.
And even though he'd swear to never be able to sleep except in complete darkness, Klaus was now in deep sleep while the light from the tv screen illuminates his sharp features.
Well, not like that was the only out of character thing to happen today, huh?
#shall we date#wizardess heart#shall we date wizardess heart#liz hart#klaus goldstein#wizardess heart klaus#klaus imagine#klaus one shot#klaus goldstein fluff#klaus goldstein one shot#eliasgoldstein#wizardess heart elias#elias goldstein#klausgoldstein#wizardess heart alfonse#alfonse goldstein#shall we date wizardess#wizardess heart one shot#wizardess heart imagine#klaus goldstein imagine
25 notes
·
View notes
Text
In Justice We Trust (144638 words) by thesavagesabretooth
catch up here
With Simon Blackquill and Athena Cykes assigned as their psychologists, the Phantom and Fulbright must grapple with their identity, their deeds, their future, and their love for the twisted samurai whom they betrayed. All the while, Edgeworth and Wright find their relationship tested as they walk the narrow path between pursuing real justice, and the dark age of the law.
-
December 25, 5:20 pm
So it's real. It's all real. I really am Bobby Fulbright.
It certainly puts a fresh perspective on things.
Halbicht was lost in their own thoughts as they followed Simon, Agent Ash, and Apollo justice out of the room to give Metis Cykes and her daughter a few minutes of privacy.
Agent Ash was fixing her makeup thoughtfully as she walked out of the room.
“...I’d heard about it, I’d always had a little faith in the supernatural, but seeing it firsthand like that…” She whistled. “...We’ll have to have the girl try to channel Kelso, see what happens to our suspect….or at least see if she can recognize a spirit inside someone.”
Simon was still drying his eyes with the back of his sleeve. Robert grabbed his arm to stop him, and pressed the handkerchief from his pocket into Simon's hand.
"Here, Prosecutor Blackquill."
"Thank you, detective," he murmured. He dabbed his eyes with the cloth. "That was… a powerful experience. Ash-dono, I am sure that our young medium will be able to help in some way at least."
"Yeah…." Apollo murmured. He stumbled, and caught himself on the wall. Halblicht watched him closely. He seemed disoriented. "I'm gonna go uh, I gotta– I'll be in the restroom."
As he limped off without waiting for an answer, they followed him with their gaze.
It was a shocking experience for anybody, I guess, Bobby mused.
Perhaps. At least the matter between us is settled. Of your reality at least.“I hope so.” Sheila watched Apollo slip away with a quiet expression of concern, and a murmured “poor kid” before she went back to applying her makeup. A nervous habit, maybe, given the way her smile seemed forced.
“I’m sure she can. The Small Medium at Large has quite the kick.” she looked up at Simon. “...you gonna be okay? Seeing someone you care about back from the dead…it’s..” she went back to applying her lipstick before she murmured “gotta be one hell of a trip.”
"A hell of a trip indeed, Ash-dono!" Simon barked a laugh, and Halblicht found the prosecutor suddenly half draped on their arm. Surprised, they put it around his shoulders to steady him.
"Easy there, sir," Bobby murmured. He was almost overwhelmed himself, tears threatening to spill from his eyes just in sympathy and stress at the whole event, but Robert helped hold on to him.
A regular conga line of emotional support, Robert thought dryly.
“I wouldn’t know. People I watch die? Stay dead.” Ash drawled with a dry laugh and a smirk “...except Kelso, perhaps.”
She snapped her compact shut and shoved it in her pocket. “You look like you’re about to fall over. I could get you a chair…though Detective Prime Time’s doing an admirable job.”
"I'm happy to help in any way that I can, Agent Ash," Bobby promised with a sad smile. "If you'd like to faint, I can happily catch you."
“Very tempting, Prime Time.” She laughed, pushing her hand through her hair with the old wolfish grin “Watch out, I might take you up on it.”
"Thankfully, I have two arms, ma'am!" he saluted with his free one, to demonstrate. Bobby was riding high on the emotional power of his own confirmed reality, and Robert was swimming in the backwash. Too much so to even protest his silly behavior.
Simon came through for him however. "You're ridiculous as always, Fool Bright." He sniffed into the handkerchief. "This is hardly the time for your witless shenanigans."
“Ah, and there goes my classic tv- faint.” Sheila sighed performatively, and instead dropped herself against the wall “I’d say we all earned the right to laugh while we can.”
"Well, our ghost of honor was certainly laughing I suppose," Simon admitted.
"You made it sound like she was always like that," Bobby commented, curious.
"Oh yes. She always had a very dark sense of humor. Perhaps some of it rubbed off on me."
“A woman after my own heart.” Ash put her hand to her chest “she was a big influence on you, Samurai?”
"The biggest of my life," he said. "Especially if you include the film library that she shared with me."
"Ah! So that's where your love of the samurai comes from, Prosecutor Blackquill?" Bobby beamed at him.
"It reinforced the latent urge, I'm sure," he drawled.
“Ahhhh….” Sheila snickered “it awakened the soul of the samurai in yo—-- no I can’t finish that sentence!”
She broke out laughing in another fit as the door to the private room Athena and Metis had entered opened, and a tear-stained but smiling Athena came slowly walking out with the ‘Small Medium at Large’ trailing behind her.
Bobby snapped to a salute. "Ms. Athena! And Ms. Fey– thank you very much for helping us."
"No problem!" Pearl snapped a salute back to him with a little smile, but Bobby could tell that she looked tired.
Do you think channeling a spirit is draining for her, Bobby? I've never noticed a problem like that between you and I– except accounting for the normal level of exhausted you make me.
Aw, Robert! But um, no, it seems like you're right.
"Are the pair of you alright?" Bobby asked.
Athena wiped at her eyes.
“Y-yeah. I just had to get some stuff off my chest. It was nice to speak with her again. She looked over her shoulder. “...thanks Pearl. It meant the world to me.”
"Of course, Miss Athena! Any time!" Pearl chirped out, despite her obvious fatigue.
"We'll have to plan that party for when Aura is out of jail," Simon drawled. He leaned against Bobby's arm, seemingly unconcerned with disentangling himself for now. Bobby certainly wasn't going to push him away.
"So…" the young medium asked. "What's next? Confirming possessions, right?"
“I’d say…” Athena looked at the two of them with a half smile and a wave. She’d gone a little flushed, but seemed, admittedly, happy in their direction.
“That’s right, Small Medium at Large.” Agent Ash purred. “...but you look tired, hon. You think you can push through?”
"I'm okay!" She nodded. "Seeing ghosts doesn't take energy the way that channeling them does. I can just… you know… see them. So as long as you trust my judgment, we're all set!"
Bobby and Robert were not unaware that Pearl had glanced rather significantly in their direction as she spoke.
“After that display? I’ll trust you to the ends of the earth, kid.” Sheila laughed, glancing sidelong at Robert and Bobby. “Do you boys need confirmation? Or should I take Pearl here to lockup?”
“Oh ah…and to Mr. Apollo.” Athena whispered to her– though in the empty hall it was easy to hear.
"Why don't we hear from Ms. Fey– just for the official paperwork, so to speak," Robert said. He glanced between the medium and Simon.
Wait– did she just say Apollo? Bobby blinked internally in surprise– though it may have shown on their face.
So she did.
That's not a joke? But why would he…
"Why not indeed," Simon nodded.
Pearl chewed on her thumb, and nodded. "Uhuh. I can say for sure. I noticed it right away when I came in to breakfast at the hotel this morning. I was gonna ask Miss. Athen about it."
Athena slapped her hands on her cheeks in surprise. “OH! woah, I guess we had the same idea! We were gonna come find you about it…that…”
Simon said nothing, but favored Halblicht with a rather smug smirk
"Thank you for the confirmation, Ms. Fey," Bobby sniffled. "It means a lot."
Athena glanced at them with a muted but genuine smile “...yeah , that makes a lotta sense. And…And for Apollo?”
Pearl chewed on her fingertips.
"Um…Should I wait until–" She paused as Halblicht heard the sound of footsteps coming around the corner.
It was Apollo Justice returning.
His hair's wet, Robert observed.
Maybe staring at his face in the mirror and splashing it, Bobby suggested. I know the feeling.Athena nervously tugged her ponytail with a bright smile his way. “Hey ah…Apollo? Did…did you want to hear what Pearl had to say?”
Apollo shrugged stiffly. His whole body posture was tense. "I already heard the answer from Trucy last night. I don't have any reason to doubt it now."
While Apollo didn't specifically say yes or no, the answer was obvious. If there wasn't a ghost, there was nothing to tell him. But he'd been told. Therefore.
But what ghost?
Robert– it has to be Clay Terran.
Ah.
Halblicht and Apollo's eyes met.
Simon, meanwhile, shifted his posture. "You as well, Mr. Justice?"
Apollo shrugged.
Athena clapped her hands together with a bright smile and an attempt at levity. “Today’s a rare kind of day huh? Possessions popping out of the wordwork, it’s like spirit week! Hah…haha..”
"Yeah, um, it's actually kind of been freaking me out," Pearl murmured, still chewing on her thumb. "It was super weird to see it with Apollo, but then with Mr. Halblicht too? Like, no offense Miss Agent Ash but if I see a third possessed person today, I might do a little scream."
“Whoopsie.” Sheila laughed as she leaned over and rustled Pearl’s hair. “Scream as much as you need to, Small Medium at Large– because I might have a dead agent I need you to ID just over there.” She gestured towards the hall that lead to the holding cells.
Pearl nodded, and rolled up her sleeves. "Lead me to 'em!"
"That does bring up a rather odd question, though," Simon said. "Why so many ghosts? Why these ghosts?"
"Maybe we should confirm Kelso one way or the other before we ask that question," Robert said.
She's got to be possessed though, right? How else would she know all about Kelso?
I have no idea, but I don't like jumping to conclusions.
December 25, 5:45 pm
Only Agent Ash and Pearl went into the cell with the captured asset, and that left Simon standing outside with Athena, Halblicht, and Apollo.
Surrounded by ghosts on all sides. Not what I expected when I started the morning.
He felt a little bad for Athena– he knew his emotions were everywhere, and he was sure that she could sense it. From the joy of the reunion and revelation with Bobby– and Robert– to the accompanying joy and sorrow of the brief reunion with his mentor. To confusion at this newest strange revelation with Apollo.
The girl didn’t look unhappy…she had a small and muted little smile on her face like she’d worn once upon a time…but she did look tired. The emotional bombardment of the day had clearly taken its toll.
She wasn’t projecting as much outward ‘energy’ as she leaned on the wall and watched the door with concern and curiosity.
He couldn't blame her. He didn't know if this day, or the 20th, or that day so many years ago was the most overwhelming day of their lives– but it was a close race no matter which.
They all stood quietly. No one seemed ready to start a conversation, not even Bobby. Perhaps Bobby least of all, for once
There'd be time to talk later. At least Apollo– or Clay, it seemed– hadn't assaulted him again.
Eventually, the cell door opened, and Agent Ash and Pearl Fey emerged.
Pearl held her hands up, and in a very small, deliberately indoor voice, spoke out a scream. "Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!"
“....Oh.” Athena put her hand to her cheek “I guess that answers that question.”
Sheila walked out with a furrowed brow and a forced smile as she let the door slam behind her. She raised her hands up, and echoed the medium’s sentiment with an “Arrrgh’ of her own.
“This is going to be the worst, strangest paperwork of my life��. And I had to write entire fake family trees.”
Simon touched his chin thoughtfully. "Just how does one do the paperwork on this? And I reiterate, why in heaven's name is this happening? Not that I'm complaining."
"I wish I knew," Pearl squeaked.
Athena bit her lip.
“...I can’t speak for Apollo’s situation, but I have a working theory on Halblicht and …ah..” She gestured to the door, “... Kelso24.”
Sheila rubbed her temples. “...whatever’s going on, it’s utter madness. Three ghosts all wrapped up in the same damned interpol investigation. Maybe more! Who knows who else is packing! At least it means Agent Kelso isn’t…gone? But still!”
Pearl nodded. "I'm sorry I don't have much more information. I really only know a lot about ghosts from the perspective of the Kurain tradition. So mostly when it comes to possessed people I only know how to, you know… get rid of them."
"Kindly don't do any of that at this point, Fey-dono," Simon said quickly. He pushed down the sting of panic that accompanied the thought of someone banishing Bobby, now, after everything.
December 25, 5:55 pm
Athena watched Bobby move a reassuring hand to Simon's shoulder as he replied to Pearl.
"Yeah," Apollo murmured in agreement. "Not right now."
“Yeah…” Sheila held her hands up. “I’d rather we don’t. Frankly, I think this whole thing necessitates a change of plans regarding Miss 24.”
Athena bit her lip, her hand going to her chest. She didn’t chime in out loud, but…she couldn’t help but agree with Simon. The thought of banishing the spirits only sent pings of worry and sadness through her muffled emotions.
If nothing else, she was pretty sure the former assets might need them to adapt and heal from their upbringing…and Apollo’s ‘friend’, who she was certain was far closer than that, shouldn’t be parted from him again so soon.
Pearl nodded, dipping into a little bow. "Of course! Um, I get the sense that this isn't your typical case, you know? I just wish I had more insight… if only Mystic Maya were here…."
“Not at all..” Athena gave her a smile. “don’t worry…I think this gave everyone the proof they needed to figure it out, Pearl! You did great!”
“Mystic Maya?” Sheila raised her eyebrow “someone who has more experience with possessions?”
Pearl smiled back at Athena, and answered. "Mystic Maya is my cousin, the future leader of Kurain village and master of the Kurain channeling technique. If anybody would know, she would– but she's in Kura'in finishing her training, so we can't talk to her…."
"That's a shame," Simon murmured. "There isn't anyone else who would know?"
The little medium chewed on her thumb. "Well…"
“Sounds like a real powerhouse…but getting a hold of anyone in Kura’in is a pain. Especially if they’re related to the monastic orders'.' Sheila hummed “there’s someone else?”
Athena gasped, covering her mouth “Woah…and I thought she was just the Boss’ legendary legal aide…the master of a tradition’s a pretty hu–” She cut herself off and looked at Pearl in curiosity.
Pearl poked her fingers together. "I could call your boss' boss, actually, Miss Athena," she murmured. "Miss Mia Fey– Mystic Maya's older sister. I don't know if she would know, because she left the tradition, but it could be worth a try."
"By call– you mean summon, don't you?" Robert asked, raising an eyebrow.
Pearl nodded. "Uhuh."
“Are you feeling well enough to?” Athena asked with genuine concern. “...you seemed pretty worn out after channeling my mom..”
She rubbed the back of her neck, and smiled. "I'm pretty tired, but… if I fall asleep, you'll carry me back to the hotel, right?"
With a salute, Athena flashed a bright smile.
“Promise, Pearly! I’ll carry you right back to your room!” Sheila chuckled “alright. Well, with that settled, let’s meet this Miss Mia Fey, shall we?”
December 25, 5:55 pm
They gathered again in the unfurnished viewing room in a loose circle around Pearl Fey, Simon having suggested that it was perhaps a little too inappropriate to have a seance right out in the middle of the hallway.
Pearl had put her hands together, and once again that strange aura filled the room, challenging Athena's senses.
And then Pearl was gone, and in her place was a tall, handsome woman with a strong face and large, dark eyes. She looked over them each, a catlike smile written on her face, and a sense of deep amusement radiating out from her.
"Well now! This certainly isn't the usual crowd that I play to," she declared. Her gaze lingered on Agent Ash for a long moment.
“Well, well. Today seems to be the day for pretty stiffs. Hello, Miss Fey.” Agent Ash commented with her wolfish grin as she crossed her arms under her chest, and stifled a laugh. “Hope you don’t mind the new audience.”
Athena’s eyes were wide– this was Mia Fey– the woman Phoenix rarely spoke about at the office, but always with hushed reverence. The one who’d told him the very advice that saved her again and again about a lawyer’s smile. Mia Fey, in the borrowed flesh.
“Uhm h-hello, ma’am!” Athena dipped into an awkward bow.
Simon bowed as well, and Bobby saluted.
"The late Ms. Mia Fey, we presume?" Bobby said with a grin,
"In the flesh!" the woman laughed. "Not mine though. Actually– whose flesh am I in? And where's Phoenix Wright? He's in trouble again, isn't he?"
“Oh no, Mr. Birdman is just fine.” Sheila started to cackle again, slapping the wall. “Is he really that accident prone? No wonder the King of Fop’s such an anxious wreck. snrk!!! ” she stifled the laughter and leaned forward. “Miss Fey, you’ve been called for an assessment with your expertise. We have an increasingly unusual situation. So we’ve asked the Small Medium at Large to help.”
Athena rubbed her neck as she attempted to translate for Sheila’s apparent love of snarky nicknames.
“Phoenix is alright, ma’am. We had Pearl summon you ‘cause she didn’t have any experience with the situation at hand…a rash of possessions in a short amount of time…and Mystic Maya is off training in Kura’in. We were hoping that you could explain some of this. Two…four? Of the parties are in this room. The other’s in lockup.”
Mia looked around at the people in the circle, her gaze lingering now on Apollo and on Halblicht. "So I see. Alright, why don't we sit down and you can bring me up to speed."
December 25, 6:10 pm
At the head of the table, Mia Fey had her hands clasped together and her chin rested on them, as everyone had explained the situation. She had been sitting with her eyes closed, taking it all in.
Finally, she opened them and looked around the table. "I see. So there's an international espionage ring that trains its spies through rigorous dehumanization starting in early childhood. We have two of them here– one in this room, and one in lock up– both who have been possessed by the ghosts of the people that they most recently killed. Is that correct so far?"
“That’s right, ma’am.” Athena nodded seriously as she leaned on the table. “Both were possessed, confirmed by Pearl, though I’m not sure the one in lock up realizes it yet. They’re both a little confused from the sound of the interview.”
Sheila tipped her chair back. “...got to love espionage rings.” she said dryly. “fucking people up so hard the dead get involved.”
"I think you'll find that I do not in fact have to love that," Mia murmured.
“Trust me, neither do I."
Mia pointed at Apollo. "And you two aren't part of this spy business, but had known one another for years, correct?"
"Yes, ma'am," Apollo murmured.
"Alright," she nodded. "I think I understand what's going on."
"Pray enlighten the rest of us poor souls," Simon drawled.
Athena leaned forward, listening carefully. She had a theory, herself– and she wondered if perhaps Mia had come to the same conclusion, from the spiritual angle rather than psychological.
The legendary lawyer smiled and shook a finger. "Before I do, do any of the talented problem solvers among you have a guess?"
"The supernatural isn't my forte, unfortunately," Simon confessed. He leaned a little closer to Bobby. "I'll be just as happy to have the mystery revealed for me this time."
Sheila shook her head, hands raised in the air. “I’m not the woman to ask about emotions, spirits, or attachment I’m afraid.”
Athena perked up with a nervous smile, her hand shooting up “I have a guess, ma’am!”
Mia pointed at her. "I like your attitude, red. Give it a shot for me."
“Red???” Athena squeaked “...better than Miss Edutainment at least.”
Sheila began laughing again, slapping the table with her palm, which only made Athena flush more. She pushed her hair out of her face and took a breath before she answered.
“I’m wondering if it’s because of their unique psychological profiles– 24 and Robert, I mean. They’ve had their personalities and emotions crushed since they were children so they could become anyone, anywhere, right? It’s horrible, and it makes me sick, but it also means that they’d be…psychologically and probably spiritually open with enough mental/spiritual real estate for a spirit or personality to take residence. R-right? I’d thought it just meant there was room to create a new personality, but…”
“...What, like they were some kind of spirit-trap?” Sheila asked with a raise of her eyebrow “...that explains why I never got myself possessed, despite factors.”
"Very insightful, Miss Cykes!" Mia clapped. "That's exactly the conclusion that I'd come to. The training they underwent essentially made the soul in their body small enough to accommodate another one no problem, without any of the usual difficulties involved."
Bobby rubbed the back of his neck. "I see… I suppose that does make sense…"
Mia nodded. "If there's a void, a soul can easily rush in to fill it. Especially if there's an intense enough burst of emotions at the time of death."
Athena's eyes widened, and her heart started to race.
“Like a murder-- Kelso’s burst of horror and despair that echoed again when 24 tried to kill herself…and…” She glanced at Bobby and Robert with a bite of her lip. “Thank you, though ma’am. It makes psychological sense, too.”
Sheila whistled “....who knows how many more of your fellows are walking around with confused ghosts in their heads.”
"An interesting possibility," Halblicht murmured, twisting his fingers together. "Both hopeful and grim, too…"
"Indeed," Simon nodded. "What an ironic fate for both parties."
“Very ironic…” Athena chewed her nails. “A killer and a victim sharing a body, and …if Halblicht is any indication, doing all the better for it. I hope…I hope when we find the rest we can help them too. Starting with Kelso and Miss 24.”
Sheila brushed her hair over her ear.
“Sharing space with your victim. Very interesting indeed.” She glanced sidelong at Mia. “You look young. Murder or illness?”
Mia's eyebrows raised. "Murder or illness what, ms. Interpol?"
“Your cause of death, Miss Fey.” Sheila leaned on the back of her hand.
Athena sat up with a start. “Agent Ash! You can’t go around asking people that kind of thing!”
The agent’s gaze turned towards her, the barest note of confusion in her voice. “I’m looking for an opinion from the other side of the veil on the current situation, Miss Edutainment…and I’d like to know if I’m walking into a landmine. So I felt it prudent to ask.”
The deceased lawyer sighed, and fluffed her hair. "I was murdered. But don't worry about it, just say what you want to say or ask what you want to ask."
“I’d thought so,” Ash leaned on her hand. “My question is this– emotionally speaking, do you think Sam Wan Kelso will suffer sharing a body with the woman who killed her? I know it’s seemed to work out for these gentlemen…”
Ash pointed to Bobby and Robert. “But as someone who died at the hands of another, I’m curious about your opinion. And…also, how does possession work? Have you possessed anyone? Can someone possess another down the line, provided they haven’t passed into rebirth?”
Mia pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Oh dear, this is a lot of complicated questions. And I can feel little Pearl getting tuckered out." She sighed and took a breath. "The important question you asked is about Kelso and her killer. I know that I wouldn't have wanted to get stuck in a body with my own killer. But don't worry– possession is voluntary on the part of the spirit. If Kelso doesn't like it, she can leave any time. If you want to learn more about possession in general, there's an excellent library in Kurain village which I am sure you would be welcome to look over."
“...I’ll keep that in mind.” Sheila Ash held her hands up with a smile. “Sorry for overloading you with questions, Miss Fey. Thank you. Knowing Kelso can leave if she’s unhappy does wonders. Last thing I want is to allow someone to be trapped in a situation they can’t escape.”
Athena wondered exactly why Sheila had asked so many questions so quickly– part of it probably had something to do with the rapid fire and complicated emotions that ricocheted through her voice when she’d asked them.
But either way, she shifted nervously on her chair. “Thank you so much for your time, Ma’am! If you’ve gotta rest, we won’t keep you…I know Pearl was worried about falling asleep.”
"Wait just a minute," Apollo– no, it was Clay– said, sitting forward. "That's great for them, but what about us?"
Mia turned toward Athena's fellow lawyer and his spirit companion. She smiled a rather sad smile. "I didn't mean to leave you out. But you've already probably guessed that your situation is different from theirs."
They nodded. "Yeah, I got that sense. So… can you tell me any more about it?"
"Here's the thing. These guys–" she pointed her finger at Bobby and Robert. "These 'assets'-- it seems like they have what you might call 'bonsai' souls. They've been deliberately groomed and cut and shaped so they don't take up much space. That means there's plenty of room for a full sized soul to move in and share space without disrupting the bonsai. But you, Misters, have two regular full sized souls in you right now."
Athena got the sense from Mia's voice that that was going to be a problem.
“...and a container only has so much space.” Athena murmured quietly, her brow furrowed. “...which is why they’ve been so erratic? Maybe?”
Sheila listened with her fingers against her forehead. “...he’s not going to explode like this was some 80’s horror flick, is he?”
"Nothing so dramatic," Mia promised and waved her hand. "Have you ever seen what happens to two trees when you try to grow them in a tight space? Provided there's adequate sustenance for both?"
"They grow together," Simon said.
"They grow together," Mia nodded. "The two plants twist around one another and grow so closely and tightly as to become inseparable– even indistinguishable from one another, as if they had been one all along. And that, my dears, is what will happen to the two of you if you remain as you are."
Apollo and Clay had gone pale. "How long? How much time do I have?"
She shrugged. "It's impossible to say. A year, perhaps. Maybe two."
Athena bit her lip. “...a mingling of spirits into one. I …I guess that makes a lot of sense, doesn’t it?”
She glanced at Apollo, her brow furrowed as she thought of him and Clay. A short fuse had been placed on them, a timer ticking down to decide if they had to have their final parting…or…
Sheila brushed her fingers through the strands of her pale hair. “...huh.”
"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, hon," Mia said with a sad little smile. "But that's the way it is. There aren't too many ways out there to cheat death, you know."
The two took a breath. "I understand. Thank you for telling me. I–we'll figure it out. That's all we needed to know."
Athena gave them a sympathetic look and a halfhearted smile “I believe in you guys…”
“Not many ways to cheat death…” Sheila laughed, slapping her table. “Yeah, guess not, Miss Faerie Tale. “
"Sorry, Ms. Interpol," Mia chuckled sadly again. "If that's all you needed from me, then I'll say good luck, and get back to my busy schedule."
Halblicht shook his head. "No other questions from us, here."
“Busy Schedule? and here Cykes Sr. Made it sound like death was the waiting room from hell!” Sheila laughed. She saluted Mia with a grin that Athena thought looked rather forced. “Thanks. Good luck to you too, Faerie Tale. No further questions.”
Athena waved quietly at her with a smile.
“It was nice to meet you, ma’am. Phoenix talks about you a lot, so… She bowed her head “I hope I get to speak with you again someday. Good luck.”
"Knowing Phoenix, I'm sure we will, red. Tell him hello for me, will you?" She blew a kiss to the table, and then– was gone.
Pearl Fey slumped exhausted onto her arms against the table. "Oooh….."
Athena’s concern immediately reasserted itself and she hurried over to put her hand on Pearl’s back. “You alright, Pearl? That probably took a lot out of you..”
"I'm okay!" she said, raising her head a little and giving a shaky thumbs up. "Did Miss Mia help?"
Bobby was already out of his chair, and he saluted the little medium. "She helped a great deal, Miss Fey. Is there anything we can do to help you?"
"Oh good! I want some juice," Pearl said. She giggled exhaustively and returned his salute. Athena could feel pride radiating from her. "And a looooong nap."
"You've more than earned both, Fey-dono," Simon nodded.
Athena nodded with a broad grin “the best juice in Cauli, even.” she playfully punched her shoulder “i’ll even carry you if you still want.”
Sheila laughed and slapped the table “bravo, Small Medium. You really were at Large today. Nickname earned. I’ll have Lang grab you an honorary badge for your service to Interpol today.”
Pearl found the strength to sit up at that. "Really? That would be so cool! Ooohg…" With a dizzy look she leaned against Athena's hand.
“Really.” Agent Ash purred, and pulled out her phone. She typed a message and winked “...sent. Stop in before you leave Cauli and I’ll ensure you get it.”
Athena rubbed her back with a chuckle. “Yeah Pearl… I’m definitely gonna carry you.”
#pearl fey#mia fey#apollo justice#athena cykes#bobby fulbright#simon blackquill#ema skye#trucy wright#blackbright#phantomquill#ace attorney#fanfiction#fanfic#fan fiction#archive of our own#ao3#fic: in justice we trust
7 notes
·
View notes
Note
hello courtney, incoming with a hyper-specific and random ask: do you have a signature scent/favourite perfume? if so, what is it <3 if alternatively/in addition, what is your favourite candle/home fragrance scent?
Lola my love, you could not possibly have known this about me, but this is one of my favorite topics ever.
I’ve been wearing the fine perfume oils of @blackphoenixalchemylab since 2004 (hilariously enough, the same year I started writing!). My stash is ridiculously huge, like hundreds of bottles, and indeed, I do have ones that are almost twenty years old — one of the fantastic things about oils is that they age, and change, and get better with time, like fine wine. Sometimes I think my oil chest is the thing I’d grab from a fire, second only to my cat.
The best thing about BPAL, though, is that it’s so dependent on skin chemistry. The exact same blend can smell wildly different on everyone. It does mean that I have death notes — honey, for instance, however lovely it may smell in the bottle, smells exactly like cat pee on me. There’s exactly one blend with a honey note that I can actually wear, Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife, and even then, there’s a solid ten minutes of drydown time when I smell like a walking litter box. But nothing demonstrates the power of skin chemistry better than this review of Jingo-Kogo v6. (Don’t drink anything while you read.)
I have a whole list of Holy Grail blends, but my biggest one is probably an old April Fools’ Day blend called Monster Bait: Underpants. It’s a slightly sweet gourmand with whiffs of saffron and a sandalwood base, and it smells delicious but not like food. It’s kind of a special occasion wear, though, since it was literally only available for one day and I only have so much. My everyday blend at the moment wavers between one of this year’s Yules, Lavender Earl Grey Cookies, one of the old Amanda Palmer collabs, Cupcake Splatter Pattern Analysis, and a long lost Pickman Gallery blend, Undine Comes Into the House of the Fishermen.
I highly recommend BPAL to pretty much any and everyone I meet (poor @hoko-onchi-writes can testify to this). Their catalog is massive. They partner with awesome people for awesome collabs inspired by their work, Mark Waid and Peter S. Beagle and probably most notably Neil Gaiman — there’s a licensed perfume line for all his greatest hits. There’s a healthy helping of nostalgia — childhood tales, the aforementioned Beagle line for “The Last Unicorn,” even a line for The Fraggles. And all of it is absolutely magical. Beth's ability to capture imagery and concepts and feelings in a bottle is simply mind-boggling and must be smelled to be believed. I mean, they were commissioned to do a blend for the Smurf movie premiere, and I swear the best way to describe Smurf Essence is that it smells blue. They also support worthy causes far and wide (and loudly and proudly), so be sure to check out their full and fabulous line of activism perfume.
Wow, that was a lot. Sorry. 🤣
(My candle answer is much shorter! In general, I love love love cashmere blends, but my favorite candle ever is Archipelago Botanicals’ Black Forest. Especially this time of year.)
7 notes
·
View notes
Note
"Professor?" For a moment, it almost seemed like Lambert had exited the maze covered in blood and colorful bruises, but upon closer inspection, it seems more like... makeup?
Added to the screaming and... flying well over the walls of the maze they'd seen earlier, along with the boom of explosives, and the picture one constructs in their mind is alarming indeed.
"...What happened in there?" Andrei asks, almost afraid to know the answer.
Lambert had been a fool to think the Goddess would punish him with eternal flames for defying her fate. Because it was too obvious- a life of difficulty, disease, misery, wrapped up by a painful and lonely death lest he used his stolen years of life and devoted them to penitence to make up for his act of heresy in going against her word. The Goddess was a creative maiden, she wouldn’t make him face a trial so stale, no.
Sent to a maze partnered with Valter, forced into a circus tent by a team of clowns who quickly painted his face and adorned his self to follow their image, shoved into a cannon that was controlled by Valter of all people- spun so many times he began to wonder if his soul would peel off his body, shot out of said cannon into another cannon, spun again, and then finally shot into the ground. Left looking like a beat up circus varmint as it dragged itself out of whatever demented den it called home, covered in soot head to toe.
With a very real chance that other people saw all. That Andrei saw it all.
Now that was divine punishment right there.
“The horrors.” He didn’t detail any further than that. The feeling of humiliation had blended itself with ridiculousness. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to shed tears, lash out in anger, hide, laugh his ass off, all four or a secret fifth option.
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
Let's (re)Read The Dragon Reborn! Chapter 32: The First Ship
Not pictured: The Gray Gull. Deal with it. Also, deal with lots and lots of spoilers.
A new icon! The waves icon is primarily associated with the Sea Folk and with sea travel in general, so naturally it debuts on a river journey.
The vessel was larger than most Mat could see, between fifteen and twenty spans from sharp bow to squared stern, with a flat, railed deck almost level with the wharf. The important thing was that it was casting off.
More luck on Mat's part, both that there's a ship immediately leaving and that it's good enough for boarding. He's often not quite aware of these lucky breaks. I think it's because he's used to them.
“I never saw such a thing in my life. Why would the Tower say you couldn’t go, then give you . . . that?”
Obviously it's because it's so urgent that he go that they don't want anyone to argue with it! It's actually a pretty believable story, though Mat relies more on the Amyrlin's authority than the plausibility.
Thom Merrilin hoisted himself up on the railing with another curse, and climbed over onto the deck. “I lost my stick,” he muttered. “I’ll want another.”
Let's see if Mat does indeed help Thom get a new stick. I don't remember and frankly with what happened with the stick last book I have little hopes of long-term stickage.
Mat waved the Amyrlin’s paper toward the bearded man—the captain, he supposed—with one hand, and fished a gold crown out of his pouch with the other, taking care even in his haste that the fellow saw there were more where that came from.
I do somewhat wonder where Mat got so good at these performative lies. Obviously part of it is just his childhood, but the nonsense you'd try to get away with in Emond's Field is a lot lower tier than this stuff, you know what I mean?
—he wished he had his quarterstaff in hand. He could see it lying where it had landed, further down the deck.
I'm gonna call this luck too, I think if Mat had looked too threatening he probably wouldn't have gotten as far.
“That is ridiculous!” Thom snapped. “I don’t care what the war has done downriver, that is ridiculous!”
It's ridiculous, but it's your fault anyway Thom. It's especially interesting that he's not really contributing to this social situation; he might know Mat's got something up his sleeve and be deliberately playing the fool, but I'm not sure how likely that is.
“As you may have noticed, Captain, I am a gleeman.” Even in the open air, his voice suddenly seemed to echo. “For the price of our passages, I would be more than glad to entertain your passengers and your crew—”
More of Thom not actually managing to help at all, and stuff like this is why "playing the fool" doesn't seem quite right. Maybe he's just really out of practice from being drunk.
“For ten crowns, you can take my cabin, and my meals, and I’ll move in with the passengers and eat with the crew. Burn my soul, I will! By the Stone, I swear it! For ten gold crowns. . . .” Laughter choked off anything else.
On the other hand, thinking the pair are ineffectual fools definitely sets up this captain for the misery he's signing up for.
“I am no lord.” Mat laughed.
Another running gag begins. This time Mat says it truly, but we all know how that ends for him.
While the captain cleared his things from his cabin—it ran the width of the stern, with its bed and all of its furnishings built into the walls except two chairs and a few chests—and saw that Mat and Thom were settled, Mat learned a great deal, beginning with the fact that the man would not be pushing any passengers out of their quarters. He had too much respect for the coin they had paid, if not for them, to allow that. The captain would take his first’s cabin, and that officer would take the second’s bed, pushing each lower man down till the deckmaster would end sleeping up in the bow with the crew.
So at least the captain is just a bit of jerk and not a total asshole.
It was obvious to Mallia something was afoot between Caemlyn and Tar Valon. And Mat and Thom were messengers—for Morgase, he thought, by Mat’s accent. Anything he could do to help in so great an enterprise would be his pleasure, not that he meant to poke where he was not wanted.
He's not even wrong! Something is afoot between Caemlyn and Tar Valon and Mat and Thom are messengers for Elayne to Morgase. Of course, whatever he ends up sharing with the world will end up being entirely distorted.
Mayene received his greatest contempt. “Even less a country than Murandy is. One city and a few leagues of land. They underprice the oil from our good Tairen olives just because their ships know how to find the oilfish shoals. They’ve no right to be a country at all.”
This might be the first real mention of Mayene, though it's been on the maps the whole time. Jordan's definitely setting things up for Berelain to come into play now that the narrative's moving towards her stomping grounds.
The High Lords ruled Tear together, reaching decisions in concert, and that was how things should be. The High Lords knew what was right and good and true. Especially the High Lord Samon. No man could go wrong obeying the High Lords. Especially the High Lord Samon.
How long has Be'lal been free that a random trader from Tear is already able to praise him? Did he escape during the lost time of the Portal Stone?
The High Lord Samon said the Aes Sedai meant to rule the world. Samon said they meant to crush every nation, put their foot on every man’s throat. Samon said Tear could no longer hold the Power out of its own lands and believe that was enough.
Ironic of course, in that Samon is the Power come into Tear. The only reason that the High Lords were able to keep channelers out of their lands so long is that the Tower didn't want to rule! Once someone who wanted to rule showed up, everything's heading towards a crisis and no one even knows.
That is . . . that’s what he says. I . . . I think that may be going too far, myself. The High Lord Samon. . . . He speaks so that he carries a man beyond his own beliefs. If Caemlyn can make covenants with the Tower, why, so can Tear.” He shivered and did not seem to know it. “That is what I say.”
Presumably Mallia was present for a speech that Be'lal gave directly and the whole crowd was pulled under his sway without knowing. Horrifying stuff really, and another bit of potential evidence that the AoL can't REALLY have been the utopia that they thought it was at the time.
I know the names of the kings and queens, boy, and the names of all the High Lords of Tear, too. I suppose they could have raised a Lord of the Land, but I’d think I would have heard of the old High Lord dying.
Thom's quite right that Samon's ascension is out of nowhere, but he's spent the last few months in a drunken haze so it makes sense that he missed the memo.
He was going to have to put up with Thom’s snoring, and truth to tell, it might not have been the best luck in the world to jump onto this particular ship waving a paper signed by the Amyrlin Seat and sealed with the Flame of Tar Valon.
It probably was, as if Mat had tarried, the dockmaster would have called for an Aes Sedai and things would have gotten ugly.
“I am carrying a letter to Morgase for Elayne, Thom,” Mat said a good deal more patiently than he felt. “Nynaeve gave me the paper. I don’t know where she got it.”
You can't blame Thom for not trusting Mat's explanations after what little of Mat's behavior he's seen, but damn if it's not frustrating that Mat is actually good at communication out of all the good guys and no one believes a word he says.
“ ‘Please carry a letter to my mother, Mat,’ ” he said softly, in a high-pitched, mocking voice. “Fool! The Amyrlin would have sent a Warder with any letter from the Daughter-Heir to the Queen. Blind fool, wanting to get out of the Tower so bad I couldn’t see it.”
Well, this part is true, but I hold that it's lucky for Mat that he didn't think things through or he'd still be in Tar Valon right now.
Thom grunted, smacked his lips, and resumed snoring.
Yeah, I'm definitely going with, "Being a drunken mess for half a year got Thom out of practice."
Mat stood there, staring down at them. Two men. No, burn me, three! I don’t think I ever hurt another human being before, and now I’ve killed three men in one night. Light!
And don't forget how close you were to killing Galad! Of course, Mat recovers from all of this shock very quickly.
“I hope he squealed when you cut his throat.” The heavily accented voice was one Mat remembered calling from the mouth of a twisting street in Tar Valon.
Another reason Mat was smart to leave as soon as possible, just saying. His pursuers are quite well-organized to be keeping up with him this far.
“You were lucky, boy. One of those below had this lantern. Could have set the ship on fire, lying there.” The light showed a knife hilt sticking up from the chest of a man with dead, staring eyes. Mat had never seen him before; he was sure he would have remembered someone with that many scars on his face. Thom kicked a dagger away from the dead man’s outflung hand, then bent to retrieve his own knife, wiping the blade on the corpse’s cloak. “Very lucky, boy. Very lucky indeed.”
Perhaps Thom will believe Mat now, but he's really probably just doing an ironic echo, the jerkface. At least he's being useful again.
“Fools,” Thom muttered. “The river narrows somewhat after Tar Valon, but it must still be half a mile or more wide here. They’ll never make it in the dark.”
And thus Mat has killed these dudes too but doesn't have to feel guilty about it.
Mat stumbled down the ladder, stepped over the two bodies in the passage, and slammed the door of the captain’s cabin behind him. He made it halfway to the bed before the shaking hit him, and then all he could do was sink down on his knees.
Ah, the adrenaline was just keeping Mat going. Poor kid.
How many days ago was that? Were there really so many, or did I imagine it? Every woman in the village deciding to marry at once? What was its name? Am I going mad already?
Sleep deprivation is doing WONDERS for Rand. He's not going mad already, he's just spent ages now on a cross-continent jaunt witohut sleep.
Min had walked his dreams one night—and tried to plant a knife in his back. He was still surprised at how much that had pained him. He had been careless, let her come close, let down his guard. Around Min, he had not felt any need to be on his guard in so long, despite the things she saw when she looked at him. Being with her had been like having balm soothed into his wounds.
Rand's hyper-real dream experiences are doing a great deal of the work for his relationship to a gal he's met twice now.
That was always in his dreams. Always. And taunting faces. Hands, pushing Egwene, and Nynaeve, and Elayne into cages, snaring them in nets, hurting them. Why should he weep more for Elayne than for the other two?
Be'lal is working in the physical world, Lanfear in the mental one, and of course she's accidentally laying the groundwork for another of Rand's relationships at the same time. Every bad guy in this story is so self-defeating.
Next time: Remember Perrin? He's still alive!
#let's read#wheel of time#wot#robert jordan#wheel of time spoilers#wot spoilers#mat cauthon#thom merrilin#huan mallia#sanor#rand al'thor
6 notes
·
View notes