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dawn-til-duskk · 19 days ago

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Kaeya Ragnvindr: A Headcanon Post

This is the second draft of this post that I've made because I tried to give detailed explanations of everything but it was like borderline unreadable with how many words there were so this time you get no explanations. Bare minimum context, just the headcanons (watch me still word vomit like 6k words). I did try to organize it by topic though.

also disclaimer: I probably can't claim some of these hcs as strictly original because many of these have been developed via unholy amounts of yapping with @applesandcecilia about this man so some of her ideas have probably leaked into this but it's too hard to say what's what anymore just know she's involved but I also don't speak for her so formally these are mostly mine EXCEPT for these first few ones about his maternal family she came up with the names and helped develop them for our siren AU and I have once again usurped them for canon (much like my Fatui Crepus post)

He's basically my OC at this point I love him.

ANYWAYS in honor of Kaeya's 5.6 return and just in case they do something wild with him that I dislike I present to you: my main Kaeya headcanons

Kaeya's Bio Family

Kaeya's mother, Arushi, was an adventurer from Sumeru who, after heading out on her own as a young adult, fell in love with Kaeya's father, and mistakenly wound up in a severely toxic marriage.

I'm not even going to attempt to theorize about who Kaeya's father is or how he escaped the curse or whatever, but I am firmly in the Kaeya's Dad Sucked camp. He likely hid everything about the Abyss/who he was until she became pregnant with Kaeya and then effectively kidnapped her in order to start preparing whatever plan it is that makes Kaeya "Khaenri'ah's last hope"

Kaeya doesn't remember much about his early childhood. He remembers pieces of Arushi, the fact that he would sneak into her (separate) bedroom whenever he had a nightmare, how kind and gentle she always was with him, her stories about his pirate grandfather, but most of it he truly can't remember, not that he would want to. His father was strict and tried to limit his bond with Arushi as much as possible, so most of the parenting was done under his cruel hand.

After Kaeya's father abandoned him in Mondstadt, Arushi was told that Kaeya had died in an accident. Though the grief was overwhelming, she continued with the escape plan she was developing for her and Kaeya and managed to return back to her family in Sumeru a few years later.

Arushi's parents are Deesha and Aroush, and Aroush was in fact a pirate (more of the adventurous finding lost treasures type, not the plundering type), though probably not quite as mystical as the stories Kaeya makes up in his story quest. He gave Arushi his "lucky" eyepatch when she left, and she passed it on as a gift to Kaeya, which is part of why he became so attached to it.

I am a heterochromic one gold eye Kaeya believer, and while it doesn't strictly make sense for Khaenri'ahns to have gold eyes in canon, I imagine it either came from his father or is somehow related to the Abyss (I don't hc the full black sclera situation, just a gold iris) which is why he enjoyed wearing the eyepatch at various points in his life before his injury.

Arrival in Mondstadt/Childhood

Much like Arushi, Kaeya was also given a false story when he was brought to Mondstadt, but rather than being told she was dead, he was told she had abandoned/no longer wanted him, which is why he never really tried to seek out his grandparents. He may have been considering it when he did the stowaway trip to Sumeru, but I imagine that trip was a spur of the moment decision that just kind of came out of a lot of emotional turmoil. In true kid fashion, I don't think he really knew what he wanted to do there, he just knew Khaenri'ah was near there and he had family there, and maybe hoped he'd suddenly be found by a relative who would tell him that they wanted and loved him and that he hadn't actually been abandoned.

(Crepus would have sought out Arushi and her family if he knew, if for nothing else than to chew her out for what he thought had occurred, but Kaeya never told him about them. When Crepus brought him back from Sumeru the explanation he got came through a blubbering mess of tears and he was more focused on expressing to Kaeya how much he loved him, and afterwards tried not to discuss it again with him because it was clearly a difficult subject)

(And yes I do headcanon that one day as an adult someone tells him he looks like he belongs to this one Sumeran family and after some angsting finds them and reunites with Arushi and gets the real story but that's not super relevant to this post)

As for the "Khaenri'ah's Last Hope" thing, I don't think that Kaeya was told much else beyond that. He knows he's there for a reason (personally I think there's something about the Loom of Fate that requires an Alberich for one reason or another but that's a theory for another time), but he doesn't actually know what the mission is. His father certainly made it sound like a spy situation ("don't draw attention to yourself, just blend in and make them like you"), but no one ever came asking for updates or with further instructions. Of course Kaeya, the poor anxiety ridden child he was (and still is), still considered this something to be guilty for, and it takes a lot of convincing from several people as an adult to get him to see that he was just a child and therefore innocent.

Kaeya was only 7 when he was left at the winery, and Diluc was 8 (they're 7 months apart, Kae arrived in the middle of summer)

Kaeya started having panic attacks at a very young age, typically brought on by thunderstorms. The only thing that could calm him down was curling up by the fireplace next to Luc who would stroke his hair (something Crepus always did to calm Luc himself down), and eventually, once he grew to trust Crepus, his new dad sitting by softly singing Greensleeves (which I hc as a children's lullaby that probably goes by a different name in canon) to him.

The first time Kaeya showed he fully trusted Crepus was when, instead of crawling into Luc's bed after a nightmare, he went into Crepus' room instead (and totally didn't make Crepus ugly cry nope definitely not)

Speaking of sharing a bed with Luc, Kaeya sleeps like a rock as a result of frequently doing that for several years as a kid (Diluc snores like a freight train)

Teenage Years/Development of His Adult Personality

This is probably an unpopular headcanon, but I actually don't think Kaeya's adult personality came after the fight with Diluc, nor do I believe it's all a facade. Though it was mostly unintentional, I believe Kaeya's personality came from Crepus (Diluc takes more after his late mother).

I hc that Crepus was a lot like the Kaeya we see in-game; a little cocky, charming and flirty (though not nearly as suave as Kaeya), a bit of a self-proclaimed fashionista, and a fan of pushing the limits and getting on people's nerves.

As is often the case with teenagers, the once rambunctious and mischievous Diluc slowly grew into a more reserved and introverted (dare I say nerdy too) and he was definitely the pinnacle of Awkward Teenager, and as the result of what was probably a subconscious need to balance him out, Kaeya became more outgoing and stereotypically "cool". Upon discovering he had quite the silver tongue, Kaeya became the bigger troublemaker between them, rather overconfident in his abilities to talk them out of anything, often leaving Jean to drag them out of trouble.

After the fight with Diluc and taking over the role of Calvary Captain, Kaeya did develop a mask, but it's not a total facade. Instead of the free-spirited attitude of his teenage years, his charm and cavalier nature gained a more guarded and calculated layer. His flamboyant theater-kid energy was reigned in to become more selectively displayed. Everything about him became tailored to let people see what he wanted them to see when he wanted them to see it. And then of course, there came the appearances.

One of the primary changes after his fight with Diluc was that Kaeya became a control freak. Not overtly, and not about everything, but in some very impactful ways. Feeling like his life was (once again) slipping through his fingers, he scrambled for things to hold onto, and found it in unexpected places.

First, it was his clothing. To be honest, he's not entirely sure for himself how that started. It had mostly been something of a joke, purchasing something ridiculous to reflect how out of control everything felt, and somehow it had suited him. And there was something cathartic about planning out every small detail of every outfit he donned, making sure everything looked just right. The flashiness was practical too, giving him an eccentric air that drew people in, making them easier to sway in whatever direction he desired.

The skincare came of necessity. His skin had been dry to begin with, and the side effects of his new vision had just made things worse. He hadn't planned on branching out beyond a simple lotion or cream, but the woman at the beauty store Lisa had recommended to him was so enthusiastic and well-meaning, he found himself inclined to let her sell him on some other extraneous items. It seemed rather trivial, considering he couldn't be bothered to take care of himself in more important matters (eating, sleeping regularly, drinking anything other than alcohol), but something about the rigid routine of slathering a dozen different products on his face kept him sane even on the worst days.

The makeup, however, surprised even Kaeya himself. Befriending a group of mercenaries hadn't exactly been on his bucket list, but it seemed that once you had earned their respect, there was no turning back. Dehya, apparently deciding she was now his big sister of sorts, had scolded him for his lack of eye protection, and soon enough he found himself sitting in front of a mirror being taught the ways of Eremite makeup. Though it had practical use for the desert, its aesthetic purposes intrigued him, and it was certainly a more entertaining activity than staring at the empty walls of his house on lonely nights he didn't feel like being in the tavern.

Also, the rattail is NOT canon get that out of my face my man has luxurious L'Oreal model hair. Particularly a wavy hair texture (for all my Kaeya appearance headcanons, just look at @applesandcecilia's art her Kaeya is my favorite). He's also very meticulous about his haircare, though that's partially also out of necessity because wavy/curly hair is a pain in the butt.

And for the love of all that is good in this world Kaeya is NOT a womanizer/playboy/whatever other term you want to use. I don't typically openly criticize other people's headcanons because everyone is entitled to their own opinions, but this is a subject I don't play around with. That man drinks his respect women juice on a daily basis. He may flirt and charm to get what he wants out of someone, but messing with someone's emotions on such a deep level is entirely off limits.

Beyond that, I don't even believe Kaeya is capable of dating/sleeping around because that man is afraid of all forms of intimacy and you cannot convince me otherwise. He is the king of trying to forcibly hold people at arm's length and seems to fight off all urges to want to connect with someone on any kind of deeper level both platonically or romantically. If he does ever reach the point of letting some of that guard down, it would be over a length of time and definitely not with just anyone.

Additional Misc Adult Headcanons

Because of his struggles about choosing between Khaenri'ah and Mondstadt, Kaeya is most drawn towards people with strong opinions and enjoys surrounding himself with them (including Jean and Diluc). He likes sparking debates and playing Devil's Advocate to see how these people's minds work. For him, winning a debate isn't about proving his side right, as he typically doesn't care about the side he's chosen. His goal is to get the other person to either admit they're wrong or admit that there is no clear right or wrong side, which fuels his inner turmoil and justifying his inability to choose.

So in a way, there's a part of him that enjoys losing debates of that kind, because I believe that deep down he's already chosen Mondstadt, he's just afraid of the consequences of "betraying" Khaenri'ah. People with strong convictions give him hope that it is possible to choose something so impactful and be willing to face whatever that decision brings.

I won't get into all my headcanons about the Ragbros and their reconciliation bc that's a whole separate post, but I thoroughly believe that after Kaeya and Diluc finally talk things out and begin the process of restoring their relationship, Kaeya goes sober. Nothing delights me more than taking away Kaeya's alcoholism (STOP romanticizing it in all of your characters hoyo it's not cute).

Also-- and I'm aware this can be very controversial topic in the Ragbros community, this is just my opinion-- Kaeya takes the Ragnvindr name again once he's comfortable with Diluc again (hence the title of this post). I believe Kaeya was officially adopted and by choice grew up as a Ragnvindr (in all honesty I don't think Kaeya ever told anyone his last name was Alberich until he renounced the Ragnvindr name after the fight, but either way Crepus would have let him choose whether he wanted to call himself a Ragnvindr or not).

Kaeya had wanted to change back the moment he got his first hug from Diluc since the fight, but was too afraid to ask if that would be welcome. It wasn't until Diluc himself (knowing what Kaeya's father had been like) hesitantly asked why he was keeping the Alberich name that Kaeya explained and was reassured that he had every right to the name.

After building back his relationship with Diluc, Kaeya had to scramble to fake decorate his apartment/condo/house/whatever he lives in. After having to get his own place after the fight, it never really felt like home. There seemed to be no reason to make it comfortable because to him it was simply a waiting place. Waiting for what, he didn't know, considering he wasn't expecting to ever reconcile with Diluc. Perhaps he thought that at any given moment the Abyss would show its ugly face and come finish off the job of ruining his life, so there was no point in settling down.

When Diluc suggested crashing with him after vigilante activities, Kaeya realized he had to make sure Luc never found out about how he really lived. Every time Luc goes over, he gets the feeling that there's something off about the artwork and lamps and other miscellaneous "homey" things, but he's never brave enough to confront Kaeya about it.

Kaeya is also an Actual Disney Princess. It's unclear why (probably a Ragnvindr trait, Luc has the same issue) but most small animals absolutely adore him. If he took a nap in an open field, he would wake up surrounded by cute little critters. Stray cats in particular adore him, and if he thought he was responsible enough to take care of them he would probably have a whole house full (he settles for sparing some treats and scritches whenever he can)

TL;DR: Kaeya is the love of my life I cannot summarize all those thoughts but if there's one thing I want you to take away it's that his primary coping mechanism is being a Diva that is all thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

#aurora's ramblings #genshin impact #genshin kaeya #ragbros #kaeya ragnvindr #kaeya alberich #genshin headcanons

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dance-bones · 1 year ago

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Make a mistake

Leone Abbacchio×female!reader

Warnings:Mention of blood, fluff, not NSFW

Meow Meow something else

If you want something let me know

A lot can be expected in life. People run into each other on the street every day and make acquaintances. It was just an accident. Or you can specially approach and find out what kind of man this is and why you liked him. In general, there are spontaneous meetings, there are planned meetings. But both there and there unusual situations happen, which are amazing how they exist in the real world.

What happened? Well..

You were strolling through the warm Naples, enjoying your weekend. Your hair was braided and the light played on it, creating a sheen of gold. Your pink collared suit brightened up your day, pleasing the eye.

And everything is fine!

You were passing by shops when your eye was caught by something in the window and you stopped to get a better look at it.

Your gaze and thoughts were completely focused on the item and its price tag. And your forehead leaned against the glass to get a closer look at her.

That's when everything happens..

Suddenly, a hand hits the back of your head, as you could feel a couple of seconds later, after a slap on the back of the head. The inertia of the impact hits you painfully against the glass, fortunately the glass is fine, but not you. Oh, you seem to have broken your nose.

Holding onto a sore part of the body, you hear a characteristic hoarse giggle. It's vicious and a little muffled because its owner covers his mouth with his hand.

- Take it out, Giorno Giovanna! Well, how does the showcase taste?

The laughter continues. You squint in pain, but soon open your already watery eyes and look at the culprit of your pain.

There was a tall man in front of you, about 20 years old, but because of his expression, you could have given him a little more. His elongated face has light cheekbones, eyebrows are drawn together, despite the obvious gloating on his face, and a wide hand with a thin wrist covers a malicious smile. But even so, a small part of the lower lip peeks out from under the fingers, covered with dark purple lipstick, which looks very high-quality and expensive. Ash-silver hair falls to her shoulders, pointed and turned up at the ends, as if they are reaching for the sun. And on top of the head rests a five-pointed lilac cap, which looks more like a head mat than a hat, and it will never fall. His body itself is good, but complicated and pumped up, which is visible through clothes as dark as lipstick. And the V-neck only highlights his tanned chest.

Finally, after a few minutes of such a good, excellent laugh at his action, the man opens his eyes, showing a yellow-purple iris. His gaze pierces you, but after a few moments of looking at your face, the man's pupils narrow and he retreats, saying more to himself than to you.

- You're not Giorno...

Meanwhile, you stand in front of him, holding your nose and hissing in pain, while scarlet blood drips onto the asphalt. Yes, you definitely broke your nose, but at least for the showcase.

- Oh, my God...

The man leans closer and takes your chin, lifting it up to better examine your face and make sure that he has confused you with someone else.

You don't move, because to look at this man and not realize that he can easily break your neck with his hand is just impossible stupidity.

He examines your nose and his face darkens. He lets you go and turns away. He is definitely ashamed, embarrassed and ashamed. The man speaks again with the same hoarseness. His voice is low.

- I'm sorry, miss. I confused you with mine...an acquaintance.

You can see him handing you a handkerchief. Of course you take it and wipe the blood away. At least something. But you still seem to be in a good mood.

- It's scary to imagine what this friend has done to you, that you hope to attach it to the showcase.

The man snorts indignantly, but the corners of his lips twitch in a faint grin. He shrugs his shoulders.

- Nothing like that. He just annoys me.

A man's eyes analyze your face a bit before he starts whispering low. There is a bit of excitement in his voice.

- Did I hit you hard? Does it hurt?

You just shake your head lazily.

- Don't worry, I won't die from this.

Your words make him grin.

- Good mood, for someone who got a good slap on the back of the head a couple of minutes ago.

His hands go into his pockets and he leans against the wall, although his eyes are still fixed on you.

"Can I buy you something to make amends?" You know, even a sullen person like me will have a guilty conscience for treating an innocent lady like that.

Your eyes are a little darting, trying not to look into his piercing eyes. Nevertheless, you laugh at his conceit.

- Well, I think a cup of good, delicious tea will allow me to relax and I'll forgive you, so be it.

The man leans towards you to be on the same level and grunts, showing white teeth. He clearly enjoys communicating with you, especially as you easily fend off his slightly sarcastic teasing.

- Oh, well, if I get your forgiveness, then of course. My name is Leone Abbacchio, and since I've introduced myself, could you please share your name?

You giggle at his feigned politeness, but you don't mind at all.

- Y/n. Now, why don't we go?

Abbakio nods easily and begins to walk with measured steps to the nearest cafe.

- Of course, miss Y/n, the lady I attached to the window.

Another laugh falls from your lips.

- You know, this is an original way to get to know each other, don't you think?

His gaze goes to the sky for a second as his lips curl into a smile.

- Yes, I think it's unusual. I wonder what was the chance of such a meeting? Well, I'd say zero. Still, it's too funny to be true. Although, we've met and... we've already met, so it's not so unrealistic.

While you both go to the cafe. Leone Abbaquio is willy-nilly thinking about this situation. Yes, this is a really strange way for two people to get to know each other, but it seems that fate can create other situations....Fate! Maybe Abbacchio met his fate in such a stupid situation? But who's to say he didn't like it? And who said he didn't like you? Even if you looked like Giorno Giovanna, there was still something that stood out, something that Leone could say he loved before he realized it.

#jjba #jjba x reader #jojo #jjba part 5 #leone abbacchio #jjba abbacchio #leone abbacchio × reader #Abbacchio×reader

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giftsightarc · 1 year ago

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@proofwhisky gets a plotted starter

FOR ALL THE YEARS PAMELA BARNES HAD DREMT OF THOMAS SHELBY she'd never once been given the slightest inkling of how or where to find him. She'd witnessed him at war where he'd lost comrades and brethren. She'd been given glimpses of his family: a litter of brothers and a single aunt-- of whom she recognized. Elizabeth, known to others as Polly : a short form Pamela was never quite fond of-- she was never really keen on referring to others by disrespecting their proper name. To Pamela, you were named what you were named for a reason and to shorten such a thing was a bastardisation of it's full beauty. She might settle for Pollyanna, but never Polly : it just didn't seem right.

Pollyanna and Pamela had spent a few seasons together when the Barnes girl had been small. She'd liked the former Gray then : she taught her things of boys and books, told her about her own adventures the world over and explained to Pamela in vivid detail the beauty of the night sky. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed the twinkling lights over head : but as Pollyanna spoke Pamela felt an ache in her chest : one she wouldn't soon forget.

It seemed then, as Gray transitioned to Shelby a nephew had been born : and it was this man who would plague Pamela Barnes' dreams for the foreseeable future. Finally she had been given a location more specific than 'England'. She'd heard whisper in dreams of a town called 'Birmingham' : not too far from her own dwelling, perhaps this was why the dreams were increasing in frequency. And just last night she'd seen it : the grand dark pub with it's mouth agape, flashes of people coming and going, laughing and wailing. Joy spliced with terror as flames lapped at the buildings insides : clawing and tearing away anything it could. The grand yellow gold words seeming to drip from their place above the doorway : The Garrison.

She'd left without a second thought and arrived in town by afternoon. One might be frightened, stripped of sight and navigating a foreign place : but her connection to the other side left Pamela with a sense of things and while she could not see streets and obstacles clearly she had a certain knowing about her. She'd asked a passer by or two : no doubt aghast as they gazed upon pale white iris, which direction she might find said pub, all the while hoping she wouldn't be too late. Kind souls were quick to assist leaving a smile gracing delicate features.

Brass handle feels cool in hand and Pamela doesn't hesitate in pushing past the thresh hold. She walks with confidence, skirts brushing past leg as she strides. Iron hunting knife feels heavy against thigh : she knows what to do should danger strike. Unseeing gaze shifts over pub entirely, it reeks of whiskey and beer, stout and gin : it's homey, almost. A single aura sits at table closest bar top and as she hones Pamela can smell a hint of tobacco whispering past. "Thomas Shelby." To speak the name to it's owner feels like a magnificent weight lifted from Barnes' chest. Eyes lock against aura : red flecked with gold-- it's beautiful and so very vivid. "FORGIVE THE INTRUSION, BUT WE HAVE MUCH TO DISCUSS."

#proofwhiskey tagtbd.#I HOPE THIS WAS OKAY #im so freaking excited for them

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imagines-to-quench-thirst · 4 years ago

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give me 2 lifelines

Loki Laufeyson x female reader x Nuada (SMUT)

Anon asked: I don’t know if you’re familiar with Prince Nuada from Hellboy but I was wondering if you could do a piece that’s Prince Loki and Prince Nuada fighting over Fem Reader but end up sharing her. Lots of angst and NSFW content. I love a good sub/Dom dynamic. It would be AMAZING if you could whip something up 😊🥰❤️

SMUT AHEAD, 18+, sir/king kink, threesome MMF, dominant vibes,ah, you know the drill

!WARNING! THIS IS MY FIRST THREESOME WRITING IF IT'S BAD, PLEASE, BE GENTLE WITH ME! (p.s if you like it support me with a KOFI)

I am not the best at grammar so if there are any mistakes, sorry! Now, enjoy!

"Tell me about him."

"About who, Loki?"

"Your past lover with the fairly peculiar name."

"Nuada? Why?"

"You said his name yesterday in your sleep, dove."

"Sorry."

"Why for? Now, was he comparable to me?"

She giggles "A little. He held himself to the same elevated royal regard like you."

"Oh."

"But that was his downfall."

"Oh..."

"That was years ago. I am certain he forgot about me. I love you."

"I love you too, princess. However, you are untrue about one thing."

"About what?"

"Whoever you cross paths with, you leave an irreplaceable print on their lives. I am sure that Nu-a-da feels the same."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Nuada..." her words echoed off the magical glass and into his ears picking up the sad tone his eyes picking up only the cold wall he faced. "I am leaving. I need to go back Hellboy told me that being in this world is bad for me I need to go back to MY home. I will NOT see you again."

He stands up seeing the form of his former lover disappear in gold flakes with his hand raised. "Y/n.'"her desperate name befalls off his lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nuada stands up walking towards his today's visitor, his twin sister. Nuala. "Brother." he retorted "Sister."

Her hand reaches her chest. The thin fabric mashing into her narrow fingers. "I feel a tremendous distress from you."

"Ha, that gloom followed me when you betrayed me for the big red rock." he argued his attitude spiteful.

Nuala shakes her head "No, this sadness is beyond comparison. Unexplainable." she refuted moving closer to the shield her hand on the magical glass."This is heartbreak. For a certain being." Nuada's eyes gazing at her eyeing her mouth "For a human girl." His eyes twitched.

"That is forgone now. My actions are-" she cuts him off "-Are empty. Wanting nothing more than to have her back your arms wanting to do to everything and comprise everything to be with her. Since no price is too imperial for her."

"Enough!"

His turmoil echoed in the cell his kin standing her hand moving through the glass, his eyes cleared in shock.

"You could have run but you didn't, your powers exceed far more than mine. But you stayed for her, to pay the dues and to show in front of her a new creature. A new man how the humans would say."

Nuada walks striding out of the cell inquiring her with a breathless "Why?"

Nuala only cackles giving a minor shudder "Go... Find her."

Nuada steps off the stairs and moves out of the prison. His silver hair lifting off in the air that breezed through the long stands she caressed each night before they slept. His eyes that Y/n swore were made from molten gold searched into the area searching for his swords. His steps falling silent as he hears a small swish of magic, he turns to find a portal laced with green hues. He looks at the portal seeing no one only hearing the faint whisper of someone he yeared for.

"I am telling you. Bruce would manage to lift the hammer if he was in the elevator. No one can change my mind."

Y/N.

With no attending thoughts in his brain, his legs strode in front of him and into the portal that lured him so deceivingly in. The thick air that resided in his lungs was no more as he saw the same room he used to sneak in. The same cabinet he stubs his toe too many times and the small long mirror that was placed on the wall in front of the bed. He was here. Nuada was present in Y/N's room. The door opens and he sees her... and she sees him as the loud clang of swords fall from his pale blue hands. Y/n's steps coming to a halt. In front of her stood the former lover, the hair she kissed and braided was now much longer almost touching his buttcheeks the high cheekbones still current as ever the same markings on his skin stayed.

"Nuada? Wh-what are you doing here?"

She doesn't know how to acknowledge knowing that her present lover will come by any time soon. Her mind belonged to Loki. But what about her heart? Was there still room for Nuada to stand proud in?

"She told me to see you. She felt my eternal heartbreak that was left between us."

He steps closer, his hands reaching for her, her holding hands daily not yet remembering how rough he was. Y/N froze. There was no better way to explain it. Her brain worked overtime like a hamster in a wheel while her heart thudded in her ears and throat.

"I don't know what to say. We broke up. ever since you went to prison."

"I want to remove that, that memory. Seeing your face in vast anguish was something never I desired for."

Y/n flinches as her hands move away from his. Retorting with a small sigh "Still, we can not be together, Nuada, I am from a different world. Remember what Abe said:

"If you say here for too long your body will not manage to live here. It will kill itself slowly and who knows maybe that portal which you travel through will not open one day and you will lose all your loved ones."

"You can not stay here Nuada. You need to go back."

She wanted to shift away but his warmth and his authentic hands gradually and agonizingly pulled her in, her head resting on his shoulder. They stayed like that in silence while Nuada explains himself "My jewel, will you let me rewrite the wrongs of my life? Will you let me come back in and try to find the peace that you carry within you. I am lost without you?"

Y/n derides as her hand nudges against his chest tears probing outside of her eyes "What do you think felt like? When I came back after you were taken I had to rebuild myself, my job which I lost as I was traveling too much between realms and had to mask it. I had very bad thoughts that took a toll on me. you cannot ask for me to 'open my heart and welcome you with open arms. If it wasn't for Loki-"

"-Who is Loki?"

"My current BOYFRIEND. My lover."

Nuada footed back not even thinking that maybe she moved on with her life and found love with another. He didn't think how much damage he did to her heart that was already harmed.

"And who are you, stranger?" Loki's voice stirs through Y/n's ears and Nuada's, as well as both of them, turn to the god himself.

"Loki!" Y/n moved towards him already fearing what he thought "Nothing happened, I swear."

His finger reaches up to her cheek caressing the supple skin as she leans into his warm touch momentary closing her eyes. Not going unnoticed by the long-haired creature himself. "I know, lover. It is alright." he strides past her walking towards Nuada his green suit being slightly knowledgeable to Nuada.

"Have you-" "I assure you stranger, we are meeting for the first time. What is your name? What are you called?"

"Prince Nuada."

Loki swivels to Y/n "So that is him. dove? Perplexing..." Loki gazes at the creature noticing his marks on his body while his hand points to the marks "Are you a warrior? A bad one?" he grins seeing the small twitch in Nuada's eyebrow.

"I have spoken before my title is that of a prince. And what are you?"

"I am a God."

Loki walks back to Y/n holding her hand in his own bringing it up to his lips giving it the small peck she needs to zone back into reality and feel the gravity of this situation.

"Shall we?" "Yes..."

Nuada gazes and he feels the words jump out "I WILL DO ANYTHING TO BE WITH YOU, MY JEWEL!" they both halt turning to look at the elf "My pride is nothing compared to that to be kissed by your lips and to be filled by your love."

"Nuada, please... Stop this."

Nuada was a dominant creature of pride his name was not to be said without a shiver running down the spine of the person who said his name. The dangerous exterior and the harsh demeanor changed as Nuada kneeled, his pride stowed away not to see the light of this day.

"I still love her. She STILL possesses my heart."

Loki chuckles while he resolves, holding Y/n's hand

"What can we do about it? She has my heart as well."

Y/n subsisted in surprise staying between two of the same coin not already feeling the familiar tinge of arousal going through her body. Loki turns to Nuada indicating with a grin.

"Let us share her."

"Loki!!!"

He turns back to her kissing her lips saying in a bare hum "What else do you want me to do dove? You can see who much he IS willing to go through just to have a taste of your nectar. We can stop if that is what you wish for."

Y/n gasped out feeling Nuada pressed flush against her backside his hand traveling across her back.

"No."

"Then it's determined."

Loki looked at Y/n flushed eyes her iris almost despairing while she felt Nuada's long lost lips on her neck kissing and attending to her every carnal need she was deprived of. Loki took no more than a second to unbutton her shirt as she moaned at his cold fingers "No, use your magic." she barely managed to say it.

Loki takes it into account snapping his fingers as Y/n's, Nuada's, and Loki's clothes despair off of them leaving them naked. Nuada snatched her back onto the bed letting her softly sit down as Loki went behind her letting her rest her head on his abs. Nuada one more kneels looking solely at Y/n's

"May, I taste you, my jewel?" she nods as Nuada lets his lips open his tongue coming out and landing softly at the bottom of her folds tracing slowly up hearing her moans that he missed dearly. Loki kept an eye on her seeing her head drop against his stomach her eyes shut closed while her nipples begged for him to attend to them. His hands glided down giving her a message turning the nubs softly following the rhythm of Nuada's pace. As Nuada went up he found the one thing that gave her the nickname she carries for him his finger gently removing the fold and showing her clit "My only jewel." he mused seeing the deep red blush on her cheeks her eyes squinting not wanting to show her full-blown eyes his lips land around her clit sucking the delicate nerve bundle pulling slowly back giving her more depth to her passion. As her moans filled the room, Nuada HAD to rut his hips into the edge of the mattress wishing for just some sort of friction he craved for. Loki was nothing different either.

Y/n could feel his tip at the bottom of her head hard and quivering in rhythm with her moans each of the being anguish.

"I am close."

Loki answers sternly "Nuada, stop."

Nuada obediently ends peeking at the God, knowing he needs to play nice or otherwise he won't feel Y/n around him. "Let's fill her. Would you like that my beautiful Queen?"

"Yes." she rasped out "Yes, what?" "Yes, My King."

"Now, turn on your stomach. Nuada, we will swap our positions."

Nuada asks trying to hold still some ropes of authority "When will I feel her?"

Loki walks to him grabbing his chin forcefully "You, prince, will have your turn but for now, you will get her sacred mouth. Do you mind that Y/n?"

Y/n shakes her head between the power play that was in front of her "No."

Nuada kneels on the bed seeing Y/n beneath him, his cock twitched wanting nothing more than to take her and kill the god that was playing the power play over his royal birthright. Loki stood at the bed seeing her slick wet and pulling, taking his member into his hand pushing in, giving Nuada the head nod as Nuada places his cock in Y/n's mouth feeling her tongue beneath his cock while he slid further down listening to the audible gag reflex.

Y/n didn't know how to explain being throat fucked by a former King of Elf's and being fucked by a God of Mischief, feeling her both holes stretched with no remorse... And thriving in the fantasy.

"Can I move, pet?" Loki begged as he hears the audible Mhh from the bottom of her mouth. Jerking back from her pussy the tight walls would want nothing more than to hold him inside as Nuada continued to feel every inch of her mouth.

"Now, ah, Y/n your rule. You are not to cum until myself and Nuada cum inside you. You understand?"

At the command, she felt a powerful shiver in her body as rather of her voice her body replied as she became wetter at the demand. Loki chuckles as he looks at Nuada seeing his hand in Y/n's hair griping guiding her to a pace he knew she could take.

"Are you alright with that, Nuada? Having her being filled by mine and your seed."

"Yes. I can't wait to see her filled with our milk."

A few more thrusts and the men that were subdued at her body came. Y/n trying to hold in her orgasm. Loki pulls out feeling the cold air on his warm cock. While Nuada pulled slowly seeing her mouth full with his cum her eyes teary.

"Thank you... Sir," she said as a small smile was on Y/n's face. Loki looks at the two of them chuckling "She is all yours, Nuada." Loki and Nuada once more switch places as Loki attentively wipes the mix of drool and saliva pushing it back into her mouth giving her a sloppy kiss.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, my King." she smiled. Nuada feels inching his cock to her folds pushing in. Her walls clutching at the tip he halts feeling the mix of Loki's cum and her own giving him silenced in. Closing her eyes she feels Loki's hand travel past her breasts, stomach and halting at her clit playfully flicking it.

"Loki!" she cries as the nerves shock her. "Do you like it, while play with your jewel while Nuada is thrusting in you, hopefully breeding a child in your womb, Y/n? Do you like it? To have a child and to share it with me and Nuada as fathers?"

"Yes!!! Nuada, fill me up well! Places!" the level she stooped to screen to out she didn't know she had it in her. Nuada thrust feeling her pull him only further in her walls clutching him for all she is worth. Loki pulls his hand back seeing the tears stream down Y/n's cheek.

"Do you wish to cum pet?" "Yes!"

Loki looks at Nuada seeing him give a nod and he responds "Then cum."

One more time and y/n doesn't see her lover only a white light as her orgasm rolled out of her. Talia felt Nuada ruts his hips into hers and as he slowly pulled out she felt full and replenished with their cum something filthy felt so powerful.

Wow, need holy water on my eyes. thanks for reading. tell me what you think. Hope you liked it.

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arty-chase · 4 years ago

Text

My Maribat Betrothal AU: Take Two

Okay so people like that post that is more of a train wreck produced by my sleep-deprived brain. I expanded on it and added some changes. Fair warning: Most of my ML and DC knowledge came from Maribat fics, a few episodes and the DCU movies like son of Batman. I have Mari's pov and background stuff written and it needs some editing. Anyways, enjoy <3

It is not a continuation but: @alysrose-starchild, @buginetye, @lookatthestars1, @blackroserelina, @macncheesemonster, @mochinek0

[Masterlist]

(Part 2)

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

PART 1

Damian groaned.

He was not having a good day.

First, Father decided to pair him with Todd, TODD of all people, for patrol.

Second, while doing a stake-out for the warehouse near the docks which might be used as storage for criminal activity and enduring Red Hood's annoying taunts, they both were knocked out by tranquilizers and his mother's face was the last thing he had remembered seeing.

"Don't worry, little one. You are just fulfilling your duties as heir to the Demon's Head. Then, all will be perfect." She had said, just before he fully lost consciousness.

Third, he woke up to being chained up with a major headache. Taking a bearing of his surroundings, the room he was imprisoned in had two exits, an iron door and a window that had the view of his childhood home. He was dressed in wedding ensembles of the League of Shadows. Red Hood was chained up next to him as well but unlike him, still had his suit and helmet on. Glancing to the other side, he saw a raven-haired girl, chained up and dressed in the black and gold robes of a bride. She had also retained consciousness and was staring at him.

Bluebell eyes met his piercing green.

His betrothal was petite with Asian features. She had freckles dotting her button nose and rosy cheeks.

She is fragile and will break easily, he thought. Why did his mother want him to marry such a weakling?

"Savez-vous où nous sommes? (Do you know where we are?)" Her voice was sweet and trembling with fear. Her eyes were wide and seemed filled with innocence yet carrying great sadness. She was an Angel, an ordinary girl, not fit for this harsh and unforgiving world she was forcefully going to get married to.

She opened her mouth to ask another question and suddenly, she went limp, appearing to be unconscious. Damian furrowed his brows in confusion. Why did she-

A moment later, he heard footsteps approaching and the iron door opened to reveal his mother.

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

Jason woke up to the sight of the Bitch Talia and Demon Spawn, face to face, glaring at each other.

Talia broke the tense silence.

"Damian, I hope you know what you should do."

"To be forcefully married to that little girl. She is no one special. Why am I getting married to her?"

Married? The Demon Spawn is getting married?!

Jason saw through his helmeted vision, a girl about Damian's age, chained up like them but not yet awake. He raised his hand and saw the shackles around his wrists. The chains were connected to the wall. He experimentally yanked the chains, drawing Talia’s attention.

“Well, Jason, you are awake. You can be the best man for the wedding.”

“No. I don’t know what game you are playing but you better release us. B is gonna find us and you will pay. Let the girl go. She is innocent in all of this.” Jason said vehemently.

"Ladybug may not seem like it but she possesses great power that my father converted for centuries. Speaking of, she should be awake by now."

Talia stood up and grabbed Ladybug’s(?) hair and yanked so that her eyes met the girl's. The girl, who unfortunately was going to be the Demon Spawn's bride, lets out a cry and starts to tear up. Jason felt anger at how she was being treated, seeing the girl as a little sister already.

"Tch, See, she is more pathetic than I thought. She is not powerful." Demon Spawn growled out. The girl starts babbling in French. From the little French Jason knows, she was begging for mercy.

“Like I thought, weak. She is not deserving of the title of my wife.” Damian spat out.

"Appearance can be deceiving. Despite her demeanor, she is the current wielder of the Ladybug Miraculous and the Current Guardian. The old Guardian, the old fool had promised her in exchange for his protection." Talia countered, letting go of the girl.

Miraculous? Guardian? What the hell?

"That doesn't mean I want to marry her. She is not worthy of an Al Ghul or a Wayne. Look at her, crying at the slightest feeling of pain."

The mother and son begin to bicker. Damian refusing to marry and Talia trying to change his mind.

“Yes, both have to be willing to be married but the curse placed on both of you will ensure that you will agree.”

The dark haired girl had stopped crying and started whispering in a strange language when the fight started, fiddling with the silver ring she wore. Jason saw a terrifying smile crossed the face of the girl across him that chilled him to the bones. Later, a black blur came out of her robes and went through the door. He wondered if he imagined that before he was a determined glint in her eyes.

He blinked.

Talia was choking on the chains that were previously chained to the wall and were now around her neck. Fortunately for them, Talia had closed the door after her entrance and the guards most likely to be stationed outside didn’t storm into the cell. The girl whispered something in Talia's ear, making the woman's eyes widen with what could be fear.

The experienced assassin struggled to get free and gain an upper hand on the girl but was unsuccessful, passing out from the lack of oxygen and strangely strong grip of the small girl.

What happened next was surprising. She breathed hard on her shackles which instantly disintegrated into flakes of rust.

Holy Shit! Demon Spawn's girl is magic. Jason knows his mouth was hanging open under his helmet at that realization. Damian seems to be in the same state.

Talia didn't have the keys to the locks. Being crafty like that. Bitch

"Call me Lady." she said in lightly accented English as she summoned black orbs at the tip of her hands. “Stay still.”

She then proceeds to place her hands on Jason’s shackles, turning them into nothing more than specks.

"I am Red Hood." said Jason, rubbing his wrists.

"The little shit here," as he kicked Damian's leg, " is-"

"Damian Al Ghul" she said the last name with venom. She moved on to Damian's bonds. "Son of that bitch over there, grandson of Ra's, demon heir, blah blah blah. Hold still, mon mignon. I am sure you don't want to lose a hand."

Damian stopped moving at that, due to the pet name or fear Jason couldn’t tell but by the red at the tips of his ear, it could be the former. And she used her powers to free him.

Lady somehow managed to use what remained of the chains to hog tie Talia up.

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

“How do we get out?” Damian asked, inspecting the blade that he flinched from his mother.

“Hey, kit.” A nasally voice called out. “I checked out the place we are in. Like you asked. The way to the Throne room is heavily guarded and they seem to think old Ra’s the target. The Pits are guarded too but they are nothing you can’t handle.”

“What is that?” Jason shrieked.

“Thanks, Plagg, you will get that camembert danish when we get back. This is a kwami, a god of sorts and his thing is destruction so I wouldn’t insult him if I were you. He likes to go by Plagg”, answered Lady, which doesn’t clear up Jason’s confusion.

“So, Pigtails, what’s the plan?” The floating, black cat-shaped god(?) asked.

“I was thinking of destroying the Pits to give Al Ghul a middle finger and call Maman to use the Horse to get home.”

“We need Tikki to get rid of it..”

“I will just tell Maman to bring the earrings.”

Damian snorted, “That sounds like a foolish plan. You are insane and not strong enough to take on the League alone, despite having a ‘god’ of destruction at your side. This Tikki or magic earrings will destroy the Pits, many have tried. And sorry to disappoint but no horse can make it up the mountainside of Nanda Parbat.”

“Have to agree with Demon Spawn here and I rarely do that. Your plan sounds insane, Pixie. You are just one girl. Let us help, we know the League better than you. We can come up with a better one.” Jason was worried for the girl, she was crazy if she thought her plan would work.

Lady smirked, “It is a perfectly sound plan. I know what I am talking about. Despite the weak girl act, I am no Damsel in distress. After this is all over, we will split our ways and hopefully, never see each other again.”

“We can’t separate. My mother said there is a curse that will ‘make us fall in love.’” Damian said, using air quotes. “You need to come with us so we can get someone to break it.”

“Fine. But I need to do something before I am coming with you. Plagg, Claws out.”

Bright green light flashed around her and she was now dressed in a black bodysuit with green linings. It was armoured at the chest, knees and elbows. (Add whatever details you want, I can’t do it. Jacket, designs, use your imagination) Her gloves were claws-like, reminding them of Selina and there was a belt carrying some vials, pouches and throwing stars. Her hair was now longer and braided and seemed to move on its own. Cat ears were attached to her head. Her eyes were changed so the sclera were the same shade of blue as her iries and the pupils were slitted like a cat. A black domino mask framed her face. Two ten-inch daggers appeared out of thin air in her hands.

The transformed Lady did the inhuman feat of kicking the door open. The assassins stationed outside were immediately knocked out by Lady.

“Well, are you coming or not?” She called out, before running down the corridor. Jason patted his shocked brother’s shoulder, “You doing okay there, demon spawn?”

“Tch, Let’s go, Todd.” Damian replied, trying to get rid of that funny feeling in his chest.

#damian x marinette #maridami #mlb x dc #maribat #daminette #betrothal au: take 2

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dreamyjun · 4 years ago

Text

nct dream and the gifts they would give you.

PAIRING. nct dream × gn!reader GENRE. fluff

WARNINGS. none

PLAYLIST. the feels by banana club

AUTHORS NOTE. ahh second thing i’ve every wrote on here, still makes me kinda nervous lol. if there are any spelling/grammatical errors pls do tell

⁆ 𝘓��𝘌 𝘔𝘐𝘕𝘏𝘠𝘜𝘕𝘎. jewlery, charm bracelets (like the ones from pandora)

· i feel like mark would be the one to give jewlery as a gift to his significant other, weather it be a necklace with the both of your initials intertwined to a charm bracelet with all of your favorite items on it.

— your face contorted into one of suprise when mark randomly handed you a small pink bag, a toothy grin etched on his features. “open it” he nudged, ringing his hands together, presumably out of nerves that you may not like the gift he had gotten. carefully removing the gold-flecked tissue paper, and taking out a palm sized box you raised an eyebrow once more in marks direction. “should i be scared?” you mused, to which mark lightly chuckled. “just open it babe, i think you’ll really like it.”. and boy was he right. your eyes lit up at the sight of a silver necklace with your birthstone incrusted on a small circular charm. mark waited a baited breath on your reaction, his eyes searching yours for any source of emotion. “i love it mark- thank you baby” you stood quickly, placing a chaste kiss to his cheek.

‎

⁆ 𝘏𝘜𝘈𝘕𝘎 𝘙𝘌𝘕𝘑𝘜𝘕. something he made himself, a drawing of the two of you. or perhaps a clay ring plate

· it’s known that renjun is the offical “artist” of dream, i mean his artistic abilities are so amazing (have you seen his butterfly drawing??) . so his s/o would definitely recieve some of his best (and mediocre) drawings. may they be as gifts or just something he didn’t know what to do with. thats why i think he would give you something made by hand.

— your date at the pottery class had gone worse than you’d expected. sure, you were never one that was particularly good in the arts. but that didn’t mean you didn’t try it out everyonce in a while. renjun and you had planned to make matching plates, so when they were side by side the heart that was painted on opposite sides would connect. sounds like a good idea right ? well, maybe it was, but only for the artistically inclined. everytime you tried to paint the heart it either came out lopsided or the paint began to clump on the ceramic.so you were left with a perfect plate (renjun’s) and one that seemed to be done my a six year old (your’s). “i’m sorry i couldn’t put your idea to good use” you had apologized in the car. renjun had simply waved it off, “it’s nothing babe. at least i know this cup i painted for you won’t go to waste”. he pulled out a tulip covered cup, his eyes shining in a feeling only described as pride. “i hope you like it, i thought you would like something like this”. your hands quickly grasped for the cup, taking it and exzamining it as if the royal jewles were clasped between your fingers. “jun! i love it, thank you so much bubs”.

‎

⁆ 𝘓𝘌𝘌 𝘑𝘌𝘕𝘖. flowers from flower shops he’d pass whilst biking

· i, 1000% agree that jeno would randomly give you flowers after a bike ride. i mean lets say he was passing a cute shop on his way home and thought “hmm maybe y/n would like a flower or two for her dining room table”. and bam a cute gift.

— the minute jeno had walked through the door to your apartment, he handed you a few peices of lavender, some baby’s breath and a larger iris. still clad in biking wear. “i brought you flowers, you were saying your place could use some life and color earlier and well...” he motioned to the bouquet grasped tightly by the middle. “aww thank you baby” you smiled, pressing a linger kiss over his lips.

⁆ 𝘓𝘌𝘌 𝘋𝘖𝘕𝘎𝘏𝘠𝘜𝘊𝘒. playlists, or songs compiled into one ( songs that remind him of u ofc )

· hyuck is probably the type of bf to make playlists of random moments you’ve spent together. like “that one time y/n painted my nails” or “when we went for a late night drive”. so he probably would gift you some of the hundreds ones he’s made.

— the buzzing of your cell-phone broke you out of the sleep like daze you found yourself in. one of the many senders, was not suprisingly donghyuck. why would he be messaging you at this ungodly hour? to send you playlists of the extra soft moments. it was sent with a heart and cute note, “i made this for whenever you miss me :)”. and oh how your heart melted at the innocent heartedness of your usually teasing boyfriend. so when he became soft, you often releshed in it. sending a quick “i love you” back, the only task at hand was to find your air pods and listen to the mere declaration of his love in the form of songs.

⁆ 𝘕𝘈 𝘑𝘈𝘌𝘔𝘐𝘕. cookies, sweets, anything he’s cooked

· we all know how jaemin cooks for jisung whenever he asks, so why not for his significant other? he probably will have them in cute containers wrapped cute with a note and some stickers or something. i mean like how adorable??? (im dead)

— it was an understatement to say you were suprised by the pink cloth clad package placed on your door step. the only indication of the person behind it was a mere sticky note with the words “Y/N <3″ etched across it. at first, you were skeptical (as i think most people would be if a package of food came to their door step with no explination. carefully opening the cloth, another note appeared. this time signed by jaemin himself. “ dear y/n, i know school has been treating you badly and im sorry i can’t be there all the time to cuddle your worries away. so please accept food in apology. love jaems :)”. you could’ve broken down in tears then in there. jaemin was so sweet. sending a thank you text his way, you began to induldge on the meal your angel boyfriend had prepared

#nct soft hours #renjun scenarios #jaemin scenarios #jeno scenarios #mark scenarios #donghyuck scenarios #nct dream #nct soft #what if we kissed on the neo city jungle gym

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hercleverboy · 5 years ago

Text

reassurance

spencer reid x reader

summary ↠ after a heated argument on a case, the reader gets fatally injured in the field. spencer battles with the fact that he never got to apologise.

category ↠ angst

warnings/includes ↠ major character death, depression, refusing to eat.

word count ↠ 4.2k

“Maybe I’ll see you in another life, if this one wasn’t enough.” — Florence + the Machine

Spencer and Y/N rarely fought.

Of course they bickered from time to time about silly things that wouldn’t matter ten minutes later, but they rarely had a full-on argument. Screaming matches where they tried to wound one another with bitter words they didn’t really mean. They’d only ever fought like that once or twice, but ultimately they’d end with heartfelt apologies and kisses as they forgave one another and grew from their mistakes.

This particular argument however, was easily the worst they’d ever had.

It was the first big fight they’d had since they’d gotten married four months prior.

You know what they say about marriage; the first year is the hardest.

“I just don’t understand why we have to talk about this right now.” Spencer scowled as he walked into the empty room, his wife following hot on his heels.

Themselves and the team were had been sent to North Carolina on a triple homicide case in Charlotte. They’d been there for two days, and the newlyweds had carried an awkward tension with them ever since the case started. The couple had gotten into the start of an argument before they’d had to leave for the jet, which left what they new would be a bad fight brewing between them. Neither of them wanted to start the inevitable fight they knew they were going to have to have at some point. Y/N wanted to remain professional, to keep her emotions in check until her and Spencer got home and could fight talk everything out. She was succeeding, until she saw how snappy and cold Spencer was acting with her during the case, cutting her off mid-sentence and dropping sassy, unnecessary comments whenever she spoke. That only fuelled Y/N’s fire further. So when she managed to catch him alone she decided they had to have it out, even if it was in the middle of the case.

She closed the door to the room behind her as she watched Spencer busy himself with the three case files of the murder victims before him. She turned to him, her arms crossing in front of her. “Because I wanted to wait to have this fight until after the case finished, but you started up with the snappy attitude for no reason!”

“I’m busy, Y/N. Not right now.” He uttered, brushing her off. Again.

“Yes, right now. Every time I bring up the topic you shut me down and I’m tired of it! We have to talk about this, Spence. I’ve let you brush me off too many times now.” Her voice had lowered, she wasn’t shouting anymore but she was still stern.

Spencer scoffed. “You’re being ridiculous. I don’t brush you off.”

“You do! That’s exactly what you did before we left for the jet the other morning. Anytime I bring up starting a family you don’t want to hear about it. It’s a conversation we need to have.” She groaned. It was true, anytime since they’d gotten married that Y/N mentioned the idea of starting a family, Spencer blew her off. He’d completely shut down the conversation, refusing to speak about it with her. Y/N was growing frustrated. She didn’t want them to start immediately trying for a baby or anything, she just wanted to discuss her future with her husband, and he acted like she’d asked him to commit murder with her.

“Nope, we don’t need to have that conversation right now.” He murmured, his back still turned to her as his fingers scanned over the pages of writing in front of him.

“Do you not want kids with me, is that it?” She winced, the thought hurting her.

“Not if you’re gonna act like this.” He responded and it made her breath hitch. She knew he was pissed but surely he didn’t mean that?

“Spencer- I-I love you, I want to have kids with you. We don’t have to start trying yet, not for a long while but I just need to know that it’s in the cards for us.” She swallowed, walking closer to him, hoping he’d turn to face her.

“Maybe if you didn’t jump down my throat about all the time I’d be more willing to talk!” He spat, finally turning to face her.

“Are you seriously trying to pin this all on me? I just need some comfort. You do eventually want a family, right?” Her voice got even quieter, her tone pleading and her eyes glassy.

“God Y/N why are you in such a rush? We only just got married!” He yelled, exasperated as he threw his arms out in exaggeration. “I just need some time to think, okay?”

“How much time? A month? Two?” She challenged.

“That’s not a lot of time, Y/N.” He ran his hands through his hair frustratedly.

“I can’t wait around for years only for you to decide you don’t want kids, Spence. That’s not fair on me, I’d have to start over-”

Spencer frowned, interrupting her. ��Wait- start over? You mean with someone else?” For the first time in the argument his harsh exterior softened, worry seeping into his honey coloured iris’.

Y/N was silent, her gaze lowering to the floor as tears began to tremble down her cheeks.

Spencer scoffed and shook his head. “This is stupid.” He muttered under his breath, as though Y/N couldn’t hear it clear as day.

She let out a small sob when she opened her mouth to speak. “All I’m asking for is some reassurance. I’m your wife, Spencer! Why can’t you just give me that?”

“I don’t want kids, okay?! is that what you want to hear? Can we drop this now?” He exclaimed, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth but at this time his anger outweighed his regret.

Y/N recoiled, her eyes casting down to look at the floor as her sight blurred, hot tears rolling down her pink cheeks.

Just then three knocks sounded on the door, a sheepish looking JJ opened it, poking her head in. “Uh- sorry to interrupt. Garcia found us a possible address, Hotch wants you two to go and check it out.”

Y/N sniffed and wiped the tears away from under her eyes. She grabbed her FBI jacket that hung on the back of one of the chairs before turning toward JJ. “No. I’d rather go with Morgan.” She muttered before walking out the door without a second glance at her husband.

“Y/N wait-” He tried calling out but she was already gone. He sighed, running his hands over his face.

“What was that about?” JJ asked quietly, her brows furrowed in confusion.

“Nothing.” He tried to lie but JJ gave him a look, one that said don’t bullshit me. “We had a fight, it was a pretty bad one. I said some things I didn’t mean.”

JJ placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay. When her and Morgan get back you can tell her you’re sorry. You’ll work it out, you love one another too much not to.”

Spencer nodded, glancing down to the thin gold band that sat on his ring finger. His mind drifted back to their wedding day, the happiest day of his life. He remembered how she’d taken his breath away when he saw her coming down the aisle, wearing a dress so beautiful and so her that it brought tears to his eyes.

She was ethereal.

and she was his.

It brought a small smile to his lips. JJ was right. As soon as she got back they’d finish up this case and then he’d spend all the time he had to making it up to her. He thanked JJ before they headed to join the others in the other room. The team, minus Y/N and Morgan, were gathered around overlooking their profile and all the details of the case, looking for anything they might of missed.

Hotch’s phone rang out and he answered, all of the team looking his way, hoping whoever was on the other end of the line would give them the information they needed to crack the case wide open. Spencer wasn’t concerned until he saw the shift in Hotch’s face, from his usual stern look to one of worry and concern.

“What’s wrong?” Spencer asked as soon as Hotch hung up the phone.

“That was Morgan calling from the hospital. He and Y/L/N found the unsub at the address. He had a gun, with which he shot Y/L/N twice with before he fled.”

JJ let out a gasp. “She’s okay though, right? I mean she would’ve been wearing her vest.”

Hotch spared a glance at Spencer who looked at him with eyes so wide it hurt him. He slowly shook his head. “One bullet hit the vest, the other hit her side. She’s in emergency surgery now.”

Spencer was up from his seat within seconds, rushing out of the building towards the SUV’s, the rest of the team following quickly.

Spencer rushed through the white hospital hallways with a heavy weight in his heart that he’d never felt before. He dashed around the corner, his eyes landing on Morgan in the waiting room, who sat with his head in his hands.

“Morgan? Where is she? She okay, right?” He begged his best friend to tell him something, anything good.

Morgan just shook his head. “I’m sorry kid, I don’t know anything. She’s still in surgery.”

Spencer felt sick.

They waited for hours without news, him worriedly pacing the waiting room. He was going through every possible outcome in his head, thinking of the worst case scenarios, making himself physically sick with worry.

Any time a member of the team attempted to talk to him, he snapped at them, telling them to leave him alone. He knew they were just trying to help, but he could apologise for that later. The only think that mattered at that moment was his wife. Eventually he’d worn himself out, his mind and body overwhelmed with all the emotions and visions of worst case scenarios. It took JJ grabbing his wrist and taking him to another private room for him to finally accept her help. He broke down as soon as she wrapped her arms around him, trying desperately to soothe the sobs coming from his mouth.

He pulled back, sucking in deep breaths as he attempted to calm himself down. “When we were fighting earlier I told her I didn’t want kids with her, but it’s not true- God JJ, having s family with her is all I think about.” He wept. “I’m just so scared that I’ll pass down some of my undesirable genes, I don’t want my kids to have to suffer.”

JJ just gave him a sad look, unsure what to say.

“What if I never get the chance to tell her I lied? I love her so much JJ- I-I can’t lose her. I want to have a family so badly with her, she means everything to me.” He crumpled into one of the chairs in the room as JJ watched helplessly.

After regaining his breath and wiping his eyes, the two rejoined the group in the waiting room. The team sent him sympathetic glances but Spencer didn’t acknowledge them.

It was around 4am that an exhausted looking doctor walked into the waiting room. Immediately Spencer was on his feet, pleading in his head that the doctor will tell him that she was fine, that his wife was awake and alive and was waiting to see him. She was strong, a fighter. She was going to be fine.

and then everything came crashing down.

“I’m so sorry, Mr Reid.”

His knees buckled beneath him as he collapsed to the floor, heartbreaking sobs leaving his mouth as the doctor left the room, closing the door behind him.

Spencer could hear the other teams whimpers but he blocked them out.

He couldn’t feel anything but the sharp stabbing pain in his chest that made his whole body throb with a pain so unimaginable he wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy.

He barely registered how Derek’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him to his feet as his friend cried into his shoulder.

“I didn’t tell her I loved her before she left.” He bawled, and the sight broke the teams hearts.

“She knew, Reid. She knew.” Derek tried to soothe him but it was a fruitless attempt, as his heart-wrenching cries only intensified.

Two weeks later and the pain was still as fresh as it had been that day. Spencer’s body ached all over, his heart felt heavy in his chest.

He’d slept on the couch for weeks, refusing to sleep in their bed without her.

It felt wrong.

After shutting everyone out for two weeks and barely eating, showering or sleeping, he finally allowed JJ into his apartment. They didn’t speak, but he would sit on his sofa, staring blankly at the wall while JJ tried to get him to eat and encouraged him to shower. He wouldn’t respond, no matter how much his stomach rumbled with hunger, he wouldn’t eat. JJ tried her best, and she knew he was grateful, but he was so deep in his heartache and depression that he couldn’t do anything. She would tidy up sometimes and did laundry for him, encouraging him to change out of the same clothes he’d worn for weeks.

He heard JJ humming to herself quietly as she walked through the living room toward the kitchen, laundry basket in her hands. He normally wouldn’t have paid notice, but an item of clothing on top of the pile caught his eye. It was a bright mustard yellow cardigan.

Specifically, it was Y/N’s mustard yellow cardigan.

Spencer recalled how she loved the bright colour, having many items in her wardrobe of similar colour. She insisted it was for her ‘autumn style’, whatever that meant. Whenever she told him that he’d simply smile at her, his eyes so full of love and happiness. She would always grin back at him in response.

What he’d give to see that smile again.

“Wait.” He called out, his voice thick and raspy after weeks of not using it. “You can’t wash that.”

JJ looked over in surprise. He hadn’t spoken to her at all any of the other times she’d been over to help him.

Spencer got up and walked over, taking the cardigan from the top of JJ’s pile. He brought the item up to his face, inhaling deeply, a sob getting caught in his throat at the realisation that it still smelled like her, the scent of her perfume clinging to the fabric.

JJ’s eyes widened with the realisation that the cardigan belonged to Y/N. She’d just picked it up from where it had been on the floor in the bedroom, figuring it belonged to Spencer. She was about to apologise profusely for touching it when he spoke again.

“I miss her so much, JJ.” He cried, his voice cracking as she placed the basket down on the floor.

“Can I hug you?” She asked, unsure if he wanted to be touched at that moment.

He nodded, and was filled with a sort of relief when JJ’s arms wrapped around him. It was the first human contact he’d had in weeks. He welcomed the warmth. (He’d felt so cold lately.)

Later that night he’d sobbed himself into an uneasy sleep, clutching the cardigan to his chest, inhaling the scent of her perfume as if he could convince himself that she was still there.

When he woke the next day he saw the sunlight peeking in through the curtains that he hadn’t opened in weeks. He blinked, and noticed how his fists still clutched handfuls of the yellow cardigan. His memory flashed, and he recalled how she looked in the mornings- like a goddess. He could almost hear her melodic laugh, as though she were right next to him. He closed his eyes, hoping he’d wake up and it’d be real, that she’d be next to him and everything would be okay. This horrific nightmare would be just that- a bad dream, after which she’d soothe him with hushed reassurances and soft kisses to his forehead.

He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping and praying that when he opened them she’d be there in his arms, where she was meant to be.

He opened his eyes slowly, only to be met with what he feared, an empty space beside him.

Spencer really thought he couldn’t cry anymore, that he was all out of tears, but as he felt the familiar feeling rise in his chest, his breaths picked as a small sob broke from his lips.

He didn’t leave the sofa that day.

He was sat with his back against one of his walls, his knees pulled up to his chest. His phone buzzed from the table across the room. The team called and texted him regularly, but he never responded. Though no one called him more than Derek Morgan, worried sick for his closest friend.

Spencer waited for the buzzing to stop, the familiar tone ringing out that signalled he’s been left a voicemail. Something inside him possessed him to stand up, grabbing his phone and tapping the buttons to hear the voicemail.

“Hey Reid. Its Morgan, I-uh.” His voice cracked. Morgan was never a particularly emotional man, but he still remembered that day Y/N died clearly, and was consumed by guilt. He blamed himself, Spencer could hear it in his voice.

Morgan swore under his breath as he placed his hands against her side, desperately trying to slow the blood pouring from the wound.

“Morgan.” She grunted. “The unsub- you have to go after him.” She clenched her teeth together at the searing pain in her side, a burning feeling like nothing she’d ever felt before.

“No, Y/N. I won’t leave you here. Not only are you Spencer’s wife but you are my friend and I’m gonna stay with you, okay?” He promised, meeting her tear filled eyes as she nodded. “The ambulance is gonna be here any second, just gotta hold on for me yeah?”

Y/N nodded and fought desperately to keep herself awake but could feel herself slipping away with every second that passed. She shook her head from side to side, hopelessly trying to force herself to stay awake, fighting to keep her eyes open.

“Y/N? Y/N! Come on, baby. You gotta stay awake. What about Spencer, hm? Talk to me about him.” Morgan was just trying to get her talking in hopes that she’d stay awake long enough for the ambulance to arrive.

“He said he doesn’t want kids with me.” She mumbled, giving a weak smile. “We- We argued about it earlier, but I’m not mad at him. Morgan, he has to know I forgive him-” She coughed, blood spilling from her lips as she winced. She looked up at Morgan. “Y-You have to tell him. Tell him that i-it’s okay. Tell him I love him, that I-” She let out another cry in agony as he pushed harder down on her wound.

“Listen, listen. You hear the sirens? They’re close. You just gotta stay awake for a little while longer. Then you can tell pretty boy all of this yourself, okay?” Derek looked around as he heard the sound getting closer, relief breaking out across his face when the ambulance rounded the corner, coming into view. He looked down to Y/N to reassure her, but noticed how her body had gone limp beneath him. “Y/N?” His eyes were wide as he moved a hand to shake her shoulder, getting no response. “Y/N please-”

“I just need you to know, if you’re listening, how sorry I am. Y/N she- she told me, before the ambulance came-” Derek paused and Spencer’s breath hitched. “She wanted me to tell you she loved you. That she forgave you.” Derek cleared his throat, evidently trying to keep up his ‘tough guy’ act for the sake of his friend. “I just- needed you to know that. Call me when you’re ready.” The loud beep sounded out after the message finished and Spencer just stood, frozen.

His wife’s last words were that she loved him, that she forgave him.

It didn’t make him feel any better.

JJ was washing up plates in his kitchen after pretty much forcing him to eat some soup. He only had about four spoonful’s, which was disappointing but it was progress, and she figured it was better than nothing.

It had been a month since Y/N died, and nothing was getting better for Spencer. Everyday felt worse and worse, the pain never got lighter like people said it would, it never got any easier to deal with.

He sat on the sofa with a book perched on his lap, though he made no attempt to read it. He’d loved to read before, but now he couldn’t look at any of his books without thinking of how he used to read them to Y/N when she couldn’t sleep. He found that everywhere he looked in the home, he was reminded of her.

After drying the plate and putting it away, JJ turned to look at her friend who sat staring at the wall blankly.

She spoke although she knew she likely wouldn’t receive a response, she didn’t mind. He needed human interaction of some sort. “I’ve been talking to the others and- we think maybe it would be useful for you to speak to someone. Anyone, Spence. You can’t keep living like this. It’s killing you.” She murmured, her voice pleading. He shifted his gaze to look at her, but said nothing. “If you don’t want to talk to someone, how about you try writing letters? It’s something they had me do when Roslyn died. I used to burn them afterwards too, I found it therapeutic. It helped, even if just a little bit.” She tried, hoping he’d at least consider the idea.

After JJ left Spencer thought about what she’d said. At first he’d thought it was a stupid idea, pathetic, really. Writing letters weren’t going to bring his wife back.

but then again, nothing would.

He found himself sat at his desk, pen and paper in front of him. It took him hours to figure out what he wanted to say. At first he couldn’t even decide how to address the letter, was just her name good enough? He wrote and rewrote the letter a hundred times, trying to get everything right. Eventually he realised that there was no way to get it ‘right’, he just had to write how he felt.

‘Y/N,

JJ reckons that this will help aid my grief, and I can see how much my state is scaring her, so I figured I’d give this a shot.

Its been two months since you left.

Since you left the world, since you left me.

I know it wasn’t your fault. I don’t blame you, not for anything. I blame myself more than anyone else. If I’d just told you the truth rather than trying to be difficult, maybe you’d still be here. Maybe if I had just given you the reassurance you were looking for, It would’ve been me who’d come with you to the address.

I would’ve protected you.

Because that was my job, you know. To protect you. And I failed.

I miss you.

I miss how we’d stay up watching crappy reality TV shows on nights where neither of us could sleep after a case. I miss the nights you’d let me read to you, your head on my lap as you slowly drifted to sleep. I miss making breakfast with you early on a Sunday morning, on the rare occasion we got the weekend to ourselves without any interruptions from work. I miss dancing with you in our living room to whatever music you played. I never cared what song it was, only that it was you that I was dancing with.

You were my favourite song.

I hope you know how sorry I am.

I’m sorry that I’ll never get to tell you how I lied to you that day in the police station. That I’ve never regretted any words more than I do those ones. I wish I could tell you how badly I want a family with you. How nothing would make me happier than seeing little versions of ourselves that we created, that we could raise together.

I don’t think the stabbing pain I feel in my chest when I think of you will ever cease. I’ll carry the guilt of my words for the rest of my life.

Penelope says it will get better someday. But I can’t imagine a day where I wake up without you and don’t feel empty.

I love you. So much.

Forever yours,

Spencer. ‘

He clicked his lighter three times before the flame appeared. Taking a deep breath, he hovered it to the edge of the letter, watching it catch alight and begin to burn. As he watched the flames flicker in front of him, he wondered if he’d ever know peace.

If he’d ever be able to breathe again without her by his side.

He’d have to learn to live without her.

An impossible task.

#spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x reader #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler #mgg x reader #mgg #criminal minds

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inlovewithfictionalmensblog · 4 years ago

Text

BAD THINGS GO, GOOD THINGS COME.

Pairing: King Caspian x Fem!reader

Warning: tears, loss of family member, plot twist, su1c1de, mention of abuse, and FLUFF NEAR THE END.

Summary: reader gets trapped in a magical land she heard of as a child, as she randomly appears in the woods, she discovers more than just the land.

(Y/n (you) does have Brown eyes, brown hair everything i describe her as, if you guys don't like it please just readbit as what you look like 😊 )

AFTER Caspian arrived back to cair paravel, he hadn't realised his true emotions towards the pevensies leaving, until now.

He now, had to rule a kingdom, alone again. The narnians loved Casp as a king, absolutely adored his courage and kindness. Reepicheep was no longer there to make him laugh, so he was tortured by boredom.

As he signed papere, scribbling through pages, chewing on some grapes lady iris had just dropped off. His scribbling stopped as a minotaur entered, looking down on hus feet with an ice patch on his head. Caspians eyes widened in worry of his friend.

"Jepsen, what happened?" Caspian told. The small patch of fury blood in the bottom of the patch almost made caspian wince.

"A girl. Your majesty a girl attacked" jepsen breathed.

"A girl?" Caspians mind went to lucy and susan almost immediately. But he knew if it were them, jepsen would say 'queen lucy or queen susan'.

"She was soaking wet. And she was wounded by a soldier, that was when she attacked." The creature sighed "but, your majesty. She seemed to have magic, her hands glowed a gold sparkle, and a tree fell on top of my head which is why...im carrying this ice patch"

"Take me to her, please" caspian orderd kindly.

------

*1 day earlier*

"I wont forget you, grandmother" y/n sniffled a little. Tears stained under her light brown eyes, the light blush in her cheeks seemed redder from trying to hold in more sobs. Her grandmother, in a deathbed. Barely able to move a finger.

"I know...my dear." Grandmother smiled lightly. Y/n reached her hands. "Promise me...you'll be smart, and you'll believe" grandmother dropped a small tear, in which y/n wiped away.

"Believe?" Y/n curiously asked, her grandmother glanced at the second drawer from her bedroom, y/n let go of her grandmother hand, opening the drawer.

"The box"

Y/n grabbed the beautiful designed box, therr were four carved in designs. Y/n glanced at her grandmother. She opened the box, and a necklace came in eyes.

"Put it on" grandmother smiled, so y/n did. It was a beautiful flower designed, it seemed to be from a fantasy world kind of necklace. Y/n stared at it, but her grandmothers voice, put y/ns eyes back to her grandma.

"It is my time, my journey is done, I've explored my life, now it is time for you to start yours" her grandmother smiled at her, grandmother slowly reached to grab y/ns face, bringing it close to hers.

Y/ns tears dropped in her grandmother's cheek, foreheads touching each other, both closed their eyes.

"I love you..."

"I love you..more grandmother" y/n opened her eyes to see her grandmothers closed. She wasn't gone, but her breathing was slowling down from seconds. Finally, the hand that held y/ns face slowly let go, falling into the now dead angels body. Y/ns broke into sobs, head falling to her grandmothers chest.

Everything fell apart all of a sudden, her heart was stinging painfully, she could barely breathe, hiccups interrupting every sob that came out of her mouth. Her hands were fisted yurning red as her nails pushed through her skin.

The doctors came in, a hand touching y/ns shoulder taking her out of the room. Hugging her.

Michie

"S-shes gone" y/n cried. Michie had slow tears running down his eyes.

"I know." He utterd. "Hey look at me, everything is gonna be okay"

"No. First it was mum, then my father and now grandma....who else can i possibly lose" y/n cried again. Michie 45 Year old nurse, delivered y/n when she was a baby.

"You wont lose anyone anymore, i promise. "

"Please...dont promise somthing you cant keep. Everyone i care for..leave me."

Y/n pulled away, wiping her tears off with her sleeve, "i, uh. I need air"

Y/n, walked away, hiccups coming and going. She felt nothing, all y/n wanted was to fall into eternal sleep. And never wake up. She wanted to die, her mother died from giving birth to y/n. Y/ns father, henry had blamed her for it. Abused her even. Made her starve, made her want to die. Her grandmother was the only one, sho ever cared for her, so now. She walked barefoot, the sand touching her toes beautifully. She thought that if that was the last day on earth might as well be at the most beautiful place in all eternity, for one last time.

The beach.

The sound of the waves made her heartbeat go quicker, the sound of the pidgeons making her open her eyes to look up at the sky. The feeling of the sand made her remember memories if when her and her grandmother used to throw sand at each other playfully. Her tracks stopped, facing the water fully. She slowly walked up to the water. The cold water touching her toes making her hiss and yelp, but she didn't stoo walking.

Now, the water from where she was now, stopped up to her chest. She let out a long lasting sigh, before dropping her body weight down the ocean, she swam deeper, finally she stopped. The salty water stinging y/ns brown eyes. Her body started to move as she felt herself losing her breath.

Her eyes slowly losing its strength, she always thought the ocean was beautiful. The beautiful blue, the waves. The way it shined when the sun or moon was in eyes. The way it was described in stories. The sand, everything about it made y/n love it.

But, now she understood when people said 'the most beautiful things can be the most dangerous'

The ocean was dangerous. Yet y/n still did not fear it. Her eyes now fully closed, but before they went shut, she saw a small gold glowing light close to her face.

Her vision left her body. As well as her soul.

Or so she thought.

*now*

Still in the ocean, it was like she had barely stepped in, she was breathing perfectly fine. It was like everything that was on her mind became the complete opposite. Like she had a reason to live.

And the funny thing was, she wanted to live. She had no clue why, but for some reason, she moved her legs, following, her hands. Letting out a gasp as she reached shore.

But she was no longer in the beach she was raised in...well she was. But instead she wasn't in london...she was somewhere else.

On her side...was a big house...more alike castle, and she heard metals hitting each other. She flinched in fear.

She wasn't home.

She ran through the woods. But ran even faster as she heard men? Shout running even quicker towards her.

She was now gasping in tiredness as her barefret touched the sharp branches.

Once she stopped, she heard shouts from different areas.

"HEY!" A big buffy voice was heard. She turned around, to see a soldier, with a sword. He was withen only a second away before he could wound her.

He swinged his sword, making a large cut down her arm. She hissed in pain, as he was going to swing again, this time she bend down, her hands going up. She heard nothing but silence.

As she glanced up, a good light appeared in her hands, for some reason, the gold light was sucking in the water that was on y/ns body creating a small dagger looking.

It immediately cut down a tree, hitting someone, but before she could see who it was, someone smacked y/n's head, blacking out.

Y/n woke up in a dark corner. She moved but her hand was still bleeding, as she tried to move carefully, her hands seemed to be trapped, by something, magical.

Her arm was cut down bleeding still, her head hurt.

And she was still wet. Yet, no matter how wounded she was. Her heart hurt the most.

Nothing, no wound. No cause of blood hurts more than losing someone you spent all your life with.

Tears seemed to suddenly fall, because tears started dripping down on y/ns legs.

It was dark, cold.

If y/n didn't die from drowing...she hoped she would die then and there.

Caspian walked in the dungeons, two guardsmen each side of him in case of any protection.

Jepsen in behind him. It had been four hours since they imprisoned her.

The cell she was in was incredibly dark. One of the gaurdmen opened a small window. The light of the sun turned to where the girl was.

Caspians eyes widened. She was bruised. Her arm was blooded. Her arm was blooded as well.

She seemed to hardly be breathing. Caspian only hoped this girl deserved what she got otherwise he'd have to have a talk with the guards.

"Hello?" Caspian spoke, the girl flinched, looking towards him. He could barely see her. But he saw how she flinched. And for some reason...he felt sad because of it.

"H-hello.." the girls soft voice was heard. It was raspy, wounded...and seemed to be heartbroken.

"Come out into the light" Caspian told her lightly. She scoffed and groaned.

"I would if i could"

"Why cant you?"

"My arm.." she groaned again, this time a light cry came out with it. Caspian grabbed the Keys and immediately opened it.

He walked towards the body on the floor, and bend down.

"Are you alright?" He asked concernly, y/n yet again chuckled. "No"

The light hit her arm, and he felt anger. If she was a threat why was he angry?

"What is your name?" He asked.

"Y-y/n" y/n responded. Caspian nodded and smiled lightly at the name, grabbing her arm gently, picking her up.

He took her at the light, and froze completely when he saw her. Not because be was afraid or because she was a threat. But because of her beauty. Her beautiful big light brown eyes, her small buttoned nose, her lushy pink lips. Her long brown light hair.

She seemed like a godess. But her eyes, both her eyes had brown, but in the corners if you really focused you could see a hint of blue spots.

"And who are you?"

"Caspian" he responded, "Caspian the tenth, king of narnia"

Narnia... the story her grandmother used to tell her as a child.

"Narnia?" "No...narnia is made up story my gr-grandmother told me when i was a child" y/n utterd the last part. Looking around.

She finally looked at him. She froze. His beautiful dark mysterious chocolate eyes, his defined face shape, sharp jaw, the small mole under his eyes.

He was incredibly handsome.

"How did you get here?" Caspian asked.

"I uh" she didn't want to say the truth, and she had no right to. She barely knew the man.

"I went out for a swim..and my necklace-- my necklace!" Y/ns eyes turned to the cell looking for her grandmothers necklace.

"Woah, woah...what necklace"

"The necklace my grandmother gave me, it was in my neck-....i had it" she was talking around the cell.

"We'll find it"

"No, no- Ow!" She hissed as some dust fell on her arm making it sting.

"Lets get you healed, then we talk about what happened in the woods" he told her, his hands went up to her back, slowly guiding her out the cell.

She saw the creature assumed she hurt, she looked at him.

"Im sorry....ab-about your head" she apologized. The creature seemed to be shocked and apologetic.

He nodded his head and an acceptance to her apology.

------

Caspian stood outside the room, they were healing her in. He barely knew the woman and he seemed to not want to leave her side already.

Every hiss, or yelp. He would wince.

Finally after a minute of silence, the door opened and he walked in.

Y/n had a large bandage in her arm, her head was also patched up.

A small bucket beside her was filled with bloody water.

She glanced at him, but then continued to rub her un injured hand on her neck. She looked at the ground.

"Im not a threat, and i didn't know i could do what i did. Im sorry if i harmed any of your men, but i really need to get home..."

"Not yet." Caspian sat next to her. He had some suspicions while waiting.

"Why were you going out on a swim?" He asked her, she looked down and gulped. He didnt know the man, yet she trusted him with everything.

But she lied.

"I love the ocean, grew up near it. Wanted to swin because i was bored"

Caspian sighed, "you know, when you lie you fiddle with your fingers, and you lick your lips?" Caspian smirked at her.

"What were you really doing?" He asked, kindly. Sympathetically. As if he knew exactly what she was doing.

"I wanted to kiss myself. I hated my life so i wanted to end it.."

"But?"

Y/n chuckled, "but, as i was in the water..felt likeni had just jumped into, and i was breathing just fine. I felt like i had another reason to live" y/n utterd the last.

"And?'

"And...that feeling left when you came" y/n looked at him...

"Who are you really king Caspian?" Y/n smirked at him.

"Caspian the tenth, used to be prince of telmar, saved by my professor, son of King Caspian the 9th and Queen arabella, emperor of the lone lslands...and a man who was saved by four pevensies"

"Pevensies?" Y/n furrowed her eyebrows. It cant be, if....so. then the stories her grandmother told her were true.

"Yes, peter pevensie, Edmund Pevensie, susan pevensie and lucy. Lucy pevensie"

There it was, the name of her grandmother.

"Lucy pevensie" y/n muttered.

"Is the name familiar?" Caspian asked.

Y/n smiled sadly. Nodded her face.

"You didn't ask but, who i am. Is y/n Lucille pevensie, daughter of Eve Pevensie. Eve pevensie was the daughter of lucy. Lucy pevensie"

Caspians eyes widened.

"What time are you from?" He asked her.

" 2021, july 10th, Saturday" y/n told him. She looked sad.

"Theres another reason, of why you drowned yourself, wasnt there?"

"My mother died giving birth to me. Leaving me and my father henry, but henry blamed me..abused me. So, my grandmother lucy took me in . Today..in london she passed." Caspian tensed.

Y/ns eyes startes to water.

"She was the only thing i had...and it got taken from me. Just like everyone else, the necklace was the only thing i had from her...and i lost that too"

"Now you have me, and a kingdom"

Y/n smiled at him, as well as Caspian did too.

*10 years later*

Both king and Queen are now 30 years old.

Y/n sat down the beautiful green grass staring as her eldest son, silas played with her little sister, Lucinda. The two giggled, making y/n smile down at her children.

As Lucinda saw a flower, she picked it up, walking towards her mother, giving it to her.

"Her, y'go mommy" Lucinda smiled sweetly. Y/n closed her book, smiled at her daughter.

"Thank you my love, oh, its a dandelion" y/n grinned, silas ran up to y/n falling into her arms. Y/n giggled.

"Daddy!" Silas grinned getting up fro. Y/ns arms running towards his father. Caspian smiled widely, picking up silas, silas on his hip. Caspian walked towards Lucinda and Y/n with wide smiles.

"How are my girls?" Caspian smiled, kissing lucindas head, but then pecking y/ns mouth

"No!" Lucinda groaned, smacking Caspians face with her small hand making Caspian and y/n all gasp with smiles.

"My'mommy" Lucinda covered y/ns face with her face. Y/n kissed lucindas nose, then cheeks making Lucinda giggle.

"Im all yours my love" y/n told her daughter. Lucinda gasped in little happiness sticking her tounge out to Caspian.

"She's definitely a mini you" Caspian told y/n with a short laugh. It was pretty clear he showed a little jealousy.

"Your so upset shes more like me, check out your son casp...he's literally your twin, only 24 years younger" y/n smiled. Caspian looked at his wife with love.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Y/n smiled at him. He shaked his head, kissing lucindas head.

"Thank you" Caspian said. Y/n furrowed her eyebrows. "Thank you..for giving me the family i never had"

Y/n..looked at him, before calling lady Margaret.

"Yes, your majesty?" "Hey, do you mind bathing silas and Lucinda, for me please i'd do it but me and my husband need to talk" y/n smiled kindly at lady margret

"Yes, your majesty"

"Thank you"

After lady margret, left Caspian stared at y/n with worry making her giggle. Caspian smiled at the sound.

The sound he had so much fallen in love with. He looked at her.

"You deserve it. And so much more, i love you my brave king." Y/n told him with a smile.

"You came into my life..like you belonged in it...and you do. The day we met was the day i could have died...but because you were out there i didn't. You have no idea..how much i love you" Caspian had small hints of tears in his eyes.

Y/n grabbed his hand, slowly placing it in her flat stomach. She caressed his hand, she bit her lip preventing her from smiling.

He looked at her, eyes wide opened. His heartbeat beating absolutely rapidly.

"Are yo-" y/n nodded, tears appearing in her eyes. Caspian broke into a wide grin.

"We're....were gonna be parents again?" Caspian smiled bringing y/n down his lap, both his hands on her waist, his thumbs caressing her flat tummy. He kissed her exposed shoulderblade.

He kissed her cheek, her nose, then her lips, making y/n giggled. She moved on his lap making let out a small groan.

"Do you uhm...remember what we did last week after the ceremony?" Caspian smirked at her, y/n nodded.

"What so you say...we take this celebration to the our beschambers?"

Y/n let out a small laugh before getting up, Caspian grabbed her hand happily.

Both king and queen spent the evening tangled in each others arms, both tired of the beautiful love making.

Caspians hands on y/na stomach as he was behind her, cuddling her. Time to time kissing her shoulder.

"I love you my Queen"

"I love you most, my King"

----

Y/ns life wasn't good, she met the love of her life by drowing herself. She had horrible things in life..but she lived through it all...and it gave her the life she had now.

2 amazing children, an amazing husband, a baby who was going to be absolutely loved on the way

A kingdom who absolutely adored her.

Lucy pevensie watched her through it all with a proud smile, along with her siblings.

#caspian imagine #caspian x #caspian fanfic #caspian x reader fluffy

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mardereads19 · 4 years ago

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Elriel Month 🌸🦇

Day 22:

“Hello,” Elain said as she opened the door. She reined in the urge to avert her gaze and furrow her brows, but she did not make her voice sound as friendly as she should have.

Lucien cleared his throat. “Hello.” His eyes had widened when she had been the one to open the door instead of her sister or a servant, but he had recovered quickly. Now he looked as unruffled as if he had always known it’d be Elain he’d been meeting here.

“Every person has give aways of emotions. Tells that reveal what they are feeling —if they’re lying, what their weakness is, and if they are about to attack,” Azriel had said to her during training a few days ago. “Your assignment for tomorrow is that you find give aways in the people you encounter today.”

“Do all of the tells mean the same thing in everyone? Does biting the lower lip, for instance, mean nervousness in everyone or is it an individual thing?” Elain had asked.

Azriel had smiled at her with approval shinning in his eyes. “That’s a very good question. Tells are individual. What might represent nervousness in you, might represent anger in someone else.”

“How will I know what the give away to the people I see mean for them individually?”

“You get better at that with practice. But for tomorrow you only need to note the tells, not what they may mean. Look out for tapping fingers, for roaming eyes, for biting a lip —anything that might reveal emotions.”

And Elain had gotten so good at it that she noticed Lucien’s quick twitch of his fingers. She was willing to bet he felt nervous, perhaps self-conscious, underneath the calm, collected air he was trying to pull-off.

Good, she could almost hear Azriel’s voice whisper in her ear. She held back a smile and opened the door wider, the heat of the mid-day sun hitting her with the warm breeze. Today was a hot day. “Come in.”

Lucien hesitated —another tell— before stepping inside the river house’s foyer. Once she had closed the door behind him, she let herself study him.

Even though Elain was not fond of being in the same room as him, or that this male was her cauldron-given mate, she could not deny he always looked pristine. Even with the heat, Lucien wore a white dress shirt with a pine-green vest and pants. The color brought out the red of his hair —which was elegantly tied at the nape of his neck— and the gold of his eye. She also thought that the scar across his other —metal— eye that others found gruesome and grotesque, made him even more handsome. Nothing like an imperfection to highlight the beauty.

He shifted on his feet and Elain almost asked him what made him so uncomfortable, except she already knew. She felt it, too. “Where are Feyre and Rhysand?”

Elain tilted her head. “Desperate to get away from my presence?”

Lucien whirled towards her, her tone that had been full of disdain, his eyes widening once more. “No, that’s not what I—” He frowned with worry before adding, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

She focused on his real eye, the one that would reveal his emotions, and found sincerity in his gaze. She nodded once. “Feyre and Rhys are gone on Court business, but they asked me to receive you.”

Feyre knew damn well what she had been doing when she left Elain at the river house with the task of receiving Lucien. She and Rhys had both urgently needed to visit the Hewn City to present Nyx and remind the Court of Nightmares who held the reins of their small kingdom. Apparently, the job could not wait one more day.

Lucien inclined his head in a nod. “How is the baby?”

Elain let her lips twist up in a genuine smile, the image of her small nephew coming up into her mind. “He’s healthy, thank the Cauldron.”

Lucien nodded, again. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Nyx had been a blessing. Having him here took her mind off of distracting thoughts. Taking care of him focused her —that is, until she studied his wings and her mind drifted off to another male with wings like that.

Elain shook her head to dispel the image of Azriel. She had to focus on the task at hand, of listening to her mate.

But as Lucien began to update Elain on the Spring Court’s and Tamlin’s current state, she couldn’t stop her mind from drifting off, again.

Mate. This male before her was her mate. What did that mean? Why did that matter? Elain knew the answers to those questions according to the Fae, but the answers were not the same to her. Now you are Fae, too, you know? she reminded herself. Yet as much as she tried to assimilate to their culture, their lifestyle, it was seemingly impossible.

“Reaching complete silence is imposible. It’s even harder here, in Prythian, to achieve stealth. The sharp hearing is an obstacle you must learn to overcome.” Azriel’s voice from one of their initial training sessions rang in her head.

“If it’s impossible, how do you do it? How do the Wraiths do it?”

Azriel had smiled. “The Wraiths are more silent than me —impressive, I know— but they are half shadows themselves.”

Elain had chuckled and raised her brows. “I hadn’t noticed any difference between your levels of stealth.”

Azriel had dipped his chin. “Well, I did train them regardless. Just how I am training you.” And the look he’d given her had made her shift on her feet. Azriel noted the tell and she’d gone still again.

“As I said, complete silence is imposible, but if the sound could be reduced enough to almost imperceivable, it will seem completely quiet. Let’s begin with your footwork.”

Elain slammed back to reality when Lucien mentioned Koschei. And she blinked a few times to remember she was in the river house foyer and not in the ceiling or garden training with—

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

Lucien frowned slightly before saying, “Vassa doesn’t have much time here, before Koschei pulls on her reins. What is Feyre and Rhysand’s plan to find his location?” His eye held a shine and Elain could have sworn she saw fire dancing in his golden iris. His voice had also taken on a fierceness that Elain couldn’t help but admire.

“I don’t know the specifics of it, but Rhysand and Feyre have been trying to find a safe way to visit his lake.” Elain hesitated for a second, not knowing if this information was clear to share or not, but Lucien was their ally, and he was friends with Vassa, who might be the best source of intel they had at the moment. “Azriel and Cassian had an encounter with the death god at his lake already and it did not end well.”

“Bryallin had the crown, that’s how she had controlled Cassian,” Rhys had said in one of their meetings with the Inner Circle. Elain had been walking past the door in the hallway, but she had stopped and listened.

Azriel had spoken next, the sound of his voice making her heart skip. “My shadows warned me to run from there, Rhys. Even if Koschei had no controlling powers, those he does have are dangerous. I’m still not sure how Elain’s —and Feyre and Nesta’s— father could strike a deal with him.”

“Koschei also said he had been preparing for us or some other shit like that,” Cassian added. “I’m not sure if it’s wise to return there without learning more, finding a weakness or something.”

“We know he wants Vassa back,” Amren suggested.

Feyre spoke up, “We are not going to use Vassa as a bargaining ship, Amren.”

“I also don’t think Vassa could guarantee our safety.” Rhys’s comment was followed by a short silence.

A shadow had flowed out through the open door and glanced —or what Elain would interpret as a glance from a shadow— at her before quietly making its way back to Azriel. Elain had taken a step closer to the gap and looked inside the study to see it lift to his ear. The shadowsinger did not glance towards the door, but she saw him smile. Her heart ached with the sudden need to touch those slightly twisted lips.

“We’d be fools to try to taunt Koschei with Vassa, who is still enslaved to him. We need something else, something he wouldn’t venture to hurt us for. Something he wants or, as Cassian said, something that’s his weakness.”

Elain looked up at Lucien now. “Do you think Queen Vassa would agree to meet with Rhysand and Feyre? Now that Azriel and Cassian saw Koschei and his lake themselves, they might understand better any instruction Vassa gives. We need all the help we can get.”

Lucien began nodding even before she had finished her question, his eye filling with hope —for the human queen, Elain noted. “Anything you need, Vassa will be happy to provide as long as she knows about it or if she’s not enchanted against speaking of.”

“Enchanted?”

Lucien’s brow furrowed. “Sometimes Vassa finds it difficult to speak of certain things. She’d be speaking one moment and the next second she’d forget what she was about to say. She never understands it, but my eye,” he gestured to his metal eye, “picks spells up.” His gold eye darkened. “Koschei won’t let her speak of some things, I’m guessing they are vital to learning how to defeat him.”

Elain dipped her chin and tucked away the information for later, when she got to tell her sister and her mate what Lucien told Elain.

The male before her said a few things more regarding the human territory —Elain placing on her face the most neutral mask she could muster, Azriel’s impassive face as her guideline— before bidding her goodbye.

Elain was accompanying him to the door when she realized she should have had invited him into a parlor and offered tea or anything. He was outside before she could apologize, but he turned to her abruptly, like he had been fighting an impulse that won out in the end. Elain just blinked at him, waiting.

“I—” His face flushed. “It was nice seeing you.”

Elain bowed her head and told herself being polite was not the same thing as accepting their fated bond. “As was seeing you.”

Lucien opened his mouth like he might say more, but then he closed it and bowed. He turned swiftly and walked away from the estate.

Elain watched him go, wondering if she would have felt something for him if she had met him differently. He was noble, that much was true for her. But there was no spark of joy in her heart when she saw him. Instead, she couldn’t help but feeling disdain at being around him. It had more to do with the stupid mating bond than it did him. More to do with how everyone expected them to get together at one point or another. More to do with the fact that it was not up to her to decide. The mating bond with Lucien felt like she had no choice.

But if she had met him differently?

Hazel eyes flashed in her mind. A scarred hand extending towards her before guiding her to the garden. Wings sunning as she drank tea and plotted out in her head the next section of the terrain.

Elain shut the door, a sad smile appearing on her face. It would not have mattered if Lucien and Elain had met differently. She had met Azriel first, and it had been born out of him being with the good side. Him wanting to help the humans who had no way of defending themselves.

He had been the one to listen to her when her visions had her speaking in code. It had been him who had assured everyone she was not crazy, but special. That she was not lacking anything, but had gained something.

Elain had tried to ignore it, but this meeting with her mate, where she had not been able to push away memories of moments spent with Azriel from her mind... She could not deny it any longer.

Her feelings for Azriel were like weeds in her heart. The more she tried to cut them, the more they grew and spread. She was so far gone that not even a conversation with Lucien could stop her from thinking about her shadowsinger.

She was buried underneath it. The ivy of her emotions for him. The ivy of him.

It kept on growing.

#elrielmonth #elrielmonth21 #elriel #elain #azriel #elain archeron #elriel endgame #pro elriel #elriel fanfic #elriel oneshot #my writing

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flashfuture · 4 years ago

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The west family being an utter-crap family and full of problems makes a lot of Iris and Wally’s own (when written well) characterization’s much more understandable. Both of them are basically from abusive homes who like...decided to reject what they had been taught and choose to be loving and good people rather than follow bad impulses. Oh and both are wonderful parents.

(Sometimes I think about how Wally went to therapy in like his own run? In the 90’s? And in some ways it was more well done and respectful when discussing Wally’s depression than whatever the fuck dc did with the sanctuary or whatever.)

Sorry I needed to rant.

No yes thank you thank you. And we always appreciate a good rant on this blog lol.

Iris and Wally bonded together so strongly because Iris knew what it was like to grow up with Rudy. She knew Rudy and Mary were bad parents. She did everything she could to take care of Wally always.

Actually pre crisis Rudy and Mary seemed very uninvested in Wally too so it’s not like they were ever good parents per says

Wally in the 90s being radicalized and going to therapy is the type of growing up story I wanna read. He did reject everything he was taught and began to form himself more as a man.

And Wally struggling with still loving his abusers is something a lot of people myself included can relate to. It was done very well.

But okay first of all Tom King just wanted to write that story and he asked which characters he could use because he cared that little about the characters and their histories. He just wanted to kill a bunch of superheroes. He’s a bad writer.

Just gonna jump quick to Booster Gold who King clearly knew nothing about. He was used as a potential villain in that story because King never read anything about Boost. He called him a sociopath and a narcissist. Boost is the opposite of that. He protects the timeline without any recognition and he makes tougher calls than any hero really could. And he again had a tough childhood that he grew past. So him and his shit in Heroes in Crisis is completely out of left field.

But if we look at Heroes in Crisis like it was a real story that fits into the universe Wally was upset his children were lost in the timeline and Linda couldn’t remember him. That is not a relatable struggle for anyone. It’s such a fake struggle that his depression over it seemed fake to us because how could we possibly relate to something we all know is gonna get fixed sooner or later. Like a switch on or off depression is what Jai and Irey being taken away was.

Overcoming years of abuse and trauma while trying to be the best man you can be while still being exposed to your abusers was a very real struggle that didn’t have an on or off switch.

Wally had no idea how to handled his mom and dad. Barry and Iris his second parents the ones he was always safe with were both dead at that time or at least for Iris he thought she was dead.

Wally didn’t have anyone to turn to here. It was a good story and that’s why he was so popular because even if he was running at the speed of light and fighting the weather wizard he still felt like a real character. Someone you could relate to.

The West family always felt like that to me. Iris especially saw how fucked everything was and decided she couldn’t help her siblings but she absolutely could help her nephews.

She got Wally away from his parents as much as possible. When Wallace’s mom disappeared Iris took him in without hesitation. When Bart was in trouble in the future Iris rescued him and took him to the past. Everything she does is to protect the kids in her life.

Iris is such a good woman and the family her and Barry build is so good. Because even Inez who showed up literally once Barry bought her a rocking horse to play with. (The trickster stole it though it was very sad) they love kids. Which is why they both deserve to raise the Tornado Twins.

They are wonderful parents. And Iris is one entirely out of her own making. She decided she would be a wonderful mom and was. Barry well Barry could have gone down so many darker paths like Bruce did but he decided to be living sunshine and an amazing dad instead.

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echoes-of-the-clockwork · 4 years ago

Text

Book One: Gold (Prompto x Reader) Chapter III

Back at the chocobo outpost, (Y/n) waited patiently for the boys to finish talking with Wiz. She wandered over to the pens and immediately made eye contact with one of the birds. It had (f/c) feathers. It watched her every moment as she approached. A faint 'chirp' came from the chocobo as it wiggled its tail feathers excitedly.

The guardian smiled sweetly, reaching out to pet the bird. It lowered its head and allowed her to place her hand on its head. It closed its eyes, enjoying the feeling of her fingers stroke the top of its head.

(Y/n)'s hand gravitated toward the chocobo's neck, resulting in the bird to come closer. Its body bounced against the wooden railings of the pen, but that didn't stop it from snuggling into her embrace. With a giggle, the girl wrapped both arms around the chocobo's neck as it placed its head on her shoulder. It chirped lightly before nuzzling its beak into her (h/c) locks.

What surprised (Y/n) the most was the bird's lack of fear. Most animals were able to detect her aura and became frightened, but this chocobo seemed to find joy and comfort in her presence. A giggle fell from her lips at how affectionate the bird was. "You're really friendly, aren't you?"

The sound of a camera shutter grabbed her attention. Pulling away from the chocobo, she looked toward the sound and saw Prompto. A grin manifested on her face when she saw his cheeks turn slightly red from being caught. "Sneaking more pictures, huh?"

The boy lowered his camera, scuffing the tip of his shoe against the ground. "Wh-What can I say? A photographer never misses a perfect opportunity to take a picture."

(Y/n) then noticed he was alone. "Where're the others?"

"They're still talkin' with Wiz," he said, walking towards her. As he stood by her and waited for the others, he reached out and petted the chocobo. "So...exactly how're we supposed to explain this to them?"

"Leave it to me," she said. "This'll be easier than I thought it'd be."

"Why's that?"

"By Ignis' reaction earlier, it seems he already has a comprehension of what I am. With his assistance, I'm positive Noctis and Gladiolus will be able to understand." She lifted her left hand, clamping it over the gemstone located on her right arm.

A few minutes ticked by before Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis regrouped with (Y/n) and Prompto. The young girl directed them to a place on the chocobo ranch that was void of prying eyes before giving them her full attention and introducing herself. "My name is (Y/n). It's a pleasure to finally meet you all."

"So, uh..." Noctis rubbed the back of his neck. "Thanks for the, y'know...help earlier."

She smiled gently at him. "No need to thank me. After all," she turned her gaze to the marksman. "It is my job to protect Prompto."

"If I'm not mistaken, you are a guardian, correct?" Ignis asked.

She nodded. "Indeed, I am. You knew the moment you spotted the gemstone what I was. I'm impressed by your analytical abilities, Ignis."

"Hold on," Gladio interrupted. "Guardians are from fairytales. There's no way they really exist."

"Far from it, Gladio," the advisor replied. "Guardians are no mere figment of one's imagination. You stand in the presence of one. (Y/n) demonstrated her abilities during our skirmish with the behemoth. There are a multitude of texts explaining the existence of spirits, or as we commonly refer to them as guardians."

The shield still wasn't convinced the fairytale story he was told when he was little wasn't fiction. "If you really are a guardian, how the hell do you know blondie?"

The golden-eyed girl glanced at Prompto for a brief second before looking back at the brute and explaining who and what spirits truly were. "I'm not sure what to say about the guardians you are referring to in fairytales, but a real life spirit is born from a fragment of one's soul. Not all humans are capable of manifesting a guardian. In fact, it is quite rare. A strong emotional tie to the world around you is necessary to birth a spirit. Just so happens, Prompto is one of those people who does has a strong connection."

It took a few minutes of silence after (Y/n)'s explanation for Noctis and Gladio to fully understand her words. Ignis, on the other hand, took no time at all for him to wrap his head around the truth behind guardians. While he needed no other evidence of the truth due to seeing all the proof he needed, Noctis and Gladio were still unable to swallow everything. Of course, the two displayed their uncertainty and (Y/n) was more than understanding.

After (Y/n) answered any and all questions they had, Prompto placed his hands together and begged. "Can (Y/n) come with us, please?"

"What're you talkin' about?" Noctis asked. "Hasn't she already been with us?"

"Well, yeah, but I mean can she travel with us outside the bracelet?" He clarified. "She could help us in battles! I mean, you guys saw how awesome she was earlier, right?"

"I don't see why not." The prince glanced at his shield and advisor. "What do you guys say?"

"A guardian would prove beneficial in battle," Ignis stated.

Gladio shrugged his shoulders. "Fine with me. She's already proved herself by taking Deadeye down."

Prompto pumped his fist into the air with a triumphant cry. "Yes!"

"Now we know why you've been demanding seconds at dinner," Ignis commented.

The blonde lowered his hand. "Oh, y-yeah. It was the only way I could think of getting something to eat for (Y/n) while we were camping."

"Now we don't have to worry about that," the spirit said. She then clapped her hands together, grabbing the boys' attentions. "So, where to next?"

"Lestallum," Gladio answered. "Gotta check on my sister."

"Well then, shall we?"

"Aw, yeah! Let's go!" Prompto cheered.

<-----------<<<<<

When the group reached Lestallum, (Y/n) materialized from Prompto's bracelet and excused herself from the group as they headed to the Leville to speak with Iris. She wandered over to the outlook and stared into the distance at the Disc of Cauthess before her eyes drifted upward to the sky. Her attention was drawn to the sound of footsteps approaching from behind.

Turning her head, she spotted a man with spiky black hair and piercing jade eyes. He wore a faded green jacket and a black t-shirt with matching combat pants and boots. The small jingling she heard as he walked was due to the dog tags he had hanging around his neck. By his attire, (Y/n) assumed he was a hunter. But what she didn't understand was why he was walking directly towards her. She wondered if he was just coming to take in the view instead of talking to her, but she was proven wrong when her golden eyes locked with his emerald ones and a smirk appeared on his face.

Sighing, the spirit turned her gaze back to the sky in an attempt to ignore the man. She prayed to the Astrals he would be able to tell how uninterested she was and simply walk away. Morosely, her prayer went unanswered as the stranger stood directly beside her and followed her line of sight. "Beautiful day, don't you agree?" He asked.

(Y/n)'s shoulders drooped as she sighed. Her eyes reverted back to gazing at the Disc. "You want something. That much is clear. Skip the sweet talk and get straight to the point. What do you want?"

The man chuckled at her snappy response. "A man can't talk to a beautiful woman without having a motive?"

"They can, but you're not one of those men. You clearly want something. What is it?"

He sighed, removing his hands from his pockets and sticking them up into the air. "You caught me red-handed. I was gonna ask if you could accompany me to the market and then I'd be able to convince you to join me for dinner."

(Y/n)'s eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms. "Of all the beautiful women walking around Lestallum, you chose me. You've horrible taste."

"Does that mean-?"

"No," she promptly interrupted him. "I wish you luck on your hunt for someone who will fall at your feet and follow you around like a lost puppy dog."

The man placed a hand over his chest and feigned a painful expression. "Ouch... You wound me, my lady. I'll need a potion to help heal my shattered heart."

(Y/n) uncrossed her arms and placed one of her hands on her hip. Turning her head, she glared at the stranger. "You really can't tell when you're not wanted, can you?"

He snickered and reached out to touch the guardian's arm. "Hey, listen, I'm-"

All of a sudden, the girl heard someone shout her name and felt an arm wrap around her waist. A faint gasp of shock fell from her lips as she was pulled into someone's side. Without having to look, she knew exactly who it was. "Prompto. When did you...?"

Prompto pressed his cheek against the side of the girl's head, his cheeks dusted with a light pink as he smiled widely. "Sorry I'm late, babe. Did I keep you waiting long?"

"B-Babe...?" The (h/c)-haired guardian murmured to herself, clearly confused as to why he used an affectionate nickname. After a few seconds, the pieces assembled in her head and her eyes widened. "O-Oh, not at all!" She wrapped both of her arms around his torso and hugged him tightly.

The man, who still had yet to properly introduce himself, glanced between the two. "Ah, I see. My apologies. I had no idea you were already spoken for." He smiled at the girl, which caused her to tense up slightly from the strange aura she detected from him. "I do hope we meet again, (Y/n). I would enjoy a proper conversation with you. You are a mystery I'd love to solve." He turned on his heels, waving over his shoulder as he strode off.

Once the nameless man was gone, Prompto loosened his arm around the girl's waist but kept his arm wound around it. "Who was that guy?"

"No idea," (Y/n) answered honestly. "He never told me his name. I'm glad you showed up when you did, Prom. He was starting to give me the creeps."

"You looked like you were about to toss him over the side of the outlook," the blonde chortled.

"You've no idea how close I was to turning him into a chew toy. By the way..." She kept her arms secured around his torso as she peered up at his face. "How'd it go at the Leville?"

"Good. We'll be spending the night here."

"Does this mean I'll get to sleep in an actual bed?" She asked, hope gleaming her golden-slitted eyes.

"You know it!" He smiled.

She smiled back, unwinding her arms from around his waist. When she tried to step away, Prompto's arm didn't budge. "Um, Prom? Could you let me go?"

"What?" He looked down and realized he was still latched on to her. "I-I, uh..." He quickly removed his arm and stepped away from her, flustered. "S-Sorry 'bout that, (Y/n)..."

"Don't apologize," she giggled. "I quite enjoyed it." She saw his cheeks turn an even brighter red all because of her. She knew exactly what to say and do to fluster the boy.

Just then, Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis wandered over. (Y/n) looked at the three, noticing the prince was staring at her. She tilted her head in confusion. "Everything all right, Your Highness?"

That was when Noctis realized he was staring at the spirit. "Uh, no, just...kinda freaked out by the eyes."

"Noct!" Prompto whined.

The (h/c)-haired girl snorted with laughter. "It's okay, Prom. I'm not offended." She offered them a smile. "Pushing that aside, did you three need something?"

"We were hoping you both would join us for dinner," Ignis said.

She blinked in surprise. "Me too?"

"What's with the look?" Noctis asked. "You think we would just leave you out?"

"Maybe just a little," she laughed nervously. "After all, I am a stranger to you. Shouldn't you three be more weary?"

"Nonsense, (Y/n)," Ignis replied. "Your origin and dedication to Prompto are proof enough to earn our trust."

Her eyes widened. She was expecting it would be more difficult to earn their trust. She then smiled happily. "Then let's get something to eat."

The group headed back to the main thoroughfare and made their way to Surgate's Beanmine. They sat down at one of the tables and ordered their meals. While waiting, Noctis was once again staring at the (h/c)-haired girl. Prompto was the first to notice and groaned, "Dude, you're staring..."

The prince blinked a few times before apologizing to (Y/n). "Sorry, it's just...I'm trying to figure something out."

"And what's that?" The marksman asked.

"How come I never saw (Y/n) when I came over to your apartment?"

The spirit laughed at the question. "You never checked the closet. That's where Prompto stuffed me whenever any of you came over."

Ignis sighed, shaking his head in disapproval. "What an awful way to treat a lady, Prompto."

"I-I know! I just...wasn't comfortable introducing (Y/n) to you guys," the sharpshooter explained.

"But still. The closet...?" Noctis muttered.

Gladio casted a smirk in Prompto's direction. "Why? You think one of us would've stolen her from you, blondie?"

Prompto hung his head. "Guess so..."

The shield was taken aback at his honesty. "Well, damn. Wasn't expecting that response."

(Y/n) saw how uncomfortable Prompto was and changed the subject. "So, what's your plan from here?" She looked around at the four faces around the table.

"Find the royal arms," Noctis said. "And something called the conduit."

"Conduit?" The girl muttered.

"Cor didn't really explain," he answered.

"I see..."

Just then, their meals arrived. Everyone ate in silence, enjoying the delicious food. Once they finished eating, they sat at the table a little longer. Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis were still curious about (Y/n) and asked her some questions about herself. She, of course, was more than happy to share a few things about her. In exchange, she learned a little about them.

As she chatted with the three, Prompto felt relieved and happy to see how well they all were getting along. He slumped back in his seat, listening to them converse.

After their chat ended, the group headed back to the Leville. They went to their room. The four boys gathered around the coffee table and pulled out a deck of cards. (Y/n) wandered across the room towards the open balcony door. She strolled outside, the cool air whipping through her (h/c) locks.

Casting her golden gaze to the sky, she watched as the sun set and gleaming stars filled the sky. Her eyes trailed across a certain cluster of stars-the Celestial Crescent. Ever since leaving Insomnia, she felt a strange presence from the cluster of stars and thought she heard someone trying to speak to her whenever she gazed upon them.

"(Y/n)?"

The guardian tore her gaze away from the sky and smiled as Prompto joined her on the balcony. "Hey, Prom. I thought you were playing cards with the others."

"You do realize you've been out here for a couple of hours, right?"

She blinked in surprise. "I...did not realize."

"Y'know, you look up at the sky more often than when we were in the city," he said. "It's almost like you're in some kinda trance."

(Y/n) leaned against the railing and looked back up at the night sky. "There's this cluster of stars only spirits can see. It's known as the Celestial Crescent. As the name states, it's a collection of stars shaped like a crescent."

Prompto looked up at the stars. "Is it pretty?"

"There're so many colors," she sighed contently. "I wish you could see it too."

Suddenly, Gladio poked his head out of the room and eyed the two. "Hey, you two comin' inside or staying out here all night?"

Prompto and (Y/n) went back inside. The blonde flopped down on the bed while the girl remained standing. She didn't know what to do with herself when seeing the other bed was occupied by Noctis and Ignis.

The shield noticed and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You take the bed with blondie. I'll sleep on the couch."

"I couldn't do that," she retorted. "You take the bed. I'll return to the bracelet."

"Prompto already told us how stuffy and uncomfortable it is inside that gemstone of yours." He nudged her towards the bed. "A soft mattress sounds better than that bracelet. Besides, I can handle the couch."

"Well then, um... Thank you, Gladio." She climbed on to the bed, curling up into a ball. She stared at Prompto's back for a few minutes until he flipped over.

The blonde gasped when his cerulean eyes met gold-slitted ones. Realizing his face was a few inches from (Y/n)'s, he stumbled over his words as he tried to apologize. He scooted back to put some distance between them, but wound up falling off the bed with a shriek.

The girl crawled over to the edge of the bed and peered down at him. His arms and legs were sprawled out across the floor. "You okay, Prom?"

He nodded with a faint blush. "I-I'm okay..."

"If sleeping next to me makes you uncomfortable, I can-"

"No!" Prompto shot up and immediately crawled back onto the bed. "I-I'm not uncomfortable. I was just surprised to see you there instead of the big guy."

"So that means I can stay here, right?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Sorry for freaking out..."

"It's fine." (Y/n) laid back down on her side of the bed, making herself comfortable. "Good night, Prom."

Prompto laid down with his back facing the girl, cheeks still tinted a bright red. "'Night, (Y/n)."

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#ffxv #ffxv x reader #final fantasy xv x reader #final fantasy xv #prompto x reader #prompto argentum x reader #prompto argentum

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idreamofplaid · 4 years ago

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Hidden

Square Filled: Director AU for @spnfluffbingo & Ugly Christmas Sweaters for @spnchristmasbingo

Characters: Jared x Reader; Britney (OFC)

Rating: Mature

Summary: The reader thinks it’s better if she and Jared keep their relationship a secret; he disagrees.

Word Count: 3864

Created for @spnfluffbingo & @spnchristmasbingo

“Come to my place tonight?” Jared was looking down at the script in his hands while he talked, pretending to be asking you something about how he should deliver his lines.

You swirled the plastic stirrer in your coffee and took a sip, trying to make the exchange look as businesslike as possible to anyone who might be observing. “We agreed we wouldn’t do that anymore, Jared, not until after filming is done, and we’re in post production.”

You pointed to a line on his script as though you were making a suggestion. “If anyone found out, you know how people gossip. They’d say you slept with me to get this part.”

Jared closed his script. “So, let them.” For a second, you thought he was going to make a move, come closer to you. Touch you. God, how you wanted that, especially today.

All day long, you hadn’t been able to get your mind off the sex scene that was scheduled to be filmed that afternoon. Here, right in the middle of this light hearted, feel good, movie was one of the steamiest sex scenes you’d ever read, or maybe that was just because you were picturing Jared in it.

It was a challenge to remain professional and not let jealousy take control of you. An actress was about to crawl into bed, basically naked with him, while he put his hands and lips all over her. Weren’t these kinds of movies supposed to be about laughter, finding yourself, maybe helping some people? Who said anything about sex?

The next time you saw Jared, he’d be wearing nothing but a sock to cover his most private parts; and that woman, the tall thin example of what society called physical perfection with the full pouty lips and long glossy hair, would be topless and waving her boobs in his….

With that thought, you tightly squeezed your hands around the copy of the script you were holding until it was starting to fold and crease. “Y/N, are you okay?”

Your answer was crisp and to the point. “Jared, you need to go get ready for the next scene. Hair and makeup will need some time with you.” You didn’t state the obvious, that wardrobe wasn’t much of a factor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had taken you a good part of your life to come to terms with the fact that you were not classically beautiful. You had relied on that old “eye of the beholder” cliche, understanding that objectively you were not the woman that men turned to stare at when you walked into a room. You’d finally come to accept that, even though deep inside every girl wants to feel pretty.

The most devastating blow had come when you’d fallen in love with acting. It didn’t take long to realize you would never be the leading lady. Naively, you had auditioned for parts like that, thinking talent would get you one of those roles. The result was, after a number of rejections, you felt unattractive and resigned to the fact that your future in this industry was behind the camera.

That’s where you were now, checking the framing and angles for the shot. The set had been cleared of all but essential personnel due to the nature of the upcoming scene. It was unusually quiet except for the thoughts raging in your head. It still stung that you weren’t “the beautiful one”. That long present wound was enough to give doubt about your blossoming relationship all the fertile soil it needed in which to grow.

Maybe Jared was flirting with you, taking you to his bed, trying to get close to you because it would help his career. Your heart didn’t believe that because he was one of the most genuine and down to earth people you’d ever met in this business, but insecurity was a nasty bitch. Add to his sincerity the fact that he didn’t seem to be aware of just how gorgeous he was, remaining modest every time any sort of reference was made to his good looks. In many ways, he was too good to be true, and that’s why your head was telling you not to trust what was happening between you.

When he walked onto the set wearing nothing but a robe and the sock you knew was underneath, it only reinforced the out of control thoughts shooting through your mind and landing like daggers in your heart. You were definitely feeling more for him than it was wise to feel. What had been occurring between you was a dalliance, a fling. It was secret meetings for hot sex. Secret. Nothing could come of that. It was time to stop thinking that it might.

It was no wonder you were struggling, trying to stop yourself from falling for him. Jared had taken control of the room without even trying as soon as he entered it. Even among actors, he was tall and well built. His muscles were attention grabbing, even under his clothes. His hair skimmed the top of his shoulders and had just enough wave in it that it almost defiantly refused to stay out of his face. It begged to be touched, and it would be very soon, just not by your fingers.

Maybe it was his eyes that had lured you into this deep pool of confusing feelings and conflicting emotions. Of all his notable assets, his eyes had to be the best. They were unpredictable. Sometimes they were full of sunshine, flecked in gold or painted with a starburst of color through his iris that resembled a flower blooming. Other times, the shadows and the depth took over, and they became stormy gray with a flash of blue like the color of the sky when it was illuminated by lightning.

He was looking at you with those incredible and surprising eyes now. Today they were a classic hazel, light even brown. You almost forgot what you were doing until Jared asked, “Where do you want me?”

It would be easier to tell him what you wanted him to do before she got here, so that was the approach you took. “Take off your robe and get in the bed under the covers.”

It was hard not to look when Jared untied his robe, flipped it back over his shoulders, and let it drop to the floor. His shoulders were broad, and his stomach was flat except for the well defined abs that swelled, leaving dips and valleys between them. You tried not to let your eyes drop below his waist, but they did. You darted them back up quickly. Be professional. Maintain focus. It was nothing you hadn’t seen before, but in this setting it was different. It made you a touch self conscious and overly aware of his physique.

He was huge. That scrap of material he was wearing couldn’t hide that, and it certainly didn’t keep you from remembering the times he had stretched you to the point of a pleasurable scream while he thrust deeply into you. Today was going to be even more difficult than you had imagined.

Once he was under the sheets, you breathed a little easier. Jared looked to you for direction. Time to do your job and keep your personal feelings out of it. “When Britney gets here, I want you to get on top of her.” Well, you’d managed to choke that out and make your voice sound normal. “We’re starting more or less in the middle of the scene, none of the foreplay. It should be hot and intense from the second I call action.”

Jared arranged the sheet around his waist just so, like it wasn’t going to move. It did call attention to the way the stark white of the sheet complimented his skin tone, and made you think back to the last time you’d seen him naked in bed. That was when he first suggested you come out of the shadows, go on dates, be a couple. When the bed linens were arranged to his liking, he looked to you and asked, “What’s my motivation for this scene?”

It wasn’t an unusual question for an actor to ask a director, but part of you wondered if Jared was asking you to see what you’d say. Was it more flirting to get you to talk about sex and attraction? You looked directly into his stunning eyes and responded, “You’ve been denying your attraction for weeks now. You work together, so that makes it complicated. In the office, you haven’t been able to keep your eyes off each other. Your sexual tension has reached a peak, and it’s exploding right here.” You gave the bed a pat for emphasis, then realized what you’d said.

You felt yourself start to flush and kept on talking to try to cover it up. “Bring some intensity to it, but keep it tender. You’re falling in love, but you’re not ready to say it. Show her with the way you touch her.” Your eyes met, and something unspoken passed between you.

Jared was about to speak, but then Britney arrived on set in a flourish. Her makeup artist was trailing behind her, making some final touch ups. She made a big show of disrobing, exposing her breasts to the remaining crew. They gawked and stared, just as she intended. You did your best not to roll your eyes into the back of your head.

Unlike the others, Jared hadn’t paid any attention to her. His eyes were still focused on you; that unspoken thing was still in them, and there would be no chance to say it now. Britney climbed right into bed with him without any instruction from you and had the nerve to start flirting with him right in front of your face. She didn’t know what you were feeling. That was, after all, the point. You didn’t want anyone to have any idea there was anything going on between Jared and you. Or, maybe she did suspect and was being sadistic about it. Women had a way of seeing things men failed to see.

Whether Britney knew or not, she wouldn’t care how you or anyone else felt about it. She was that girl, the one who thought about herself at all times. Romance between co-stars was good press that typically guaranteed increased media attention for the project and both parties involved. The studio would love it. Hell, they’d probably even encourage it. Scratch that. They would encourage it.

The next couple of hours were excruciating. Love scenes were some of the hardest to film under the best of circumstances. Every detail was important: the lighting, the camera angles, and most important body positioning. They competed with fight scenes in terms of difficulty to film. You would have much preferred a fight scene.

For two hours you told Jared how to kiss another woman. “Tug on her bottom lip with your mouth. Be tender.” At one point you had physically taken hold of his hand and placed it where it would look best for the camera. It made you ready to run out of your own skin, escape in any way possible, be swallowed up by the floor beneath your feet.

It was even worse telling her how to touch him. “Slide your hands down his back. Dig your fingers in a little.” This resulted in the sheet that was covering the lower half of his body sliding down far enough to show just a hint of butt cleavage, and it looked good. You would leave it in the final cut.

Mercifully, you finally got the takes you wanted and called it a wrap for the day. You gathered your things together and made your way to your car as quickly as you could, hardly even saying good night to anyone as you breezed by them to make your exit.

As you approached your car, you hit the button on the remote. The familiar beep greeted your ears, letting you know that soon you would be surrounded by the warmth of the car’s interior. When the December Canadian air was frigid like this, you had to take a moment to remind yourself it was far preferable to the superficial fishbowl of LA.

Just as you touched the door handle, you heard the crunch of someone jogging through the snow. Couldn’t you be left alone ever? No doubt whatever this was could have waited until tomorrow, but being available to the cast and crew was one of the responsibilities of being the director.

As you took a deep breath and tried to put an expression of patient interest on your face before you turned around, Jared’s voice carried across the cold winter air to your ears. “Y/N, wait.”

This required an even deeper breath before you turned around. He was barely breathing any heavier after running through the snow. That wasn’t surprising considering the shape he was in, but you were surprised he was chasing after you. Randomly, you thought he must’ve gotten dressed really quickly. It was probably your brain’s way of protecting you from deeper thoughts, but Jared wasn’t going to let you off that easily.

“I was hoping we could talk before you go.” He just really had no idea, did he? It was hard watching him with another woman, even if it was fake, when it was getting harder and harder to pretend your encounters with him were just casual affairs. It was more difficult to convince yourself you were fine with being his secret, even if it had been your idea.

“Jared, I’m really tired. I just want to go home, okay? We can talk later.” You wished you could tell him the true reason you felt so tired, wanting more than anything to find comfort and reassurance in his arms. Somehow it felt even worse to hide yourself and your feelings from him.

He didn’t say anything else, just nodded, took a couple steps back, and watched you get in your car. As soon as you started the car, holiday music filled the interior. Immediately, you turned off the radio in no mood for the cheerfulness. In your rearview mirror, you could see Jared. He hadn’t moved. He was still standing there, watching you go. Unwanted tears of frustration and confusion pooled in your eyes. You brushed them away so you could see the road.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once home, you put on your favorite pajamas and started a fire in the fireplace. A wood burning fireplace was one feature you had insisted on when looking for a home in Vancouver. The rowhouse you finally purchased had a charming one, made even more so by the garland and Christmas stockings hanging from the mantel. You’d put up a row of stockings, never mind you didn’t need them; it looked better that way.

You settled in among the decorative pillows in holiday colors and plaid on the sofa, pulling one of them onto your lap and hugging it close while you listened to the crackle of the fire and watched the flames sway. It lulled you and took some of the edge off the day. Your mind was drifting to a better place when your doorbell rang.

Reluctantly, you rose from your comfy spot. You opened your front door to find Jared standing there wearing one of the most ridiculous looking Christmas sweaters you’d ever seen. It was green, covered in tinsel garland and shiny three dimensional ball ornaments. It was surprising enough he was standing there, but what he was wearing left you a tiny bit baffled and slightly amused.

It was impossible not to smile when you took in the details of the sweater again. You asked, “Jared, why are you here, and why are you wearing that?” He responded by showing you his dimples, and your own smile got bigger. You could feel more of your bad mood melting away, and you were overtaken by the urge to reach out and play with one of the ornaments on his sweater.

Instead of answering, he held out a box he was holding. It was wrapped in gold paper and had one of those peel and stick bows on top of it. You held out your hands and took it, noticing the box was reasonably well wrapped. He had really tried, and that touched you.

“What is this?” His expression was pleased but subdued.

“I got you something.” A smile spread across his face, dispelling any reservations he may have had. Whatever was in that package, he was clearly excited about it.

Beneath the gold paper, there was a white box the size of a shirt box. You lifted the lid; inside there was a sweater that wasn’t quite as over the top as Jared’s, but it was definitely in the ugly Christmas sweater category. It was red with falling snow and candy canes on it.

You looked at him, a questioning expression on your face. “What are the sweaters about?”

Jared took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I want you to wear it at the studio Christmas party, and I want you to go with me. Will you?”

You saw the hope in his eyes while he waited to hear what you’d say. His words were sinking in, but did he understand what this could do to his reputation? “Jared, everyone will know.”

He glanced down at the floor and ran his hand through his hair. When he raised his head, his eyes found yours. The hope that had been there earlier had been replaced by determination. “I want them to know, Y/N. We aren’t doing anything wrong.” He cupped your face in his hand and brushed his thumb softly across your cheek. “I know what today did to you.”

“Jared, I…” You didn’t know what to say, but it didn’t matter because his mouth cover yours. You dropped the box you were holding and wrapped your arms around him, losing yourself in the kiss. With his hand on your waist, Jared pulled you closer to him. All the reassurance you had longed for earlier, you found.

While still kissing you, Jared lifted you into his arms and started to walk down the hallway toward your bedroom. You broke the kiss and buried your face in the side of his neck while he walked, breathing in the smell of him.

Jared rarely wore cologne, and you were glad he didn’t, preferring that nothing mask the smell of him. The lingering hint of his soap on his freshly washed skin was comforting to you. You could smell the soap mingling with his skin now. Tears oozed gently from the corners of your eyes. He had showered before he came to you, erasing her scripted touch from his body.

He put you down gently on the bed and took off the brightly colored sweater he was wearing along with the t-shirt underneath before taking his place on top of you. You kissed his bare shoulder, wanting to leave some mark of you on him. It was the only signal he needed to start undressing you and kissing you in return.

His lips were warm on the pulse point at your neck, your collarbone, and your breasts. His hands moved over every part of your body, stroking and bringing you to a heightened state of arousal. By the time he took off his pants, you were nearly begging for him. “Jared, I need you.”

He hovered over you, his face only inches from yours. He looked into your eyes and laced his fingers through yours. “I’ve got you, Y/N. I’ll take care of you.”

Jared made love to you slowly. He took his time and satisfied every need that was crying out from deep within you. He knew how to make you feel beautiful, knew how to make your body shake with the intensity of release, and knew how to make you feel safe after you’d opened yourself to him completely and were feeling both satisfied and vulnerable.

You lay in his arms, your head on his chest. Jared was dragging his fingers slowly up and down your back. After a few minutes of silence, feeling the moment together, he kissed the top of your head and asked, “Could you feel it?”

You smiled, still drifting in the safe bubble he had made for you. “I felt a lot of things.”

He kissed the top of your head again and let his chin rest there. “When I touched you, could you feel that I love you?”

Your heart started to beat faster, and you raised your head to look at him. “I love you, Y/N. That’s why I don’t want to hide anymore. I want everybody to know it.”

You traced the firm line of his jaw with your fingertip. “Jared...I love you too, but that wouldn’t be good for you.”

He sat up a little and put his hands on your shoulders. “How do you know? It wouldn’t be the first time an actor and a director were together.”

“I don’t ever want anyone to question your talent, Jared.” Your heart was full of so many things, the truth of the words you’d just exchanged along with the fear those words evoked.

His hands moved from your shoulders to the sides of your face. He held your face in his hands, his eyes pleading with you. “And I don’t ever want you to question how much I love you.” He dropped his hands, keeping just one under your chin to ensure you would keep looking into his eyes. “I saw what today did to you, how hard it was; but do you know what it did to me?”

No. You had no idea, hadn’t given it a thought. How could you have ignored his feelings? All you could say was “What?”

He had the most serious and pain filled expression you’d ever seen on his face. “I don’t want other women to come on to me in front of you, knowing what that’s doing to you, and not even be able to brush them off because this is a secret.” He let his hand drop from beneath your chin, trusting your eyes wouldn’t leave his now. “It hurt me to see how much you were hurting.”

“Jared, I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

He covered your lips with his fingers and shook his head. “And I was so proud of you for working right through that hurt to put something on film that will make other people happy, that will make them believe in love. It doesn’t matter that what you were showing wasn’t real. Love is real. Ours is real.”

He kissed you before you could cry again. When the kiss ended, you rested your forehead against his. “You’re right. It is real, and we shouldn’t hide it. I don’t want to hide it anymore.”

Jared’s hand was in your hair, holding the back of your head. He was so close, you could feel him breathing. “You mean more to me than anything, Y/N. You always will.”

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @onethirstyunicorn @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @67-chevy-baby @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @heycasbutt @jules-1999 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @mrs-meghan-winchester @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @lonewolf471 @dawnie1988 @volleyballer519 @outcastedangel @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @sorenmarie87 @winchesterxfamilybusiness

Sam/Jared: @girl-next-door-writes @stunudo @feelmyroarrrr @sammit-janet @idabbleincrazy @evansrogerskitten @focusonspn @autumninavonlea @spnxbsessed @durinsbride @deansyahtzee @wendibird @waywardnerd67 @fullmooner @julesthequirky

#spnfluffbingo #spnchristmasbingo #jared fluff #jared angst #jared x reader #spn rpf

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enigmas-artdeck · 4 years ago

Text

The Cold Felt Familiar

(Skitters in) HEY Y'ALL WANT ANGST?

Related to this, it’s quite the time with his bud, but not for long~. Buckle up buckaroos, angst is coming.

Also on AO3!

He should've seen it coming, he's used the same trick before. Promises of improvement, strength, power-

"Wouldn't it be wonderful to get him back? You were so close back then, before he was granted his empty title-"

He'd wanted nothing more to burst in and pull 2 havocs in Heaven himself for the sheer disrespect from the Heavenly Court. Bi Wa Men, a lowly stable keeper, wasn't a wonder why he stormed out. Oh yeah, giving him the title Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, only as a way to keep him complacent, that won't turn out bad at all.

"-Being trapped under Five-Finger Mountain-"

He swore, he screamed, he declared, he did everything without care for volume and respect once he found out about the imprisonment. Scoured that mountain for decades, never finding a trace of his friend anywhere. Ran himself raw, searching and pleading for anything or anyone to grant him mercy and let him find his lost companion.

They never did like him anyway.

"-Going on the journey with Golden Cicada and his disciples-"

His blood boiled at that, the journey being the sole reason Wukong was…different. He was still impulsive and hearty, going to Heaven for bi-yearly fights, unafraid to fight anything, chaotic as ever.

But in the fight at the mountains, after stealing Monkie Kid's powers, he knew Wukong was holding back. He heard all the tales (however scrambled they became over the centuries), and had seen himself the power he held. He could've leveled the area and be done with the dispute in mere minutes. They fought, that's true, but the only reason he was beat was because of the kid.

Wukong didn't even have the dignity to strike him down himself, relying on a trainee who'd needed his powers locked up.

It was downright laughable, nay, pathetic at how Wukong was holding back because of one journey.

"-Before he struck you dead."

Oh.

Ah, the one experience he had with death. The one where even after blotting out and ripping his name from the book had him checking over his shoulder and hiding in the shadows for a century in f- caution. It was that long before he realized Wukong did the same thing and no one went after him again (the others don't count, that was Heaven trying to remove his immortality).

Every time he saw his scar, he couldn't help but flinch. It still seemed fresh, still felt raw. His red facial marking didn't help either. (Keeping the glamor was second nature to him after all these centuries. He likes causing nightmares, not having them.)

Wukong didn't hold back then.

He took a deep breath, frosty air chilling his lungs as he turned to the young girl holding the spirit whispering promises laced with shards of ice and flakes of snow.

"Deal." He sneered.

(Macaque didn't want to think about the freezing light crawling down his throat. Too familiar. Too frightening.)

θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ

Having a body mate was weird, but he learned to tune it out for the most part. Acquiring her ice abilities gave him an edge no one saw, and having her on energy sensory lookout helped with telling who's who and keeping tabs on the shady folk. Added a bonus in battle since she could warn him of any ambushers.

Though there were a couple...nitpicks he had.

Macaque had noticed with each new shadow clone, they turned just the teeniest shade bluer, thankfully not visibly noticeable to other folk yet.

Oftentimes when he summoned his staff, the spikes were coated in thin layers of ice. He rather let the blood flow from his enemies, thank you (though he rarely did more than a passing glance).

Even his shadow smoke form was tinged blue, frost trailing up the wrapping adorning it.

No matter, Macaque could handle this, he was flexible in his strategies (certainly helped with stealing Sun Wukong's power from the kid.) He would rather do without the personal physical changes.

Despite how many layers he covered himself with, his fur and skin stayed cool to the touch. Was a great help in traveling to the warmer sections of the area. With the drawback of visiting anything below 15 °C intensifying the chill.

His face marking, the brilliant red he associated with power, ferocity, hurt, had blue creeping along his eyes. It looked to be icing out in crystalline patterns if he got close enough to reflections.

And his scar, the reminder of why he didn't just remove the spirit he was housing, stayed iced over even in his current setup in the Flaming Mountains.

Ah well, a quick glamor could fix those up. Right now he needed to strategize a way to get Wukong off Flower Fruit Mountain, separating him from the kid and the menagerie.

(Macaque rose from sleep littered with some cuts and bruising. Didn't notice his camp was a few miles closer to Flower Fruit Mountain. Couldn't notice the blue fading back into gold sclera.)

θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ

"What the hell was that?"

Macaque snarled at his reflection, the outline of White Bone Spirit staring back at him with nonchalance.

"I helped you win the battle and retreat, is that not what you wanted?"

It was going so well, Wukong managed to be separated with a few shadow clones and simple visual and vocal glamours. The recent attack (more like stolen power-high frenzy. Paint crudely helped hide the Demon Bull family's emblem) from the Gold and Silver Demon Brothers managed to split the group up. It was a simple send off of the right fakes to the right area after they split.

Once Wukong was below and far enough, Macaque made his entrance discreetly, ambushing him just as the other caught wind of something off.

And it was going great for a while, without his staff Wukong was forced to fight harder. Wasn't close to the levels of Wukong back in the day, but more than the mountain battle. And the sheer thrill of it, seeing his "bud" let loose more, feeling the higher thrum of energy, oh gloriously maddening!

At least until a quick quip about the fake Wukong acting his part of the plan slipped out. Macaque found himself with too warm a liquid dripping out of his nose and mouth, from a punch and kick respectively.

The clarity at which he saw the unfiltered rage made the haze feel less like fog and more like a spotlight.

It was touch and go for a bit after that, but after a harsh, nearly numbing kick had Macaque gasping for breath, he asked for a boost as he wide eyed the threatening advance.

Blinding blues and white crept over his vision's edge, making Wukong's painfully shocked and horrified face the last thing he saw. Macaque regretted calling his power forth.

"I wanted a power boost, not a power surge blackout!"

"You received the power, but you were already on the verge of blacking out. I'm sorry it made you do so-"

"Excuses, excuses, that won't change the fact of what happened." Macaque turned away, only his eyes giving away his surprise, coming face to face with the cyan glow of White Bone Spirit.

"...Since when could you do that?"

"When I'm not active."

"'When I'm not-' you mean to tell me you can pop out willy nilly? You didn't tell me this before?" Exasperation dropped in his tone, squeezing his eyes shut in annoyance.

"It never came up, this situation is different from humans. With your power, I couldn't-"

"I don't care, you're out." Held up his hands, moving forward, wanting to be done and gone from her.

"I'm sorry-" She made no effort move out of his way, so he walked through.

"I don't want an apology, I want you out, gone, see ya! Deal's off, get your ice and leave-!"

"-But the body isn't yours now."

Realization dawned on him once he passed through. Macaque froze.

As in the body stopped responding to any movement he willed.

"Oh, what's wrong? Can't move what was yours?" Cyan and white passed around behind him, swirling in the air as she skimmed her chilled fingers up his neck.

"Well then, I suppose there isn't anything special about you." She cupped his face, drawing in close, her eyes filling his entire vision. In the cold white, he could see his own gold turn deep, icy blue.

"You're just a macaque with nothing left." With that she drew back into the body.

Hundreds of eyes gleamed from the shadows, some stretching out on shapes familiar- himself- but wrong. He willed his body to move forward, to turn, to fall, do anything to get him away from the twisted glowing outlines as they approached.

He didn't even so much as jolt when the screaming skeletal face flooded his internal vision, bringing an icy air with her. Forcing to stare at the eternally screaming maw, dark icy hands grabbed hold and pulled down, with him along.

No sound left him, not even a gasp.

(The bleakness made him want to flee.)

(The chill made him want to scream.)

(The nothing made him want to cry.)

(Macaque did.)

θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ θ

Wukong slammed into the volcano's side, smoke and ash obscuring his vision. Blue cut through the thick black, having him reach back into the lava. Red and black shot to the unwelcome color, but turned to white powder before reaching the target.

"Aw, what's wrong Great Sage?"

Okay, this was bad, this was wa-a-ay bad, but distance was key, if he could get distance he could vanish and regroup with MK-

When did the molten rock turn to ice?

Wukong feverishly tugged at his right side, the ice crawling up his limbs, spreading out over stone and lava alike.

He made the mistake of turning around.

A blue eye with a pinprick snowflake iris nearly touched his own golden eye. Steam rose out past their fangs, doing nothing to help the chill rolling off.

"You look like you've seen a ghost!"

49 notes · View notes

phantomdelver · 4 years ago

Photo

Much before any servant could have entered his sleeping chambers, drawn back the thick curtains and let the first rosy streaks of day sneak in, Ares had slipped outside.

The new day was still young, a rose-gold yawn, promising, he thought, another sweltering summer morning.

Clad in only white undergarments matching white linen trousers, goosebumps soon were crawling up his arms and spine.

It mattered not.

Whether broken darkness, black-pit dark, or early bronze – he cherished those hours. Silent moments, silence meandering. Sometimes, somewhere, there was the twitch of birds. In between shrubs, briars and trees looming large.

Only then, it was just him, sword in hand, polished rigorously by the dimming embers at hearths of yesterday. He kept his most treasured one in a chest in his room, from which he had retrieved it earlier; the key always on a gold chain around his neck.

His tread, though he was barefoot, resounded strong, even, certain. He knew he wanted to train; if he did not, did indeed miss even one of those sacred morrow rites, Ares would feel on edge throughout, until next he would rest his head.

And why not, he mused further, for the weight of his blade in his hands, rough hands, his calluses made to fit for this very hilt – nothing was more right than this.

Once the training dummies came into view, he cautiously stepped up to them. Swinging his sword, a full, strong blow from above, he swiftly spun his blade, mimicking the heavy blows that had saved his life many times in battle.

This is a full-body attack; the stern voice of his mentor ringing in his mind. The longsword’s primary attack. He did exactly as he had been thought as a boy, as he had done countless times on the battlefield. There was the momentum, carrying, growing, rising – into a strike. Never easing on the onslaught.

How he longed to be on campaign again, marching, sharing scraps of food with his soldiers at a kindled fire. Campaigning meant war, meant tedious stratagem, meant death; but he belonged on the battlefield. Amidst the noise, the chaos, the clash of steel thick with screams, and soil saturated with viscera still warm.

It was grim, it was dark, it was what his sister loathed the most.

“My Lord,” came the voice, just as he was about to grip his sword once more and practice more. It was Iris, his wet nurse, and his mother’s closest companion.

When he glimpsed over his shoulder, however, Ares paused. Usually, her amber eyes were lively, kind, fond – there was nothing there, nothing of her, of what Ares had known for so long. Only shock. Surprise?

“Have I not told you countless times not to address me as such?” he chided in playful tones, a smile so earnest it reached his own eyes.

“There are horsemen on the way to the castle,” she hastened on, vowels and consonants clashing, shaking, because now she was wringing her hands, again and again, trying to ground herself.

Ares stiffened. His jaw tightened.

“Enemies?”

“Their flags bear the Queen’s mark.”

The Queen? His white eyebrows drew together, creases deep and dark in between. What could his sister want? He was only summoned for matters of conquest, sieges, and tax collection through his own soldiers.

“I shall expect them in the courtyard. Give word to the stable master.”

***

After a race back to his rooms, to have servants dress him in attire adequate to receive men of the Queen’s guard, he was standing in the very heart of his own courtyard, tall and straight, as a man who had led other men into victory and defeat, likewise, ought to.

Here, clasping onto composure and proper posture, he had to bite the inside of his left cheek. Always, inside him, the urge to pluck and pull at such garments uncoiled. He was in a dark, tight coif, his sleeves inlaid with golden thread, his shoes from costly-tooled Spanish leather.

As a boy, he would often fuss at his formal tunics, scratch at his skin – such things were made for status and show, not for comfort. Alas, he was no longer a boy who could get away with childhood-day-foolery.

There, the sound of hooves, the neighing of black palfreys. They were riding into the courtyard, one of the knights coming to a stop a few inches where Ares and his attendees were already waiting.

This knight dismounted, practiced, all grace and poise, pulling off his helmet.

Eris.

“Eris, come, please tell me the meaning of this visit. Surely my good sister the Queen is not this determined to compel me to obey her schedule, is she?”

Off somewhere, in the distance, an owl shrieked.

Hark.

Eris’ features, always an ode to mischief, were wooden, cold.

Hark.

She did not say anything. She was looking at him, as if through him, the other knights spilling out at her sides like tall, towering shades in their dark armor.

“The Queen,” Eris said.

The knights’ faces next to her were bellmen in and of themselves: pallid, bloodless, silent.

“The Queen is dead.”

***

The journey to the capital stretched out and out and out. At first, after Ares had been ushered into the carriage, Eris had spoken to him. Attempted to. He had seen her lips move, forming words, yet the sounds had not reached him. She had soon realized he was elsewhere, somewhere unreachable, and grew silent. He was glad for her company, because he did not need to grasp at poseurdom or poise. She had seen him ruined, ravaged, remade – there was not a single crack or blemish she had not come to know intimately.

He wasn’t crying.

No, tears were sorrows unbecoming of any man, even for the likes of him. In lieu of ennui or rage, Ares was staring outside, watching as verdant meadows and tree crowns up high drifted him by, merging into blurs of nature.

Athena.

The Queen. His sister, his rival, his confidant.

She had always seemed larger than all of nobility, a goddess almost, untouched by ordinary worries and ordinary failures. She had waged wars, won wars, conquered cities – all for the good of their kingdom. And once Ares had accepted he would never be anything or anybody other than the younger brother of the Queen, Athena had often taken his side over that of a noble.

To think her gone, torn from here, with him left behind… it was wrong, was what it was.

Athena had never been expendable, one of a kind – whereas there were plenty of bachelor royal sons of little consequence.

Like him.

Hadn’t he told her, hadn’t he told her he should lead instead of her?

“Ares, listen.”

He was about to ask what he was supposed to hear when he did hear.

Faint, at first, like sounds under water: then, gradually, growing louder and louder. Against protocol, he withdrew the curtains and peeked outside. Common folk lined the streets. Women were tearing at their clothes and hair; screams and cries and wails – the lamentations of a people mourning for their Queen. The men, on the other side, had taken their practice spears of yore.

In perfect synchronization, the butts of their spears beat and beat and beat on the earth, a slow staccato rhythm soon mingling with their keening. Yet between all those marrow-deep screeching sounds, there were other voices forming, quite distinctly, one word in unison.

His name.

“Have they gone mad?” he asked.

Eris said nothing.

***

“Nephew,” Poseidon said at once, with emphasis, rising from where he had been sitting the moment Ares entered the room.

When he had drawn nearer, his uncle lay a hand on his shoulder, firmly, whether to reassure him or himself, he could not say. He gave him a long look: pitying, comforting, steadying.

“Uncle Poseidon,” he began, carefully,” might I inquire to know why I’ve been summoned? I am greatly saddened by the news, as you may know, yet I am uncertain if I am able to assist, here. The funeral arrangements are the responsibility of the successor, are they not?”

There was a pause.

Ares lifted a brow.

Pauses, silences, quietude – those had never been associated with his uncle, much less his domain. His presence was loud, booming, oftentimes overwhelming; it was not for him to say nothing.

And here he was, all quiet, all still.

“The successor will be announced by the council shortly,” was all Poseidon mustered, before he gestured towards the seat opposite his.

Athena’s.

“No,” he answered, instantly, his jaw taut and tight, bile on his tongue.

***

“The Queen has left a succession will,” proclaimed Apollo, donning his holy insignia and robes: the white dalmatic, bright-gold-embossed, billowing always in the wake of his striding steps, the cincture, he remembered, a kind of rope tied at the middle; god thread, jewel-adorned. His half-brother reveled in his station, and had never shied any expense to wear clothes that exuded his importance.

He made a practiced, graceful hand gesture, after which they all sat down.

Ares did not know why he was there. He had only ever seen the inside of this room when Athena had required his insight and rapport with the soldiers, sometimes when she required a second opinion on her stratagems. Surely, those new lands could not have fallen into disarray this swiftly, could they?

“I, Athena the Queene, proclaim that the imperial crown of this realm of Olympia with all dignities, honours, prominences, prerogatives, authorities and jurisdictions to the same annexed or belonging should be to my dear brother, the prince Ares, and any heirs he may sire, that is to say, the firstborn of his body between the prince, my heir, and his future Queene, and that His Highness should and might give, will, limit, assign, appoint or dispose the said imperial crown and other the premises to what persons or person, and give the same person or persons such estate in the same, as it should please His Highness by his gracious letters patents under the great seal, or by his last will in writing signed with his most gracious hand; as by the same act among divers other things therein contained more at large it doth appear; since the making of which act, I, the Queene, have no issue of my body lawfully begotten any heirs, and thus have it be known, in this legal and binding will, that only my good brother the prince may and shall succeed me, as no other hath claim to the throne of Olympia. Furthermore, that the appointing of advisors of his Majesty’s government falleth only to my successor and that he may choose whomever he pleases to serve the kingdom and its interests, which, until His Majesty hath chosen a government that pleases him, releases my chosen government advisors from service immediately. I bequeath to my advisors 5.000 gold each, as thanks and in honour of their most loyal service to the kingdom.”

“This must be a joke!” Erebus exclaimed, banging his fist on the table.

But Ares was still processing. He had heard Apollo’s sonorous voice, smooth, silk, sweet as only the practiced oration of a studied man.

He, the heir?

He, the successor?

“No,” Ares said, not thinking, shaking his head vehemently.

“There you have it,” Erebus interjected, his nostrils flaring, his words blaring, like war horns, deafening any other assent or dissent.

“Surely the ancient and noble line of my house, Cthonisia, is much better suited to the task than some philandering, dilettante half-wit of a princeling? Do we want Queen Athena’s efforts and victories to have all been for naught?”

Apollo’s gaze flitted from his fellow cardinals to Erebus, a flash of green across the room. As always, that look, that gaze, that glare – it was gaining momentum and might until, afeared, Erebus looked away.

“The will of the Queen is binding, irrespective of how willing or unwilling her successor may be,” he began, glancing briefly towards Ares.

“It is, however, binding for all – disobedience or disregard of the wish of the Queen, whether alive or not, is treason. And treason, my dear gentlemen, is a death sentence.”

There was truth to his words, sickening as it was to Ares. The only truth spoken today, he mused. This meeting was a waste of time, if he had to think about it. Yes, this served as a means to convey Athena’s last will, but it was predominantly for these ministers to try on their sycophant costumes like good little nobles grabbling for authority.

***

“I don’t want it. I’m no king!” came the fusillade of rage, the torrent, the wrath. Once he and Apollo had retreated to the private library of the Queen, Ares had done what he always did when he lost himself. He grew warm, then hot, then blazing, a flame; a fire engulfing everything, from right to reason, leaving only cinder, like the fire from years before. The city fire, from when nearly everything had burnt to the ground.

His fists were shaking at his sides, trembling with that dangerous, incendiary current. He was seeing only white, brilliant white, his teeth bared, sharp, a warning.

Apollo had him against the wall within seconds, his right hand wrapped around his throat. He was staring at him, staring him down, predator to a predator.

“Stop behaving like a petulant child before I forget myself!”

Apollo had that effect on him. Apollo knew how to tame a beast, it was said, as one of the swiftest, deadliest hunters aside from his twin sister Artemis. Tame him he did, in that moment.

Ares took a deep, deep breath, his chest heaving with the effort of it. He closed his eyes, breathed in again, breathed out, opened his eyes again.

“Whether you like it or not, you will be crowned king in the coming days. I will help and guide you as best as I can as a servant of the Mother, and my function as a member of your council. But you must exercise self-control, or the nobles will skin you alive, and I will not disgrace myself and save you from yourself.”

***

Night had settled in the castle, in silence and dark. Only silvery moonlight was slipping in through the high windows, which cast a cool light in the hallways. It was that quiet that made him cautious. The cicadas, their distant song, the lonely winds, even the owls and their hooting – yes, those were noises fit for the sleeping world, but not footsteps.

Ares tiptoed through the shadows, sneaking down the same path he had first sneaked down when he had turned fifteen. A secret passage, for their way, because it was only known to them.

There she was.

Once Ares had emerged from the confined space of the passage and out into a dimly-lit chamber, his gaze found hers.

She was standing there, in the center of the room, as though she had been waiting for him. Expecting him. Clad only in a white linen nightgown, the shape of her round breasts sharp against the cloth, she took a step towards him, and stretched out her hand.

Ares smiled, tiredly, gladly. For her. He took her hand. He let himself be let towards and then onto the bed, where she pushed him into the pillows, gently, before laying down her head on his chest.

“How are you feeling, my heart? Honestly.”

Ares gave a huff.

“Honestly?”

Aphrodite raised her head and looked up at him, firm and stern.

“Honestly.”

And how could he lie to her, who already knew too much of him and had seen too much?

So he heaved a deep sigh, ruffled his own hair, and squeezed his eyes shut.

“I keep wishing to wake up to find this has all simply been a figment of my imagination, a bad dream… but, alas, it seems real.”

A shiver snuck up and down his spine, then; there was pressure at first, light, lighter, lightest, the warm wetness of her mouth against his closed eyelids. Kisses for him. Ares could not keep a crooked smile from turning his mouth corners upside. She always found new places to plant her love.

“Indeed it does, my heart,” came her affirming whisper, close to his ear.

“Any king needs rest, however, so you best not worry your pretty little head all night for now and close your eyes now like a good little boy.”

***

The morning broke just like any other morning; yet golden-young and bronze-drowsy from a reclining night. Where he would have snuck outside yearning to swing his sword at the practice grounds, Ares was miles and miles away. In the capital, at court, sat upright in bed. In his old sleeping chamber. Back when he had begrudgingly remained. For Athena, for Aphrodite. Before the glaring, opulent ballrooms and indulgent banquets had all been too much.

Sleep had evaded him throughout, even though exhaustion had not. His limbs and mind were still heavy and aching. Even though Aphrodite had stayed with him, her breathing a calming, soothing lullaby; but even she could not alter reality.

Looking out of the small window, he edged closer to sit on the sill. He leaned forward to gaze outside.

Tiny gull and pigeon dots were hopping over meticulously trimmed meadows. In only a few hours, he would be stepping inside the parliament chamber to meet the council. Where ministers of high birth would cajole and trickle sweet, tempting promises all over him. A gamble, of course, to retain their positions and influence. Just because Athena had favored these nobles, it didn’t mean Ares would. It was up to him to shape and form his council however he saw fit.

Power was not everything in those rooms, he had learned. Although the decision ultimately lay in his hands, it was a small comfort.

Apollo would be there, as was his duty and right as a high priest of The Mother. But this first trial of kingship, he had to face alone.

Dread twisted his insides; cool, cruel, gnawing.

Ares flinched a little. Slender arms still warm from blankets and cushions and their shared body heat wrapped around him from behind. Rosy locks came into his vision, tickling his bare skin.

“Be on your guard, my heart. These ministers will not shy away from deceit or manipulation, especially now that you can control their fortune.”

Ares gave a non-committal grunt.

She would know, wouldn’t she?

***

After Aphrodite had tiptoed back to her chambers through their secret passage connecting their rooms and assisted in putting on his robes for the day, he had made his way to the west wing. He had servants to call on, but he had never much enjoyed their demure eyes and quiet, lurking nature. He did not need help for the simple act of dressing himself. But having Aphrodite help him into his tunic was different. She knew him, knew what suited him, specifically; knew the impetus of style, and how it could be just as much a weapon among nobles as a sharpened blade in battle.

He was standing in front of the parliament door after wandering aimlessly for a while, after one last, wistful look at her. But, there it was, that door: Old, dark wood adorned with owls, door knobs shaped like Aegis, gold-embossed and imposing. Apollo was beside him, his hand already on those knobs.

“Ready?”

“Yes,” he muttered, raising his shoulders to attain the proper posture. Tall, towering, looming.

The door opened with a loud, resounding creak, ancient as it was, and immediately, every seated minister rose to acknowledge his entrance.

Before they could walk to take their positions, however, Nyx strode forwards above everyone else present. She was donning her House colors: a gown of deep, deep blue velvet, endlessly flowing. Her dark strands of hair were spilling over her shoulders, dark as ink, adorned with small jewels to resemble stars.

“Your Grace, we are all deeply sorry for your loss, and mourn our most-beloved Queen. Although her absence shall be most keenly felt by us all, you lost a sister also. Her death must succeed you two-fold.”

Gradually, as words after words poured from her lips, his smile grew sharper. She was smiling a smile of sympathy, though her eyes were cold.

“If ever I or my children can lessen the burden on your shoulders, I ask you to please make use of us as you see fit. As surely you are aware, our Houses are linked through a rich history of marriage, loyal service, and fruitful cooperation. We would be humbled to see it thus continue.”

There it was, he thought, consciously trying to control his composure and face. He felt the faint pull of his mouth corners, the twitch, down and down – the hint of disdain.

“My Lady Nyx, I thank you for your most soothing words, for they bring me great comfort. Truly, I am grateful for your continued support. I can surely count on your unconditional loyalty to the crown as well, I hope?”

“But of course.”

Nyx must have awakened their collective ambition from complacency, for throughout the meeting, more and more ministers were hovering around him. They all waited and waited, a hunger in their looks. Predators, all of them, who interrupted each other or agreed loudly when it suited them. Appearances, appearances, appearances.

***

Once the last member had been ushered outside and left, spewing vacuous condolences in their wake, Ares shut the door firmly behind their back. He lurched over, collapsed into the nearest seat, and let out an exasperated sigh.

“I do not trust any of them.”

He leaned further back so that he could cast a side glimpse at Apollo, who was looking out of the faraway window.

“Did Athena?”

At his question, Apollo stirred. His impassive profile crumbled. Ares knew his brother knew how to conceal his own secrets, was expert in this, always bright, blinding, blazing and warm. And just as his skin was sun-caressed, freckles scattered on his cheeks, so, too, bright was he and his mind.

Apollo, full of light and joy, could just as easily drape himself in darkness: scathing remarks, glacial glares, and then, his features were an inscrutable mask.

Now, he allowed Ares to see him. Not the devout priest, not the legitimized bastard of the late King, but him, his half-brother who, too, had lost a sister.

“That is the price of ruling. No one can be trusted, least of all any of Athena’s ministers. The most obvious being, in your case, because they loathe you.”

When Ares only grunted by way of reply, Apollo sighed before coming over to claim the seat next to him.

“You must root it out, one by one, elect new ministers you can trust to a degree.”

His gaze dropped away, straight to the middle of the long table. His words merely a beat before had warned him against trust or sentiments. This was a miasma between them, a gaping gulf, their expressions the same: grim. Tense shoulders both.

“It would be unwise, however, to yank them all out. Choose which are the lesser evil, who can be controlled best.”

Ares drew a deep breath.

Already pressure was building behind his eyes, the faint pulse and drum an ache that could hardly be eased, or stopped.

“Thank you for your counsel. For now, I wish to retire to deliberate this matter in private.”

Which was to say: he needed a goddamn drink.

***

Where drink freely flowed, rippling like stray raindrops into cups, Dionysus was not far. Indeed, Ares did not have to scour long for his half-brother when he entered the main hall. A circle had formed at the edge of the currently empty dancing floor. The musicians who had travelled far to perform at court were resting now, their conversations gentle whispers permeated by gasps and giggles from the crowd.

Dionysus was trying his coin trick of yore on a high-born lady when he stepped closer to watch him with a raised brow. As he had conjured the gold coin countless times before, he did so in this very moment. Accompanied by the free, loose laughter of the lady half a beat later. Dionysus curtsied deeply and winked at her with glee and mischief alive in his eyes.

It did not take him long to spot Ares in the crowd, however, which prompted him to curtsy once more, even deeper this time. The tip of his nose was barely inches away from marble.

Ares could not help but scoff at the display. Discomfiture wrapped around him; the taste of bile in his mouth. Burning, as their glances, into his consciousness.

“There is no need for such formality between brothers, Dio.”

“Oh, my little vulture, I must insist there is! How could I not pay proper homage to my soon to be king?”

He laughed; loudly, boldly, quite unlike any mirth befitting of a man of his station, bastard or not. Dionysus was always laughing in spite of this, always with a twinkle in his eyes, crinkles underneath, and dimples in his cheeks – as if his lover, Hypnos, had pressed his thumbs into his skin and left a permanent mark.

And so, too, his whole posture loosened, opened, came alive. His brother had that effect on others, no matter the situation or standing. A spell, a craft, finely honed.

It was this magic he needed, he decided.

“A word?”

Dionysus bowed again, all elegance and decorum.

“I am, as ever, at your disposal, my most illustrious king and sovereign ruler.”

Ares scoffed at those pompous airs he put on, revelling in his discomfiture; but he put it aside, tolerated it. He gestured towards the study outside, at the far end of the hallway.

Athena’s girlhood study was a small room, practically a broom closet compared to the size and opulence of every other room. It was this simplicity, this lack of wealth Ares could well appreciate it. Just dark shelves of oak lining the walls, stacked with books of all themes. Political theory, history, mathematics, science and so much more. All under a vaulted ceiling, wide and spacious, like a plain.

“As you know, I have spent the last years at the estates in the countryside, far removed from court. I know it has been much the same for you,” he began, leaning forwards in his chair, hands folded on the writing desk.

“However, you have been travelling throughout the kingdoms, performing at various courts. Listening. I trust you have learned a thing or two of the innerworkings here and there, have you not?”

Dionysus smiled his lazy smile, though his eyes were awake and alert as he reclined in his chair, crossing his legs.

“You know what they say about bards, my little vulture. No one ever suspects them,” he replied. His lips curled into a smirk. As unloved sons both, legitimate or not, they knew the value of obscurity, of irrelevancy.

“I will be glad to write up a summary of the juicy bits I’ve heard, if it helps.”

“It certainly will. Thank you, Dio.”

***

That night as many nights and afternoons before he had retreated to the country estate, Ares found solace in the arms of Aphrodite, nuzzling his face into her hair, the scent of myrrh and rose water in his nose, and her warmth, always her tender strength and unfailing warmth. He told her about the meeting with the council, about Nyx’s protestation, about the dread in his guts and the hungering wolves sat around him, dressed in fine silks and golden jewelry to flaunt their wealth and status, about how vulnerable he felt in their wake, even though he was the one wearing the crown.

“Well,” she murmured in his ear while he was on the threshold of waking and dreaming,” I say you should follow your heart, hm?”

It was.

A yearning, a craving, little praying – a wanting he could no longer allow. Never could he abandon his loves the way Athena had, sacrificing and sacrificing and hurting, for the good of the lands; but he had to tear parts of him apart, with stained hands, scrape off the dried blood from under his fingertips, and gaze out the balcony. Those houses, far, far away, silhouettes closer to the mountains, he had to think of too, now, not only his own indulgences.

He sought out Apollo the next morning, having been helped once more by Aphrodite to dress in robes conveying his rank, and found him already waiting in the throne room.

“I take it you have already at least partially made up your mind on whom to elect as a minister?” he asked, knowing, because Ares was nothing if not predictable in such matters.

“Yes,” he said, trailing off, letting silence turn stilted, pulling them further apart. His brother was unreadable, always, and as their eyes locked, Ares was none the wiser about his thoughts.

“I am releasing Thanatos from the tower to have him take the place as one of my close advisors.”

Apollo nodded instantly.

“Yes, this should please the House Cthonisia and ease the tensions between us for a while.”

He paused. Grew silent. His eyes, bright and hard and seeing, on him, searching for something, finding it, and still Ares did not know what Apollo wanted with this knowledge. What he would do.

“But, Ares, we cannot release him until after your coronation. You are not officially king yet, after all, and acting in opposition to Athena’s will, while legally possible and constitutionally your right as her successor, is... unwise.”

He swallowed, audibly, leaning his back against the stone-brick wall. Cool, yet steady. Of course, Apollo was right, as he often was. Infuriatingly so. He did have the authority to do as he pleased now that Athena’s will had been spread, and her old council informed. Many would think it callous to stride around handing out orders and pardons before Athena, still the Queen in the eyes of the common people, was even buried. It was his duty to give their sovereign, his sister, the funeral she was due. As a royal lady, as a ruler, as his friend. The people should grieve and mourn and find comfort in the following games. To remember her, to reminisce, to keep her alive in their memories for one last day.

“How is he?”

Apollo gave him one of his avuncular smiles. It was pleasant, it was charming; it did not reach his eyes.

“Thanatos is the second oldest son of an old, noble House. I assure you he’s received the best accommodations and care one can ask for, his confinement notwithstanding.”

He strode to the nearest window, peering outside.

“For now, I advise you to focus on immediate concerns, namely Athena’s funeral arrangements, along with the games in her honor. Do not take this lightly, brother, for our foreign ambassadors at court have sharp tongues, and will not look kindly on the next ruler of Olympia if they find your arrangements lacking.”

***

He had been poring over papers and waving off ambassadors and merchants eager to make some coin and, already, he could feel it. The pressure of tension throbbing behind his temples, imbued by a dull ache. It was not the worst he had had, though it was consistent, pulsating from his head down to the soles of his feet.

“Don’t despair, my heart,” Aphrodite crooned; honeyed, forgiving, patient. She ambled over to a servant girl holding a tray with ale, bread, and some cheese. She gave the girl an appreciative nod and a smile before allowing her to return to her other duties. Again, she made him smile, too. Just watching her was a pleasure. And those ostensibly small gestures were what made Aphrodite shine. Commoners, nobles, ambassadors. She knew how to act around others according to their station, and though her words and motions were calculated, her defiant warmth towards all never felt like a scene from a play.

She carefully set down the tray, then claimed the chair next to him. Without so much as a mischievous gleam in her eyes and a little smirk, she took his hand propping up his head and shoved the ale at him.

“Your determination to get this right is all quite endearing, darling, but you have to take care of yourself. When did you last eat, hm?”

Ares grunted noncommittally, but took a quick swig of the ale in his hands.

“I’ve barely made any progress since midday.”

She smiled.

“This is why I brought someone along.”

Almost as if they had planned it to the very second, Dionysus burst in, leaving his guards stupefied in his wake. He lurched towards them, towards the round oak table, raising a hand as a nonchalant welcome.

“I’ve heard you need some help with a little planning, my little vulture?”

Ares sighed.

“This is supposed to be a funeral arrangement. Please be decent, Dio, if you must help.”

“Oh, I absolutely must.”

To his surprise, his half-brother did have a penchant for planning and organization, even if it largely pertained to the games, which would be held after the ceremony at the church. There was to be a race, a tournament, and a play on the final day. The latter, so Dionysus said, would be a homage to Athena’s reign, her victories, a snapshot lane of a dearly beloved queen. They had had relative peace under her, after decades of vicious fighting among noble Houses. It was not without reason that, besides many other honorifics, she had been the Saviour Queene.

There was some consolation in the thought that his sister, their sister, would be celebrated as she had lived.

***

The morning of the funeral had dressed in dreary grey; heavy clouds, gusts of wind, hidden sun. Many priests in the temple had solemnly reassured Ares this had to be an omen. A good one, for it seemed even the Mother was mourning the loss of a faithful servant who had mended her earth with years of peace and prosperity. Athena’s bier had taken weeks to craft by the finest artisans, expedited by spells of speed thanks to the kingdom’s mages, adorned with gold and precious jewels befitting of her status as sovereign. Ares, on horseback, was riding behind the bier as her successor, through the busy streets of Olympia. People of the capital had poured outside to bid farewell to their Queen. Some of them had opened their windows, leaning on window sills for a better vantage point. The women gave way to their grief in loud wails. They were beating their chests in one unrelenting, cruel rhythm, tearing at their hair and clothes.

A keening sound resounded throughout the journey from the streets of the town to the abbey, where all kings and queens would rest eternally. A keening sound. It was their song of woe. Sobs and wails and loss and fear. Too soon for the people to have forgotten the succession wars that had ravaged the lands and taken their sons and daughters in summons to fight for their queen and her claim to the throne. There was uncertainty in this banquet of glances, Ares knew, as he rode past. Athena had brought order. What, they were thinking, would her brother bring?

But even a queen who had executed traitorous, ambitious nobles and passed bill after bill to leave little possibility for another war once she would die could not strip those oligarchs off their essence. They would always poke and prod at the pillars she had so thoughtfully built, until there were ruins once more. There was uncertainty in those looks. He was well-liked among the army and the common folk, yes, because he was their prince. A prince, at that, who had dared to elevate ordinary men and women into offices. They had a voice in government, now, and because Athena had not opposed and granted his recommendations for those offices and posts, they were of consequence.

Tensions between old and new had not subsided.

They would have to see whether this successor of hers was up to the task to unite them.

It was Apollo who addressed the crowd to give his funeral speech. His voice, an echo throughout, silvery and strong --- the mark of an expert orator, his verbiage deliberate and vibrant; a recounting of Athena’s accomplishments.

How she had ended the succession wars that had drained the coffers for all and left the farmers either gutted or starving while the opposing forces would take their lands. How she had stabilized the succession and royal family to banish tragedy into plays, onto stages. How she had pleaded and succeeded in more equality.

Indeed, she was laid to rest not a mortal, but a goddess.

The funeral games followed and lasted three days.

Commoners, too, were permitted to participate in the race vying for a medal and a prize of thirty gold.

It was a commoner who won. A father of three, with lanky legs and nimble feet. However swift he had been, however, Ares could not help but doubt whether he could have outrun Hermes, had he been here.

Hermes, sent running a year ago, to liaison for House Olympia at the court of Titanus. A spy, what else, who had dared further still to love above his station.

Ares tried not to think about it.

***

Even though the funeral rites and games had barely ended, Apollo was already preoccupied again. His mind had once again filtered out everyday trivialities, focusing instead on Ares’ fast approaching coronation.

Evidently, this was not simply over and done with putting the crown on his head and waving to the assembled nobility.

Everything from his wardrobe to his gait towards the throne fell under patronizing scrutiny. Everything was wrong, nothing was right. He did not have the poise Athena had naturally possessed, nor her knowledge of etiquette. Even he had attended such lessons, with a stern, grim-faced lecturer, who had often slammed a wooden stick on his bare hands, laid out on the table like an offering. It had brought deep, dark welts, red skin, a glaring impress of discipline; but there was a wildness in him. He was a wolf, an animal, ravenous always. It had been unbecoming of a prince then, and it was humiliating now.

Again and again he had been walking back and forth, striding back and forth, all under the unrelenting eyes of Apollo. Again and again his brother had told him, harshly, exasperated, that he could not move like a foot soldier. His posture was not as outrageous as it could have been, had he not been trained to become a fighter, a soldier, and a commander early on. He was standing straight and tall, a sense of authority undeniably in the way he was holding himself.

He was a king now, however, somebody who was supposed to stride into any room, linger in any crowd, and still leave everyone speechless. Because his presence should be its own force, its own might, like their infamous warships at port.

Ares huffed audibly, loudly, before collapsing into his chair. Apollo gave him a foul look when he sat down, abandoning his lessons and practice, but he pretended not to see it.

“This is impossible and ridiculous,” he grumbled.

Before his brother could throw a scathing remark back at him, one of the guards entered his chambers.

“Your Majesty, the dowager queen Hera seeks an audience.”

Ares lifted a quizzical eyebrow. This formality. Unnecessary. His mother would burst into any room she wanted, whether he were a king or a stable boy. It was sweet, this sensation, this realization his mother would have to obey, whatever he said. He nodded dismissively. Apollo rose to his feet, giving Hera the slightest nod of acknowledgement as he strode past her.

“Mother,” he said, cautious to keep his voice neutral.

Hera strode to the chair opposite him without invitation or permission.

“I have come to discuss the topic of securing a suitable marriage for you now that you are going to be king, son.”

He frowned.

“There is nothing to discuss. You know who I’m going to marry.”

Fury. He could see the transformation on her face, could watch as her dark look grew darker, sharper, colder, her lips thin and pale - and her nose scrunched up in disgust.

“Surely you cannot mean to marry this girl, my dear? I will not protest if you wish to keep her as your mistress, it is your right after all, yet Aphrodite is unsuitable to be your queen.”

A sigh elicited him at her crude, callous words, none of which were new. Her wrath against Aphrodite had begun after her introduction at court a few years ago. She had spent her childhood abroad at the court of Queen Persephone. A common practice for daughters of influential men, which Aphrodite’s foster-father undoubtedly was.

Soon, their gaping silence had opened up like an ever growing gulf. With nothing to breach this distance, this glacial disapproval in his mother’s eyes, it became unbearable. Desperate for words, for sounds, any sound, his lips parted, ready to just speak; but Hera held up a hand, motioning for further silence.

She was not quiet for long.

“Ares, now that you are king, you cannot live your life freely doing whatever you desire most in the moment. She...may have her charms, and I see she pleases you,” she conceded, her mouth corners downturned,” however, take into account our difficult relations with the neighboring kingdoms. It was not long ago that we were fighting a bloody succession war, in which many people perished. It would be in your best interests, therefore, to take a bride that will strengthen foreign connections and appease the other ruling monarchs.”

Again, he inhaled, deeply, through his nose; again, he exhaled, shakily, through his mouth. He leaned further back in his seat. His mother was a clever woman. Had she been Queen in the age of Athena and Artemis, both revered queens in their own right, she would have made a better head of state than his father could have ever been. She could have steered this country towards golden dawns instead of charcoal dusks. Like his father. She was showing this in this very moment. She had a personal stake in keeping Aphrodite from becoming queen, yes. Her hatred was a cold, twisted thing she had never bothered to hide. Though more than anything, more than her rage, Ares saw a mother who did not want history to repeat itself.

He was his father’s son.

In the end.

“Thank you for your counsel, mother.”

With this, he rose. After this, he needed to be away from this wretched castle, this wretched court.

He went outside, to the gardens.

***

All too quickly, he saw he was not alone.

Perched on a little stool with a canvas before him, a man was painting the very heart of the labyrinth: a tall marble statue of the Mother. At her foot, a crown of flowers bloomed. White roses, brighter even still in the noon light. Ivy was coiling around her long, slender limbs, too, though Ares did not remember seeing it the last time he had been there.

“heard you, you know.”

The man glanced over his shoulder, a smirk clearly on his face.

“You have good ears, then,” he said, and took a few steps forward until he could take a proper look.

He was smiling, dimples popping; but it did not reach his gaze. His dark, brown eyes were inscrutable, impenetrable, like depths of unknown waters. His matching brown hair was a mussed up mess, wind-kissed, and his white tunic was hanging loosely off of his left shoulder.

“You always were pretty awful at remembering faces, boss.”

Ares frowned.

This knowing smile, those features - there was a vague familiarity to them. He edged towards him, still frowning, coming to a stop right behind the stool on which he was sitting. He was looking up at him, with that smile, as if he knew, as if he held all knowledge.

He remembered.

Boss.

“Hermes.”

At the sound of his name, his smile dispersed. There was a mischievous sheen to those eyes, though, which had never dulled or gone in all the years he had known him.

“Got to say, did not think you’d remember this quickly. Always on the slower side there. Good on you, Ares. Though I guess it’s your Highness now, isn’t it?”

Ares’ face twisted into a grimace. Without waiting for Hermes to scoot over on his stool, he lay down in the grass, staring up at the sky above.

“So you’ve heard,” he muttered. He shook his head, slowly, pointedly not looking at Hermes.

“It’ll always be just Ares to you.”

“Barely a day back and already receiving special privileges. That’s pretty quick, even by my standards.”

His mouth went dry.

He shifted slowly, carefully, so that he could prop himself up on his elbows and look at his old friend.

“So you’re back?”

His body tensed, was heavy. Those words had tumbled out, without thought. The hitch in his voice, this breathy note - his silly little boyhood hope.

“Yupp. Been summoned by none other than Apollo himself. There’s a job that needs doing, he said.”

Hermes did not seem to have noticed anything. He narrowed his eyes just so, his gaze dropping away.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

There it was again.

His smile.

“What do you think?”

***

Even though he would learn why Hermes was once again at court, he guarded his secret expertly. Apollo, too, had very firmly shot down his questioning, claiming his coronation took precedence over the matter of Hermes’ new position. It had always been like this, with him. Conspirators, the both of them. Always, indelibly, donning secrecy as other nobles would finery.

It did not bother him, not knowing.

He would never ask him for truth.

Hermes without secrecy was only one half of him. Incomplete, inherent. So they had agreed, when they had both been students under Chaos, that Ares trusted him to speak when there was something he had to know.

Despite this, despite their promise, he couldn’t deny he was curious. Apollo did not leave him many moments to dwell, however, adding one lesson after the next in preparation for his coronation that he was nearly spending all his mornings, afternoons, and evenings with his brother.

They had retreated to the private library of Athena. Day had reclined further and further until light summer skies had collapsed into soft, orange evening. Apollo was striding up and down the room, hands clasped behind his back. Aside from the occasional withering looks when he would stumble over a word, or mix up the exact vernacular, he did not acknowledge him. Only his own voice was reverberating in the study. A tired, tired drone. Disembodied. Dull. Dry.

“Could we end these lessons now?” Ares asked, after he had recited his speech for the fifteenth time this evening alone.

Apollo paused, turned, glimpsed at him. Those golden eyes, always warm according to the people of the court, were blazing. Blazing eyes, blazing attention - burning him, who was the focus of that look, that glare.

“Ares,” he said.

It was not to address him.

It was not to reprimand him.

It was a warning.

“For better or worse, the crown will land on your head. As you may recall, your tutelage under liege Chaos was solely lacking, because you could not be bothered to take your duty, nor your education seriously. I will make sure, personally, you will not be an embarrassment to the crown. Am I making myself clear?”

He always was a good little soldier, wasn’t he?

He knew how to follow orders.

Knew how to kneel.

Ares stared blankly at the filled notebook lying open on the tabletop, his grip around his quill tight. Very, very tight.

“Yes.”

The night before his coronation did not belong to him. Tradition demanded penance, in this dusk, this twilight, between old and new. It was why he found Apollo sitting on a chair by his bed, the bound, embossed holy scripture of the Mother yet unopened in his lap. He watched gingerly when Ares climbed into bed. Only a priest could take his confession, to give him absolution for his sins in the name of the Mother. As the highest member of her priesthood, it fell to Apollo to ease new sovereigns into their reign. He was a listener to the living and the dying, steady and unyielding in his duties.

“Son of the Mother, what do you wish to confess?”

His hands tightened around the cool, silken sheets. He could not meet Apollo’s condemning eyes, too harsh a judgment late at night, when the Mother herself was listening in.

“I have ended many men's and women's lives on the battlefield. It was to defend my kingdom, my family, and my home, but I have shed blood still, and I have taken their lies in spite of these circumstances.”

Apollo was sitting very still, unmoving, one hand laid on the holy scripture. Throughout his telling of fields ravaged and turned into graveyards, he had made no sound, not even one of dissent or disgust. He had only listened.

“Do you ask forgiveness?”

Ares nodded.

“For this, I ask the Mother for forgiveness, and if she wishes to meddle in my case, I wish she only judge it justly.”

Slowly, tentatively, Apollo reached out for his hand, and placed his palm on the scripture, which he was now holding up high.

“You are forgiven.”

Intricately drawn runes coiling around Apollo’s arms and dipping into his palms flickered with light, softly, as dawn after night. Laying his own hand atop his, Ares winced just so. It was the gentle mark of the Mother upon her priests, the warmth of it, that was touching and encircling him. His fears had dulled, had quelled to concern; his fear, it did not cut and twist deeply in his mind anymore.

Silence, too, had unfolded. Only the tiny trembles of the torchlights tumbled through, all soft light and half-shadows and relief.

This was no deafening silence, no sentence, no tilted punishment. Here, now, Ares did not feel ill at ease in his brother’s presence.

“I don’t believe I’m of the same regal cloth as Athena, Apollo. I’m not sure I’m up to it.”

He had expected assent, callous and cruel as his brother always was. When it did not come, when instead he simply sat, hands once again on the scripture, his head slightly tilted downwards, Ares wanted to see him off quickly.

It was then his brother spoke, when he had not been bracing himself for his voice.

“When our father made the decision to legitimize me and include me in the succession line, I was overjoyed. I truly thought he had found an heir worthy of him at last.”

Bitter, those words unsaid, Ares thought, proper black in mood. The only triumph he had ever held over Apollo was his own legitimacy, to be the son of Hera, a true queen. Apollo and Athena both had been immortal. Free from flaws. As children, as adults. Apollo, whose soul had bathed in molten specks of the Mother’s light, who could prophesize and entice all nobles to vye for even one favorable glance from him alone.

And Athena, whose intellect had soared and soared and soared, above any scholar or scientist.

He, he knew, had only ever been an ugly thing of shadows, rotten rage residue child of two royals, ruins themselves, who could have only ever made one thing: terror.

“When I embarked on my quest to gather enough support to have our father up my place in the succession, so that I would’ve succeeded him, Hyacinthus had been my closest confidant and advisor. Although it was a terrible risk, I sent him to one royal family who had always borne only ire towards our royal House, to plead my case, but…,” Apollo trailed off, the first pause in an otherwise terribly dull tone.

It sounded like a monotone, something rehearsed, a speech to which he had only begrudgingly agreed.

“You know, you do. They found him a few days later, gutted like some thug from the streets.”

Anger had made his enunciation slip, had made it sharp; but this anger was old, aged, like fine wine.

“Power corrupts, Ares. It is why I refused my claim on the throne and gave my soul in service to the Mother.”

They were silent again, sharing squirt together, not against one another this time. In truth, Ares had suspected Hyacinthus had been the reason for Apollo’s sudden pilgrimage and subsequent retreat to the temple.

He had never asked, though, never prodded. They were not close. They did not share such fierce hurt.

Ares, though, understood wounds.

He had not asked.

When Apollo’s light had gone from golden to garish, then blazing, hurting, Ares had looked away, pretending not to see.

They all had.

“One of the reasons I believe Athena was not entirely mad when she thought it necessary to make revisions to her will is exactly that. You possess a quality I do not have, which shall enable you with the ability to act for the right reasons, and for the good of the people, not to advance yourself, not for glory nor riches.”

Before Ares could turn those lines around in his head, ask for the truth of it, Apollo had risen abruptly and left his chamber without looking back.

Apollo and him, they had one bond that bound them indelibly:

They never lied.

***

The transition from one sovereign to the next, from old to new, from dead to alive. Saturated in tradition and history, laced with deliberate dramaturgy to have one day last and linger. An eternity in a day, trespassing the paths of time. If not forever literally, then all attending had to remember, and remember fondly, passing the memory from one generation to the other. There was a reason why Apollo had drawn out the rigorous lessons from his childhood and taught him anew the importance of such ceremonies.

It began with this:

before dawn could break and the day yawn light, Ares was already dressed in his ceremonial garb, waiting on his bed. Gradually, Apollo poured into his chamber as the night before, succeeded by other, lower ranking priests. It was Apollo also, who shifted sideways on his feet to dip his hands into an ornate ceremonial bowl filled with holy water. He strode up to Ares, shook his hands mid-air. Lukewarm water dripped on his cheeks, down the curve of his mouth. Rose water, myrrh, the scent of earth after rain.

Apollo then held out his other hand and helped Arise rise.

On they strode, out the palace grounds and onto the streets. Every step, Ares recalled, was symbolic, on this untrodden path from palace to temple, where he would be crowned.

Every step on this road, this path, resembled the unknown way ahead.

He had to stay silent.

In the eyes of the Mother, Ares was in limbo: not yet a king, yet no longer a subject. Not yet living, for the former queen had crossed over, but he had not yet become. Beings in between worlds did not speak, did not haunt with word or sound, as apparitions and wraiths would.

Throughout this, throughout their procession, Ares was borne by one priest, Asclepius, and a member of his council. Thanatos. Secular lords and lieges proceeded in their wake, displayed high on gilt trays. His grand marshal, Eris, carried her staff pointing downwards.

Once in the temple, Ares walked into the centre, where a likeness of the Mother’s eye stared back at him in colorful mosaics.

“Will you, my good people, honor and support me during my reign?”

The throng of people roared, tickled lions all, triple acclamations, from priests and advisors and nobles and the people:

“We will! We will! We will!”

***

“Enough sleeping already, we have work to do.”

A groan elicited him at the cacophony. Too early. Too soon. For words. For communication. On instinct alone, he squeezed his eyes shut. Darkness was enveloping him, his limbs tangled up in cozy warmth. Surely, Apollo could wait.

“Ares.”

But this was not Apollo’s cool voice.

The tone, gruff and raw, yet soft.

Ares sat bolt upright in his bed. Instantly, he threw off his cushions, his blankets; wanted, needed, had to take hold.

“Thanatos,” he whispered.

There he was, sitting at the edge of his bed, with the same stern gaze he had thrown his way too often and not enough.

“Hello, Ares.”

He stared, was staring, had been staring. One year. He had not seen him in one year, had not heard him say his name in one year, had not been near him in one year. And Thanatos, held in the tower, in confinement, a front row view for the gallows. Because of him, because of how much he meant, because he was the second oldest son of House Cthonisia.

Thanatos scoffed, shaked his head, drew him near, kissed him and kissed him and kissed him. Gave him what he wanted, in that moment, when Ares could not ask for it. How he had done the same for Thanatos before, how this man had come to know him so intimately, so honestly.

It was too short, this reverie, his caressing, cool fingertips gone before Ares could ease into their shared physicality.

“Before you ask: I am fine, no, I don’t want to talk about it. And… get dressed. We have a meeting with Apollo.”

***

This was an official meeting, Ares realized, as Thanatos led him down the stairs to the council chamber. Apollo was already seated and waiting, along with Hermes, who was restless as ever. Up and down he went, with his bouncing steps and fast gait.

Before they entered, Thanatos stepped beside him, their hands brushing seemingly by accident, before interlocking their fingers for just a beat, just a breath. He squeezed his hand, steadying him as he had always done. Just as accidental as it might have seemed, however, Thanatos released him, and strode purposefully towards the seat opposite Apollo, to the right, at Ares’ place.

“Before we address the reason for Lord Hermes’ return, I find it necessary, indeed inevitable, I should say, that Lord Thanatos and you, Ares, receive a first briefing on the political climate and current circumstances at court.”

Ares frowned.

“I thought all was well under Athena’s rule? It’s predominantly the reason why the people are calling her the savior queen, no?”

Apollo’s mouth twitched suddenly; he was looking at him as a tutor would at his student who had just asked an obtuse question.

“Things are never as straightforward as they seem in politics. Yes, the kingdom now knows what stability is truly like thanks to Athena’s reforms and mending of foreign relations, but the climate remains...tense. Let us not forget the succession wars ravaged our lands and dried up our resources less than a decade ago.”

Hermes gave a hum, then a nod. His tread slowed, gradually, before his steps faded into quietude once more. For once, he was completely still, unmoving. Ares followed his movements, took in his body and his expression. Anything for a cue, anything, to learn what was happening in this sharp mind, ever abuzz with ways and more and more and more.

“Remind me, why won’t you, how exactly the queen died?” Hermes asked.

Nothing in the way he had turned around and was now appraising Apollo suggested to Ares that Hermes didn’t already know. The sweet, daming allure of him was this: secrecy, secrets, guessing - only ever the faintest, vaguest shade of knowing. And yet still, Hermes himself was never ignorant or unknowing. He knew things, somehow, more than anyone else in any room would ever know.

“Ares’ estimation not to take the threat of the rebellions of the north lightly was correct. Athena, however, dismissed it as a simple, disorganized uprising of commoners and servants untrained in combat. They proved quite the opposite, in fact, according to the reports in the wake of Athena’s injury and subsequent death. She intended to simply starve them out until they would inevitably surrender, but they did not surrender. They attacked, under the cover of night, and Athena sustained an injury. She lived for a while, but alas the wound became infected and, regrettably for us all, she passed.”

Again, Hermes hummed, his joyous tone almost dissonant, almost taunting. Apollo was recounting his sister’s death. His sister, who had fallen, bled, and suffered. Cut open like the still warm carcass of a deer during one of Artemis’ hunting parties.

“Curious, isn’t it, that this uprising was just like any other of the minor ones up north, and so soon after Athena had changed her succession will.”

Beside him, Ares felt Thanatos tense.

He had been sitting upright and proper, a posture without flaw; but now, his golden eyes had widened, his jaw clenched. Ares himself was biting down nausea, his stomach in knots, with marrow-deep fear at the forefront.

“How would you know this, Olympia? This was a government matter of utmost secrecy, not some trite drivel one could easily pick up from the common folk,” came the retort from Apollo, without pause, without propriety, which Ares had always seen him uphold. No, now, there was a quiver in his voice, a threat poorly veiled. Hot fury.

“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” Hermes quipped. He meandered forwards a step, with a leisurely gait, then bounced back and forth on the soles of his feet when he came to a halt shortly before Apollo.

“Because I know things I shouldn’t know.”

***

Hasty treads, two of them, steps mingling into one sound, one beat: Hermes and Ares, in a faraway alcove, only inches apart.

Ares was looking down at him, an unsaid prayer in his eyes, beseeching hands on narrow shoulders. He was gripping him tighter than he wanted to, he saw, because Hermes flinched. Still he pressed deeper, until there was no skin under his palms, but the outline of bones.

“Is it true, Hermes? Is it because of me Athena...did I…,” he began, stopped, trailed off, stopped. It was a question he could not pose, could not voice. There was nothing but his query, however, because Hermes would never tell him how he knew. Asking for truth alone, from Hermes of all people, was sacrilege.

“Nobody knows why she chose you, Ares,” he said, evenly, and placed his hands atop his. His palms were warm, Ares realized, his presence light, feathery, never heavy. Hermes leaned in further, closer, on tiptoes, so that he could whisper into his ear. It was just as well, Ares conceded quietly, to himself. He had forgotten caution in his own consternation, in his horror, and once more he knew he needed Hermes at his side more than ever.

“Found something that leads me to believe word got out about the change to the succession will while I was liaison to Olympia at the Titanus court. Didn’t sit well with some, you know.”

Hot breath against his skin, the brush of his mouth, the scent of memories while he had revealed something. Of sandalwood and nights in the forest during summer rain, the sweet tobacco he sometimes smoked so he would not fidget with his never still, never idle hands.

Ares’ breath hitched.

No.

He had to concentrate on what he was saying.

Reaching out and placing a hand against Hermes’ chest, he pushed back so he could look him in the eyes. He breathed in, breathed out.

“Hermes.”

No response.

Just those dark, deep eyes, dark hooks, dark, looking back at him.

“Tell me who.”

#hades game #hades game fanfic #thanares #aresdite #part 1 #long ff

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